The young man stared at Joannes as if he had just witnessed the Archangel descend before his eyes, bearing a message from the Pantocrator Himself. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Gregory!’ Haraldr stood and gestured for the little eunuch to join him and Maria at the table.
‘I cannot stay, Hetairarch, Mistress. The duties of the Grand Interpreter of the Varangians are manifold. I have come to you in my capacity as chief intelligence secretary in the offices of the Hetairarch.’ Gregory smiled and then composed himself. ‘This was sufficiently important to arrest your dining.’
‘At least sit while you tell us.’
Gregory allowed the serving eunuch to seat him to Haraldr’s right, and he looked for a moment at Maria, who sat opposite him. ‘I do not wish to jeopardize the Mistress with this,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry, my friend,’ said Haraldr. ‘I would have to tell her, anyway. I don’t know half of what she does of this palace and its curious machinations.’ He looked at Gregory quizzically. ‘This doesn’t sound like an ordinary intrigue.’
‘It may be nothing, Hetairarch, but as recent history has shown us, even the most insignificant seed can grow untended and eventually attack the great roots of an entire Empire.’ Gregory smoothed the embroidered tablecloth before him, almost as if he were going to write his information on it. ‘I have made the acquaintance of a Secretikoi in the office of the Sacellarius who has been assigned to the records bureau in the Magnara basement. I need not tell you of the importance of that location. This man has become friendly with the Orphanotrophus Joannes’s secretary, and of course is well placed to monitor the comings and goings in the Orphanotrophus’s office as it is. Yesterday he saw a young man - a young man whose only distinguishing characteristic seemed to be his utter mediocrity - visit the Orphanotrophus’s offices for a private interview. He inquired of Joannes’s secretary, and learned that the man was a young relative of Joannes’s from his home in Paphlagonia theme. My acquaintance also learned that Joannes has provided this young man a comfortable lodging outside the city. Quite ironically, these lodgings are the same as those occupied by our Emperor during the time when he was merely our Caesar.’
Haraldr looked at Maria and then back to Gregory. ‘An island going,’ he said in Norse.
‘Island going?’ asked Maria in her own increasingly fluent Norse. ‘I don’t know that kenning.’
‘Single combat,’ said Haraldr in Greek. ‘It sounds as if Joannes has obtained the shield he needs, and from what I have seen, our Emperor is honing the sword he intends to wield to a fine edge. I think it is only a matter of time before they challenge each other.’
Gregory stood and bowed. ‘That is my inference as well, Hetairarch. I will allow you to digest this information further while I return to my duties. And to the collection of more information on this matter.’
After Gregory had departed, Haraldr and Maria stared at each other for a long moment. Finally Haraldr sighed. ‘I guess we are going to have another argument.’
Maria’s blue eyes ignited. ‘Of course we are.’
‘Well, you do agree with my interpretation of this information, don’t you?’
Maria nodded. ‘Of course. It is obvious. Michael has not proved to be as malleable as Joannes had hoped, and now Joannes has begun to carve himself a new puppet.’ She signalled for the eunuch to remove her silver plate. ‘I don’t know why he has even troubled himself with that formality. He already fancies himself an Emperor, with his private guard now, and the Senate always following behind him like a herd of sheep with golden fleece.’
‘I think that is good,’ countered Haraldr. ‘It makes Joannes’s power evident to everyone. If he abuses the people, they will hold him accountable. He can no longer hide behind his monk’s habit or the Orphanotrophus’s office. And I think he knows that.’ Haraldr leaned forward earnestly. ‘He is making serious concessions now. Under Joannes’s auspices the Imperial Treasury has financed the reconstruction of twenty square blocks of the Studion. Food distribution in the Studion is now a regular state programme, vastly expanded beyond what I started. Joannes is even studying the thematic tax ledgers to find cheaters and absconders who are placing an unequal burden on their fellow villagers.’
‘And the Imperial Orphanotrophus can also reverse these reforms with several strokes of his pen.’
‘No. Once the people have received a lightening of their burden, they will be considerably more resistant to having that burden placed back on their shoulders. If Joannes wants to survive, he will have to continue his reforms.’
‘I think Michael is every bit as capable of managing these reforms,’ countered Maria. ‘Look at the Imperial Court judges he has removed, and those he has appointed. And what about his demotion of both that idiot Strategus and his corrupt Chartalarius in Opsikion theme.’
Haraldr spread his hands with mock incredulity. ‘I have always respected Michael’s abilities when he is motivated to employ them,’ he said. ‘You will recall that I was the first to bring those abilities to your attention, and at that time you argued that I was wrong about that.’ Maria stuck out her tongue. ‘Both men are capable of ruling Rome. The issue is, which one will rule Rome? I simply do not believe that Michael will be able to challenge Joannes sufficiently to rule on his own. That would require a courage that is clearly not one of his abilities. Having been almost killed in battle myself, I can see how his experience against the Seljuks might have stripped him of his courage. It took years for me to recover mine. But for whatever reason, Michael does not have the backbone required to win this sort of combat. At best he can rule over an Empire with disastrously divided allegiances.’
‘So you are saying that because Michael cannot win, you are going to support Joannes in this combat? I cannot believe that!’
‘No. I do not wish there to be any combat. What I would like to do, in fact, is prevent this combat, and preserve Michael’s lesser, but important, role in the government of Rome. Once Michael has been defeated, I will be unable to do that.’
‘You forget the real issue of who rules Rome.’ Maria thumped her fist on the table. ‘Zoe is the government. The rest come and go. And of the two men who currently rule Rome, Joannes is a far more serious threat to Zoe. This is why I cannot countenance Joannes’s participation in the Imperial Administration in any form.’
‘I certainly have not forgotten Zoe’s welfare and safety,’ protested Haraldr. ‘That is my entire point. The more visibly Joannes is identified with the rule of Rome, the more imperative it is for him to come to a public, binding and lasting agreement with Zoe. I believe I can negotiate such an agreement myself.’
Maria put her hand on Haraldr’s arm. ‘Be careful. You think you have become expert in the Roman arts of guile and cunning, but you are still merely a novice. I think you are too naive and trusting ever truly to fathom the Roman mind. I suppose that is why I love you.’
‘What if I can bring about this agreement?’ said Haraldr with a somewhat wounded edge to his voice. ‘A public pledge by Joannes, which it would be suicidal for him to deny later.’
‘I would say that in that case I would be satisfied that my Mother was well taken care of.’ Maria leaned forward and blasted Haraldr with her acute stare. ‘But consider this, esteemed Hetairarch. You say you hope to prevent this single combat from taking place. What if you cannot? Are you prepared to prevent Joannes from winning?’
Yes. I have been talking with the new Grand Domestic Camytzes, and he is no Dhynatoi stooge like Dalassena. I believe he will defend his Emperor against Joannes.’
Maria conceded the argument with a shrug. ‘I think that is the kind of persuasion Joannes would understand. Good. Now we can start worrying about your throne.’ She got up and put her arm around Haraldr’s neck and kissed his forehead. ‘I think I am ready for that long northern night.’
‘Nobilissimus!’ Michael held out his hand to his Uncle Constantine and with the other gestured towards the outdoor polo field; one of his portable
thrones had been erected along the east border of the broad green lawn, just in front of the salmon-tinted porticoes of the Imperial Apartments. ‘Look! Look! Look!’ screamed Michael, rising to his feet, the pitch of his voice steadily ascending in accompaniment. ‘Glycas is driving!’ A pack of horsemen in short riding tunics - either blue or red - thundered past in pursuit of a small red wooden ball; they came so close to the Imperial Throne that bits of earth showered the attending Senators. A bearded man in a red tunic, mounted on a nimble, fairly small Arabian, charged out ahead of the pack. He raised his mallet like a battle standard as he drew even with the slowing ball, whirled the slender wooden shaft, and with a cracking report sent a red blur flying between two marble pylons at the north end of the field. ‘Glycas has scored!’ screamed Michael. He leapt onto the grass and applauded as Glycas galloped past in the other direction.
‘Majesty,’ said Constantine with a certain urgency. As if his ceremonial title of Nobilissimus had actually imbued him with the qualities it suggested, Constantine seemed to have lost much of his pudginess, and his eyes were tougher and more incisive.
‘Yes, Nobilissimus!’ said Michael grandly, as if he were the Deity complimenting himself on one of His own creations, which in a sense he was. ‘Did I tell you, Uncle, that I am conducting a pentathlon on our Lord’s Day this week? I would compete myself, but as you know, these affairs of state are inimicable to the preparation required for athletic performance. I intend to make a few tosses of the javelin, however.’ Michael reared his arm back and flung an imaginary spear.
Constantine drew Michael away from the body of Senators and eunuchs, who, with discretion inspired by the obvious relationship between Emperor and Nobilissimus, allowed the pair their privacy. Constantine pulled a rolled document out of his cloak, opened it, and displayed the purple-tinted paper to Michael. This is your signature, is it not, Majesty?’ He pointed to the scarlet script, beneath which a coin-like gold seal dangled from a silk cord.
‘Yes, my signature, my seal, Uncle,’ said Michael blithely. ‘That is the Imperial Chrysobull to create a Magister that I signed two days ago. Magisters? Magpies, I say. Let them flock to my court. I have discovered the real power in Rome and am not concerned when these dignitaries protest that I have reduced the worth of their august titles by creating too many of like value. Yes, let the Magister-magpies flock. It is the offices of state, not the ceremonial titles that are important. And I can assure you, Uncle, that I take those appointments seriously.’
‘I am not criticizing your performance, Majesty,’ said Constantine, aware that his nephew was far more keen than anyone suspected. Perhaps too keen, as it was turning out. ‘I am directing your attention not to an error on your part but to a perfidy on the part of an officer of state.’
Michael took the document and studied it carefully for a while. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know this particular Constantine whatever,’ said Michael. ‘You are the only Constantine who concerns me.’
Constantine looked grimly at Michael. ‘This particular Constantine, now Magister of Rome, is a distant cousin of yours. He is my uncle’s grandson. A month ago he was a wool carder in Amastris. Your other uncle has him ensconced in the same villa in which you were housed as the Caesar.’
Michael’s face had grown progressively whiter; now it had the colour of a linen sheet. His knees wobbled and Constantine had to steady him. ‘Nephew, Nephew,’ whispered Constantine, ‘this is not a defeat. It simply means that you have proven yourself too able, too popular with the people. It is Joannes who is frightened of you.’
Michael controlled himself sufficiently to speak. ‘Uncle, w-we are not strong enough to act yet. I realize that my backing among the tradesmen and lesser merchants is ... profound. But Joannes has the allegiance of the Senate, the Dhynatoi and the great merchants, and lately he has mollified the rabble of the Studion to the extent that they would not rise against him. I am between Scylla and Charybdis, so to speak.’
Constantine clasped Michael’s shoulders. ‘No. You forget that the Empress is also your ally, and she could check any attempt by Joannes to rally the Studion against you. So we can presume that the rabble will remain neutral in this conflict. The great merchants have considerable resources and influence, but the small merchants and tradesmen have vastly greater numbers. So we are still even. The Dhynatoi in the Senate, of course, will go with Joannes. But the rest of the Senate may not. If we can maintain a small cadre of moderate Senators behind us in the beginning, I think we can achieve success.’
Michael’s eyes were glazed and his voice automatic, but the colour had returned to his face. ‘Shall I begin persuading our Senators?’
‘No, we haven’t time for that. Tell the Empress what we are about. And then we must begin.’
Michael looked at Constantine with the expression of a man peering over a very sheer precipice. ‘Uncle,’ he whispered, ‘can we do this?’
‘We must,’ said Constantine.
‘Hetairarch Haraldr!’ Joannes swept through the empty entrance hall of his immense town palace. ‘You see that I am not quite settled in.’ He pointed to the high coffered ceiling. ‘I haven’t even had the lights installed yet.’ He took Haraldr’s arm and led him towards the marble staircase. ‘I spend so little time with these comforts, but I feel I must not neglect the property.’
Neglect the property? thought Haraldr. Is that why the craftsmen I saw out in the front were reinforcing your gate, and why I heard your private guard drilling in the yard? Apparently the Orphanotrophus intends to concede the palace to the Emperor and wage his siege from here.
The second-storey loggia was flooded with light streaming into the central court; the white Proconnesian marble pillars had a brilliant golden glow where the direct sunlight struck them. Joannes pointed to the courtyard below. Several hundred Thracian guardsmen thrust their swords at wicker dummies set in long, perfect rows. ‘You know what is about, Hetairarch, so I will not trouble you with ingratiating preludes. I am going to confront the Emperor with his crimes against the people and instruct the Senate to propose a successor to him.’
Haraldr was in fact stunned by the directness of the appeal; he silently complimented Joannes on the skill and swiftness of the thrust. ‘In Rome the Emperor is the law,’ countered Haraldr. ‘How can you move legally against him?’
Joannes eyed Haraldr with respect. ‘You know that in Rome the law has many interpretations. I believe that the Senate and the common folk will find my interpretation satisfies their earnest desire for legal propriety. Of course, I will have to instruct the middle class in these new legal statutes.’
‘And you would like the Grand Hetairia to assist you in this instruction?’
Joannes’s face contorted with his hideous grin. You are a Roman, Hetairarch. Name your price.’
‘You may find it more onerous than you can bear, Orphanotrophus.’ Haraldr’s voice was sufficiently grim to shadow Joannes’s face. ‘First, I want you to understand that this instruction would consist of enforcing civil order, not punishing these small merchants and tradesmen for their support of Michael. Secondly, I would have a public pledge of your guarantee of the safety, happiness and well-being of the purple-born Empress Zoe. Finally, I want you to understand that I will protect the life, if not the office, of the Emperor Michael with my own life. I want a preservation of some honour for him, as well as a role for him, in the future administration of Rome. He has much to offer his people.’
Joannes’s eyes seemed to retreat to the black depths of his skull. ‘I believe you have just refused my offer, Hetairarch,’ he said with an ominous rumble. ‘I hope you will reconsider. I would hate to see a life of real account to Rome sacrificed for the sake of two who have merely plundered what others have built.’ Joannes signalled for the eunuch hovering near the entrance to the loggia to show Haraldr out. ‘Goodbye, Hetairarch Haraldr,’ said Joannes. ‘Remember this in parting: my course against the Emperor, the Emperor whom I myself have created, and whom I have th
e power to recast in whatever mould I choose, is irrevocable. But this failure to concur over a price seals nothing between you and myself. I will gladly offer you time and opportunity to renegotiate. Perhaps I can offer you some flexibility concerning the first and last matters you mentioned. As I said, you are a man of great account to the glory of Rome.’
Haraldr bowed. ‘And I will consider at greater length the matter of price. But remember this, Orphanotrophus. Unlike our Emperor, I am not your creation.’
‘Black. It was as if the veil were a dark pane over my eyes, as if the blackness of my robes had fouled the entire world.’ Zoe laughed bitterly. ‘I actually thought that one day I would remove my black to enter my bath and find that my skin had taken the colour. Like a Libyan.’ She pressed her hands to her cheeks as if her touch could ascertain that her skin was still its delicate porcelain white; her blond hair, shorn in mourning, had grown long enough to be braided and brought in little rows across her head. ‘I hated the colour because it could never display my grief. It was a parasite, enjoying the moment of my tragedy without feeling anything in return. If I were to wear black again, it would make my skin crawl.’
‘There is nothing dark about the vision I see now, Mother.’ The Emperor Michael did not have to invent his flattery. Remarkable, he thought. Like a flower with the ability to shrivel and die and yet return even more brilliant and succulent the next spring. He looked at her flawless skin - perhaps there were a few more fine wrinkles about the eyes, but the spring-blue irises with their gorgeous amethyst flare were as beguiling as ever - and examined the voluptuous silhouette of her simple purple-and-gold scaramangium. The dried leaf was gone. The flower had bloomed again, and desire was the fragrance about it.
Zoe held out her shapely arms and beckoned Michael to sit on the couch beside her. She curled her knees up around him and stroked his hair. "Did you miss your mother’s caresses?’
Byzantium - A Novel Page 71
