by Tom Harper
‘My secretaries,’ said the Count curtly. ‘So that none may falsely represent what is said.’
The guard eyed us as warily as he had the axe-wielding Varangians, but allowed us to pass into the gloom of the tent. It took some moments for my eyes to adapt, for the only light within came from a three-branched candlestick on a wooden chest, and the dimly glowing coals of an iron brazier. Behind the pole which supported the coned ceiling there was a splintered table, where two barbarians sat on stools arguing; otherwise, the room was empty. The Count strode into the open space in its midst, the only place where he did not have to stoop, while Gregorias and I perched ourselves on a low bench by the door.
Everything that followed they said in Frankish, but by peering at Gregorias’ quick scribbling, and with the odd whispered explanation where his hand lagged their mouths too far, I managed a fair understanding of what passed.
In the time-hallowed manner of ambassadors, the Count began by announcing himself. ‘I am Hugh le Maisne, second son of Henry, King of the Franks; Count of Vermandois. .’
‘We know who you are.’ The interruption was as unexpected as it was abrupt, and came from the man at the right of the table, a tall man with unkempt dark hair and a skin so pale it was almost luminous. It seemed that long use had set his features in a perpetual sneer.
‘And we welcome you, Count Hugh.’ The other barbarian spoke with calm diplomacy, in stark contrast to his companion. His hair was fair, though darker and longer than the Count’s, and the months of travel had given him a weathered complexion which suited him well. He wore a handsome robe of russet cloth, and leaned forward earnestly over the table. ‘We had hoped to find you safe arrived here.’
‘Mincing like a Greek, and dressed like one of their girl-men. Have they made you their whore, Hugh, or clad you with so many gilded lies that you forgot your true countrymen?’
‘Peace, brother,’ the fair-haired man rebuked him. But the Count’s delicate skin was crimson, and his chin quivered.
‘The great Emperor Alexios grants these gifts in honour of my position,’ he squealed. ‘And I wear them of courtesy to him. Have a care, Baldwin no-lands: a single thread of this cloth would buy more than your miserable position could ever afford, yet it is but the least of the magnificence which the Emperor has given me.’ He turned his eye to the other end of the table. ‘To you though, Duke Godfrey, the Emperor will be likewise gracious. There is treasure in his palace the like of which has never been seen in Christendom, and he is eager to bestow it on men of good faith, those who follow the path of Christ.’
The dark-haired Baldwin made to speak again, but his brother stilled him and spoke first. ‘I have not come here seeking favours, Count Hugh, and the true pilgrim needs little baggage on the holy road. Even where the path is most perilous, a sword and a shield and fodder for my mount will suffice me.’ He gestured about. ‘You see my quarters — a bare floor and a place to conduct my business. I need no praise or trinkets from the Greek king, only a safe passage for my men across the straits. If he grants that, I will be gone within the week. I do not wish to dally here.’
The Count shifted on his feet. ‘The Emperor applauds your noble purpose, Duke Godfrey, for your pure heart is well renowned, even in these distant kingdoms. He will happily do all he can to advance your eternal victory over the Saracens. All he asks is your oath that whichever lands you take that once were his, you will restore to him as is his right.’
Baldwin’s fist slammed down on the table, scattering the papers laid over it. ‘He asks what? That we should lay down our lives so his miserable nation of Greeklings can spread their bastard offspring back into lands they were too weak to defend. We fight for God, Count, not for the glory of tyrants. Any lands we win in battle will be our own, earned with our swords and bought with our blood. If your master desires them, he can come and claim them himself. In combat.’
Duke Godfrey frowned. ‘My brother speaks harshly,’ he told Hugh, ‘but there is truth in what he says. I came to serve Christ, not men, and I have already sworn my oath to the Emperor Henry. I cannot serve two masters.’
‘Do not mention the Emperor Henry to the Emperor Alexios,’ cautioned Hugh. ‘It does not please him.’
‘If Alexios gives me the boats to cross the straits, we need never meet. I have no need for the flattery of kings.’
‘And do not call him a king. He commands the reverence due his office, unbroken since the days of the first Caesars.’
Baldwin stood suddenly. He walked around in front of the table, lifted the hem of his tunic, and sprayed a stream of piss onto the floor by Hugh’s feet. The Count leapt back in horror, holding his precious skirts like a girl.
‘I will show the reverence due his office,’ Baldwin snarled. ‘He cannot beg our aid and then treat us as villains. Tell him that he will let us pass, or he may find he no longer has a kingdom left to rule.’
‘If you ever had any title of your own, Baldwin Duke of nowhere, you might have the least idea what it is to rule.’
‘Better no land at all than to fuck it out of a Norse princess like you, Count.’
‘Enough!’ Duke Godfrey raised himself to his feet. He too was a tall man, though lesser than his brother. ‘There should be no quarrel between us here. You have come as the king’s ambassador, Count Hugh, so tell me plainly: how soon can we make the crossing of the straits?’
Hugh pushed out his chest like a songbird. ‘As soon as you have sworn the oath he demands, to restore his rightful lands.’
‘You know I cannot.’
‘Please, Duke Godfrey, you must. Or at least come to the palace with me. My lord Alexios invites you to celebrate the feast of Saint Basil with him, to savour his hospitality. He is a reasonable and generous man; I am sure an hour in his company would convince you of the value of an alliance.’
Godfrey shook his head wearily. ‘I do not think that would be helpful.’
‘And who is to say that if we enter his city we will come out again?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘I have heard that the brother of the king of the Franks went in a free man and came out a slave, bound in golden chains and with his balls cut off. What will the king of the Greeks do with us, once we are inside his fortress? I would sooner walk unarmed into the court of the Saracen caliph, for at least he would stab at me in the chest.’
‘I think what my brother means,’ said Godfrey uneasily, ‘is that he cannot understand why you would have us parley with this foreign king. He has already shown himself no friend to our people by his treatment of the hermit Peter and his humble army who came before. Now he tries to exact oaths and obligations from us simply to continue our journey? I trust neither him nor his offers. Tell him this: “Worship the Lord your God, and him only serve.”’
‘And tell him also that we are but the vanguard of a greater army, and that soon our ten thousand will be a hundred thousand. We will see if he still dares defy us when they are come.’ Baldwin sat back down at the table, and began to pick grime from his fingernails.
‘I will wait here until he gives me leave to pass,’ said Godfrey. ‘But I will not render myself a hostage in his city. You would do well to consider your own situation.’
‘I will return to the Emperor,’ said Hugh, furious. ‘And remain his honoured guest. Think of that when the rains come, and the water rises under your humble bed of straw; when your sword and armour rust and the fever infests your limbs. Then you will regret this show of pride. But the Emperor is a merciful man: when you decide to show him the honour he is due, he will greet you like a lost son. Until then, you can rot here.’
16
I had hoped to have an hour or two to probe around that camp with Father Gregorias, to see if I could glean any sign of the monk having been there, but that was clearly impossible. Duke Godfrey might have managed a bare civility, but his brother Baldwin’s crude spite was closer to the mood in the faces which surrounded us when we emerged. As we remounted, I saw that Count Hugh no longer took his place at the he
ad of the procession, but dropped back so that he was in the midst of the Varangians. Gregorias and I had no such fortune: we were at the rear again, and had to endure a strained half hour in the fear that we might be dragged from our horses and butchered, or find an arrow between our shoulders, before at last we came through the Patzinak cordon.
At the Gate of Lakes we halted again, this time for Hugh to leave our column and pass through another gate into the first courtyard of the new palace. Remembering Krysaphios’ instructions to report to him there, I followed.
Against the decadent sprawl of the old palace, expanded out over many centuries, the new palace was a compact building whose growth was purely, dizzyingly vertical. It was built on a hill, with a commanding view over the Golden Horn to the north and the line of the ramparts to the south. Much of the brickwork was as yet unplastered, but there was none of the chaos of construction that I had seen at Domenico’s house.
A boy came and took our horses, while a guard led us up a steep stair to a high terrace, where two sets of bronze doors brought us into a high-vaulted room. There was neither ornament nor decoration on the walls, and the marble floors were of the simple, modern style. But the view at the end was breathtaking, a row of full-length, arched windows looking out to the dark sprawl of the barbarian camp. The room must be built atop the great walls themselves, I thought, on the outermost line of our defences. It would take a confident man to stand by those windows, and I noticed that neither of those present chose to risk it.
‘Count Hugh. What success?’ It was Krysaphios, interrupted in his conversation with the Sebastokrator Isaak.
‘None.’ Hugh crossed to a finely wrought chair, inlaid with gold, and slumped into it. ‘They are impossible, my countrymen, full of false pride and toothless threats. They have no love of nobility, no respect for their betters. I cannot talk to them.’
‘Threats?’ Isaak looked at him keenly. ‘What threats?’
‘None that would trouble a man of your power. They say they want only boats to cross the straits, and then they will depart. But they will not swear the oath the Emperor demands.’
‘With boats they could attack the sea walls, divert our strength.’ Isaak paced the room in agitation. ‘What exactly did they threaten?’
Hugh wiped an ornate sleeve across his brow. It came away smeared with grime. ‘They said they were merely the vanguard of a greater army — this is as I told you it would be — and that the Emperor could not defy them when all their host was assembled. They said. . I cannot recall what precisely. Your secretaries recorded it all, I think.’
Isaak and Krysaphios looked at me.
‘Well, my spying secretary, what did you discover?’ the eunuch asked.
‘Little enough,’ I admitted. ‘They were rarely minded to give answers. There were two of them, Duke Godfrey and his brother Baldwin. Godfrey, I think, is an honest man, though stubborn: he will not be swayed from his path. Baldwin is more dangerous. He has nothing to lose and a fortune to gain, and he burns with pride and envy. I think he means to find a kingdom for himself, and from where he does not care.’
‘And do you think he would go so far as to murder the Emperor to get it?’ Krysaphios’ voice was sharp. ‘Is he in league with the monk?’
I pondered this. ‘I think not. He did not seem a subtle man.’
‘So a subtle man would have you believe.’
‘He said also that they were here at the Emperor’s invitation. Is that true?’
‘Hah.’ Isaak stopped his pacing and looked at me. ‘Two years ago we sent emissaries to their church to request a company of mercenaries. We did not ask for an army in its ten-thousands, commanded by our ancient enemies and bent on their own ends. They have used our need as a pretext, Demetrios, for it is well known they wish to overthrow our power and install themselves as masters of the east.’
‘I must protest, My Lord,’ said Hugh. ‘I cannot speak for all my countrymen, but certainly for most. We came from noble motives, to free the Holy Land and the great city Jerusalem from the yoke of the Turk, so that all Christians would be free to follow in the steps of our Lord Jesus Christ. Do not let the ambitions of a base few obscure the virtue of the many.’
‘An army bent on liberating Jerusalem avails little when the Sultan holds court in Nicaea,’ Isaak observed. ‘And even less camped outside the walls of Constantinople. If they truly desire to pray by the Holy Sepulchre, then they should swear the oath and be on their way, not bandy threats against the Emperor.
Hugh wrung his hands together. ‘I know that, Lord Isaak. You know that had my army not perished in storm and shipwreck, I would even now be in Jerusalem. But these men are unreasonable, and they suspect the wiles of the Greeks. They will twist sinister meanings even out of your generosity, which I know well to be true Christian charity.’
‘If they will not accept our gifts, then they can do without them until they find their senses,’ said Krysaphios. ‘Send orders to the Eparch that their grain supply is to be reduced. We will see how long they endure empty bellies and the winter rains. And prepare to have them moved across the Horn to Galata. They will be further from mischief, there, and easier to contain.’
‘And what of my responsibility?’ I began tentatively. ‘How do you wish me to proceed?’
Krysaphios glared at me. ‘As you see fit, Demetrios, as you see fit. Whether the barbarian captain would overthrow us or not, I do not doubt that he would seize upon any disruption to work as much evil as he could. So whoever wants the Emperor dead, you had best find him quickly. Now go.’
I returned home in haste, for it was less than a week after midwinter and the days were still short. I could no longer afford to flout the curfew, having lost my Varangian escort when I sent Thomas back to Anna’s monastery, to learn our tongue and our customs, and to keep him away from my daughters. Helena, in particular, had not forgiven me for it, nor for the scolding she had received for her immoderate conduct that morning when I found Thomas in her room. She had persuaded me that nothing more reprehensible than talk had passed between them, and Zoe, unusually, had supported her story, but it had done little to placate me. Nor deterred me from sending the boy away.
It still rankled with Helena. ‘After he was kidnapped and enslaved by that wicked monk, how could you lock him away in a monastery? He’ll go mad.’
‘I doubt the monks of Saint Andrew’s will force a bow into his hands and make him shoot it at the Emperor. And why is there no meat in this stew? The fast ended three days ago.’
‘The fast will continue until the barbarian armies go. At least, that is the rumour. Few drive their beasts to market for fear that they will be seized by a mob of Franks and Kelts, while the animals which do come are bought by the imperial commissary and taken to feed our enemies. So we go hungry.’
‘“If your enemy hungers, give him bread to eat; if he thirsts, then water to drink, for you will heap up coals of fire on his head and the Lord will reward you,”’ I told her. ‘I met the King of the Franks’ brother today.’
‘Was he fat?’
‘He was wearing an enormous, ill-fitting robe. It was hard to tell. Nor did he have coals on his head.’
‘Did he say when they would be leaving?’ asked Zoe quietly. She was at an age when the slightest change in her mood could make her seem almost a woman, or scarcely a child. Now she just looked afraid.
‘The decision is not his to make. They need permission from the Emperor.’
‘Then he should give it to them and let them go.’ Her voice was rising, the words tumbling out, and she was twisting her hair round her finger as she had not done for many years.
I tried to speak gently. ‘Why? Are you hungry, Zoe? The Emperor cannot simply let a horde of barbarians pass through his empire. He must ensure that they are kept from causing injury.’
‘Well he should send them away. The streets are filled with strangers, and there’s no food, and soon it will be the feast of Saint Basil and we won’t be able to celebrate
it properly, and all the time there are a thousand Franks at our gates armed for war. I hate it. I want the barbarians to go, and the city to be normal again.’
‘So do I.’ I put my arm around her shoulder and drew her in to my chest. ‘Doubtless the Emperor will order it that they are gone as soon as is possible.’
He did not. Through a long, wet January the barbarians stayed camped by the head of the Golden Horn, while I searched with ever-mounting frustration for any sign of the monk, whether he even lived or not, and if so whether he was in consort with the Frankish army. I found nothing. After a fortnight I began to doubt myself, to wonder whether he had indeed perished in that freezing cistern. I would have trawled it again, but I no longer commanded any urgency in the palace: with every fruitless day which passed, my meetings with Krysaphios became less frequent, the hours I waited in crowded corridors ever longer.
January passed: the day of the Heirarch Basil, then the Epiphany, and even the feast of Gregory the Theologian, and still — so far as I could see — the barbarians would not demur. Every day brought new rumours: of other great armies at Thessalonika, Heraklea or even Selymbria; of villages raided or livestock stolen; of barbarians stealing through windows in the night. As my business still took me, occasionally, into the palace, I perhaps heard more tales than most, though the gossip in the gilded halls seemed no more reliable than that in the market. And still we went hungry, still the streets teemed with those who had sought refuge, still it seemed that the barbarians were as much our besiegers as our allies.
One evening, a few days before the onset of February, a messenger came to my house, dressed in the livery of the palace.
‘I am come from my master, the Emperor,’ he announced. Water dripped from the hem of his cloak onto my floor.
‘Indeed?’ I had expected this moment for some days now, the news that my services were no longer required. I could not say I would have done otherwise in his position.
