by Tom Harper
I looked up. Sigurd was standing by a pillar beside me, surveying his men with quiet pride. ‘I’ve spoken enough with barbarians,’ I told him. ‘And not nearly enough with my daughters.’
Sigurd nodded. ‘There’ll be more barbarians soon enough. The logothete reports that the Normans will be here in a week.’
‘They won’t cause trouble.’ Weariness spurred my hope, but reason agreed. ‘Word of the Franks’ humiliation will spread to them; they will think again before defying the Emperor openly.’
‘And this time there’ll be no mad eunuch urging them on. Though if there is,’ Sigurd added, ‘he’ll know better than to draw Demetrios Askiates into his schemes.’
I smiled at the compliment, though I did not deserve it. ‘I served Krysaphios’ purposes all too well — he could have no complaint of me. He wished me to discover that the monk was in league with the barbarians, that they plotted to usurp the Emperor, so that he might have a pretext for insisting on their destruction. He judged me perfectly — it was the Emperor’s stubbornness he underestimated.’
Sigurd bridled with mock temper. ‘It was the Varangians he underestimated,’ he told me, waving an arm at the burnished cohorts before him. ‘If not for my sword in that throne-room, Demetrios, your head would now be raised on a Frankish spear. And the Emperor’s beside it.’
I laughed. ‘You are restored to favour now. And the eunuch is gone.’ In my heart I could still find pity for Krysaphios, for the terrible wounds he had suffered and the treachery they had driven him to, but I could not forgive him for balancing the empire on a sword edge.
‘Krysaphios had not learned the lesson of the past,’ I mused aloud. ‘He was of a generation who believed that the imperial office was their tool, to be filled, used or discarded as they saw fit. A generation who turned all-conquering glory to invasion and rebellion in fifty meagre years. They never saw that the throne is too much like a serpent’s egg — most dangerous when it is empty.’
To my chagrin, the Varangian laughed at my melancholy reflections. ‘Will you use the Emperor’s reward to retire and write epigrams? And can this be the same Demetrios Askiates who four months ago was so reluctant to tie his fortunes to those of the Emperor?’
‘Now I have no choice. I am marked as the Emperor’s man, with all the advantage and prejudice that brings.’ When you save a man’s life, I thought, you buy it with a small piece of your own.
In the sky above, a breeze pushed away the scrap of cloud which had covered the sun and I smiled. ‘And you, Sigurd? Are you invited to the Emperor’s banquet, or will you join me for the Easter meal?’
Sigurd swelled. ‘Do you believe that the Emperor would allow himself into a roomful of his enemies without due precaution? I will be in the Hall of Nineteen Couches, watching for any Frank who waves so much as a quail-bone at him.’
I left Sigurd shouting orders at his company, and pushed my way gradually out of the Augusteion towards the Mesi. It felt strange to be watching the Emperor from a distance again, the untouchable statue I had always known; those few days when I had fought and argued and battled with the greatest men in the empire already seemed far removed. Now the crisis was past and his orbit would draw apart from mine, into the rarefied circles where even the most magnificent moved with caution. He would be locked behind a hundred doors, every one watched jealously by an army of functionaries, and his words would come from the mouths of others. Through every tribulation he would maintain a perfect stillness, for he was the keystone of the empire, locking in the vaulting ambition of his nobles and keeping it off the shoulders of the people below. Though a single gem from his robes would have supplied a year of my needs, I did not envy him it.
I turned off the Mesi and followed the road towards my house. The streets were filled with families and children and roasting lambs fresh from the market. The smell made me hungry after long hours standing in the church, and I was glad to see my own family already had the coals dutifully glowing under the meat.
‘Did the barbarians behave?’ Anna stepped away from the spit, leaving Zoe to turn it. ‘Or am I called to the palace to bandage the Emperor again?’
‘Sigurd should see to it that you aren’t needed. Except perhaps to sew up some barbarian skulls. I fear your career at the palace may be finished.’
Anna lifted her eyebrows. ‘For a man who claims to be a master of unveiling mysteries, you can be unduly ignorant, Demetrios. My career at the palace is barely begun, for the empress herself has sent word that she requires a physician to attend her. I think the Emperor will be keen to keep me near, now that he has found me.’
‘I thought you found him.’ The smoke of lemon and rosemary played in my nose, stirring new hunger in my stomach. ‘Bleeding and dying in the corridors of the palace, while his attendants fluttered helplessly.’
Anna poked a knife into the lamb, and watched the oily juices dribble down its side. They spat and popped in the fire. ‘I think this is cooked. Helena is just fetching some bread from the house.’
I rasped my knife over a stone, and began slicing meat off the bones. It was troublesome work, for heat rose off the coals and fat splashed my hands, so I did not hear the footsteps behind me, nor even look when the shadow fell over me.
The sound of a plate crashing against my doorstep drew my attention though. Helena was standing there amid shards of pottery, staring at something past my shoulder like Mary in the garden. I turned, and almost dropped my knife in the fire in astonishment. It was Thomas, seeming taller and broader than ever as he stood over me, yet with a nervous hesitancy in his face.
‘I come back to you,’ he said simply.
I could see he did not speak to me, and I was about to launch a hail of questions when I felt Anna’s hand against my arm.
‘You’ll need another plate,’ she said, nodding to Helena’s feet. ‘At least.’
‘I will bring two.’
Thomas had suffered the murder of his parents, the abuse of the monk and now, I guessed from the scabbed blood on his cheek, the betrayal of his race. He had also saved my life. Sharing my table was the least he was due. How much else he desired I could guess from the silent, awkward looks which he and Helena exchanged, but I would address that later. Now I served him the thickest cut of the meat, filled his cup to overflowing and did not say a word when I saw his hand entwined with Helena’s, nor even when they mumbled an excuse and walked down the street to where the cypress tree grew. It was not a day for argument.
Much later, after the sun had set, I climbed to the roof with a flagon of wine. The streets below were dark, save a few patches of glimmering embers, but the sky was laden with stars. I squinted at them, picking out the ancient constellations which governed our lives. There was Lyra, and Krios the ram and Argo, and a hundred others I had forgotten or could not piece together. When I had named all I could I gave up, relaxed my eyes, and watched the fragmented lights swirl together in patterns of my own imagining. Sometimes beasts and heroes would emerge, sometimes the shapes of leaves or fruits, but most often they were simply the formless weavings of fancy.
Drawing my eyes down, I looked out over the roofs and domes which surrounded me, and let my thoughts descend from the stars to the lands beyond the empire. From the west, I knew, the Normans were coming, and behind them the Kelts, while to the east and south lay a wilderness of Turks, Fatimids, Ishmaelites and Saracens. No wonder the Emperor had more than once nearly died holding their dangers in balance. Doubtless while his empire provoked the lust and envy of the world he would do so again. But tonight his power endured, and under the heavens the queen of cities slept.
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Tom Harper
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