‘It will be an interesting encounter.’
‘Promise me something. Don’t commit yourself to the journey, and don’t let the minister take you in with his flattery.’
‘I trust I’m too mature for that.’
‘You haven’t met him. He’s a spider. You step onto his web with never a thought for the creature that spun it. By the time you feel the strands tremble and tighten, it’s too late.’
A carriage and splendidly accoutred cavalry escort awaited them on the Prosphorion quay. They rattled through the streets, the horsemen clearing the way, citizens peering into the carriage and bowing in a way that made Hero feel rather grand. The Chalke Gate opened before them as if by magic, its white-uniformed guards springing to attention, and they bowled through immaculate gardens before drawing up at the Magnaura entrance. A eunuch with the springy gait of an energetic stork led them through cavernous halls, Hero gawping at the lavish decoration and statuary. He grinned at Vallon.
‘This alone makes my journey worthwhile.’
‘Remember my warning.’
The eunuch flung open ivory-panelled doors and announced the visitors in a fluting alto. Twenty yards away across an exquisite mosaic floor, a dozen grandees broke off their conversations and eyed the newcomers with guarded interest or rank suspicion.
The Logothete, dressed in a blue and silver kaftan, advanced with open arms. He had a velvety white complexion and black serpentine brows that met over a fastidious nose and a fleshy red mouth framed by a silky beard. Hero wondered if he was one of the bearded eunuchs.
‘General Vallon, what a pleasure to see you again.’ He beamed at Hero. ‘And I’m delighted to make the acquaintance of such a distinguished physician and scholar.’
Vallon butted in with no consideration for protocol. ‘Hero has responded to your invitation only out of respect for your elevated rank. In no way does his presence signify any desire to join the enterprise.’
The Logothete made an ambiguous gesture and concentrated his liquid gaze on Hero. ‘I apologise for any misunderstanding. From the enthusiastic way Vallon spoke about you when we discussed the mission, I assumed that he would be delighted to have you at his side.’
Vallon spoke through clenched teeth. ‘My Lord, nothing I said could have given that impression.’
The Logothete kept his gaze on Hero. ‘As a diplomat, it’s my job to search for the true meaning behind words, and from what Vallon told me, I certainly formed the opinion that he would greatly value your presence on a venture of such importance.’ He swivelled to face Vallon. ‘Am I wrong?’
‘You know how much I admire Hero, but —’
‘Good. It seems my judgement was correct.’ The Logothete turned back to Hero. ‘Of course, the decision is yours alone. If you decline, we’ll return you to Italy at our expense and with something to compensate you for the inconvenience you have suffered. On the other hand —’
Vallon interrupted in English. ‘Accept the offer. You can be gone within a week.’
Murmurs rose from the craning onlookers. Whether or not the Logothete understood English, he seemed to gather Vallon’s meaning and frowned in rebuke. ‘If you’d allow me to finish…’ He smiled at Hero. ‘Naturally, if you did decide to join the embassy, we would reward you well, more than making up for the income you would have earned from your practice.’
Vallon attempted to speak. ‘My Lord —’
‘General, a gentleman of Hero’s intelligence can surely decide for himself.’
Hero avoided Vallon’s eye. ‘I would need to hear all the details before reaching a decision.’
‘Excellent,’ said the Logothete. ‘And after our discussions, perhaps you’d favour us with your company at an informal meal. I’d very much like to question you on some details about your travels in the north, particularly the time you spent in Rus.’
‘My pleasure.’
With a triumphant glance at Vallon, the Logothete turned to the other guests. ‘His Excellency, Duke Michael Skleros, imperial ambassador to the court of the Song emperor. Allow me to present General Vallon, commander of your escort, and his companion, Hero of Syracuse.’
It was all Hero could do to hide his shock. ‘Ugly’ didn’t do justice to Skleros. His appearance was repulsive – a fat and stunted body with a disproportionately large head on no neck to speak of, tiny mole-like eyes and a sagging bottom lip, long in the hip and short in the shank. Hideous. Hero should have felt pity for someone so ill-favoured, but somehow the man left him feeling obscurely menaced.
Vallon made a bow. ‘I’m honoured to serve such a distinguished servant of the empire.’
Skleros extended a podgy, manicured hand as if he expected Vallon to kiss it. ‘General,’ he said. For Hero he managed only a nod and flutter of the fingers.
The Logothete massaged his palms. ‘General, we haven’t been idle since our last meeting. We’ve received the guarantees of safe conduct through Seljuk territory. We’re gathering supplies and have requisitioned transport for the Black Sea voyage. You’ll sail to Trebizond in four ships. One will carry your military escort, the second Duke Skleros and his entourage, and the others the horses and supplies.’ At a click of the Logothete’s fingers, a clerk hurried to press documents into the hands of Vallon and one of Duke Michael’s retainers. ‘Inventories. Examine them carefully. If you spot any omissions or deficiencies, bring them to my attention immediately.’
During the ensuing discussion, Vallon sidled up to Hero. ‘I trust that your encounter with the ambassador has banished your illusions.’
‘He certainly has a most unfortunate appearance. I can only assume that the emperor chose him for other qualities.’
‘Such as? His sneering condescension. Imagine being stuck with that bloated snob for the next three years.’
The Logothete clapped his hands. Double doors opened. ‘If you’d care to follow me.’
Trailing behind the duke’s party, Hero entered an antechamber artfully lit to display a hoard of treasures heaped on a table.
‘These are the gifts for the Song emperor.’
The company circled the table, murmuring their appreciation. Hero didn’t know where to rest his eyes. Two gold goblets set with amethysts and cabochons. A silk gown dyed purple with murex and embroidered with precious metals and pearls. A water clock mounted in a gilt bronze case. Icons depicting Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary painted in encaustic by a master. A silver dish bearing a niello monogram of the emperor. Two lustreware chargers, one painted with a dromon, the other with a hunting scene…
The Logothete leaned towards Hero. ‘Fit for an emperor, would you say?’
Hero passed a hand over his eyes. ‘They’re wonderful objects.’
The Logothete craned closer. ‘But? Don’t be scared to speak out.’
One by one all turned until Hero was the focus of attention. ‘My worry is that the emperor of China already possesses treasures beyond price.’ Hero stroked the gown, a fabric so gorgeous that a wealthy man might labour all his life and never earn enough to possess it. ‘Silk? It was China that originated the craft of silk-making.’ He pointed at the icons. ‘The Chinese worship their own gods and ancestors.’ He picked up one of the goblets. ‘Gold and jewels? Yes, no ruler can have enough of them. The problem is, are you prepared to lavish sufficient to satisfy the Cathay emperor’s appetite? The clock is very fine, but if Master Cosmas is to be believed, the Chinese make their own timepieces, including water-powered chronometers that stand as tall as a house and can track the planets as well as telling the hours. Again, Cosmas told me that the Cathay nobility dine off ceramics fairer and finer than anything crafted by our potters.’ Hero hesitated. ‘I’m sorry if I belittle your treasures.’
The Logothete darted a tight smile at his guests. ‘No, this is why I brought you here.’ He expanded his chest. ‘So, what does Byzantium have to offer an emperor who apparently possesses everything?’
‘Envy?’ said Vallon.
The Logothete m
anaged a pained smile. ‘I didn’t know you had a sense of humour, General.’
Hero smothered a laugh. It wasn’t often Vallon made a joke. He composed his features. ‘It occurs to me that the Cathay emperor might appreciate gifts of a more practical nature.’
The Logothete’s eyes widened. ‘Name them.’
‘Manuals on engineering and medicine, warfare and governance. ‘Also…’ Hero slid a glance at Vallon. ‘The general told me that you hoped to obtain from China the formula for an awesome incendiary.’
‘Fire Drug. Do you know about it?’
‘No, but if it’s so important, perhaps you should consider obtaining it in exchange for Greek Fire.’
The Logothete shook his head, shutting his eyes for emphasis. ‘Out of the question.’
‘But you expect the Chinese to share their own military technology.’
‘If they won’t divulge it willingly, you might have to resort to other methods.’ The Logothete made a dismissive wave. ‘I’ve already been through this with Vallon.’
‘And I share the general’s doubts,’ Skleros said. ‘Any diplomatic benefits we might gain would be wiped out if the Chinese discover that one of our aims is to steal a state secret. Even our lives might be put in jeopardy.’
The Logothete flung up a hand as if warding off something obscene. ‘I didn’t say “steal”. I simply urge you to use whatever stratagems you can devise to obtain the formula. No doubt it will involve the exchange of money.’ The Logothete’s dark eyes roamed across his audience. ‘I have only this to add. Return with the secret of Fire Drug and the emperor will reward you with twenty thousand solidi, to be shared between the duke and the general in the portion of two parts to one.
The guests glanced at each other. Hero boggled. Twenty thousand solidi amounted to more than two hundred pounds of gold. He turned his gaze towards Vallon and found the general’s expression as hard as stone.
‘Will we be armed with Greek Fire?’ Vallon asked.
‘Only for the voyage across the Black Sea. I don’t suppose you want to lug barrels and cauldrons and siphons all the way to China.’
Vallon turned to Skleros. ‘I understand that your retinue will number about forty.’
Skleros flicked a look at him before addressing the Logothete. ‘Since you’ve encouraged us to speak our minds, allow me to express mine. I mean no disrespect to General Vallon, but our embassy would carry greater prestige if the commander and his troops were Greek. After all, you as minister for foreign affairs would be less inclined to take an embassy seriously if the majority of the party were foreign mercenaries.’
The Logothete’s mouth opened in anticipation. ‘Do you have an alternative?’
A bubble formed on Skleros’s lower lip. ‘Yes, I do. Justin Bardanes is a noble lord with a distinguished military record and a subtle grasp of diplomacy.’
The Logothete seemed to sadden. ‘Bardanes plotted against the emperor and has shown no distinction in the field except to demonstrate how smartly he can retreat. I can’t discern any recommending feature except for the fact that he’s your cousin.’
Skleros reddened. Giving him no time to protest, the Logothete stabbed a finger in Vallon’s direction.
‘Whereas the general’s credentials are beyond question. You all know about his extraordinary travels and his exemplary valour at Dyrrachium. If you have reservations about his appointment, voice them to His Imperial Majesty. I’ll arrange an audience if you wish.’ The Logothete’s voice dropped. ‘But know this: it was our emperor, the grand and hallowed Alexius Comnenus, who personally selected Vallon for the mission.’
Skleros slunk back. ‘I’ll say no more.’
The Logothete bestowed a wide smile on the company. ‘Then let’s go in to lunch.’
The Logothete seated Hero on his left and quizzed him on various matters pertaining to his journey to the far north, the minister displaying an impressive grasp of geography and foreign affairs. The conversation turned to medicine and science, and here again the minister demonstrated an admirable breadth of knowledge. After listening to Hero’s account of his work as a physician, he made a gesture that took in part of the palace behind him.
‘The Magnaura has a fine library containing many rare medical texts. Perhaps you’d like to explore its treasures.’
‘It would be a dream come true.’
‘Is there a particular author whose works you’d like to study?’
‘One of the physicians I most admire is Hunayn ibn Ishaq. He wrote a text called Ten Treatises of the Eye that I’ve been trying to track down for years.’
The Logothete’s eyebrow formed a sinuous line. ‘The name is familiar. Excuse me while I enquire.’ The merest tilt of the head brought a clerk hurrying to his side. Their quiet exchanges ended in a brilliant smile aimed at Hero.
‘We have two copies – both in the original Arabic, one of them penned by Hunayn himself. You’re welcome to copy it, or if you prefer, I can assign the task to one of my antiquarii.’
‘I would prefer to translate it myself. Even the most sensitive of scribes tends to make errors of interpretation when dealing with specialist subjects.’
‘I understand.’
Conversation turned to other matters. Hero found the Logothete an engaging and stimulating host and was rather disappointed when the minister rose to signal that the occasion was over. The minister escorted him to the door.
‘I would have liked to talk longer. Unfortunately, I have to rehearse a formal reception for the Venetian ambassador. Let us meet again at your convenience. In the meantime…’ The Logothete handed Hero a small codex volume bound in ivory.
Hero opened it. There on the title page was Hunayn ibn Ishaq’s signature in flowing calligraphy on papyrus. His bemused gaze darted up.
‘A gift,’ said the Logothete. ‘Consider it small recompense for any misunderstanding I might have caused.’ He raised a hand. ‘No, no. I insist.’
‘Thank you,’ Hero said. ‘Thank you.’ He looked around with delight, his smile withering under Vallon’s jaundiced leer. He cupped a hand to his mouth and whispered in English, ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘Said the fly to the spider.’
VIII
Hero moved his table to catch the early morning light and opened the book. He had long admired Hunayn ibn Ishaq for his breadth of scholarship, but until now he’d been able to read only a fraction of his work, and that in poor translations. Hunayn, a Nestorian Christian born in Iraq at the beginning of the ninth century, had studied medicine in Baghdad and mastered Greek and Persian in order to translate scientific treatises written in those languages. He was no mere copyist, though. He interpreted and refined, applying his own practical experience to the books he rendered into Arabic or Syriac, and he also wrote more than a score of original works, including the Ten Treatises. His reputation stood so high that the caliph had appointed him his personal physician and placed him in charge of the House of Wisdom, a school dedicated to the transmission of classical knowledge.
Hero leafed through the pages and came upon a detailed drawing of the human eye, all its parts illustrated. He studied it for some time before turning back to the beginning.
Peter interrupted to ask if he would be joining the household for breakfast, but Hero was so absorbed that he declined the invitation without raising his eyes from the page. He had read about half of the book when someone knocked on the door. He covered the text with his hand.
‘Come in.’
Vallon entered, bade Hero a good day and crossed to the window. He stared across the strait. ‘I’ve arranged your return passage. A merchant ship sails in three days. You’ll slip aboard just before she casts off. You’ll be beyond the Logothete’s reach before he discovers that you’ve gone.’
Hero rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry to have put you to unnecessary trouble. I hope you didn’t pay the fare in advance.’
Vallon turned. ‘You’re going on that ship if I have to carry you aboard myself.
’
Hero gave him a quick look. ‘Have you noticed anything amiss with my eyes?’
Vallon’s brow furrowed. ‘I know your vision isn’t sharp.’
‘Examine my left eye. Closer. Do you see it – a veil over the iris? The clouding is caused by what the ancients called a “cataract”, or “foaming water”. Every month it grows thicker. The condition doesn’t correct itself. It becomes more acute with time and usually spreads to the other eye. If left untreated, I calculate that in five years I’ll be blind.’
Vallon’s throat pulsed. ‘All the more reason to spend those years in profitable study rather than wasting them on a foreign adventure.’
Hero continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Apart from the company of friends, reading is my greatest delight. Without books I can’t acquire the knowledge I need to advance my medical skills. Without clear vision, I won’t be able to practise those skills. In short, if I lost my sight I would lose my purpose.’
Vallon splayed a hand across his face. ‘Hero…’
‘I come to the point. The book the Logothete gave me discusses diseases of the eye and their treatment. Cosmas told me that physicians in China have perfected an operation to remove cataracts by surgery. There. Isn’t that a good enough reason to make the journey?’
Vallon swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised.’
‘So let’s agree that my mind is settled. Actually, it was settled the day I arrived.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Vallon said in a husky voice.
‘Quite sure. My motives are selfish, but I hope that what skills I’ve learned as a physician will prove useful on what I know will be a difficult journey.’
Vallon hung his head. ‘Oh, Hero. You don’t know how much your…’ He broke off, his hand going to the hip where his sword should have hung. Hero heard a shout. Vallon wrenched open the door and Wulfstan appeared, almost falling over himself in glee.
Imperial Fire Page 10
