The young Prince of Byzantium tried to reassure the man of God. ‘It is what it is, but it is not to be feared.’
‘Sire, I don’t understand, it is Lucifer himself.’ Leo held it as far away as he could without dropping it.
‘Look again, Father.’
With a squint of revulsion, Leo examined the amulet again. As he twisted it in the light he saw something else. Cutting through the stone was a streak of red, like a splash of blood, which, at a certain angle, obscured the face of the Devil.
‘My father told me it carries five messages of abiding truth. The first message of the stone is courage: that we must face up to our fears and anxieties. The second message is discipline: it tells us that only through discipline and strength of will are we able to control the darkness within us. The third message is humility: we are reminded that only God can work the miracles that make the world what it is. The fourth message is sacrifice: just as the sacrifice of the Blood of Christ saved our mortal souls, so we should be prepared to sacrifice ourselves for God and for one another. Finally, the fifth message is wisdom: the wisdom not to be afraid of the stone, but to gain truth from it. The amulet reveals the face of the Devil surrounded by his acolytes, but they are trapped – entombed by the Blood of Christ. It is a sacred amulet and the man we seek has been its guardian nearly all his life. Now I am returning it to him, in the hope that he will feel that I am also worthy of it, thus anointing me as a true sovereign, just as he endorsed my father many years ago.’
As Leo clenched his fist around the amulet and thrust it deep into the pocket of his cassock, the Prince could sense his inner turmoil.
Leo turned to the Prince. ‘Sire, does this man have a name?’
‘My father didn’t give me his name.’
Leo suddenly realized that although he had met the man, he too had no idea what his name might be. He referred to him simply as the ‘Old Man of the Mountain’.
John Comnenus interrupted his train of thought. ‘Go to your altar and pray for us and then get some rest. Rise early and go to this man. You will not be followed, you have my word. Give him the amulet and ask him if he’ll see me.’
Leo responded with relief. ‘Thank you, sire, for understanding my hardship in not immediately doing your bidding. I do know a man who lives high in the mountains. He may be the one you seek but he has asked me to respect his solitude. I will go to him; it will take a day to get there and to return.’
The Prince smiled at the priest. ‘Only a truly honourable man would protect a stranger in such circumstances. The bishop was right: you are a good shepherd to your flock. Come, I will walk with you to your chapel.’
As the pair walked across the clearing, Leo felt uplifted by the Prince’s words and honoured to be entrusted with an object so close to the Emperor’s heart.
John Azoukh began to play his flute. It was a balmy night in a perfect setting, a rare opportunity for the warriors of Byzantium to enjoy a few moments of quiet reflection and to dream of home and their loved ones.
Several hundred feet above them in his high pasture, with his own vivid reminiscences fresh in his memory, the old man had fallen asleep. He now woke with a jolt, his body aching in parts, numb in others. He managed to pull himself upright and slowly made his way to his humble shelter. He was soon asleep again, but not before his thoughts had once more returned to the turbulent events that long ago engulfed his life.
Early the next morning, the Captain of the Guard and a dozen men took Leo to the beginning of the steep path into the hills before turning back to let him make his long journey alone.
The sun had already started its late afternoon decline as Leo reached the high pastures where he knew the man he sought had his simple home. He approached a crescent of open ground fringed by trees with, at its centre, a small wooden hut set hard against the rocks that rose sharply to the crest of a hill behind. It was an idyllic spot from where, on a clear day, it was possible to see the distant shimmer of the Mediterranean, a full two days’ walk away to the west. The basic wooden shelter was a lean-to jutting from the rocks, its roof covered with animal skins weighted down by large stones. The roof extended a little to cover the doorway where a simple frame of interwoven reeds acted as a door. At the back of the hut a dry-stone chimney and hearth had been built.
It was a harsh world in the depths of winter, but today, warmed by summer’s heat and surrounded by meadows bristling with life, it seemed perfect. Two goats were tethered in the open pasture, poultry ran around in aimless circles, neat rows of vegetables and herbs grew against the edge of the rocky backdrop and, over to the east, a small lake was home to a plentiful supply of fish. The surrounding hills, which seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, offered good hunting, with boar, deer and rabbit. As Leo surveyed the scene, he could see several animal skins stretched out to dry in the sun and piles of freshly cut firewood.
It was the distant screech of a hawk that made Leo turn round. As he did so, he saw his quarry silhouetted on a large rock no more than ten steps from him. Leo shuddered at the sudden apparition; the man’s large frame obscured the sun, the rays of which burst around him.
‘This is a surprise visit, Father. You have had a long walk.’
The dark presence spoke firmly and deliberately. Leo averted his eyes as the figure moved away from the line of the sun, allowing its glare to fall on his face.
‘Come to my hearth, we’ll eat. You must be hungry.’
The voice was deep in tone with the croak of age and, although his Greek was good, it had the harsh edge of a foreign accent. Leo decided he should explain himself straight away.
‘I come with a reques–’
Leo was interrupted before he could explain.
‘I know.’
There was almost a sigh of resignation in his host’s voice as he led the priest towards his simple shelter. Leo felt even more ill at ease. How could the Northerner know he was coming? In what mysteries had he become embroiled?
For a while they drank and ate, exchanging simple pleasantries, before Leo again decided to come to the point.
‘I have been given an amulet to return to you. It has been carried here by Prince John Comnenus, the son of Alexius I, and his friend, Prince John Azoukh. They travel with a column of Imperial Guards. It pains me to carry the ungodly thing but it apparently has great meaning–’
Leo was halted in full flow.
‘Are there Varangians among them?’
‘Yes, and Immortals.’
The man’s face creased into a warm smile as Leo handed over the amulet. A large hand clasped it and a pair of deep-blue eyes fixed it in their gaze. The priest noticed the arthritic knuckles, the two broken fingers and the patchwork of scars that disappeared beyond the man’s forearm under the sleeve of his smock. The biggest of them was the width of a finger – a pale, jagged gash across a skin wrinkled by age and desiccated by the sun. Even more striking were the scars on his face. His left cheek was sliced from under his eye to the corner of his mouth, and there were several more souvenirs from a long life of mortal combat. Nevertheless, his face retained a rugged dignity which the sun seemed to have cast in bronze. The scars were like illustrations in a manuscript: what stories could they tell? Who had inflicted them?
‘I wondered if I would ever see this again.’
Leo’s host became quiet as he thought of home, an island kingdom many miles away to the north-west. He could see the chalk cliffs of its south coast. He imagined the verdant swathes of its forests and heathlands and the myriad wildflowers in its glades and clearings. He remembered its pungent odours of burnt ash and fresh manure and the sweet smells of mown hay and woodsmoke. He heard the blether and rush of its brooks and rivers and the din of birdsong and insect life. It had been a much-troubled land but, in his mind’s eye, it seemed timelessly peaceful.
‘What does the amulet mean?’
Leo’s question broke the spell of the old man’s reminiscences of home.
‘It’s calle
d the Talisman of Truth and is said to be as old as time. I first saw it nearly three score years ago. It seems to follow me around.’
‘You make it sound like a curse.’
‘Maybe it is. Some say it is a guiding light, meant for kings, to allow them to see the wisdom of ages.’
‘A prince who will soon be an emperor has travelled here with this Talisman. He asks to speak with you.’
As the Northerner got to his feet, Leo noticed the pain on his face.
‘I sensed that if I lived for another summer, this prince would come.’
The old man paused. Leo noticed that his hand was shaking and that he was wincing from the effort of movement.
‘May I ask how many summers have come and gone in your life?’
‘Eighty-two, Father.’
Leo looked at the man in amazement, not doubting for a moment the truth of the answer, but wondering how a man could live so long, especially a man so heavily scarred by battle. Leo had heard that some men had lived beyond their eightieth year, but he had never met one.
‘You had better make your way home now, Father. Let me fill your flagon and pack some bread and cheese for you.’ The ancient warrior spoke warmly, concerned for a man who had a difficult descent ahead, especially as the last part would have to be negotiated long after nightfall.
‘What will I tell Prince John?’ asked Leo.
‘Tell him that I am honoured to be asked to speak with him. I will be with him as soon as I can.’
‘Will you not travel with me?’
‘No, I have much to do here. It will take me some time to make my way down the mountain. Go to the Prince and ask for his patience.’
As Leo prepared to leave, he could not resist a parting question. ‘You are obviously a man of some repute. May I ask why you are here, on the top of a remote mountain with only goats and wolves for company?’
The old man stared long and hard towards the distant sea before he answered. ‘Father, I have lived a full life and done many things. I have seen most of our world, met all varieties of its feeble humanity and come to understand how weak and inadequate we are. But from here, when I stare into the distance, I am reminded of the strength, wisdom and courage that many people are capable of, especially the most humble. That gives me hope, it keeps me alive. Perhaps it’s kept me alive for this day.’
Leo did not respond, but simply followed the old man’s gaze towards the western horizon.
After a while, the Northerner continued. ‘I came here with the Emperor Alexius many years ago, when he was raising one of the Greek themes for the Imperial Army. Many good men came from these hills and valleys. The old sages told us stories of how the ancients had a sacred temple near here, at a place called Olympia, built in honour of their God, Zeus, where great warriors from the Greek world would compete in contests of war and physical skill. When I retired from the Emperor’s service, I could think of no better place to find solace in my old age.’
‘I know nothing of such a place and I’m not sure it’s part of our Christian tradition.’
‘It isn’t, Father. Many generations ago, Olympia was destroyed in an earthquake, its location forgotten, and in all my years here, I’ve never been able to find it.’
‘Can you not find our Christian God in these mountains to bring you solace?’
‘No, Father. Our “Christian God” has not revealed himself to me too often – not even here, close to Heaven!’
‘Your words are a path to Hell and an eternity of suffering.’
‘I know, Father, but my cynicism is born of bitter experience, both of men and of God. Aren’t we supposed to be in His image? Look into men’s hearts, what do you see, good or evil?’
Leo responded with the philosophical certainty of a priest. ‘With God’s help we can be all the things He wants us to be.’
‘Well done, Father, you know all the right answers; I wish I had your faith.’ He paused and smiled. ‘You should hurry; the sun is making its way towards the west. Go safely. I will see you with the Prince tomorrow.’
His mind racing, intrigued by all that had happened in just a few hours, Leo made his way down the mountain as rapidly as he could.
As he reached the thick forest of the mountain’s lower slopes, a dank mist swirled up from the valley. Increasing fatigue and the dark of the night slowed Leo’s progress.
He found a sheltered overhang in the rocks to rest.
Leo slept fitfully and, when he woke with a jolt, he was cold and wet. His head and neck ached and his legs, made numb under his weight, tingled as the blood rushed to them. He longed for the soft straw and warm furs of his little hut in the clearing below.
The glow behind the mountain suggested about half an hour before dawn. He got to his feet and turned towards the path. As he did so, he saw, standing at a bend in the track just a few paces below him, the mysterious Northerner he had left only a few hours ago.
As Leo’s eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed that the old man had effected a remarkable change in appearance. His long hair was tied back, his beard was neatly trimmed and he had the unmistakable appearance of an officer of the Varangian Guard. He wore a blood-red tunic trimmed with gold and a heavy, ruby-red cloak fastened by an ornate bronze clasp. Over one shoulder, held by a finely tooled leather strap, he carried a large circular shield adorned with the motif of the winged lion of Byzantium. Slung over the other shoulder was a heavy battle sword with a fine gilt handle and delicately worked sheath. Along his heavy belt were leather pouches for two shorter stabbing swords, a small close-quarters axe and a jewelled dagger. Then Leo’s eyes focused on the most fearsome weapon he had ever seen. The shaft was the diameter of a man’s wrist and its head stood almost at shoulder height. Although all Varangians carried a two-handed battle-axe, this was a double-headed version with two huge crescent-shaped blades. Leo wondered what mayhem it had caused and stared in awe at a man who seemed to have shed thirty years overnight.
‘Follow me… and try to keep up!’
Leo did his best, but the old man moved more quickly than seemed possible for someone of his age.
Two hours later, they were close to Leo’s chapel.
As they approached the perimeter guards, the Northerner stopped, drew himself up to his full height and bellowed in the clear, clipped tones of a man used to giving military commands: ‘Be alert in the camp! A former Captain of the Varangian Guard approaches. I am Godwin of Ely.’
He strode into the camp with Leo scurrying in his wake. The picket guards stood aside, clasped their weapons and snapped to attention. As the two men entered the clearing, with the sun just beginning to crest the hillside behind them, the Princes’ men got to their feet. A discernible murmur travelled through the ranks as the older men recognized the gilt and braid of a Captain of the Old Order of the Varangian Guard and saw the double-headed axe, carried effortlessly and balanced halfway down its shaft by a powerful hand.
Leo shuddered as he looked at the faces of the guards when the old man strode past them. Who was this man who could command such instant respect from elite soldiers such as these?
John Comnenus rose as the two approached, but before he could offer a greeting, the visitor addressed him.
‘Greetings, sire. I am your humble servant, Godwin of Ely.’
John Azoukh turned as he heard the greeting, his beard dripping with water from the leather bowl in which he had been washing.
The old man bowed and turned to him. ‘Greetings, Prince John Azoukh. I am honoured to meet you.’
‘Good morning to you. You have surprised us; we did not expect you so soon.’
‘I was told the heir to the Purple of Byzantium wished to see me. To delay would have been impolite.’
As the old man spoke, John Comnenus noticed that his breathing was not as controlled as it had first seemed and that sweat was dripping from his forehead and hands.
‘Please join us. Stewards, bring a chair.’
‘Thank you, sire.’
&nb
sp; ‘Tell me, I am right, am I not, you wear the uniform of a Captain of the Varangians of the Old Order?’
‘You are right, my Prince. I was Captain of the Varangians during your father’s early campaigns. I am an Englishman and I joined the Guard in 1081, the year your father became Emperor.’
‘Godwin of Ely, noble Englishman. Please sit with us.’
‘Thank you, sire.’
As stewards brought food and water, Godwin sat with the Two Johns of Constantinople and Leo took a place on a rock a few feet away.
‘I have come with greetings from my father. He often thinks of you and the many battles you fought together.’
‘Your father is a great man; it was an honour to serve him. How is he?’
‘I am afraid he is dying. His stomach is putrefied, it is slow and painful, but he hangs on through fear of what will happen next.’
‘I am saddened to hear that; it is not a fitting end for a man of valour. The only consolation is that he has the strength to bear it like few men I’ve ever met.’ Godwin looked at the Prince with a sympathetic smile as their eyes acknowledged one another with genuine warmth. ‘You have brought the Talisman of Truth. How may I assist you?’
‘My father told me to come here, to give you the Talisman and ask you to tell me a story. He said it would help me find the wisdom to know what is right and what is wrong.’
Godwin moved uneasily in his chair, as if a great burden had been placed on his old shoulders. ‘I hoped I would never have to tell that story again.’ He paused, as if preparing for an ordeal. ‘My time should have come at least ten summers ago. Every year, as the autumn winds rushed around my home, I felt death coming, but it passed me by. With each spring, I began to realize that I was being granted the extra years for a purpose. When the good priest clambered up the mountain to see me, I knew what it was he carried.’ Godwin spoke quietly, with all the solemnity of his great age, then his eyes brightened a little, as if to ease the tension he had created. ‘Sire, would you grant me just two favours in the telling of my story?’
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