A Death in the Venetian Quarter

by Alan Gordon

  “What?” asked Rico.

  “That I had set aside some bread to bake this morning.”

  He looked out at the expanse of smoldering embers that had until recently been our neighborhood.

  “I think it’s probably done by now,” said the dwarf, and he left me on the balcony, wondering where my husband was.

  EIGHTEEN

  He who had been blinded was ordained to oversee all things.

  —NIKETAS CHONIATES, O CITY OF BYZANTIUM

  Night fell, but no bonfires lit the seawall. There was nothing left to burn. Around me, citizens roamed through what was left of the neighborhood, salvaging what they could from their homes. Thieves flitted through the shadows, sifting the ashes for anything of value.

  I sat on a low wall by the monastery, watching it all like a hawk. Or more like a vulture. Then I glimpsed a strange sight: a royal procession emerged from Blachernae, consisting of chariots, wains, and Imperial Guards.

  When an Emperor merits a triumph in this city, he enters through the Golden Gate amidst cheers and banners, and everyone lines the streets and cheers him on. I guess one would call this little parade a defeat. No one came out to watch Alexios Angelos skulk out of the city. No one except for a tired, sooty fool.

  The Emperor was leaning back in a large chariot, a quartet of stallions pulling it along, their hooves wrapped to muffle his departure. His legs were propped up on cushions, and the flutist was kneeling by him, massaging his feet. Irene sat behind them, looking tearful and resigned.

  “Hail, sire!” I called as they approached.

  He motioned to his charioteer to slow down, and I trotted alongside.

  “Well, Fool, I must bid you farewell,” he said. “You will be one of the people I shall miss.”

  “You are most kind, milord,” I said. “But you have a musician by your side to give you comfort.”

  “That I do, that I do,” he said, stroking her hair. She managed to smile at him while at the same time shooting me a look of pure hatred.

  “Now, this isn’t surrender, mind you,” he said.

  “Of course not, milord. Who could think that the Emperor would surrender his empire?”

  “Exactly,” he said, subdued. “The Empire is wherever I am. Divine Providence has seen to my survival.”

  “You are truly blessed, milord.”

  “Yes,” he said, brightening. “Blessed. That’s the word. I still reign, have troops to command, money to pay them, my musical treasure for companionship, and a newly marriageable daughter, eh, sweetheart?” He reached back to pat Irene’s knee. She cringed and buried her face in her hands. He turned back to me.

  “She’ll get over it,” he assured me. “Not the first husband she’s lost. But I’m saving her for an alliance somewhere. Daughters are quite handy when it comes to that sort of thing.”

  “Your wife, milord?” I asked.

  “Where?” he cried in alarm, looking over his shoulder. Then he regained control of himself. “Well, yes, my wife. Need to leave someone here to run things for me, don’t I? What she always wanted to do. I’ll leave the city to her. And Laskaris. I always liked him. Capable fellow. I’ll make him my heir someday if Irene can’t catch me a better one.”

  Irene started wailing.

  “Oh, do stop that, the journey’s going to be long enough as it is,” he muttered. “Well, Fool, thank you for all the funny stories and songs. Good luck. And if you see my wife, give her my regards.”

  And he rode off, chuckling to himself.

  I watched the wains go by, guards escorting them on both sides. They must have taken every surviving horse in the army. Then, as I was about to turn and leave, I saw a pair of donkeys pulling a familiar-looking cart.

  Rico reined his animals to a halt when he saw me.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” I demanded.

  “I think they said Develton,” he replied. “That’s somewhere up north, but they’re going the long way round. Don’t want to risk any inadvertent encounters with a real army.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Someone has to keep an eye on him,” he said. “Do you know what’s in those wains? Most of the Imperial Treasury. I saw them loading it. He’s down, but by no means out. He has an army, gold, and Irene, and with those three things he can make a lot of mischief still. As soon as we get settled, I’ll get word either to you or the Guild.”

  I looked at him, not knowing what to say.

  “Come on, Feste,” he said. “I’m the Emperor’s Fool. It makes sense.”

  I grasped his tiny hand and held it for a moment.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said gruffly. “Give my love to that wife of yours, and good luck with the baby. And teach Plossus how to cook a decent meal before I get back.”

  “We will,” I promised.

  He flicked his reins, and the donkeys followed the wains down the Mese. I watched them until they turned at the Forum Amastrianum and disappeared.

  I was hungry. I couldn’t remember when I had last eaten. I rummaged through my bag and found some dried fruit and some nuts, which I wolfed down, following with the dregs from my wineskin.

  I picked my way through the rubble, trying to figure out where our house once was. Eventually, I found the ruined walls outside the courtyard, and stepped over the stones that had made up the archway at the entrance.

  The house itself was a pile of charred stones and ashes. I stirred through them, finding only a few copper pots, and even these were twisted and deformed by the conflagration whose fading heat I could feel even now through the soles of my boots. I stood where I thought our bedroom had been, where our child had been conceived. I wished the bed had survived. What I wanted to do more than anything at the moment was sleep.

  “Twas the heat of our passion that caused all this,” said Aglaia lightly as she came up behind me.

  I turned around and pulled her to me.

  “You live,” I whispered.

  “So I do,” she said, and she kissed me hard to prove it.

  “Looks like we lost everything,” I said when we finally separated.

  “Things, Feste,” she said, wrapping her arms around me. “We lost things, not everything. Things can be replaced. And speaking of things that need replacing, Philoxenites wants you back at Blachernae.”

  “He does? Why?”

  “To help replace the emperor.”

  “I don’t want to be the emperor.”

  “Why not? At least we’d have somewhere to live. Come, Fool.”

  She led me toward Blachernae.

  The throne room had been stripped of its finery. The remaining bureaucrats milled about, while some I recognized as senators peeked into the imperial bedchamber as if they were gawking tourists.

  Niketas Choniates came up to me and shook my hand warmly.

  “Well done!” he whispered. “I don’t know half of it, and I suspect that’s the half I don’t want to know, but well done, Feste. And you, Mistress Aglaia. If there’s anything I can do—”

  “We need a place to stay,” she said bluntly. “We were burnt out of ours.”

  “You shall stay with me,” he said firmly. “And that other fool as well. It will be a vast improvement over my usual dinner companions. Now, go over to the eunuch. We have work to do.”

  Philoxenites was leaning against the far wall, watching everyone. He grimaced when he saw me.

  “You look like hell,” he observed.

  “They have fires there, I think,” I replied.

  “You’re friendly with that Varangian captain, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Henry,” I said. “Yes, I am.”

  “Get him here as quick as you can,” he ordered. “Smooth things out with him on the way. I’ve sent for the other captains already. Euphrosyne and Laskaris are trying to assert their authority. We need Isaakios on the throne by dawn.”

  “I’ll meet you back here,” I said wearily.

  I left Aglaia with Nik and trotted
out of Blachernae. There was a ramp going up to the top of the seawall. I climbed it and ran along the top, glancing out at the fleet as I did. The Venetians had anchored for the night, but they kept long torches projecting from the sides of their vessels to prevent any low boats or rafts from floating up by them under the cover of darkness.

  The Varangians at the walls and towers had been up as long as I and had been in heavy fighting to boot. They looked close to death but kept up the watch while teams of laborers repaired the damage to the Petrion Gate. It was here that I found Henry, supervising the work. He looked at me bleakly as I approached.

  “You’re wanted at Blachernae,” I said.

  He spat. “Who wants me?” he asked. “Who is left there with the authority to tell me what to do? Who should order a captain of the Varangians by using a fool as an intermediary?”

  “You swore an oath to an emperor once,” I said.

  “And that emperor has betrayed us all. That oath no longer binds us.”

  “Not that emperor,” I said.

  He looked at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “Please come with me, Henry. I am appealing to you as a friend, not as an intermediary.”

  “There is no place for friendship here,” he said. “Cnut’s dead. He was as good a friend and as valiant a soldier as any man could be, but he’s dead nonetheless.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. Come with me, Henry. There isn’t much time left.”

  He picked up his axe and gave orders to one of his men, then walked with me to Blachernae.

  The assembled captains of the Varangian Guard gathered in the office of Constantine Philoxenites. Six burly axe-bearers stood suspiciously on one side of the room. On the other sat the fat, bald eunuch. Between them was a fool, sitting on the windowsill, wondering why he was still here.

  “My good friends,” Philoxenites began.

  “We’re no friends of yours,” said one of them.

  “No fancy words, no appeals to our sense of duty if you don’t mind,” said another.

  “Very well,” said Philoxenites. “The usurper has fled.”

  “Usurper?” scoffed Henry. “You called him Lord until a few hours ago.”

  “To my everlasting shame,” said Philoxenites, hanging his head. “I acted dishonorably. Now, I seek to make amends. I do not intend to turn this city over to that French-loving boy. But the people of Constantinople will not have any of Alexios’s heirs on the throne. That leaves only one solution. We must restore the Emperor Isaakios to his rightful place.”

  There was shock and anger in the expressions of the captains. Henry stepped forward.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “We forswore our most sacred oath to Isaakios on your representation that the Greeks would not allow a blind man to rule them. Now, you’re telling us that we should put him back on the throne, just like that, and forget all about the oath and the renunciation and the oath we swore to the man you now call a usurper. Do I understand you correctly?”

  “Oaths are just formalities, Captain,” said Philoxenites.

  “Not to Varangians!” shouted Henry, and the others nodded.

  “All right, Captain. You have convinced me that our actions dishonored you. Obviously, reparations must be made.”

  “You’re trying to buy us off?” asked Henry in disbelief.

  Philoxenites shrugged.

  “We cannot change the past,” he said. “We can only make amends. Will you let a matter of honor stand between you and the safety of this city?”

  “We don’t give a rat’s ass about this city,” said Henry. “We fight for honor.”

  “Honor alone?” exclaimed the eunuch. “If only I had known from the beginning that there was no need for paying you.”

  Henry glowered, his fingers playing along the handle of his axe.

  “What shall it be, Captain?” asked Philoxenites. “How shall honor be placated?”

  Henry held up his forefinger. “One,” he said. “There will be no oath sworn to the Emperor.”

  “Done,” said the eunuch.

  “Two,” said Henry. “We protect Blachernae from now on. What’s left of the Imperials will be under our command.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Increase our pay by half again as much.”

  “I’ll have to see what’s left in the Treasury,” said Philoxenites. “If there’s enough, I will see to it.”

  “Four,” said Henry. “When Isaakios dies, the Varangians are consulted as to who becomes Emperor.”

  Philoxenites smiled. “As you are being consulted now, Captain. I agree to your terms, and here is my hand in pledge of it.”

  I have seen Varangians take on ten times their number with less reluctance than Henry displayed in shaking the eunuch’s hand. But the deal was struck, and soon after, I found myself walking with him at the head of a Varangian company back down to Chalke.

  “Bargains made at night will seem dearer in the light,” he muttered. “My old grandam used to tell me that when she took us to market. I wish she were here now. She was a greater battle-axe than any I’ve ever carried.”

  “You had better give me yours right now,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “If you’re going to start telling jokes, then the fighting will fall to me perforce.”

  “I am too weary for both jokes and fighting, Feste.”

  “Then let us keep a peaceful silence until we come to our journey’s end, my friend.”

  Past the great Horologion we marched. Too dark to see the hour. I sensed that the city lay awake around us, tossing and turning on the uneasy ground on which it rested. We turned right, through the gates to the Great Palace, and banged on the doors of Chalke Prison.

  It was some time before they opened. A sleepy servant of the warden’s looked at the axes gleaming in the torchlight and woke up quickly. He tried shutting the doors, but Henry belied his declaration of weariness by seizing him by the throat and tossing him into the street.

  The Varangians burst through the entryway with me following at a safe distance. The warden came out with several prison guards behind him. He took in the scene with surprise.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted.

  “We have come for Isaakios Angelos,” said Henry. “Be so kind as to turn him over to us.”

  “I see,” said the warden, nodding sagely. “The Emperor is finally having him executed. I can’t say that I’m surprised. I never understood why he let him go this long.”

  Henry began laughing, his comrades joining in. The warden relaxed and sat behind his desk, a pinched smile being his sole contribution to the general merriment.

  “I’m afraid you have it wrong,” said Henry when it subsided. “Isaakios is being restored to the Byzantine throne. Alexios has fled. Now, turn him over so that we might escort him to Blachernae.”

  The warden looked around, still smiling, thinking he was the butt of some joke. But the smiles had vanished from the faces of the axe-bearers. Slowly, the bureaucrat turned pale.

  “By whose authority is this?” he choked out. “Let me see the orders.”

  “Very proper,” said Henry. “Quite correct. Let me see, where did I put them?” He patted his armor with his hands, searching. “Ah. Here, this should satisfy you.” He held his axe high over his head with both hands, and with a swift blow he cleaved the desk neatly down the middle.

  “That is my authority,” said Henry. “Just open those gates, will you?”

  The warden looked at the splintered remains of his only piece of official furniture. The prison guards stood back and nodded to their brother Varangians. The warden looked around the room and realized he was alone. He stood, pulled his keys from his waist, unlocked the padlock, and shoved the door open, then turned and beckoned to Henry to enter.

  “You had better come with us, hadn’t you?” said Henry, gripping the warden’s elbow. “There’s more use for those keys now, isn’t there? Lads, fan out.”


  His men spread through the prison as if it was the sort of thing they did regularly. The prisoners woke with the noise and pressed against the bars of their cells, silent. They didn’t know whether the soldiers meant freedom or execution.

  Henry, the warden in tow, and I walked to the last cell. Isaakios sat on the edge of his bed, his hands folded in his lap.

  “I hear armor,” he said. “Soldiers. And keys. That would be the warden. And the jingling of bells on a cap. Is that you, Feste?”

  “It is, sire,” I said.

  “Are these the soldiers of hope of which we spoke, Fool?”

  “They are, sire. Will you come with us?”

  He stood.

  “Soldier, give me your name,” he said.

  Henry knelt.

  “Sire, I am Henry, Captain of the Varangians at the Hodegon Garrison.”

  “I know you,” said Isaakios. “You were with me at the Double Column last year. And, if my memory serves, you were a strapping young Englishman who came to the guard when I still had eyes and a throne.”

  “Your memory is correct, sire,” said Henry. “We cannot restore your eyes, but we can restore your throne.”

  Isaakios hesitated. “My brother,” he said. “Does he live?”

  “He fled the city a few hours past,” I said. “The Crusaders will resume their assault in the morning. The people cry for your leadership.”

  “Do they?” asked Isaakios. “Well, then I must not disappoint them. Warden, put your keys to use.”

  Henry shoved the warden forward, and the cell was opened. Isaakios drew himself up and stepped with authority through the door. When he reached the aisle, he turned and faced us.

  “There are several others here who I would have released,” he said. “They are my supporters, and I will need faithful men to serve me. They are all in the four cells next to mine. Alexios Doukas, are you awake?”

  “If this is not some heavenly dream to see you out of your cell, sire,” cried the bushy-browed lover of Evdokia.

  “Good,” said Isaakios. “You have been the source of much good advice since I have been here. I need a new chamberlain. Are you willing?”