A Death in the Venetian Quarter

by Alan Gordon

  “With all my heart, sire,” said Doukas.

  “Warden,” said Isaakios.

  “Sire,” squeaked the warden, dropping to his knees.

  Isaakios turned to us and smiled.

  “He learns quickly, does he not?” he said. “Warden, I may yet decide not to have you killed. Now, open those cells.”

  Men staggered out of the darkness and became the Emperor’s men.

  “To Blachernae!” shouted Henry, and his men took up the cry all the way back up the Mese, waking the city as they marched and perhaps striking a little fear into the enemy outside the walls.

  Henry commandeered a chariot from somewhere, and I rode beside Isaakios, catching him up on everything that had happened since my last visit. By the time we reached the Blachernae wall, the rest of the Varangians were established throughout the palace and grounds. Their cheers resounded through the courtyard as we drove up.

  Philoxenites came to greet us.

  “Sire, I am your Treasurer, if you will have me,” he said, bowing.

  Isaakios motioned him to come up to the chariot.

  “I understand that you were instrumental in bringing me back,” he said quietly. “An Emperor thanks you.”

  “No need, sire.”

  “Now, a treasurer with no gold is like a shepherd with no sheep. I want you to seize all the possessions of my brother’s family and raise funds any way you can, so long as it’s fast.”

  “It is done, sire,” said the eunuch, gliding away.

  We entered the palace and ascended to the throne room. I guided the Emperor to the throne, one of the few things Alexios was unable to take with him. Isaakios sat down and placed his arms on the armrest. He looked old and shriveled compared to the previous occupant.

  “There used to be some cushions here,” he grumbled. “Someone fetch me some cushions. And a decent robe. If I’m to face the Crusader envoys, I damn well better look like an emperor. Which reminds me, I used to have a wife around somewhere. Does anyone know where she’s gotten to?”

  “Sire, she lives close by,” said a courtier.

  “Good,” said Isaakios. “Wake her up, slit the throat of anyone you find in bed with her, and bring her here. And start dressing this place up as well. I don’t care where you scavenge the drapes from. We may be impoverished at the moment, but I want everything that the envoys see to be the richest they have ever seen in their lives. Who will they send?”

  “A delegation of French and Venetians,” said Henry.

  “We’ll need the Imperial Interpreter,” muttered Isaakios.

  The courtiers looked at each other in consternation. One of them cleared his throat.

  “What?” barked the Emperor.

  “The Imperial Interpreter fled with the Emp—the usurper,” he said.

  “Wonderful,” sighed the Emperor. “Well, find me … Feste, you speak Venetian dialect, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sire,” I said, my heart sinking.

  “And langue d’oc?”

  “Of course, sire.”

  “Good. You are now the Imperial Interpreter. Someone take him, clean him up, and dress him appropriately.”

  And before I could protest, I was led into another room, stripped of my motley, scrubbed of my makeup, and thrown into a blue tunic with a light purple robe.

  “So that’s what you look like,” chuckled Henry as I was thrust back into the throne room. “I can see why you prefer the disguise.”

  The room itself had improved substantially in the short time that I was out. The Emperor was resting comfortably on silk cushions, his robes and buskins the peak of fashion. The walls had been draped with gold banners, and a second, smaller throne had been placed by his. As I took my place by his side, his wife was brought in.

  “Is that you, Margaret?” said Isaakios, sniffing the air. “I remember that perfume. You wore it the last time you visited me. When was that, five years ago?”

  She stood mute, clenching her fists.

  “How does she look, Feste?” he asked.

  “She is quite beautiful, sire,” I said.

  “I like to think that you are as beautiful as the day we wed, my dear,” said Isaakios. “But of course, you were only nine then. I daresay you’ve become a real woman by now. Well, we’ll resume conjugal relations tomorrow. In the meantime, you had better get yourself dressed up. We’re having company.”

  Envoys were sent at dawn to the Crusader encampment. While we awaited their reply, the preparations for parley continued. The road from the Blachernae Gate to the palace was decked with banners and every remaining flower in the city. All the nobles who had remained were charged with appearing in their most sumptuous robes. They were placed along both sides of the street and ordered to stay on penalty of meeting the nastier end of a Varangian axe.

  Soon, we heard cheering from without and the blare of trumpets. The doors were flung open, and a guard announced the envoys from the Crusaders.

  There were two from the army and two from the Venetians. Geoffroy de Villehardouin, Marshal of Champagne, was the leader. He was of some fifty years, with gray hair, a stern mien, and a calculating look. His armor was so fine that I doubted it had ever come close enough to an enemy to receive even a token scratch. He looked about the room as if measuring it for his own furniture and glanced at the bejeweled ladies with an eye of appraisal, but only for the jewels. With him was Mathieu de Montmorency, ostensibly Villehardouin’s superior but more a soldier than a diplomat. He was a pallid man—we learned later that he was deathly ill, despite his valiant command in battle, and would not live another year. The two Venetian representatives were a Tiepolo and some nephew of the Doge, both of whom spent more time spying on their allies than they did watching us.

  Villehardouin stepped forward and knelt before the throne.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said in stentorian tones that reached the farthest corners of the room. “On behalf of the most holy Crusade, I praise God that our assistance has restored you to your rightful throne.”

  “We thank you,” said Isaakios gravely after I translated.

  “We bring words of joy and thanksgiving from your noble son, whose tears first moved us to divert our forces from their original purpose.”

  “Then our own prayers have been answered,” replied the Emperor. “And we seek no further hindrance to your holy quest. We wish you Godspeed and success in your endeavors.”

  Villehardouin smiled.

  “We will leave,” he said, “once the terms of our covenant with your royal son have been met.”

  “What covenant is that?” asked the Emperor.

  “To submit this empire and its church to Rome; to pay the army two hundred thousand silver marks for its service on your behalf to donate, as a charitable gesture, a year’s provisions to the Crusade; and to contribute ten thousand men and arms, along with ships to transport them, to join our venture to Beyond-the-Sea.”

  There was a long pause after I finished translating this to the Emperor. Then he leaned forward on his throne and beckoned to the Frenchman. Villehardouin stepped closer.

  “You must be joking,” muttered the Emperor. I translated, keeping my voice at the same low level.

  “Perhaps we should adjourn to a more private setting,” suggested Villehardouin.

  This was met with instant agreement. The Emperor, the Empress, his newly-appointed advisers plus Philoxenites, the envoys, and I retreated into an adjoining chamber with a large oaken table, normally used for small banquets. Philoxenites closed the door and sat next to Alexios Doukas, who was resplendent in his Chamberlain’s garb.

  “Now, let us talk about the real terms,” said Isaakios. “What do you really want?”

  “Milord, your son agreed to this covenant,” said Villehardouin, unrolling a scroll which he placed before the Emperor. “By oath and sealed charters, witnessed by your royal son-in-law, King Philip of Swabia.”

  “My son was in no position to agree to anything,” said the Emperor e
venly. “He does not sit on the throne.”

  “Not yet,” returned Montmorency, with a hint of menace in his voice.

  “Nor can the terms be met as things presently stand,” said the Emperor. “My brother fled, it is true. But he took most of the Imperial Treasury with him. Had you intercepted him in his cowardly flight, you would have had ample means of meeting all of your needs. A pity that you let him escape so easily.”

  There was a quick huddle among the envoys, with whispers of chagrin floating back to our end of the table. I translated what I could pick up, murmuring in the Emperor’s ear.

  “Our army is still at your gates,” said Villehardouin finally.

  Isaakios shrugged. “But your cause has vanished,” he said. “You vanquished the usurper. If you fight now, it is only for gain, not for honor.”

  “And we outnumber you,” said Doukas in a harsh voice that startled everyone.

  “You outnumbered us yesterday,” said Montmorency acerbically. “Yet we prevailed. You may have as large an army as you like. It matters not when they flee. And who will lead them? That blind, doddering man?”

  “Perhaps I should challenge the Doge personally,” said Isaakios. “A battle of blind, doddering champions. We could sell tickets and use the proceeds to fund your departure.”

  The Frenchmen did not know what to make of this statement, but Dandolo’s nephew actually chuckled.

  “Look, we’re both in a hard place,” said Villehardouin, dropping his showy diplomatic manner. “We’ve been at this for over a year, with precious little to show for it. My fellows must be satisfied. We have your son and heir. Agree to the covenant now, make him co-emperor, as is his due, and meet the terms once things settle down. We’ve seen the display you’ve put on. There’s plenty of gold left in this city. You’re the Emperor—have your treasurer raise the funds from the people, and we’ll be square.”

  “Where’s my treasurer?” muttered the Emperor.

  “Here, sire,” whispered Philoxenites.

  “Do we have enough gold to hold them off for a while?”

  “We can make an installment or two,” said Philoxenites. “But the full amount would take months to meet. Even years.”

  “Then we shall agree, but stall them as long as we can,” said Isaakios. He turned to the envoys. “My friends, our gratitude is boundless, even if our resources are not. We shall accept your terms, on condition that you give us time to persuade our people. The submission of their church will not be taken lightly. We ask that you remove your encampment to Estanor again, and as a token of our good faith, we will send you immediate provision, which should improve the morale of your men greatly.”

  “Agreed,” said Villehardouin, so quickly that I knew he would have settled for much less.

  “Fetch the Imperial Seal,” ordered Isaakios grandly. An adviser whispered something to him. “Well, find something that will work,” he muttered. “What a shambles this is.”

  After a brief delay, something was brought in that looked official. The Emperor’s hand was guided to the appropriate space on the covenant. A quill was dipped in the philter containing the ink mixed with the blood of Our Savior, a relic reserved for only the greatest of occasions, and the Emperor proceeded to sign away the Empire.

  The seals were affixed. We entered the Imperial Throne Room, and a herald proclaimed the terms to the shocked assemblage.

  The gates to the city were thrown open. In the afternoon, Alexios was led in to publicly embrace his father while the crowd cheered uncertainly. The Emperor proclaimed that the boy would be coronated on the first of August, twelve days hence.

  “On the Feast of St. Peter in Chains,” Isaakios said to me as he waved to the crowd. “Too appropriate, don’t you think, Feste?”

  “If I was a fool, I would comment, sire,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my borrowed bureaucratic habiliments. “But I am only an interpreter.”

  “Well, I’d rather you were a fool,” he said. “I’ll be needing some entertainment. In fact, we should have some celebratory games at the Hippodrome. Do this affair right. Go, get your motley back on, my friend. We can get another interpreter, but a good fool is hard to find.”

  I bowed, grateful and relieved, and left to rejoin my wife.

  And so peace was restored to Byzantium.

  NINETEEN

  Lift thy head, unhappy lady, from the ground; thy neck upraise; this is

  Troy no more, no longer am I queen in Ilium.

  —EURIPIDES, THE TROJAN WOMEN

  I chatted with Niketas for a while after Feste left. We strolled out to a balcony, watching Laskaris giving orders in the courtyard. I wasn’t certain that the orders were being carried out, but the servants and soldiers scurried about in a semblance of obedience.

  I spotted my husband returning with Henry but drew no attention to the fact. Shortly thereafter, Varangians began drifting through the courtyard, quietly passing the word. At a quick signal, Laskaris and his men found themselves inside a ring of axes. They were disarmed and led away.

  “Fascinating,” exclaimed Niketas. “This may be the most bloodless coup this city has ever seen.”

  “They haven’t reckoned with Euphrosyne,” I replied. “I think I will go find out what is happening there.”

  “Tell me everything you see,” he begged me.

  Euphy looked as though she had not slept in days. Her hair was a rat’s nest, her crown askew, and her makeup applied so haphazardly that it made her face look lopsided. She was screaming at every servant and lady-in-waiting unfortunate enough to cross her path while waving an old sword that she had found somewhere.

  “We shall attack them at dawn!” she cried. “Fetch me armor. When the men have fled, it shall be the women who shall repel the invaders. There will be no surrender, no suicides. The Trojan women were cowards and traitors to our sex. Fetch me armor!”

  Anna, her middle daughter, rushed into the room.

  “They’ve arrested my husband!” she wailed.

  The Empress turned to stare at her.

  “Who dared lay a hand on Laskaris?” she asked.

  “The Varangians!” cried Anna. “They’re saying Father’s not the Emperor anymore.”

  Euphrosyne drew herself up to her full height.

  “I am the Emperor!” she shouted. “Fetch me the Varangian captains. I shall execute them myself.”

  No one seemed particularly anxious to carry out this order.

  There was a tramping echoing down the hallway, coming closer and closer.

  “Shut the door and bar it,” commanded the Empress. “We shall hold them off from here.”

  Her servants hesitated.

  “Do it!” she screamed.

  Two women heaved the doors closed and dropped an iron bar across it.

  “There’s no other way in,” she declared. “Bring me my bow.”

  She strung it herself and notched an arrow in readiness. The door shook, then a regular pounding began. As the thick planking began to shiver, I inched closer to Euphy. She drew the arrow back steadily.

  The door shattered. Just as the first Varangian poked his head through, I knocked Euphy’s arm up. The arrow sailed high over the doorway and stuck halfway up the wall.

  She turned to me in fury. “How dare you!” she thundered, raising her hand. She swung, but this time I was ready for her. I ducked the blow and gave her a nice, solid head-butt to the stomach. She staggered back, momentarily winded, and collapsed onto her throne.

  The Varangians swarmed in and seized her and Anna. Evdokia came into the room and froze. A Varangian took a step toward her, but the one in charge stopped him with a glance. They placed the two captives in manacles and started hauling them away.

  “You can’t do this!” screamed Euphy. “Someone help me!”

  “Wait,” said Evdokia. The Varangians stopped and looked at her. She stepped forward and ripped the crown from Euphrosyne’s head.

  “Goodbye, Mother,” she said, and the Varangians sta
rted walking again.

  “How could you abandon me, ungrateful child?” cried Euphy.

  “Mother, how could you say such a thing?” smiled Evdokia. “You know that I’ll come visit you. I was always good at visiting prisoners. How is Wednesday?”

  She laughed as her mother and sister were led shrieking out of the room. The servants and ladies-in-waiting took the opportunity to flee.

  Which left just the two of us. She hadn’t noticed me. It wasn’t until she looked into the glass while posing with the crown on her head that she saw my reflection behind her. She whirled around in surprise.

  “Well,” said Evdokia. “How do I look?”

  “You’re not the Empress yet,” I said.

  “I know,” she replied. “But I am closer than I was. By the way, I won’t be needing you anymore. Good day, Aglaia.”

  I walked out of the Empress’s chambers for what would be the last time. Somewhere in the distance I could still hear Euphy sobbing. Then a door slammed shut, and the noise stopped.

  I’m out of a job, I thought.

  Niketas was waiting outside the throne room. He brightened when he saw me.

  “Come,” he said, taking my arm. “I’ll escort you to my home.”

  “What about Feste?” I asked.

  “He’s busy,” he said, chuckling. “He asked me to take care of you. I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

  Niketas lived in a good-sized palace northeast of the Hagia Sophia, in a district called Sphorakion. The entrance was through a low portico that was architecturally unimpressive but eminently defensible from within. His servants unbarred the front gate and welcomed their master with a palpable sense of relief. He, like us, had been up and about since the previous dawn.

  I was given a room that was far above our current status, with a bed so soft that my eyes closed the minute I lay upon it. When I woke, it was afternoon, and I was starving. I staggered down to the kitchen, where I was taken in hand by the cook, a jolly woman in her fifties who immediately divined my pregnancy and loaded my plate over and over, chatting amiably about the eleven times she had given birth, along with reams of advice on how to rear children, tame husbands, order about incompetent servants, and generally run the world.