One of these, Odric by name, often practiced with me with swords. He was a stalwart, powerful man, skilled with all manner of weapons, and at first he bested me. But as my strength returned and my old skills came back, I often bested him—yet not as often as I might have done as I needed his help.
One day, while resting after a hard bout I explained what I was doing, copying the ancient book on the art of war and the lessons it taught. He had many questions, and what I hoped for happened. He mentioned me to Manuel.
The Emperor was a fine soldier, extraordinarily strong and active, intrigued by all that concerned war and fighting. He suggested Odric bring me to him.
We entered by the postern gate, passing into a secluded garden where trees offered shade, where jasmine, rose, and lilies grew. The Emperor was seated on a bench overlooking the harbor.
His hair was gray, but he was a handsome man, his features blunt and less classically handsome than those of Andronicus.
He arose quickly and turned to greet me. The laugh lines in his seamed brown face deepened.
“It is proper,” he said, “that I rise in the presence of one who does not kneel to kings, and whom kings do not interrupt.”
“Your Majesty is well informed.”
“It is the necessity of emperors. Tell me, what did you think of Andronicus?”
“A brilliant, interesting man, even a fascinating one, but utterly unscrupulous and dangerous to the empire as well as to you.”
“Know you not that he is my cousin?”
“Your Majesty, my ancestors were, as you know, advisers and confidants of kings. One rule we had: We told our kings the truth or what we believed to be true.”
“It is a rare quality,” he said quietly. “It is no wonder you were not interrupted by kings, nor that you sat at the head of the table.”
“We had only our wisdom to offer, Your Majesty, and only our truth.”
“So then, what would you have me do with Andronicus? You believe he would like to be emperor, do you not?”
“Yes, he would like to be emperor. There is nothing he would not do to be emperor. What should you do with him? As you are doing. Keep him, by all means. He will be the focal point for all your enemies, and while he lives, there is not likely to be another.
“Keep him, value him, and by watching him you will know by his associates who your enemies are. They will come to him as flies to honey, and to no other so long as he lives.”
Manuel turned to his bodyguard. “You were right, Odric, this is a valuable man.”
He turned back to me. “You have said he was both brilliant and dangerous. Should I not fear that his plotting will destroy me?”
“No, Your Majesty. You know your enemy well, better than he knows you. Andronicus believes he is much more clever than you, and this will never permit him to guess the truth, that you are using him for a purpose. Also, I suspect Andronicus plots better than he acts.”
Manuel stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “And you have been in Constantinople for only a matter of weeks? I fear how much you would learn if you were here for months!”
“Perhaps less; before too many factors are involved the vision is often clearer. There was once a man who preferred to visit a city before he learned the language. He believed he could better estimate its quality before hearing the comments of its citizens. He depended on what he could see, hear, and sense.”
He asked about our defeat by the Petchenegs, or Cumans, as he called them. In detail I described their numbers, leadership, and attack. I described our retreat, our defense. Knowing him for a soldier, I gave a clear outline of the strategy and tactics of our defeat.
“Your Hansgraf was too good a man to lose. Had he come to Byzantium, I should have given him command of an army.”
For more than an hour we talked, of wars and men, of tactics and the means to victory.
“There,” he said suddenly, “lies the weakness of our city.” He pointed across the Golden Horn toward the narrow harbor beyond. “If ships could get inside our great chain, the city might fall.”
He glanced sharply at me. “When next you see Andronicus will you speak of this visit?”
“He will know of it, I am sure. Andronicus is one who would have many spies.”
“And what will you say?”
“That I had a book to give you, in return for which I hoped a favor.”
“The book is in Greek?”
“It is now.” I handed it to him. “It came from a Persian source.”
He opened the pages, glanced at them, became enthralled. The sun lowered; the garden grew cool. Glancing up, he said, “Please seat yourselves. I shall be long.” He read on, occasionally turning back a page or two.
“You wished a favor? What favor?”
“I wish to get a slave from the fortress of Alamut, and if I cannot get the slave, I intend to enter the fortress.” He stared at me as if he believed me bereft of sense, then shook his head. “The slave?”
“My father.”
“It is impossible. The fortress is impregnable. It cannot be taken by assault, nor is any slave allowed to leave it alive. For years I have sought such a slave or someone who might tell me of the fortress and its defenses. There is no one. Nor is anyone allowed to enter who is not of their cult.”
He stood up. “I should be glad to help, but what you ask is impossible. A dozen kings have tried it or planned it. None have succeeded.”
He handed me the book, but I refused it. “The book was written for you, Your Majesty. Please keep it.”
“I am in your debt. The book is a valuable one.” He paused. “There is a place for you in my service.”
“I am grateful, but I go to Alamut.”
“You will need money. You will need horses.”
“One horse I have; my others were taken by the Petchenegs, although”—the thought came to me—“if I could get word to Prince Abaka Khan, I might buy them back.”
“Abaka Khan has been to my court.”
The sun was gone, a cool breeze came over the water. “I have affairs to which I must attend. I am grateful, Odric, for bringing this man to me.”
He extended his hand. “Think of another service I can do you. It will be my pleasure.”
When he was gone we left by the postern gate, which closed after us. Lights thrust into the darkness of the waters like golden daggers. A coolness arose from the harbor.
“You have a friend,” Odric said.
“I like him.”
“He is a soldier, as strong as any three of my men even today, and he has been emperor more years than I have lived.”
At the end of the street Odric paused. “I return, but be careful. Our streets are unsafe for a man alone.”
“I am not alone,” I told him; “I have my sword.”
46
IT HAS SEEMED to me that each year one should pause to take stock of himself, to ask: Where am I going? What am I becoming? What do I wish to do and become?
Most people whom I encountered were without purpose, people who had given themselves no goal. The first goal need not be the final one, for a sailing ship sails first by one wind, then another. The point is that it is always going somewhere, proceeding toward a final destination.
Until now my task had been to find if my father was alive, and if so where, and then how to free him from slavery.
These were but temporary goals. What was it I wanted? Where was I going? What had I done to achieve it?
Mine was the day of the adventurer. Only a few years before, William, so-called the Conqueror, had led a bunch of adventurers and soldiers of fortune from Normandy into England. Possessing little beyond their courage, their judgment, and their swords, they had taken rich lands and turned them to their own use.
Another Norman family had captured Sicily and built a small empi
re but a rich one. He who had a sword could carve his way to wealth and power, and the kingdoms of the world were ruled by such men or their descendants.
Yesterday I arrived hungry and in rags; today I was the confidant of kings; so can a man’s fortune change.
Yet power, riches, and the friendship of kings are but transitory things. Riches are a claim to distinction for those who have no other right to it. Ancestry is most important to those who have done nothing themselves, and often the ancestor from whom they claim descent is one they would not allow in the house if they met him today.
Great families were often founded by pirates, freebooters, or energetic peasants who happened to be in the right place at the right time and took advantage of it. The founder would, in most cases, look with disdain on his descendants.
To me the goal was to learn, to see, to know, to understand. Never could I glimpse a sail on an outbound ship but my heart would stumble and my throat grow tight.
Up to a point a man’s life is shaped by environment, heredity, and movements and changes in the world about him; then there comes a time when it lies within his grasp to shape the clay of his life into the sort of thing he wishes to be. Only the weak blame parents, their race, their times, lack of good fortune, or the quirks of fate. Everyone has it within his power to say, this I am today, that I shall be tomorrow. The wish, however, must be implemented by deeds.
Within a few weeks my father would be free, or I should be dead.
Beyond that I had not planned, except there was an urge within me to go further into the East, to seek my destiny in the far lands of Hind or Cathay.
Women? Ah, women were the stuff of dreams, made to be loved, and he who could say the reality was less than the promise was neither lover nor dreamer.
Aziza, Sharasa, Valaba, Safia, Suzanne…had I loved any one the less because I had loved the others? Had not each, in her way, contributed to my education? To my appreciation? Even today did I not love each of them still? A little, anyway.
Where lay my destiny? Where beyond the Valley of the Assassins?
To Hind, perhaps? To that far land beyond the deserts? There was much to learn there, and there were dark-eyed girls with soft lips; there were palm trees, white sand beaches, and a soft roll of surf. There were jungle nights with strange scents and sounds, paddles dipping and trade winds stirring the leaves.
He who would see a far land must carry the far land in his heart. The heat, dust, and struggle are a part of it; these were what made the beauties worth having.
In the stillness of many a night I had taken out my maps, those maps I carried ever close to me, safe in their oilskin covering. I studied those maps, but I prepared another.
I prepared a map of the fortress of Alamut, gathering bits and pieces, a word here, a comment there, but nothing I heard boded well for what lay before me. The villagers for miles around were their friends or members of their sect, each one a spy. To get close without those in the castle being informed was impossible.
The Emperor Manuel allowed two weeks to go by with no acknowledgment of my gift. I had all but forgotten when Odric came to my door with others of the Varangian Guard, and with them were my lovely Arabs, the stallion and the two other mares given me by Safia.
Wrapped in a brocaded cloak of the style worn in Constantinople was a jeweled sword with an engraved blade and a magnificent scabbard. The sword was of Toledo steel, an even finer blade than the one I formerly possessed. Along with it were several purses of gold.
And that night there came an invitation to dinner from Andronicus.
Several times I had visited the shop near the Baths of Zeuxippus. Some said these baths were named for a famous Megarian chieftain, others from “the yoking of the steeds,” for according to tradition the Baths stood on the very spot Hercules yoked and tamed the fiery steeds of Diomed. The Baths were built by the Emperor Severus, and rebuilt by Constantine. Utterly destroyed during the revolt of Nika in 562, they were restored with added beauty by Justinian. The Baths were situated only a little east of the Hippodrome.
Talking with the Persian, I found he had changed his tone. He no longer tried to persuade me that what I wished to attempt was impossible, and this aroused my suspicions.
My strength had returned. The weeks of good food, exercise, and swordplay had returned my muscles to their former ability.
On the evening of the dinner given by Andronicus, I wore a magnificent tunic of a large patterned brocade of black and gold with a smaller brocade pattern. On my head a high-crowned, turbanlike hat with an upstanding brim. The hat and brim were of silk, the brim set with gems.
Phillip, in a costume of equal brilliance, came with me.
Much had been said of the dinners of Andronicus where he served the rarest food, the finest wines, and had the most seductive dancing girls. Perhaps no period in history had so many writers enamored with historical writing, and many wrote exceedingly well.
We rode in a sedan chair, entering the marble halls between armed guards. Almost the first person I saw where the guests were gathered was Bardas.
He crossed to greet me, and in the presence of a dozen people said, “Ah, Beggar, you have come far since I tossed you a coin in the bazaar!”
Eyes turned upon me, the cold eyes of strangers.
“Thank you, Bardas”—I bowed—“it is true I have come far, yet I find you where you were, licking crumbs from the fingers of your superiors.”
With that I walked on, leaving him with his face tight with shock, eyes like balls of glass.
“Bravo!” Phillip whispered. “You have done what many have wished to do, put Bardas in his place!”
Running feet came from behind me, and Bardas grasped my shoulder. “By the Gods! If it is a duel of wits you wish, you shall have it!”
“I am sorry, Bardas. I could never fight an unarmed man!”
The room rang with laughter, and Bardas lifted a hand as if to strike me. I stood perfectly still, waiting, looking into his eyes. He dropped his hand and walked stiffly away.
Andronicus arose from where he was seated and gestured to a place at the head of the table. “Come!” he said, with a touch of sarcasm, “I am not a king, Kerbouchard, but I offer the seat at the head of the table! Let it never be said that Andronicus played less than the king to the Druid.”
When I seated myself he said, “You were hard upon Bardas.”
“He brought it upon himself. If one plans to measure blows with a stranger, one had best judge the length of his arm.”
“Yes, yes, you are right. Tell me, Kerbouchard, what do you think of our city?”
“Magnificent! But I do not believe that anyone truly believes in it. It has the appearance of a city expecting disaster.”
We talked of many things. He was a graceful, witty talker, gifted with occasional brilliant insights and a wealth of knowledge. His was a sharper, brighter mind than that of Manuel, but less disciplined. He held in contempt those less than himself, an attribute not possessed by Manuel, who seemed to respect all men.
It was now 1180, and Manuel had ruled successfully since 1143. These cousins, so different in every way, were fascinating to me. Manuel had all the stability and common sense that Andronicus lacked. Manuel might make mistakes, but they would never be petty. Andronicus was positive he was superior to the Emperor and was constantly outwitted for that very reason.
We ate, among other things, a dish of breast of chicken cooked and shredded, the white meat mixed with milk and sugar and cooked until thickened, served with powdered sugar and rose water.
There was also a dessert, kazan dibi, which was Turkish in origin.
There were a dozen meat dishes, several of fowl, fish, and fruit; some were strange fruits I had not seen before, and some were the honey-sweet tips of ripe figs.
Andronicus ended a brief dissertation on the comparative writi
ngs of Procopius and Menander, and during the pause I chose to seek information.
“What of the present? I understand the Emperor has favored the Latins of late, and there is unrest.”
“It is a weakness of Manuel’s. The Byzantines have no affection for the Latins. If I were emperor, I would recapture the castles to the south, particularly Anamur, Camardesium, Til Hamdoun, and Saône. If one held those castles, the rest must fall of themselves.”
“I am unfamiliar with Saône.”
“It was formerly a Byzantine castle, taken and improved by the Franks. It guards the southern approaches to Antioch.”
“It is strongly held?”
“Its defenses, we learn, have lately improved. The Comtesse de Malcrais returned and recruited a strong band of mercenaries.” He paused. “They are led by a stranger to us, named Lucca.”
Lucca! But I had seen him fall on the battlefield! Still…I had fallen, too.
If Suzanne had recruited Lucca and survivors of the caravan, she would have a force quite capable of holding Saône against any ordinary attack.
Lucca had been a pirate, a brigand, yet he had become a successful merchant with skill at negotiation. A better lieutenant would be hard to find. Some of the caravan’s men had escaped to the boats. At one time there must have been three dozen men in the water, and Lucca would be their natural leader.
“I know of Lucca,” I advised. “Do not underrate him. He is a skilled fighting man, a veteran of a hundred battles.”
A slave filled my glass. “Your health, Andronicus! May success be yours!”
His eyes were amused. “And if I should attack Saône?”
“My advice? Negotiate. It would be easier to make an arrangement than to capture.”
He permitted himself a smile. “Your advice is good, Kerbouchard, and when the time comes am I permitted to tell the Comtesse de Malcrais it was your advice?”
“The Comtesse,” I said carefully, “as well as Signor Lucca appreciates the benefits of negotiation without any word from me.
“Lucca,” I added, “is one of the most dangerous and intelligent fighting men whom I have met. The cost of taking a position he holds would far outweigh its value. Especially as the Comtesse would find the Byzantine position her own, in most cases.”
The Walking Drum (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 36
