East & West- Catharsis

by David Capel

  He was a man, tall and fat, and naked except for a cloth girt about his loins. He was bald, and his tanned skin glistened in the heat. He held a spear, and a nasty curved cleaver hung at his waist. He made no noise, but watched me through the folds in his face until I had passed, and then he sat down once more.

  Ahead the front door of the house was wide open, and the slave showed me into a vestibule off to one side and disappeared.

  The room had a low bench running all the way round the wall, and there was another double bench in the centre of the floor. Apart from this there were no other furnishings. I guessed that this was where the clients of Nikephoritzes would gather to await their appointment, and that sometimes the place would become crowded with anxious supplicants, though at that time I was the only visitor.

  I felt suddenly slightly irritated with the situation. On a whim I stood and listened at the passageway. There was no sound except for the drone of insects outside. I walked back through the front door and looked at the guard. He sat there motionless, his eyes seemingly shut against the glare. Was he a eunuch too? Did the arch politician surround himself with his own kind, living as much as he could in a world where his disability did not insult him at every moment?

  The thought of his weakness made me bold. I stepped quietly out into the garden.

  Usually I would think better of creeping around the premises of a man as dangerous as Nikephoritzes. But he was out – I remembered he had told me of his journey to his provincial base at Thebes – and his servants seemed harmless. I might discover something of the truth behind my recent mishap.

  I walked softly down the elegant pathways through the well manicured flower beds and worked my way round to the side of the villa. Many of the trellised windows of the house were open and I could see the rich furnishings within – the busts of old athletes and statesmen, perhaps collected from Nikephoritzes’ patrimony in Greece, costly wall hangings, and shelves filled with books and scrolls.

  I took care, though, to walk through the centre of the grounds, as if out for an innocent stroll. The scene was quiet and incredibly peaceful. Tall cedars sighed slightly in the salt-laden breeze by the wall, and bees droned amidst the jasmine and strawberry trees.

  I thought I would circumnavigate the house and return to my waiting room that way. I was curious to see how the villa would open out onto the garden. From the way I had entered it was structured as a typical Roman town house, with a blank exterior and an open atrium within. But when I reached the far side I could see that a veranda protruded to catch the morning sunshine, and there was a low terrace that extended beyond with a couple of steps down to the greenery surrounding it.

  I stopped at once, for there I saw the shape of a man. He was leaning against the rail that separated veranda from terrace, looking out to the garden below him. He was perhaps fifty paces from where I stood, and I could not see his face, but his stance and shape seemed familiar.

  I started at him in indecision for a moment, and then suddenly I heard a scuffed noise behind me, but before I could turn my arms were seized in a grip like iron and I was bodily lifted and turned to face back where I had come from.

  I twisted my neck and saw the jowly face of the guard, but he said nothing, and neither did I. After a few steps he put me down once more and frog-marched me back towards the entrance. When we had rounded the corner of the house I struggled to free my arms, but his embrace was that of a bear.

  “Unhand me,” I yelped as I wriggled, but he was as inscrutable as he was strong, and in a minute he had bundled me back to the door whence I had emerged. There he released me.

  The slave had come back, holding a leather wallet, which he passed to me shaking his head and saying, “the Praetor is not here. It is not permitted to access the grounds in his absence.”

  “But Caesar John is,” said I, brushing myself down and taking the wallet. “and I would like to speak to him.”

  The slave was silent for a while, regarding me with hostility while he thought. “No-one here is receiving anybody,” he said at last, which only confirmed my suspicion as to the identity of the man I had seen.

  “Why not?” I asked, “what has he got to hide?”

  “You must go now,” he retorted, and nodded to the guard.

  “That’s enough,” I said twisting round and away from his embrace. “I’ll go, thank you.”

  And with that the two of them escorted me from the house of Nikephoritzes and into the leafy street beyond.

  **

  In the wallet was the letter Nikephoritzes had spoken of sealed with his waxen emblem, as well as a note of recommendation and quantity of gold solidi. It was a tidy sum which, added to the scrapings my mother had given me, left me remarkably well equipped for the journey considering the state of our household finances.

  When I reached home I sent our servant Demetrios to enquire about passage to Cyzicus, and by the time he returned there was just an hour to spare before the only sailing that day, by a fur trader who was planning to ply his wares in the towns of Phrygia and Mysia.

  By that stage it was too late to inform Symeon of the Sentinels of my change of plan. But I guessed that he would not be too surprised by my failure to appear. He had looked capable and tough enough to take it in his stride

  I had decided to travel exceedingly light, with no servants and no horse, reckoning to hire any help that was not afforded to me by Alexius. My only baggage was a slim leather satchel with some clean clothes and a spare tunic. I would buy what I needed once I had secured my means of transport in Asia.

  The harbour and the Golden Horn were full of Italian shipping so I approached my vessel on the quay Demetrios had indicated with some trepidation. But there was no sign of Amando and no-one waylaid me, so before long I was safely aboard, leaning over the rail and gazing backwards at the domed skyline of the City of Constantine. As the Sea Walls receded in our wake and the eternal shape of the Church of Holy Wisdom faded from view, I wondered if ever I would walk the streets of the Queen of cities again.

  Cyzicus is an ancient town on the Asian shore of the Sea of Marmora. It owed its prominence of old to its location on an isthmus that provides it both with natural protection by the sea, and a secure hinterland that is blocked off from the mainland by the town. Today it is little more than a harbour and fishing village, and I had no difficulty in finding the military headquarters.

  The trader, carrying furs from the Black Sea, had travelled sluggishly, and we did not arrive until late afternoon on the day after our departure. While the seamen started unloading their cargo for wagon transport into the hinterland, I strode forth towards a tumble of sizeable buildings on a low hill that must have once been the town’s acropolis.

  Cyzicus was alive with military activity. Troops of soldiers marched hither and thither, and a larger group was drilling in an open space on the edge of the village that might have once been the agora. The soldiers looked fit and purposeful. They were well armed, with a semblance of uniform gear, though I did not notice any obvious insignia. Nor did I see many horses.

  Most of the houses seemed to have been commandeered by the army, and the large building at the top of the hill was heavily guarded. As I approached it I saw that it had once been a fort, built perhaps at the time of the Arab invasions, but then expanded beyond its original walls. There were signs of new extensions, some of them fortified, that gave it a busy, confused look.

  I walked up to the two guards at what seemed to be the main entrance and asked to see the general Comnenus. One of them went inside to fetch an officer, who beckoned me into the shade within and indicated a marble bench that looked as if it had been salvaged from some building of the ancients.

  After a short while I heard voices and the heavy tread of boots from within. From an inner door emerged three men. The man at their head was the shortest of the three, but my eyes were at once drawn to him. He had that bustling energy in the way he walked and moved that immediately commanded the space around him. As he eme
rged into the light of the atrium I saw that he was dressed in imitation of the generals of old. His chest was covered by a broad breastplate of polished leather, moulded to the ideal physique of a man, and embossed with bronze and silver. He wore a dark blue tunic underneath that overhang his knee-length leather boots. At his belt was slung a short stabbing sword.

  His nut-brown face was angular, framed by curly black hair and a neatly trimmed beard that emphasised his hawk-like demeanour. I could see that there was vanity in the careful way his clothes were arranged, but he was tough-looking nonetheless, with well muscled arms and a hard jaw line.

  “John Lascaris!” said the general as he approached me, and I stood to greet him. “I have been expecting you.” He looked at me keenly up and down.

  “Yes, I do remember your face from my more carefree days in the City, as Maria said I might. And of course your father was a respected figure. But what in Heaven’s name has happened to you? You look as thought you have been fighting the Turks already!”

  I thanked him and assured him nonchalantly that it was nothing. I enquired if he could help me on my quest.

  “Indeed I can!” He put his arm on my back and gestured back inside his headquarters.

  “Come, we must find you some proper gear. Nicephorus Bryennius here, who acts as my quartermaster, has some weapons prepared for you.”

  I protested that I was no soldier, and would be happier in my own clothes.

  “Nonsense! You must be properly equipped. As must we all in these dark days. Ha!” he barked more than laughed, “and besides, you are a soldier, a taxiarch no less, in my new regiment here. I commissioned you just this morning!”

  And that was how my military career started. I looked at the man in astonishment, for of course I had no experience of soldiering. I could ride, just about, and had hacked away with a sword in fencing lessons as a child, but the prospect of combat filled me with alarm. What really struck me, though, was the bold brilliance of the man. For a military commission was an invaluable honour for me, and could no doubt prove extremely useful if matters were as disturbed in the Eastern provinces as I had been lead to believe. To commission me then when he hardly knew me was an act of extravagant generosity that I could not possibly turn down.

  But of course it bound me to him, and placed me under his authority. A taxiarch had to obey a strategos, a general, or at least find some very strong reason not to.

  Alexius made his excuses, saying that we would meet again that evening. I was led into a side chamber by Bryennius, a saturnine officer with a waspish physique. He was wearing a worn leather cuirass and reeked of experience and disapproval. He presented me with my commission, duly signed by Alexius, and showed me a store where there was a range of military garments and weapons.

  “Choose well but sparingly,” he growled, “for we will be travelling light, and mainly on horseback. We do not want your delicate skin to be chafed by too much clanking armour.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “Indeed. I am to accompany you.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  He nodded in confirmation. When I tried to ply him for more information he brushed my questions aside and said that the general would tell all when we met later.

  I contented myself with choosing some equipment – a sword that did not seem too heavy, some leather breeches and a jerkin that I could wear under my tunic. There was a heavy, military style cloak which I guessed would serve me well at night or in bad weather.

  Bryennius grunted in approval and recommended a nasty looking knife which I strapped to my belt. Then we chose some long, soft leather boots that were well made and fitted excellently. I decided not to take a shield or helmet, and ventured forth once more into the sunlight feeling none too absurd in my new soldier’s garb.

  One of the guards escorted me to a small guest house where I was to lodge for the night. There were no others staying there, and I had a couple of hours before I was due to meet Alexius again, so I wandered around the town and back down to the shore, taking a cup of wine in a grubby tavern full of off-duty soldiers. One of them saluted me, to my embarrassment.

  In the early evening I retuned to my lodgings to clean myself up, then ventured up the hill once more to the headquarters.

  Alexius was expecting me and I was ushered upstairs to an airy room that overlooked the town and the ruffled sea beyond. There was a table there laid for the evening meal, but I seemed to be the only guest and we sat in one corner where a pitcher and some fruit had been set.

  “I see you look half the soldier already,” said the general. “What do you make of Bryennius? Have you come across him before?”

  I shook my head. “Pretty terrifying,” I replied. “I’ve no doubt that he regards me as a complete milksop. He must be as shocked as I am that you’re sparing such a senior officer to escort me to my estate.”

  Alexius laughed. “I doubt it with those bruises on your face. You’ll get on fine with him. He’s an excellent soldier and an experienced commander in his own right. In fact he is here on something of a secondment – helping me mould my command together.” Alexius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He has held independent commands before, on a number of campaigns. Good man. One of my best. Which is why I’m sending him with you. For of course, escorting you is not my only purpose, worthy a cause as that might be.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I had guessed as much. Are you going to let me into the secret? If I am to be used by everybody, I’d rather know what for.”

  “You’re right,” he exclaimed, “you are being used, or rather we are using each other. But what do you mean by ‘everybody’?”

  I did not want to tell him about my commission from Nikephoritzes, but sought to trap him into revealing any knowledge he might have about the Venetian and any connection the trader might have to Maria. Had I not seen her uncle by marriage, the Caesar John Ducas at the Praetor’s house? It was entirely possible that he was behind the whole thing, perhaps in league with the eunuch, which could implicate her.

  “Oh, just Maria and that Italian friend of hers,” I said. “You know the chap. Amando. They seem very keen for me to leave the City,” and I touched the healing cut on my cheek.

  Alexius looked puzzled, then smiled. “I’m afraid I know of no Amando. Another of Maria’s admirers?”

  “Probably. She has too many.” I could not stop a note of bitterness entering my voice.

  He looked quizzical, and then laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about Maria. It’s true that I asked her if she knew of anyone travelling East on private business, which is why she sent you to me. But whatever your relations with her, I cannot believe she would have used violence to induce you to leave. And as for her admirers, she is usually more discriminating than she might seem.”

  I did not know what to make of that, but he moved on.

  “But enough of wily empresses and their flirtatious ways! The reason I need your help, and am willing to offer you mine, is that I need to pick up a message from someone in the same vicinity that you are travelling to.”

  “Can’t you just have the message delivered here?”

  “No, for reasons that I will now explain. The messenger in question is an Armenian officer in the Imperial garrison at Antioch called Artabazes. He cannot forsake his duties for long, and certainly cannot travel as far as here. Instead he has nominated a place to the north of Antioch, that he can reach and then return to his post in good time.

  I cannot send one of my officers alone. To do so might arouse … unnecessary interest. Your journey provides me with the ideal pretext, with Bryennius as your escort. He will return the letter to me once you have visited your estate together.”

  I looked at the general sceptically. “What is in this message? Surely the man could just…”

  “The message is confidential,” he cut in, and I detected a flash of temper. “Suffice it to say that it contains information about the state of affairs in Antioch that cannot be entrusted to the usual post syste
m. I do not want to embroil you in matters of state that are of no concern to your own journey. To do so could place you in an… uncomfortable position.”

  I did not like the sound of this. It seemed as though embroiling me in high skulduggery was exactly what he was doing. He and Nikephoritzes came from the same stable, along with Maria. The thought struck me that they might all be in league together. But I was in no position to argue openly with a general. Instead I sought to get to the root of the matter in a more roundabout way.

  “It might help if I had some inkling of the nature of this message. In case something goes wrong at the other end, or Bryennius gets lost or something.” It was feeble, but kept the conversation going. Alexius clasped his hands together and held the tips of his fingers to his lips in thought.

  “The position of Antioch is key to the forthcoming campaign against the Turks,” he explained. “It is the lynchpin of the Roman position in the East. Whatever happens with Diogenes’ campaign, it is essential that we hold the city. Yet all is not well there. There is division among the garrison, and between the governor and his staff. Put it this way. I need to have an accurate account of what is happening there. I cannot simply find out through open questioning, through open channels. The political situation is sensitive, and for me to interfere openly in the affairs of Antioch would not be … appropriate.”

  “So this Armenian, Artabazes is… an agent of yours? He is in your employ?”

  “I think I have said enough for your purposes. Since you are providing me with a pretext to send one of my officers East, it is fair enough that I tell you the broad purpose of his journey. You must be content with that, and the fact that you have an escort who will take you near to your destination and then guard you on your way home again.”

  I decided I had pressed him enough, and mentioned that I had thought to travel home via Trebizond, depending on the state of the country. He thought for a moment, and then agreed to the plan. It would save Bryennius from having to travel back with me, and made sense for me since Kastoria was on the way north towards Trebizond from the meeting point with the Antiochene.