East & West- Catharsis

by David Capel

  I thought back to that awful day in the sun. The endless, grinding arrows. The plodding advance through the dust, the failure to engage. The ruthless manoeuvring of the enemy, exhausting and trapping our men. I shook my head. “No, probably not.”

  “That’s what I think. So don’t worry about what you or I did in the run up to that day. The roots of defeat lie far deeper, in the mismanagement of the Empire and our army since Basil died two generations ago. Which is why the likes of our host will become important in the coming months and years. Ah, and, here he is again.”

  At that moment there were footsteps outside the library and the door swung open.

  “My dear friends,” boomed Alexius, full of bonhomie, “I hope you have had a moment to reconcile yourselves.” He looked at both of us and Bryennius nodded. Alexius continued, “I know that you blamed each other for the failure to contact my colleague from Antioch. We must count him another loss amidst the greater loss that has befallen the Empire. For it is time to move on and address the problems that now confront us.

  “But before we do, John, if you don’t mind I have greatly desired to hear your tale in full, and that is why I asked you here. Bryennius and I are both keen to learn what we can from your adventures. But first, let me fetch wine! For talk can be thirsty work.” And he opened the door and bellowed for a servant.

  I glanced at Bryennius as Alexius ushered us into a seat. And then I began the long tale of my adventures. I started from the moment I left Bryennius, not knowing exactly how he had explained the preceding events. And as the wine was brought I told them of my disastrous visit to the estate. They questioned me closely on the priest’s tale and the arrival of the Turks around Kastoria.

  Alexius nodded. “It is as I have heard from many others. These people have simply arrived with their families in our lands, with none to control the inflow.”

  “They will be all the harder to get rid of, then,” said Bryennius. “We cannot kill women and young children.”

  “Perhaps we will not need to,” replied Alexius. “Once we have subdued them, who knows? Some of the lands of Anatolia have been denuded of people for too long.”

  I looked at him askance for a moment. Had he not listened to what I had said? If he had seen the ruination of my farmlands, devastated as if by a plague of locusts, with the old inhabitants scratching a living in the hills… But I hid my astonishment and continued my story.

  I spoke briefly of my visit to Trebizond, and the betrayal of Gabras, skirting over my meeting with Bryennius, who looked at his feet and shrugged his shoulders. Instead I dwelt on my leadership of the Taron company, describing our skirmish with Erkan’s Turks before the battle.

  “The same man that we met at the pass?” said Bryennius in astonishment. “What a stroke of chance! You did well. That such a villain should be wandering the Empire casting his support here and there at will is a disgrace, but all too symptomatic of the times.”

  “You haven’t heard the end of him,” said I, warming to the man despite myself.

  “Come, let us hear of the battle,” said Alexius impatiently, so I moved on and spoke of the dreadful fight in the dust, the choking, stumbling advance, and then the hectic retreat and surrender. Alexius kept interrupting, commenting on this or that event as if he were there, less interested in my tale than in his own observations of the battle. But even he fell silent as I described my capture and enslavement by Erkan, and the slaying of the Roman officer by the road.

  At last I related the story of my captivity in Damascus, leaving out any details of my relationship with Jalila and Safia. I implied that I simply took my chance and ran for it. I had prepared my account of the discovery of the relics in Syria. I said that it came from information I gleaned in the house of Ibn Khalid, while helping him to translate some old documents in his library. Bryennius was looking at the floor with his elbows on his knees and did not comment, and to my relief Alexius was not interested in this part of the tale.

  Instead he perked up when I mentioned my meeting with the governor, Tarchaneiotes. “He is an incompetent and a coward, if ever I knew one,” said Alexius, rubbing his beard as I gulped down some wine, happy to have finished my report. “If he had joined up with the army at Manzikert as he should have done, things might have gone otherwise. But instead we hear from you, John, that the bones of his soldiers lay littered on the banks of the Euphrates. The man should be in prison, not sitting there as governor of the second city of the Empire!”

  “It may not be so for long,” said Bryennius. “It sounds as if Antioch will come under great pressure from the pagan. With a man such as Tarchaneiotes in command, the garrison may not long hold them off.”

  “Hmm, you may well be right, Bryennius,” said Alexius, and the general then launched into a long diatribe about the state of the Imperial defences and the parlous condition of our position in the Asian provinces.

  Bryennius interjected with his views frequently, and so they debated to and fro on the strategic options and possible military responses to the crisis. But I for the main part fell silent. I should have been flattered that these generals spoke so freely in my presence, bestowing a trust that I hardly deserved. Instead I felt a great shadow of gloom and weariness descend upon me. Part of it came from a sense of release that left me exhausted as the tension inside me unwound. I seemed to have escaped the wrath and suspicion of Alexius Comnenus. And Bryennius, far from wanting to do away with me, appeared almost to be asking my forgiveness.

  Yet underneath that lay a nagging sense of failure. Not just on my part in failing to deliver news of the plot to the Emperor in time. But the overwhelming sense of defeat and disaster that pervaded the conversation, and indeed the febrile atmosphere throughout the City. Yet these two seemed unaffected by this sensation. Indeed, it struck me that they were almost enjoying their dissection of the crisis. There was something jarring in their attitude. A thought sprang into my head.

  “But what about Diogenes?” I exclaimed, half to myself, but aloud. The two men turned to me. Comnenus looked slightly annoyed at the interruption.

  “Sorry,” I continued, “but there is something that I don’t quite understand. We are here speaking of the betrayal of the Empire. And yet the Emperor is still alive. Do I not hear that Romanus Diogenes has escaped to Cilicia? Is our … is it not your duty to go to him? To assist him against the rebels in some way? Or at the least are you not concerned that Caesar John might… learn of you presence here?”

  Alexius looked at Bryennius and then at me. “But of course he knows that we are here. That is no reason for him to …”

  “Alexius, allow me if you please.” Bryennius interrupted. “I think I understand what John Lascaris is saying. He asks, justly, if we, or if I in particular were such an ally of Diogenes, why are we not fighting at his side?”

  I nodded, and he continued.

  “Let me put it like this. My loyalty, and I think I speak for Alexius here too, is to the Empire. To the Ecumene itself, and not any individual. While Romanus was on the throne, as legitimate Emperor he commanded our full support and loyalty. But he was defeated and captured. We cannot be governed by a prisoner of the heathen. So, rightly, or at least understandably I think, he was deposed, and the Emperor Michael rules in his place. To continue to uphold the old in the face of the new would not, I think, be wise. It would simply prolong the discord that afflicts us.

  “So what is to become of him?” I said.

  Bryennius looked at the floor again, leaving Alexius to answer. “Caesar John has assured me that he will not be harmed,” he said. “Once he is captured he will be ... persuaded to take holy orders and enter a monastery. Of his choice.”

  After a pause he continued. “Bryennius is right, John. Great events are afoot, and we must all show unity to see to the Empire’s safety. The Emperor Michael now rules, and much still needs to be achieved if we are to secure the Ecumene against the pagan foe. I think we can all see merit in the men that Michael has to advise him. Caes
ar John Ducas is an experienced statesman. And Nikephoritzes an able administrator. We have both made it known to them that we are ready to serve.”

  “But at the same time we must be watchful,” added Bryennius. “Competent they may be, but we all know of their past records. Should things go awry once more, we must be ready to act.”

  Such was the loyalty an Emperor of Rome could expect, I thought. Conditional at best. Temporary for certain. For I wondered whether the loyalty of these men was indeed to the Empire on in practice to themselves alone. How soon would the worm turn again?

  I hid my thoughts behind nods and smiles, and they resumed their joint dissertation on the high – or low – politics that they were embroiled in. After a decent interval I interjected once more to make my excuses. We all stood and Alexius showed me to the door.

  “I know that Maria is keen to see you,” he said, his arm upon my shoulder as he ushered me out of his house.

  “Maria?” I asked, startled.

  “Of course!” he smiled. “Are you not friends from your youth? In fact you are most well connected at court, come to think of it. You studied under Psellos, did you not? He has the ears of the Emperor.”

  I looked at him. Was there a wily glint in his eye, a smirk underlying his smile?

  “You see, John, we are all friends now. And I appreciate your links to them. I have no doubt that your services will be sought at the highest level, given your standing and your strong connections to the Emperor and the Empress Maria and their counsellors. But as Bryennius said, we must be cautious. So keep you eyes open! I have not forgotten that you entered military service originally under my aegis. And I will not relinquish an officer of your undoubted courage and experience. We must meet again soon so you can give me your impression of the new court. Until then, farewell!”

  ω

  The Mese was more crowded than usual. In fact it had been more crowded than usual for a while now. Every time I had walked along its broad flanks since my return I had had to weave in and out of the open road, stepping over the ordure of a thousand pack animals to avoid the new stalls, makeshift shacks and bodies that littered the pavement.

  The great avenue was like a thread beaded with the people of the Empire. Their destitute voices echoed the lands they came from, from Armenia and Syria to the Pontus, Cappadocia and Lycia.

  There were wounded men there and cripples, victims of conflict. But of the old and the very young there were few. Not many of the truly frail had survived the long trek from their wasted homelands. Their mothers and daughters had new priorities now. Almost with every step I heard a murmured proposition from some desperate woman, crudely painted, her man waiting anxiously, crouched in the dust a few paces away.

  The population of the City had swelled enormously since Manzikert as the onset of the Turks flowed unchecked through Asia. The Chora – the garden district between the City proper and the land walls, was alive with new-built hovels and the robbers and gang-masters that preyed on the chaos and poverty.

  But all this largely passed me by as I struggled through the mass of humanity. I had a knot of tension in my lower stomach. It was difficult to define exactly whence it came. There was the slowly draining fear of my potential enemies and the diminishing chance that the source of my new found wealth would be discovered or questioned. There was the sense of doom that pervaded the whole City and Empire. Alongside that was the pressure of my commission from Alexius. But above all, I had to admit to myself, was the excitement at seeing Maria.

  I passed through the Forum of Constantine and saw the steep sides of the Hippodrome rearing up to my right. Ahead was the Milion, the tall marble pylon that marked the beginning and the end, not just of the Mese, but of all roads that lead to and from the New Rome.

  The Imperial couple had moved their formal quarters into the Great Palace beyond, a sprawl of buildings, some of them grand, some already decayed, that occupied the butt of the City as it jutted into the Sea of Marmora. There Maria’s husband sat as Michael VII, spied on by his tutors, and guarded jealously by his ministers Nikephoritzes and Caesar John Ducas. I wondered if Maria regretted her lost freedom. I could offer her a glimpse of the old life, gilded bird as she was.

  I stopped for a moment, looking up at the mighty shoulders of the Church of Holy Wisdom on my left. Last time I had entered its great portal I had been a fugitive, harried and wounded by some nameless thug unleashed by someone who lived in the very halls I now hurried towards.

  A man barged into me, cursing. I was gawping up at the monuments around me, like some Frankish pilgrim overawed by the majesty of Rome.

  What was I doing? What was I thinking, walking once more into that nest of spiders?

  Someone pushing a cart yelled at me to get out of the way. I strode on, through the crowd, until it thinned on the approach to the Palace gate. Two Varangian guards at the main portal stood implacable at my approach, but a busy looking secretary wearing a spotless white tunic accosted those trying to enter.

  “Name?” he asked.

  “John Lascaris. Here to see the Empress Maria.”

  “Sit there.” He indicated a side room just inside the door. There were half a dozen men there already, some sitting, some pacing to and fro. A merchant, a couple of senators, and two officials. One man looked like a foreigner. Perhaps a Georgian from Maria’s home country, or from the Chersonese the other side of the Pontic Sea.

  As I waited there I tried to analyse my thoughts, to unwind this ball of instinct that sat within me. As ever in Byzantium, all was plot upon plot, and I was sick of it. Only the day before I had heard that the old Emperor, Romanus Diogenes, had finally been captured. And yes, he had been committed to a monastery not far from the City, but only once his eyes had been cruelly torn from his face. There he sat now in agony, mocked by his tormentors and successors.

  The likes of Alexius and Bryennius had set aside their previous loyalty in favour of the cause of Imperial unity. But how long would that last before their true allegiance – to themselves – came to the fore? Already there were grumbles about the new taxes imposed by Nikephoritzes.

  We waited there in that vestibule, hanging upon our audience with Maria. Another man came in, a soldier, and was ushered through almost immediately. Then, ten minutes later, the foreigner was called forward by the secretary. I took the opportunity to press myself forward.

  “The Empress is expecting me,” I explained, “I’m an old friend…”

  “Yes, yes”, he said impatiently, “we all have important engagements. But their majesties are busy people. I’m sure you’ll understand.” He twisted a false smile at me and turned to leave us once more.

  I resumed my reflections. My position amidst all this politics was held in a balance of threat. Bryennius would not reveal his suspicions about my visit to Antioch if I hid the news of his murder. Nikephoritzes might leave me alone if I kept the news of his plotting unpublished. I had the notional protection of Aemilian.

  So far, so good, and I was free to enjoy the fruits of my travels up to a point. But then what? What would happen when loyalties once more divided as they must? When the ambition and pride of these great figures burst into flames once more? There I would be, trapped in the middle of it all once again. Alexius apparently wanted me to spy on the Imperial household for him. I could only see this role becoming more dangerous and complicated as time passed.

  “I must be mad,” I muttered to myself, aloud, prompting a couple of the others to look in my direction.

  At that moment the secretary returned. “Lascaris? Follow me.”

  The merchant sprang forward “But I have been waiting here for over an hour and…”

  “If you are wasting your time, perhaps you’d be better spending it elsewhere!” interrupted the secretary. The two senators gave me black looks and I heard one of them mutter to the other as I left, “Who the hell is he?”

  “I think that’s Lascaris. Came back from the East the other day. Thinks he’s a real hero.”
>
  I walked along a long corridor, its floor paved with ancient terracotta mosaic depicting the old gods – Poseidon, Dionysus and Hermes. We went through a great pair of double doors, embossed in hammered gold, and gold enamelling, on each side another Varangian.

  We walked into sudden sunlight, a small open courtyard filled with the tinkling of running water. A bird called out, too loud, and I looked round in surprise. In an instant I saw it, set upon a bough, a golden object fashioned like a nightingale with its mouth angled to flute with the passing breezes. I wondered what else under that brief sky was taken out of nature as the slave led me into another waiting salon. Here the atmosphere was different. There was a crowd assembled, of lords and ladies and soldiers and wealthy foreign merchants, all richly dressed, talking loudly. A cup of wine was thrust into my hand. Beyond was another large double door, open, from which, it seemed, came a silver radiance. I nodded and murmured at the faces in the throng, and gradually eased my way through. And then I saw her.

  There she was, through the great door. Maria, dressed in shimmering raiment, standing just a few paces from me in the next room. Her dark hair was piled in knotted tresses upon her head, bound with silver filament, and emeralds glittered at her ears. Her beautiful, painted face, made living by the liquid beauty of her eyes, smiled at those around her. She wore a stiff gown of cloth of gold, a wide sleeved robe that reached down to the floor, where vermilion buskins peeped from beneath, one foot tapping.

  I was dimly aware of her husband, lounging, almost drowsy on a throne behind her, and various sycophants cringing around the place. I stepped forward, but felt a sudden pull at my shoulder. I looked round – another Varangian, bearded and armoured. A double headed axe swung lightly at his side

  “Wait your turn, young sir.”

  I stepped back a pace, ready to return to the throng, but then a man caught my eye in the inner sanctum, moving into it from behind the throne. Grey-haired, stern looking, the Caesar John Ducas. Before I could retreat he caught me eye and stared at me for a moment or two.