“Understand, my darling,” she said, tears coursing down her cheeks, “Alexios knows of all this, and he couldn’t bear to see you betrayed and used by that ruthless man. They have no honor!” she cried out in anguish. “You have only one good choice, and that is to do as Alex asks.”
Theodora had been devastated when she’d witnessed the death of her sister, lying bleeding to death with a bolt in her back. She recalled also the desperate struggle in the shadows as Talon and the assassin fought to the death. She shuddered at the memory. That was when she had realized that Talon was much more than he appeared on the surface; strangely it had only added to her childish infatuation for him. She shook her head. That was all in the past now. Her situation required a level head and immediate action if they were to honor her brother’s last wish.
“I shall do as he asks me,” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice from cracking. “We will find a way, Mama. I want to pray for our Alexei. Can we do this now?”
Joannina bowed her head and wept yet again, but then abruptly she clutched at her upper left arm and gasped, “Oh Dear God, but I do not think I can bear it any more, the pain is so great! Dear God, be kind to his good soul.” Joannina fell back against her chair with a groan. “It hurts, my Theo. Ah, but it hurts!”
Thoroughly alarmed, Theodora snatched at her mother’s hand and tried to feel her pulse. It was merely a flutter. In a surge of panic she settled her mother more comfortably and called out to her. “Mama! Oh, Mama, don’t leave me!” She guessed what was happening; her mother was in the throes of a heart attack.
Joannina was as pale as porcelain and her breath was coming in rasping gasps. There was very little Theodora could do, other than hold her mother’s hand and rub it to try to bring some circulation back. She didn’t think she could weep any more, but the tears came as she begged her mother not to leave her. She had never felt so utterly alone as she felt her mother slip away.
Damian found her a few hours later, bent over her mother, who was still and cold. He was confused and fearful, as he had not encountered death before. Now his mother was telling him between sobs that his grandmother was gone to heaven and to be brave.
Theodora realized that time was against her. Joannina was gone, and she was sure Alex would be soon. Brushing away the remnants of her tears, she stood up. It was time to be strong and to preserve the last of their family. They must leave, but first she had to give her mother a decent burial. She decided upon a patch of ground where her father had often lingered with her in the summer. It had a clear, unrestricted view of the Golden Horn.
With the help of Angelos, who provided the shovels, they dug a shallow grave and laid Joannina down at the roots of the tree. After the task was done, she stood with Damian by her side, staring down at the freshly shoveled earth and let her mind drift. Where to go? Who to turn to? Their friends were in the same predicament as she, many of them worse off or even beggared. None would take them in, of that she was sure. Besides, she dared not stay in this city any longer.
It was while she was looking down at the ground that an idea occurred to her. Perhaps Giorgios could help. She could just make out the ships in Neorion harbor. There were not many; few Latins came now, not since the massacre. He might still be there. He had said that it would be a week before he left.
Knowing the power that Pantoleon wielded in the city she knew she could not just walk down to the harbor and ask Giorgios for a ride. She had to disappear. Handing a gold coin to Angelos and telling him to go home for the rest of the day, she walked back to the house and told Damian to stay close. She gave the two maids a gold coin each and the day off also, saying that it was to be a day of mourning and she wanted to be alone. Theodora had no idea whether Irene was a spy or not, but it was too dangerous to allow herself the luxury of trust.
When the maids had gone the silence in the large house felt oppressive. Gone was the quiet voice of her mother, talking to Theodora while she attended to the tasks of keeping the fire going and preparing food. She imagined she could even hear the house sighing at the loss of so many souls.
Theodora hurried through her preparations while keeping an ear open for any footsteps at the main door. She was sure that the house would be watched, but there was another way to leave which might not be covered. There was a small door down at the bottom of the garden which opened onto a narrow alley well away from the main street.
When evening fell she had completed her preparations, and it was time to eat one last meal before they left. There was little enough: a piece of bread and some leek soup that Damian protested against. “I am tired of leak soup, Mama!” he complained.
“You will eat everything, young man,” she told him firmly. “We do not know when we will eat again. Do as you are told.”
The little boy, cowed by his mother’s fierce expression and near to tears, did just that.
Giorgios was called to the deck by one of his night watch men just after midnight. “There is a lady on deck and she is asking for you,” the sailor told him. “Good looker, too!” he grinned.
Giorgios hurried up onto the main deck, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and gaped when he saw a heavily cloaked figure standing on the deck holding onto the hand of a boy he recognized.
“My Lady!” he exclaimed. “What brings you here?” Looking around he realized that it might be better for her to talk in some privacy. He picked up the large leather satchel at her feet—its contents rattled—and beckoned her to follow him down to the main cabin. When they were inside he settled her on a bench, then sat down across the table from her. Theodora looked worn and exhausted, there were dark rings under her eyes, and they carried a haunted look. She cradled Damian, who was half asleep in her arms
“What has happened to bring you to my ship, my Lady?” Giorgios asked her gently.
By way of response she fumbled in her robe and brought out a small leather bag that chinked when she placed it on the table.
“That is gold, and it is all I have as payment for you to take me away as soon as you can, tonight if possible. My mother and brother are dead, and my son and I are in great danger,” she said. Her large eyes were wide and pleading. “Giorgios, I beg of you, help me. I shall explain everything when we are sailing.”
Giorgios looked at the gold on the table; it was worth a good deal more than the meagre cargo he had gleaned from this sad place so far. Business had dried up since the Latins had been slaughtered.
“I am desolated to hear of your loss, my Lady,” he said. “Yes, I will take you, but it will be very dangerous. The Frankish ships are all over the sea south of the Hellespont because of the invasion. Where do you wish to go?”
“Anywhere! Just take me away from this awful place,” she told him.
To slaughter us
Why did you need to invite us
To such an elegant party?
—Ahmad Shamlu
Chapter 22
A Royal Killing
The weather changed abruptly from being cold to becoming unusually warm for Constantinople in the year 1185 of Our Lord. The narrow streets that led off the Messe were stifling hot and airless. There was very little wind coming off the Marmara sea south of the peninsular on this particular day.
Pantoleon was not paying much attention to the weather at present. He was instead more concerned with the news from Thessalonica. His spies had just informed him that the city had fallen to the Franks, and the report was that they had sacked the city, killing a large part of the citizenry, and were busy despoiling the sacred places of worship. The emperor was as yet unaware of the catastrophe, and Pantoleon was steeling himself to go and tell him.
His instincts told him the time had come to look after his own interests. Once this appalling news arrived on the streets it would run through the city like a wild fire with God alone knew what consequences. He could feel the tension in the city, both from the ill news which seemed to be coming in from all directions exacerbated by the hot humid air and a restless a
nd frightened population. Pantoleon’s own spies within the city of Constantinople were telling him that something ugly was brewing on the streets. Gabros, who had been out and about in the last few days, arrived to tell Pantoleon about what he had observed.
“Everyone is wound up tighter than a bow string, Master,” he said. “It’s not just the bad news from the south....”
“So they know already,” Pantoleon murmured, “Ill news travels fast. Well, what else is it? Spit it out man!” Pantoleon snapped. His own temper had not been improved by either the humid weather nor by the increasingly erratic and wild behavior of the emperor.
Gabros hesitated, but his trust in his master overcame his reticence. “There is talk of revolt, Master,” he muttered, with a nervous look at the door to their apartment. Involuntarily Pantoleon glanced that way too. He was already considering whether he should find other accommodations, out of the way of the palace spies. Perhaps the villa of Kalothesos would be a good place. Somehow it had been overlooked when the proscription was handed out; it was still intact, and Theodora was living there.
“Is that what the rabble are saying? Revolt?” Pantoleon asked, a chill going down his spine. This was serious.
Gabros nodded his head. Pantoleon had never seen his man looking so ill at ease.
“Not the nobles... the senate?” They were so decimated he would have been amazed to hear they had found the courage to start an insurrection.
Gabros shook his head. “No Master. The people on the streets are murmuring. They talk about bringing back someone from the aristocracy and deposing the emperor.”
Pantoleon thought furiously. Who, he wondered, would be popular enough to appeal to the scum on the street? He knew that once the mob was on the move it was almost impossible to stop until it had blown itself out. The damage done would be horrific, and he could be destroyed in the storm. His sense of self preservation demanded that he make preparations to ensure that didn’t happen.
In the meantime, he would try to ingratiate himself back into the good graces of the emperor and gain some advantage for himself in the process. Their relationship had been somewhat chilly of late. He had dreadful news to deliver, and it would not be the first time that the messenger was killed for bringing ill news. He didn’t relish the prospect.
“Do we have a name at all?”
“They are speaking of one Isaac Angelos, Master. There are several names, but he is the most talked about.”
“Why him? He is a nobody from a small noble family, nothing more.”
“A soothsayer is telling people that he will be the next emperor, Master.” Gabros shuffled his feet and again glanced at the doorway.
“A soothsayer! A filthy madman is saying these things?” Pantoleon snorted, but he was aware that revolt could be right around the corner unless something was done about it. He knew that the people of Constantinople were fed up with the terror that had been unleashed upon the aristocracy and the Senate, and many, many others. The weather and the bad news were but tinder for a fire.
“I shall see the emperor right away. Where is he?”
“He is here in the palace, Master. I... I believe he is in the pool with some, er, ladies.”
Pantoleon dressed carefully before he left to see the emperor. He knew he would gain access immediately, even though he had slipped somewhat in the estimation of Isaac. He was still valued for the information he could provide as the chief spy.
He found Andronikos lying on a table being kneaded carefully by one of the burly eunuch masseurs he had kept on. The eunuchs were considerably fewer in numbers these days. Pantoleon noticed that Maraptica was among the ladies by the pool and wondered cynically at the depravity of it all. She was the emperor’s favorite, but she didn’t seem to mind the company of the many other women who were at his beck and call. Pantoleon had “found” Maraptica in a high class brothel and had presented her to Andronikos because she was a great flautist. Also it helped that she was very beautiful, as well as skilled in the arts of love.
Pantoleon walked up to the table and murmured, “My Lord, peace be with you always. I have something important to tell you.”
Andronikos looked up from his face down position on the table. He smiled. “Ah Exaz, where have you been? I have missed you!” He sat up on the table and dismissed the masseur with a wave of his hand. Andronikos was completely naked and his light brown skin shone with the oil that had been applied to his muscular body. He glanced over towards the pool where the young women were tittering to one another as they kept an eye on him. They waved and giggled some more. After eyeing them appreciatively he turned back towards Pantoleon with the smile still on his face. Pantoleon wondered if Andronikos was flaunting his manhood to annoy him, but let the thought go. The Emperor seemed to be in a fine mood and confirmed this when he laughed and pointed to the girls.
“I am like Hercules, my Exaz! I can take the lot of them and never tire! I shall soon be up to fifty, just like him! That balm you procured for me is magical!” He grinned nastily. “But you can’t benefit from it, can you, my poor Exaz?”
Pantoleon seethed inwardly, but he put on a bland face and said, “I have news, my Lord, and it is urgent.”
“Oh, what is it this time?” Andronikos demanded irritably.
“Thessalonica fell to the Sicilian army two days ago, my Lord.”
Andronikos’ head whipped around. “Tell me that again?” he snapped, his entire posture changing from one of relaxed well-being to tension. Pantoleon felt the room chill.
“Just a short while ago a messenger told me that the city has fallen and that it is being sacked even now as we speak, my Lord. Its people are being murdered and raped and our places of worship desecrated by the barbarians.”
“If ever I get my hands upon that useless piece of shit, David Komnenos! He couldn’t defend his virginity from a toad. He gave up the city, damn him to hell!” Andronikos snarled. “That filthy traitor, that spineless shriveled foreskin! I shall castrate him and hang him up by his heels outside our city gates!” he screamed. Pantoleon braced himself; Andronikos was just getting into his stride.
“He is weaker than a woman and more timid than a deer!” Andronikos raved. The girls in the pool hastily climbed out of the water and fled, fearful for their lives. Pantoleon stood absolutely still and endured the ravings of his master, praying silently that he would survive this hour.
Eventually Andronikos calmed down enough to ask in a completely different tone what could be done about the situation.
Taken aback, although he had witnessed these sudden changes before, Pantoleon said hesitantly.
“Your Generals should be ordered to attack at once and catch the enemy preoccupied with their barbaric looting of the city, My Lord. There is one who could do this: General Alexius Branus; but my Lord, you must move quickly.”
But Andronikos was strangely vague about what he might decide on that matter, leaving Pantoleon feeling that in order to get the emperor’s attention back he should pass along the other news.
“My spies have begun to hear talk, my Lord, that should be addressed promptly.”
Andronikos sighed with impatience. To Pantoleon it seemed as though he just wanted to go back to his women. He felt an overwhelming sense of exasperation, but with a great effort he controlled it. To show impatience with this madman could spell his own demise.
“There are tangible rumors on the streets that one Isaac Angelos is fomenting a revolution, my Lord,” he told his master. Passing on a mere rumor wasn’t going to get his attention, Pantoleon surmised. It had to sound like a direct threat.
Andronikos stared at him. “A revolution, you say?” he asked.
Pantoleon nodded. “Yes, my Lord. A soothsayer is adding to the problem by saying that this Isaac Angelos will be emperor.”
“Oh, is he now?” Andronikos said softly. Pantoleon braced himself. When his master spoke softly there was danger all around.
“Then you shall find this... Angelos and have him arr
ested. Bring him here, and I shall see to it that he is emperor of nothing!”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“This is the work of those filthy scum, the Senators and their henchmen, the aristocracy! You will have the prisoners killed and their entire families destroyed. By the time I get back from my country estate at Melodeon I want them all gone, all dead and gone! Do I make myself clear?” he demanded.
“Yes, I shall see to it, my Lord.”
“Good. Now I shall go and prepare for my holiday. I am tired of this wretched city. Let the rumors trot about, I don’t care. Get out of my sight! And Exazenos... ”
“Yes, my Lord?”
“Count yourself lucky that I am in a good mood. Anyone else would have had you executed for bringing all this bad news. Try to do better in future.”
Pantoleon left the emperor in a cold sweat. He strode along the echoing corridors, passing the immobile guards and hurrying servants, and by the time he had returned to his quarters he had made a decision. He ordered Gabros to ready their horses quietly, and the two of them rode from the palace without escort. Once they were on the almost deserted Messe he outlined his plan to Gabros.
“I want everything in place by twelve days from today,” he told his man. “You can use the villa Kalothesos for a base until I am ready to come as well, but while the emperor is away on his ‘holiday’ we must find this man Isaac Angelos and arrest him. Send your men all over the city and find him.”
“Why don’t we leave sooner?” Gabros asked him.
“Because I have to get all my wealth into a safe place before we go, idiot! The ship must be loaded and ready to leave on the instant. There will be only one chance. I was watched by that foul toad Nikoporus. He would like nothing better than to find that I am trying to leave and denounce me. That would be the end of you too, Gabros, remember that.”
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