City of God

by S. J. A. Turney

  Behind the emperor stood four more of the great armoured bodyguards, and a half-dozen courtiers lurked around the periphery, each perfectly coiffured and well groomed.

  ‘Welcome to the ambassadors of the Order of the Temple in Jerusalem,’ intoned yet another functionary from a shadowy spot close to the throne. ‘You may greet the Basileos Alexios Caesar with gifts now.’

  Arnau blinked. This was how foreign embassies were greeted? To his surprise, Bochard bowed his head and fumbled in a leather purse at his belt. Swiftly, he produced a gold chain with a pendant hanging from it. As he turned to display it to the court, Arnau was stunned to see a ruby of incredible size and beauty at the centre.

  ‘My Lord Emperor, my grand master presents you with this, a gift as ancient as it is rich, won at a great price in blood on the fields of Outremer, and which is believed to have been worn in antiquity by the Queen of Parthia.’

  There was a brief pause, and the functionary was beckoned to the emperor’s side. Alexios Angelos, emperor of Byzantium, leaned close to his servant and murmured to him. The functionary straightened and cleared his throat.

  ‘The emperor accepts your gift with great warmth and grants the freedom of the city of Constantinopolis to you and your companions throughout your visit. He bids you approach the throne.’ His voice rose several notches. ‘The emperor also commands his court to exit the audience chamber for the duration of this meeting. All except the despot Theodoros Laskaris and the sebastokrator Constantinos Laskaris, who should remain.’

  As the five Templars, at Bochard’s signal, walked slowly across the room towards the throne on its dais, the bulk of the courtiers filed out around the edge. By the time they reached a point where the functionary gestured for them to stop, they were almost alone. The emperor still had his heavily armed guards, but he now even waved away the functionary. As the doors shut, two dark-haired men in rich clothes moved over to the side of the dais, facing the Templars. One of the men had his beard divided into a fork, and his eyes were most disconcerting, one blue and one brown. The other was taller, his beard grown to a point and his hair swept back. They were an impressive pair, clearly brothers and equally clearly of some importance in the Byzantine court.

  Arnau was startled as he peered at the emperor to see his analogy for the empire borne out in its ruler just the same. For all his grandness and imposing presence at a distance, this close, Arnau could see the cracks. Alexios Angelos was far from the strong leader he seemed at first. His eyes darted with a nervousness Arnau hadn’t expected, and his lip trembled as he looked back and forth between the knights before him.

  ‘It was only a matter of time before deputations came from the south,’ Alexios said in a higher voice than Arnau had expected. ‘Riders from our Anatolian lands brought news of your approach days ago, but I had somehow expected nobles of Outremer as well as knights of the Temple. I had hoped for support from the king of Jerusalem, given the aid we have shown to him and his over the years.’

  ‘I cannot speak for the king, Basileos,’ Bochard replied carefully. ‘I am at liberty only to speak for the Order, and even then, only within certain bounds.’

  ‘And such a small deputation,’ the emperor mused. ‘Did the Temple truly lose so many men at the Horns of Hattin that they can send me but a handful?’

  Bochard straightened and Arnau swallowed nervously. He could see from the tremble in the preceptor’s hand how he was starting to become irritated already. Still, Bochard controlled himself.

  ‘Basileos, with the war over the Antiochene succession still raging, the Ayyubids constantly probing borders and the potential for an impending campaign, I am sure your nobilissimus self can understand how few men can be spared.’

  The emperor slumped back. ‘You are aware of the dangers currently facing my throne. Briefly, your master the bishop of Rome condemned the Franks and Venetians over what they did to my city of Zadra, but even he has reconciled with the Franks. Now Doge Dandolo is at sea once more with a crusading army under the command of Montferrat – a man who I suspect lives in Dandolo’s purse. They bring my idiot wastrel nephew to Constantinopolis to usurp me. How foolish they can be. My nephew is not suited to rule, and the people will never accept him any more than they would accept his blinded father who now rots in my dungeons. But for all their presumption, I know the danger they pose. I cannot speak of such things before my court, for an emperor must always be seen to be strong. Yet my generals here will be able to confirm all things. The empire is not as strong as it once was. We expend all our military energy keeping the Turk out of Christendom and protecting our border from the Bulgars. To endanger the empire the way the Venetians seem intent upon doing will weaken our ability to hold the borders altogether. As such, you can see my need for foreign support, I am sure.’

  Bochard nodded seriously. ‘My grand master sent me to seek assurances that you would honour your long-standing alliances and protect the East as always.’

  The emperor sighed. ‘How can I grant such assurances when Rome sends its dogs on Venetian ships to weaken me? I would love nothing more than to assure your master of my faith, but I cannot in reality do so while I am threatened from the West. Indeed, I have been awaiting your deputation to put a similar question to your grand master. I seek the Order’s support.’

  ‘Basileos, as I said, our manpower—’

  The emperor waved his hand dismissively. ‘I do not seek knights. What use would another handful of men be in protecting my empire? I seek support. If your grand master will affirm the Order’s condemnation of the Franks, it might be enough to persuade them, or at least Rome, away from their current course. I do not wish to defend myself with Templar steel, but to divert the danger with Templar voices. The Pope is, I hear, a good and pious man. If the Order speaks out against the Crusaders, the Pope might just listen and do what he can to call back his dogs.’

  Bochard shook his head. ‘The grand master has already confirmed that the Order does not support the Franks and Venetians. We have withdrawn our offer of men for their cause.’

  ‘That is not enough,’ snapped the emperor, hammering a fist on his throne. ‘I need him to be vocal now. To shout from the rooftops his condemnation of these evil men. If the Order is staunch, other leaders will follow, such is the power of the Temple. Grant me this in the name of your order, and in return I will affirm my vows to support Outremer and the Pope in their fight against the Saracen. Quid pro quo, Templar. I cannot give you my word if you will not give me yours.’

  ‘All I can do, Basileos, is to put your request to the Order. Pending the reply of the grand master, my hands are tied.’

  The emperor snarled. ‘Then what was the point of your coming here? You test me, sir knight.’

  The odd-eyed man with the forked beard raised a hand, and the emperor nodded at him angrily. The man pursed his lips. ‘The empire has ships and couriers. Send to your master and put the question to him, but do it fast. If the Franks cannot be diverted, then they are likely already bound for Constantinopolis. Any treaty we can secure will be worthless if it comes too late.’

  The emperor nodded. ‘Good, yes. Send your messages on fast ships and I will see that they get there. Meanwhile you can wait in the city. If we are to face ruin while we wait for your order, then you can face it with us. You are dismissed.’

  Bochard bowed, stony faced, and turned, striding from the room. Arnau, Ramon and the squires followed suit and the five men marched to the door. While they were waiting for it to be opened by the men outside, the two bearded Laskaris brothers approached, emerging into the outer room with them. Arnau noted a strange, uncertain look on Sebastian’s face when he glanced at the odd-eyed Byzantine, and made a mental note to ask him about it later.

  ‘That could have gone better,’ Odd-eyes said quietly, ‘though I concede there was little hope of a treaty here and now.’

  ‘Will the Order consider voicing their support?’ his brother asked as a functionary gestured for them and they began their
return trek through the palace halls.

  Bochard shook his head. ‘In the circumstances, I doubt the grand master would defy the Pope, who has lifted his excommunication of the Franks. Only a true offer of support from the emperor might tempt him. And it seems that such is not forthcoming. We appear to be at an impasse.’

  Laskaris nodded. ‘The emperor will not simply stand down in favour of his nephew,’ he said. ‘Even if he wanted to, he could not. Former emperors are routinely executed, often in inventive ways, and the few that survive, like the boy’s father, are blinded. And if the emperor will not step down then the vengeful doge of Venice, who has an unreasoning hatred of the empire, and with his excommunication has nothing to lose in the West, might press for a military action.’

  ‘The empire has more men than the Frankish force, surely?’ Ramon put in, earning a frown from Bochard.

  Laskaris shook his head. ‘Spread around far-flung borders, yes. The city has no standing army and few garrison men. Our greatest military asset is the emperor’s Waring Guard, who you’ve seen. Our navy is all but defunct, following a decade of mishandling and corruption by greedy nobles, and it would take longer to pull in sufficient men from the borders than we are likely to have. As a military man, it is my opinion that we may not be able to withstand an assault without aid.’

  The preceptor nodded as they reached the gate once more and were passed over to another functionary. Their horses were returned, and Arnau was surprised to see two of the bearded northerners in heavy armour mounted alongside them. The Laskaris brothers were clearly not accompanying them further.

  ‘I pray that you are able to persuade your master,’ Odd-eyes said. ‘I will call upon you again. In the meantime, these two Warings will escort you to apartments in the Blachernae, where you can compose your messages. The palace staff will be at your service.’

  Bochard nodded and thanked the two men stiffly. Moments later they were off once more, riding through the city. Bochard’s relief as they were reunited with their horses and gear was palpable and he had Hugues check all the bags before departing.

  ‘This is starting to remind me rather unpleasantly of our time in Mayūrqa,’ Arnau muttered to Ramon, who sighed. ‘The order will not denounce the Franks if the Pope supports them,’ he replied. ‘Bochard knows this. Why he is stringing along the emperor with a faint hope, I do not know. This embassy has failed from the start. We cannot give the emperor what he requires, and he will not give us what we want without it. We would be best bowing out and leaving now.’

  ‘The preceptor has agreed to send a message back to Acre,’ Arnau pointed out. ‘We cannot leave yet.’

  Ramon shook his head. ‘This is all pointless.’

  The two men fell silent as they rode over the hills and valleys of the city, heading west, ever further inland. They listened to the preceptor conversing with one of the Waring Guard, who was describing where they were going and their surroundings as they travelled.

  ‘The Blachernae is only one of five major imperial palaces, of course,’ the Waring said conversationally. ‘Public business is generally carried out back at the Great Palace. The Bukoleon is often used as a residence for imperial family and high nobles on court duty. The Mangana on acropolis point is used as a summer residence for the emperor. The Botaneiates palace has currently been lent to the Genovese. The Blachernae, though, is the primary imperial residence. That you have been given apartments there is a sign of high honour. The palace lies beside the land walls at the western edge of the city.’

  Bochard nodded distractedly, his eyes raking their surroundings as though searching for something. His finger shot towards a large church with many windows, built in a cruciform shape and surmounted by a dome. ‘What is that?’

  ‘That is the church of the Kyriotissa,’ the Waring replied.

  Bochard appeared disappointed. His fingers wandered distractedly down to his belt, where they tapped a large pouch. Arnau frowned, but held his silence. Down another valley they rode, then up onto another hill, the guardsman occasionally pointing out places of interest. As they crested the next rise, they passed one of the largest churches Arnau had ever seen, which would dwarf Tarragona’s cathedral, and which the Waring pronounced to be the church of the Holy Apostles. Arnau noted with narrowing eyes how Bochard suddenly sat straighter in his saddle, his fingers drumming on the pouch. They slowed to a stately pace as they passed the grand church and the preceptor examined it in every detail, drinking it all in while Arnau instead watched Bochard carefully. The man was expressing an unexpected interest, but no one else seemed to have noticed. For a brother in an order where lies were forbidden, that man had too many secrets.

  Some time later, passing aqueducts and churches and monuments galore, each of which was a marvel in its own right, they finally neared the city walls, which towered over the roofs. Arnau was impressed at the height and strength of the defences. He’d never seen their like, but was afforded little time to examine them in detail, for they swiftly diverted to a gateway in a lesser wall, and were admitted to the sprawling grounds of the Blachernae palace.

  As they rode, Arnau took the opportunity to drop back beside Sebastian.

  ‘You know the Laskaris?’ he asked quietly. ‘The one with the weird eyes, at least?’

  The squire looked troubled, but nodded hesitantly after a few moments. ‘Not personally. He led the army against the Bulgar king when my papa died.’

  ‘It was his fault?’ Arnau probed, remembering the lad’s expression.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. He’s a great general, or so papa used to say. He respected Laskaris, and the man beat the Bulgars, but it was while following him that papa…’

  Arnau nodded sympathetically. Sebastian was in the strangest of positions here, both at home and an outsider at once. As the lad lapsed once more into a complicated silence, Arnau let him have his space and moved forward once more.

  Twenty minutes later they were in rooms in the palace. Each knight and squire had been given his own chamber, which was a luxury for which none of the men had been prepared, as well as a communal room and chapel of their own. Once their gear was dumped, the two Iberian knights gathered in the common room to share a pitcher of iced water. The squires were busy cleaning and setting out all the gear, and Bochard had disappeared into his room without a word, with an odd, hungry look about him, a new urgency.

  Before either man could talk, or even take a sip of their water, there was a rap at the door, and when Ramon rose and opened it, a functionary stood outside. ‘The criminal and prisoner Alexios Doukas requests an audience.’

  Ramon turned a baffled look to Arnau, who shrugged. ‘Shall we get the preceptor?’

  ‘Let’s not bother him until we know what this is about. Show him in,’ he said to the servant.

  The two knights sat down facing the door and a moment later two more men appeared. Once was a clean-shaven man with black curly hair and a smooth, pale face. He was dressed like a rich courtier and walked with a certain swagger. His companion was another Waring guardsman with an axe the size of a small estate over his shoulder and a beard in which animals could hide. The latter man had a strange look on his face, as though he were holding a serious expression in place while a smile threatened to break through.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ Doukas said in a strangely hypnotic, lilting tone.

  ‘Criminal and prisoner?’ prompted Ramon.

  ‘It is good in Constantinopolis to have a title,’ Doukas said with an odd smile. ‘Some titles are better than others, but any title is better than none, for only a nobody has done nothing to earn one. I played a minor role in an attempted coup some years ago. My family connections to the imperial house through the Komnenoi saved me from the wall of hooks, fortunately, and I am not important enough to be blinded. And so I remain a prisoner in this palace. A prisoner of wealth and status, but a prisoner all the same. Might I introduce you to my constant companion and very mobile jailor, Redwald of Northumbria?’


  The Waring bowed, apparently still finding it hard to hold in his smile.

  ‘An imprisoned usurper?’ Arnau smiled. ‘Were I to be a criminal I might dream of your prison.’

  Doukas laughed – a light, mirthful sound. ‘It has been years since I saw the city streets, sir knight. Even a gilded cage is a cage. But come, as soon as I heard men of the Temple were to be housed here, I decided it would be prudent to make your acquaintance. The future of any court animal, free or imprisoned, might rely upon what he knows. I will, however, begin with a warning.’

  The two knights straightened as Doukas folded his arms.

  ‘Flee Constantinopolis.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘This city is heading for disaster. Alexios is weak. His nephew is worse, and the old blind man worse still. The Angelids are weakening the city and the empire by the year with their failures. Why else would I have risked all to put a stronger man on the throne? Even his leading generals, the Laskaris, know he is weak, for all they serve him still. If the Franks come, there will be war, and Alexios Angelos will lose it for us. It would be best for you to be back in Outremer before all this happens. In a perfect world I would come with you. You can do no good here. It is time to go. But before you do, tell me everything you have encountered since your arrival and everything the emperor has asked of you, for I am certain he has begged you for help, first and foremost.’

  Arnau looked at Ramon, who gave the very slightest of nods. Nothing they had said was truly a sensitive secret, and the same might be said for the emperor. Certainly a well-informed creature of the court like Doukas likely knew much of it already, and could probably guess what he didn’t. Besides, he immediately gave off an air of confidence and competence that seemed to be lacking in the court and their emperor, and it was always worthwhile cultivating alliances with such men.

  Ramon took a deep breath.

  ‘All right, criminal and prisoner Alexios Doukas of the imperial house… it starts like this…’