City of God

by City of God (retail) (epub)

  ‘What is this?’ he whispered.

  ‘We are in a musicians’ gallery, I suspect,’ Ramon replied quietly. ‘It would appear that we are to eavesdrop by imperial order. How curious.’

  Carefully, being as silent as possible, the two men brought across wooden chairs and placed them by the curtains. As subtly as they could, they edged the red drapes back just a touch, leaving a crack through which they could see down into the room without being plainly visible from below.

  The old emperor Isaac turned his head momentarily, lifting sightless eyes to the windows at which the two men sat before returning his blind gaze to the room before him. Ramon looked across at Arnau and nodded, then turned back at the sound of movement below. The doors at the far end of the room swung open to a distant fanfare. A richly dressed official appeared in the doorway and stepped to the side.

  ‘The chevaliers Conon de Béthune, Geoffroi de Villehardouin and Otho de la Roche.’

  Three brightly attired knights from the Frankish force strode into the room, one slightly ahead of the men at his shoulders as though forming an arrow head to punch into an enemy body. Arnau chewed at his lip pensively at the sight of one of them. The man at the far side was the one wearing the red and white with the black fleur-de-lys whom he had seen occasionally with Bochard.

  As the three men filed in to stand on one side, facing the thrones, heads held high and proud and making no sign of deference to the emperors, more footsteps approached, and the functionary took a deep breath.

  ‘The Venetian patricians Andrea Dandolo, Filippo Falier and Cristoforo Minotto.’

  Three impeccably dressed noblemen entered side by side and strode down the hallway to stand beside the three Frankish knights. A dozen followers, all armed and armoured, entered without being announced and formed a small force behind the six men who clearly represented the interests of both the Crusaders and their naval allies. Once the entire deputation was in place, the doors were closed behind them and another functionary stepped forward at the foot of the imperial dais.

  ‘The basilis pistoi Romaion, Isaac the Second and Alexios the Fourth, pious and noble kings of the Romans, give greetings to the emissaries of Venice and Frankland and would hear their entreaty.’

  Initial formalities complete, the leader of the Frankish trio, the central figure, stepped a pace forward.

  ‘Greetings to the emperors of Byzantium. We represent the interests of the holy and most sacred army of God and his earthly representatives the Bishop of Rome, Pope Innocent the Third and the Count of Montferrat, as well as His Serenity Enrico Dandolo, Doge of Venice.’

  The emperors both nodded their acceptance, and so de Béthune bowed his head and cleared his throat.

  ‘With regard to the promises made by your imperial majesty, calculations have been made again and again in order to be certain of the facts, and it is my unfortunate duty to inform the court that the figure agreed upon has yet to be fully paid. Despite the efforts of the emperor and his court, there is still a sizeable shortfall in the coins delivered to the Venetian fleet.’

  There was a rumble of discontent throughout the court and Arnau and Ramon glanced at one another. To their understanding, the debt thus far had been fully paid. Still, the Frankish spokesman did not look nervous. If this was a lie, then he was an exceptional liar. Arnau wondered silently whether perhaps the Venetians had deliberately miscounted and the Franks remained unaware. Certainly from the looks on the faces of the emperors, they were unaware of any such shortfall. Yes, Arnau decided, the Venetians without a doubt.

  ‘I am charged with delivering this unpleasant reminder and also words of caution and encouragement for the benefit of all concerned. If you will only fulfil your obligations, then everything will be well. But I must warn you that reneging on them will lead the commanders of this most holy Crusade to withdraw all further communication with a view to severing our current ties of friendship.’

  Arnau had to stifle a bitter laugh at the notion that any of this had been conceived in friendship. There was a dreadful silence, which was filled with a second voice sporting a thick French accent as another of the ambassadors stepped forward.

  ‘The forces arrayed across the water are noble soldiers of God. As such we will never open hostilities without due warning, for it is not our custom to act in a treacherous manner.’

  Again, Arnau felt his lip curl at the blatant untruth issuing from the lips of men whose arrival in Byzantium had been heralded by the sinking of fishing boats, and who had sacked a Christian city with neither warning nor declaration of war the previous year. He changed his angle to get a good look at the emperors.

  Isaac’s face was a mask of hatred and disdain. He might be labelled mad and feeble by some, but at least there was a touch of defiance still in his white, sightless eyes. It occurred to Arnau that the two forces meeting here in conflict were both ultimately commanded by bitter and blind old men. What did that say about the world, he wondered. Young Alexios, who had come east with the Franks, and who had been put on this throne by the very men now threatening him, looked utterly astonished. Had he not expected such treatment from men he had considered allies? Was he actually foolish enough to think himself a valuable asset in whose prosperity the Franks had a vested interest, and not simply a tool for their own advantage?

  An Italian voice now cut through the knife-edge silence that had followed the threat.

  ‘We give you until the new year to make good on your promises and then, if debts are not paid in full, the period of peaceful negotiation will come to an end and a state of open hostility will once more be declared. You have been warned.’

  With that, the Venetian trio turned and marched away without a further acknowledgement of the imperial presence. Arnau winced. He had seen enough now of Byzantine court life to know that everything was highly regimented. Everything was achieved through a dozen layers of subtlety and formality, and nothing was ever delivered with such brashness. The court were staring open-mouthed at the departing Venetians. To give him his due, de Béthune also looked around at their retreating forms with distaste. He might have delivered his blunt warnings and reminders, but even he would not go so far as to turn his back on the emperors and leave without due deference.

  The three Franks bowed smartly.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Your Majesties,’ de Villehardouin said formally. ‘I trust when we meet next, it will be under more positive circumstances.’

  Even this was clearly outrageous form given the looks on every Byzantine face, and the Franks turned and left, taking their small party with them.

  Arnau let his curtain drop back and stood. Ramon did the same and they crossed to the far side of the room, near the door.

  ‘That was dreadful,’ the young knight breathed quietly. ‘Did you see their faces?’

  Ramon nodded. ‘That was never going to end well. The money was fully gathered and delivered, according to Doukas, and he is not the sort of man to lie about such things or to make mistakes, either way. Which means that the demand is a deliberate act by either the Franks or the Venetians, or possibly both in concert. I fear that Dandolo was probably highly disappointed when the money was actually paid and he lost his pretext for attempting to control the city.’

  Arnau nodded. ‘Whatever the case, it would appear that January will bring another war. I presume there is no hope that we can persuade Bochard to leave now, while we still can?’

  ‘Doubtful. Now let us find out why the emperor treated us to this little exchange.’

  There was not long to wait. Just ten minutes later the same functionary reappeared, unlocking the door and bowing his head. ‘If you would follow me again, my Lords.’

  They set off at the man’s heel, back along the corridors and down the stairs, though not to the grand throne room. Instead, they were led through the labyrinthine palace to a door protected by two heavy Waring guardsmen. A swift rap on the timbers and an order to enter, and the doors swung open. Inside, Arnau saw the olde
r emperor, Isaac, sitting on an ornate seat up a pair of steps. Of his son and co-emperor there was no sign, nor indeed of any of the nobles they knew or might expect to see. There were just the two minor functionaries who had opened the doors, a dozen more Warings looking alert and dangerous, and a man in the robes of a Greek priest, which came as a surprise.

  ‘Knights of the Temple,’ the old emperor wheezed, turning his sightless eyes eerily on the two men. ‘I was under the impression there were three of you.’

  As Arnau wondered how the blind emperor had known how many men stood before him, Ramon bowed deeply. ‘Your Imperial Majesty, greetings. We are honoured to find ourselves in your august presence. In answer to your question, our leader, Preceptor Bochard, was absent about his business when your summons arrived and, given the timing, your eunuch decided it would be better to bring two men he could find than miss the meeting entirely looking for the third.’

  The emperor nodded his understanding. ‘And you are empowered to speak for him?’

  Ramon took a deep breath. ‘If there are matters for which only the preceptor can speak, I will convey your words to him and seek a repeat audience, Majesty. But in many matters, I can assume authority. How might we help?’

  ‘You heard the embassy of the Franks.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Constantine Laskaris warned me in advance what to expect, and he was close to the mark. Given what he had anticipated, I felt it might ease matters between us if you were fully aware of the situation. I would ask your opinion of what you witnessed.’

  Ramon sighed. ‘An appalling ultimatum, Majesty. I would say that the entire deputation was intended as little more than an insult, from its manner to its content and even its brevity. I fear the Venetians have deliberately miscounted their money in order to deliver such a demand. I believe that your august son, the Basileos Alexios, is no longer of use to them, and now they turn their threats upon the empire and its rulers.’

  ‘Astute,’ Isaac snarled. ‘Yes, they insult us in every possible way. Your own bearing and manner might be crude and even lacking by imperial standards, yet you who owe us nothing show vastly more respect and deference than the so-called nobles of the West. I am content that your opinion of them and their demands is not far removed from my own. Even my feckless son, whose avarice and arrogance brought this entire situation about, is now horrified by what the Venetians and their pet Franks are demanding.’

  ‘I presume, Majesty, that you have no intention of paying any supposed shortfall?’

  Isaac snorted. ‘Had I the money in these very hands I would swallow it before I gave it to the anti-Christos Dandolo. But the simple truth, which I am loath to admit, is that the city simply could not afford to do so if we wished it. To cover our supposed debt, we would have to sell everything of any value in the city. Our churches would have to be stripped, our army unpaid, our nobles driven to poverty. And you know as well as I that if I sent the money to the Crusaders, there would just be a further demand made that we could not meet unless we can turn the Franks against the Venetians somehow. You are correct in your assessment of the enemy. I know Dandolo of old, from the days before he was doge. I remember him when both of us had eyes with which to judge our hatred. Dandolo intends nothing more than the destruction of the empire entire.’

  Arnau shivered, but Ramon simply nodded. ‘What is your question, Majesty? That for which you summoned us and allowed us to witness your jeopardy?’

  The emperor sat back in his chair. ‘Thus far I have not treatied with your order. I am aware that you spoke with my brother before his ignominious flight, but given the situation since then, there seemed little point in dealing with you thereafter.’

  ‘And what has changed, Majesty, might I ask?’

  Isaac’s brow furrowed, a strange effect with those white, sightless eyes. ‘Doukas informs me that the receipt of a small amount of money had alleviated some of the worst privations of our beleaguered churches, through the somewhat strangling mercantilism of your preceptor.’

  Arnau winced. Bochard’s acquisitions coming to the attention of the emperor himself seemed sure to be a bad thing.

  ‘While I deplore the priests of my city selling off the great treasures of Byzantium to your order, especially for the paltry sums your commander seems willing to pay, I can neither condemn nor argue with their decisions. Money is desperately needed. It occurs to me, however, and Doukas supports my notion, that the small-scale alleviation these sales have brought could be carried out on a much grander scale.’

  Arnau closed his eyes. Was this it? Was the emperor of Byzantium about to turn to the Order in desperation for a loan? It seemed impossible that the empire could be so desperate.

  ‘I have a mind to put a proposal to you,’ the old emperor said. ‘I need money and security for my throne, my city and my empire. The Temple can grant all of that. It is said that your order is exceedingly wealthy. Indeed, it is the subject of jokes I hear that the “Poor Knights of Christos” are wealthier than some kings. Your order could cover any payment we need to make. Moreover, you could grant us security with mere words. An oath of support from the Order would be seen as Rome’s endorsement of our power. I despise the fact that I must go to the children of the Pope with my crown in my hands like a pauper, seeking their endorsement, yet this is what must happen. If the Order will speak out in favour of the empire and against the Franks and their sea-rat friends, then the knights of God could be turned from further violence. If we can then cover the figure spoken of, the Venetians will also have no valid reason to stay. We might turn this tide.’

  Ramon sucked on his teeth. ‘Your predecessor had similar notions of support from the order, Majesty. The preceptor, however, seemed disinclined to entertain them, writing to the grand master in a letter that has yet to be answered after all this time.’

  ‘I am aware of this,’ Isaac nodded. ‘But I am also aware that my brother offered only a nebulous set of promises to aid the security of the East in return. I offer more. I offer the Order property and authority within Constantinople and other cities of the empire. A chapter house in this city and others. Lands and other interests. No such thing has ever been considered or offered to any organisation of the Latin Church. I presume the value of what I propose is not lost upon you.’

  Arnau’s eyes widened with every word. It represented huge value. To be the first group under the Roman Church to be granted a place in the empire. To link the Order’s future to that of the Byzantines. For centuries the Genovese, the Pisans, the Amalfitani and even the Venetians had worked to gain just a small stake in the lucrative world of Byzantium, where the exotic trade routes of the East met the merchants of the West to the profit of all. Arnau was in no doubt whatsoever that any number of senior members of the Order, including probably the grand master himself, would leap at such an opportunity. A sickened part of him, though, remembered Bochard’s face whenever he was confronted with Byzantine culture or the Greek Church. That he consorted happily with the Franks and was unconcerned about the fate of the city beyond his raping it of value. Almost certainly Bochard had never actually written that letter to the grand master. Would Bochard throw his support behind the emperor even for such a fantastic reward? Somehow, Arnau doubted it. Bochard would see it as demeaning his order.

  A glance at Ramon told him that his companion shared his opinion.

  Damn it.

  ‘Majesty, your offer is beyond generous, and most worthy of consideration. It is, however, of such great import that these matters could only truly be settled by the grand master and the mother house in Acre. I fear your surest course of action is to bypass us entirely and seek the agreement of Acre.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘I would be willing to act as the intermediary, Majesty. To write such a missive or even travel and deliver the offer myself.’

  Arnau felt his heart leap. Ramon was on the cusp of securing a departure from the city for them both. While he might not disobey Bochard will
ingly, delivering such tidings to the grand master would have to take precedence.

  ‘That is not a possibility,’ the emperor repeated, irritably. ‘You heard the Franks and Venetians. It is less than three weeks until January, which to the Venetians is their new year. In little more than three weeks’ time we will be at war. If we are to get what we need in time to avert disaster, it must be agreed now. Even by a fast ship, it would take most of the time we have just to reach Acre and return.’

  Ramon shook his head, as though the blind old man might see it.

  ‘Then all I can do, Majesty, is to put your proposal to the preceptor and ask him to meet with you. I strongly suspect, however, that such a course will either fail or, if it succeeds, will do so with such torpidity that it will be of little value to you.’

  The emperor straightened once more. ‘Then I can only pray to God that you are wrong. Put my proposal to your commander. He may secure an audience at any reasonable time through any channel in the palace.’

  Ramon bowed, and the opening of the doors behind them clearly signalled the end of the meeting. Thanking the emperor with due deference and as many honorifics as he could remember, Ramon led them back out of the chamber, remaining silent until their eunuch escort delivered them out of the building and into the cold open air once more.

  ‘That offer was generous,’ Arnau said.

  ‘Beyond generous,’ Ramon agreed. ‘It would have hurt for a man like that to make such an offer, which is an indication of the level of distress the court is now in. There will be no appeasement by coin, and no further negotiation. Bochard will never agree to this, even generous as it is. I have half a notion to send a message by fast ship to Acre myself, going over his head, though I doubt anything could be arranged in time anyway. I note that the wily Venetians left it long enough before their embassy and gave a short enough deadline that there is little chance of the emperor achieving anything in that time.’