Porphyry and Blood

by Peter Sandham

  ‘Then I release you from that duty,’ Anna said. ‘A fight on this deck would be nothing but slaughter.’

  ‘A wise lady. You should listen to her,’ said the black knight.

  ‘Turks!’ Anna heard Nikolaos mutter behind her. ‘In broad daylight. In the middle of Belgrade port. Where is the watch?’

  The Ambassador stepped forward from the group. ‘Perhaps it is me you are seeking? I am the representative of the Republic of Venice. Would you take me alone and let these others go free?’

  ‘No,’ said the knight bluntly. ‘I am to take you all. Even the boat crew. Now put those weapons aside before my patience runs too thin.’

  ‘If we are to be prisoners -’ Anna began to say.

  The knight cut her off. ‘You are not prisoners.’

  ‘Very well, if we are to be guests, might we at least know the identity of our gracious host?’

  ‘I’m your host for now. You may call me Wolf.’

  Wolf. Had he chosen it to mock the Black Sheep’s name?

  The foredeck was crowded once the boat crew had been rounded up with their passengers. Whilst no hands or legs were bound or shackled, the line of kilij swords hanging from the belts of the men hemming them in made it clear they were not free to move about. Looking over that fence of turbans, Anna could see the towering dark form of Wolf stood beside the new helmsman.

  Belgrade began to slide away as they moved off, the larger boat shadowing the smaller one like a predatory carp. It was cruel, to be given a glimpse but never set foot inside, and doubly cruel to fall into Turk hands on so inauspicious a date. It was the twenty eighth of May. The same as the last full day of Byzantium.

  ‘Who are they?’ someone whispered among the stratioti huddled in the bow.

  ‘Do you know of any mercenary company that has Turks in it?’ Sphrantzes asked the Captain.

  ‘No and if there were one of this size you may be sure the whole world would know them.’

  ‘Perhaps they are only dressed up as Turks?’ Nikolaos said hopefully. ‘They might be Hungarians. That would explain how they were able to move about Belgrade as they pleased.’

  ‘We can only pray that is true,’ said Sphranztes.

  ‘Well at least they are still taking us in the right direction,’ Peregrino Bua said. He was right. The two boats were travelling east along the Danube, the way the company had intended to continue. Not too far ahead, the river would reach the gorge known as the Iron Gates. Beyond it lay Wallachia.

  For all that the Sava had felt like a river, the scale of the Danube dwarfed it. Wide as a lake, the southern shore lay entirely in Turk hands while the northern side remained Hungarian. An alternating chain of castles lined the sides of the river, all the way to the Euxine Sea. Some held by friends, others foe. They could do little but sit and wait to see which side the helmsman favoured.

  Other boats and barges ruffled the current from time to time, but as the day advanced the traffic became sparser. The long evening shadows had begun to assemble by the time the cape of a slender island plumed with willow trees appeared. It divided the river in two. The narrower channel lay on the Hungarian side, but their boat kept its course along the wider passage. As they entered it, they could see a fortress on the Turk-held riverbank ahead, lifting its many towers into the dusk.

  Wolf came swaggering up the steps of the foredeck as the mooring lines were fastened and the gangplank banged down onto the cobbles of the fortress quay. ‘Ambassador, you may step down here now and bring with you those ladies if you please. For the rest of you, I fear you must remain where you are for now.’

  River insects were buzzing about the cressets as Anna followed silently behind Wolf through the dockside gate and into the outer bailey of the fortress. The walls swept around them like the outspread wings of a great bird, while on the path ahead a party of Turks waited beneath glowing flambeaux. At a nod from Wolf, the torch bearers led them over the wooden bridge of a moat and into the inner castle ward.

  Grim stone walls soared about them, capped by the square fingers of towers, but pearl-like within this shell, an elegant timber-framed manor nestled at its centre. Tall windows glimmered in the twinkling light of newly lit lamps. The sweep of their arches and a bevelled door-crown above the entrance lintel gave Anna a strange reminder of the manors and palazzos of Constantinople. The impression continued inside where the walls were frescoed with saints and a large crucifix, unmolested by Turkish hammers.

  Wolf opened a door and gestured for the ladies to enter. ‘If you please. Mind the step.’ He held up a hand as the Ambassador made to follow. ‘Not you, unless you’ve been trimmed to a eunuch. You may follow me this way.’ With that he closed the door and Anna heard the heavy tread of his feet fade away. She and Eudokia both stood, still half-stunned, mutely staring about the room.

  It was a snug, windowless chamber sunk a foot lower than the hall they had come through and tiled all over in blue and white. The only lighting came from the large oil lamps strung from the ceiling on thick brass chains. Wide box-seats, festooned with plump cushions, ran down each side with an equally low table set between them. An enormous bowl of white and red peonies had been placed on the table, from which a few petals had fallen to speckle the tiled floor. The door they had come through was mirrored by another on the far wall. It proved locked when Anna tried it. There was nothing to do but take a seat amid the cushions and wait.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eudokia,’ Anna said after a moment. ‘Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I regret my earlier words to you and any unkindness you felt from me.’

  ‘Whatever happens? Holy Theotokos, you’re frightening me. They are not pantomime Turks then?’

  ‘No. They are not. We might soon be separated...or not, I really don’t know, but while we still have this time, I also want to apologise for having dragged you along on this journey. I should have been firmer with Helena.’

  Eudokia shook her head. ‘I forgive you. And I’m ashamed of what I said to you this morning.’

  Anna sighed. ‘This morning!’ She tilted her head back against the wall and studied the pattern in the ceiling tiles. ‘Was it only this morning? It feels an age ago.’

  They fell into silence for a time until the sound of feet came faintly from the hall and the door was opened by a short, veiled woman carrying a silver tray. She moved without a word, or glance of acknowledgement, placed the tray on the table, and proceeded to unload two cups, a wine jar and a small ivory casket. As she was still arranging them, a second figure came through the door with the sigh of watered silk.

  During her first years of exile, Anna had sometimes accompanied Cardinal Bessarion as he tried to rouse a crusade from the princes of Christendom. She had stood in bright-painted audience chambers and observed the continent’s powerbrokers on their cod-imperial thrones, matching a new face to an already familiar name. Invariably she had found the living version proved a disappointment – how could a pallid, mortal flame compare to the brilliant sunshine of reputation?

  And the soaring monuments to greatness in which these men entombed themselves only served to emphasise the disparity. Beneath the triple-crowned tiara, popes proved to be nothing more than plump churchmen. Before their commissioned frescoes of Olympus, Florentine bankers sat shrunken, spindle-limbed and reeking of mortality.

  So now, having guessed that they had been delivered to Smederevo, residence of Serbian Despots, Anna prepared to once more put a disappointing face to an inspiring name. For who else could command both Turks and Serbs? Who else could have a ship taken unwillingly from Belgrade and brought here? Who else but Mara Brankovic?

  For once the flesh measured up to expectation. Sheathed in turquoise silk, the Valide Hatun ran her eyes over her two guests and through the long silence which hung like the incense clouds, was content to be inspected in turn. Although in her fourth decade, there was no hint of grey in the jet-black hair which fell, waterfall-straight, to her shoulders. Pale skin lay tight over high Slavic cheekbone
s and above a delicate chin, the pair of ample lips, moist as a pomegranate core, reflected the lamplight’s flicker as they stretched into a welcoming smile.

  ‘This must be kyria Kantakouzene,’ Mara said to Eudokia. Her Greek was perfect. ‘How fresh you look in spite of the journey. What it is to be young! As a matter of fact, this manor was built by a Kantakouzene. My uncle, Thomas. We are second cousins you and I.’

  She turned from the bewildered Eudokia to Anna. ‘And this must be kyria Notaras. I must apologise to the both of you for the waylaying. If my nephew Vuk had some mischief with the mystery of it, I trust it was done without injury. You may even be grateful once we have had a chance to speak. Come, kyria Notaras, have a seat and some wine. Dear cousin, would you mind following this woman here?’ The Valide Hatun gestured to the veiled servant loitering with her tray by the door. ‘She will take you to join Ambassador Sagundino for some refreshments while I discuss matters with your aunt.’

  Eudokia looked uncertainly towards Anna but there was no question of her remaining. Anna gave an encouraging nod and retook her seat. Then the last of her travelling companions was gone and Anna was alone in this small chamber, which felt both comfortable and confining. Alone with the stepmother of the murderous, hated conqueror.

  10.

  Smederevo, May 1462

  Mara Brankovic perched on the bench opposite Anna and poured the wine. ‘Would you believe we have something in common?’ she said, handing one cup to Anna. ‘One might even call it a shared history.’

  ‘Kyria, you appear to know a surprising amount about us all,’ said Anna. ‘But how can you be sure that I know who you are when you have not yet introduced yourself.’

  ‘You know exactly who I am,’ said Valide Mara Hatun. ‘You have many questions, I am sure, but my name is not among them.’

  ‘No,’ said Anna. ‘I know your name. But should I address you as Kyria Mara or Valide Hatun? I am not much familiar with Turk customs, nor the protocol of abduction.’

  She heard in the distance, muffled by the walls, a dull flat crack like a branch of dry wood snapping. After a pause the sound repeated, this time followed by others in closer succession. A knot began to form in Anna’s stomach. Might it be gunfire? Could it be the report of arquebus down at the water? Was she hearing the slow, meticulous execution of her escort?

  Across the table, Mara Brankovic swirled her wine cup. ‘This is not an abduction, kyria Notaras. You would not have accepted an invitation, I think. You would have sailed on downriver from Belgrade and fallen into the hands of less well-mannered Turks than mine. Both banks beyond the Iron Gates are under Ottoman control now.’

  Anna’s brow furrowed in disbelief. ‘You seem very certain that Belgrade was not our final port of call.’

  ‘Wallachia was your destination,’ said the Valide Hatun with an almost predatory stare. ‘The palace at Targoviste, there to treat with the voivode, Vlad Dracula, on Venice’s behalf. You see, I know all about you and your embassy, Anna. Might I call you Anna?’

  The words were perhaps not as shocking as they might have been - after all, enough had been known to intercept their boat at Belgrade - but it was still unnerving to hear it spelled out in that way. Almost without thinking, Anna reached forward and took a first sip of her wine. It was spiced and heavy and Anna might have feared poison if she had not seen the Valide Hatun pour both cups from the same jug and drink her own off first.

  The glimmer of a smile played over Mara’s full lips. ‘Do you know the source of all power, Anna? Information. Merchants and mercenaries, kingdoms and empires, it’s the one who gathers the better information and puts it to best use that emerges victorious. Information. One must catch it, consume it, repurpose it. Great men are like spiders, fashioning information webs across entire continents. The former Grand Vizier, Halil Candarli, was just such a man. There was no one he would not talk with, no one he would not try and add as a strand to his web.’

  The sounds came once more in a flurry from outside, tugging at Anna’s attention. She took comfort from the fact that their continuance made it seem less likely to be the noise of her escort dying. It would not take so many shots to murder twenty men.

  Mara Brankovic continued, ‘What Halil Candarli valued most in others was an open mind. He sought men who could be reasoned with. Men who valued, as he did, peace and mutual gain over narrow identity or personal glory. Men like your father, Anna. Did you know your father was treating with the Ottoman Grand Vizier right up to the night your city fell?’

  This time there was no shock. ‘Yes,’ Anna said, holding Mara’s cool stare. ‘He saw more merit in salvage than sacrifice.’

  The fusillade of crackles and low thuds came once again and now at last Mara acknowledged them. She pointed a finger in the direction of the sounds and said, ‘Fireworks. It is the night of the twenty-eighth. The anniversary of that final assault. It’s only fair to let them celebrate it, but you will not catch Vuk or I toasting to Constantinople’s fall.’

  ‘Take it up with your stepson,’ said Anna bitterly and almost threw the wine down her throat.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’ Mara refilled both cups. ‘I love Mehmed as if he were my own child, but I am not blind to his faults. He is intemperate, too thirsty for war, and the success of his youth has added to his rashness. Constantinople was regrettable, as were the murders of your father and Halil Candarli in its aftermath. Of course, I should never convince Mehmed about any of that, but I might, with help, prevent him from repeating similar mistakes.’

  ‘With help? Not mine surely,’ said Anna.

  ‘Why not? If your father was prepared to work with a Moslem Turk like Halil Candarli, why should you not do the same with a fellow Christian - a fellow Byzantine?’

  The toll of the journey, an empty stomach and the stress of this detention were conspiring to make Anna feel increasingly strange, or perhaps it was simply the unwatered wine. She sank a little further into the cushions and suppressed a sudden urge to giggle. It was all too peculiar.

  ‘One of your information threads must be tangled if you think I’m the person whose help you require. I’m not a Megas Doux. I’m not a useful contact to add to your web. I’m just a silly orphan who failed even in persuading a widow to help set up a lace school.’

  ‘Come now, you’re much more than that,’ said Mara. ‘Silly orphans do not ride halfway across Christendom with an armed retinue. Silly orphans do not have cardinals seeking the Palaiologan claim pushed aside in their favour.’

  ‘Information.’ Anna raised her cup in mock toast. ‘You certainly possess more than I.’

  ‘I’m willing to share,’ said Mara. ‘For instance, your embassy to Wallachia on Venice’s behalf. You appear an odd choice, wouldn’t you agree? Do you know why the senate chose you?’

  The wine was helping, Anna decided. The wine and the comfortable pillows and the fact that, for the moment at least, the Valide Hatun did not appear intent on her death. Anna could feel the tension draining from every limb and was half-aware of her tongue loosening in turn. It was Mara Brankovic, her paragon, sat with her and she was easy, so very easy to talk to.

  Anna took another sip from her cup. ‘They said a survivor of Constantinople would be the best advocate for resistance. I’m dubious. Someone told me about a mission they were sent on where the real intention was to be rid of them. He was implying the same of mine.’

  ‘Because you were pestering Venice about a commune and a Greek church,’ said Mara.

  ‘You know it all,’ Anna said with another toast of her cup. ‘And more no doubt.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Mara. ‘I think it’s time you knew the full truth.’

  Anna was aware she was quite tipsy now, but it seemed for the best. She felt sure that one way or another the efforts of the past weeks were about to come to nought and there remained a fair chance that the Valide Hatun had an oubliette prepared for her. Anna thought of Corinthians: let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die.

  �
�Go on then, tell me the worst of it,’ she said and took another long draw from her cup.

  With a voice full of a gentle lightness Mara said, ‘You are a bridal gift from Venice to the Vlach ruler.’

  A spume of wine splattered the table in reply.

  ‘Allow me to explain it from the start,’ said Mara. ‘In return for your efforts, Venice implied they would grant autonomy to your hilltop estate so you might build a church of your own faith there. But to them we are little better than infidel. They will not risk the Greek religion taking root in Italian soil. You may have the blessing of Cardinal Bessarion and the current pope, but these are old men. Who can say how a future pontiff might view such a deal? Venice won’t risk it. Ambassador Sagundino will explain as much to you when you arrive in Wallachia. Instead, he will tell you that Wallachia can be the place where a neo-Byzantium can be established with you as the voivode’s wife. Wallachia, whose church is not Latin.’

  ‘Who is to say the voivode would be interested in me for a wife?’

  Mara laughed, ‘Let me see now, an exceptionally beautiful woman, of the right church, with perhaps even a claim to the imperial throne? Yes, I’m sure the voivode of little Wallachia turns down candidates like that every day. But just in case, the Ambassador will make it clear that Venetian help in Vlad Dracula’s war with the Turks shall only be forthcoming once you are installed as his queen.’

  Anna shook her head. ‘No, your information is faulty. Venice is begging Dracula to fight, not the other way around.’

  ‘He’s already fighting,’ Mara said. ‘I told you, the river beyond here is held on both sides by a Turk army. The Sultan marched from Constantinople last month. He is already across the Danube and into Wallachia. You will not find Dracula at Targoviste. He has flown to his dark mountain stronghold.’

  ‘Then what is this whole embassy for?’ Anna slapped the nearest pillow in frustration. ‘You can’t tell me the senate would go to such lengths just to be rid of my petition. If Wallachia is already fighting, what does Venice really want?’