The mosaic of shadows da-1

by Tom Harper

  ‘The barbarian captains have agreed to send ambassadors to meet with the Emperor and discuss his demands; the Emperor fears that the monk may try to slip into the palace disguised among their retinue. As you are the only Roman who has seen the man and lived to tell of it, he asks that you attend.’

  It was comforting to know that the monk still lived in the thoughts of the palace at all. ‘I will be there,’ I said. It would not do to have the Emperor cut down before the barbarian envoys, and it would be interesting to hear what they had to say, after the defiance I had witnessed in their camp. At the very least, it promised to be a spectacle.

  17

  Cymbals clashed, and a thousand guardsmen stamped their feet as one. A lone trumpet sounded its mournful note and the choir began again, their voices rising a half-tone with each repetition. The light of countless candles glittered off the ranks of axes, the scaled armour, the gold and silver of the courtiers’ robes and the emeralds, sapphires, rubies and amethysts that bedecked them, a mosaic of coloured light.

  The imperial acclamation resounded through the hall.

  Behold the morning star approaches,

  The daystar comes.

  His eyes a mirror to the sun,

  Alexios, our prince,

  Doom of the Saracen.

  A dozen priests stood at the front of the room, swirls of incense rising from the censers which swung in their hands. They chanted their own contrapuntal hymn, matching the rhythm to perfection so that the tunes flowed together like water. An Egyptian pounded on a pair of goatskin drums, rising to a climax at the end of each verse until, with a single breath, every man in the room bellowed out: ‘Hail!’

  ‘You’d think with all that cheering the Emperor would show some gratitude,’ said Aelric, next to me.

  We were in a gallery above the main hall, peering down from behind a curtained arch. Below us, on a throne mounted on a marble pedestal, the Emperor himself sat like a statue. A resplendently jewelled lorum covered his chest and shoulders, overlaying a dalmatica of shimmering purple silk: only as it caught the light could you see the subtlety of the patterns which curved through it. The constellated pearls and gems of the imperial diadem covered his head, and a pair of bronze lions lay like sentinels at his feet. To his right, on a lower dais, sat the Sebastokrator Isaak, regaled in finery which eclipsed all but his brother’s, while on his left stood the eunuch Krysaphios. Beyond them a galaxy of lesser nobles and bishops vied among themselves for the opulence of their dress.

  The choirs of priests fell silent, leaving only the drummer striking his staccato beat. It rose through the silence like thunder, sounding from the walls and columns; it seemed to fade from beneath us, yet the echo at the far end of the room grew ever louder, until I realised it had become a pounding on the golden door which faced me.

  Krysaphios lifted a hand and the doors flew apart, thrown open by the hands of a half-dressed giant who lumbered in like some latter-day Polyphemos. He stood at least a head taller than Sigurd, and his skin gleamed with oil; he led an octet of eunuchs bearing silver biers on their shoulders. Seated atop them, seeming at once in awe and discomforted, were two barbarians. Their garments were dull and drab, with neither the artistry nor the ornament of our people; they seemed, if it were possible, to suck the radiance from the air they inhabited. Neither of them were men I recognised.

  The eunuchs set them down on the floor before the Emperor, bowed low and left. They seemed unsure whether to stand or sit: one made to stand, but even as he did so the pair of bronze lions by the Emperor’s feet sprang into life. Their jaws rose up and down; their manes flared, and their tails thudded against the floor. The barbarians watched open mouthed, as if afraid they would be devoured by these mechanical toys.

  ‘Welcome to the court of the prince of peace,’ Krysaphios intoned. ‘He bids you offer your petition.’

  With a hesitant glance at the nearer lion, which had lapsed into stillness, one of the Franks stood and gave a curt bow. The crowd stirred, and I guessed this was not the protocol, but he remained standing and uttered a short speech in his own language.

  ‘I am Geoffrey of Esch, companion of Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine.’ Perhaps it sounded magnificent in his tongue, but the monotone of the interpreter robbed it of any grandeur. ‘It is by Duke Godfrey’s command that I speak here, O morning star, most noble Emperor.’

  ‘The interpreter’s obviously been instructed to avoid trouble,’ murmured Aelric. ‘I doubt his true words were half so humble.’

  He spoke in a slightly hollow, detached manner, far removed from his usual good spirits. His knuckles were white where he gripped the balustrade, and he seemed to sway slightly, as if he would fall without a handhold. Perhaps he feared for the Emperor’s safety — I certainly did. A pack of barbarians had spilled into the chamber behind their leaders, standing sullenly by the doors, and I scanned them anxiously for any sign of the monk. With the smoke of candles and incense making my eyes water, and a bright light pouring through the doors, it was hard to see anything of them at all.

  The barbarian spoke again, though not one thread of the Emperor’s robes moved in response.

  ‘Prince of peace, we have journeyed many miles, and through many dangers, to come to your aid, to join you in God’s holy war against the Saracens and Ishmaelites who infest the holiest places of Christendom. But the road is long, and already we have delayed a month here, while in distant lands the ravages of the heathen continue unchecked. We ask you, great Emperor, to give us leave to pass from here and to give us passage across the water, the better to perform God’s work.’

  The interpreter fell silent, and every man in the hall strained to hear Krysaphios’ answer.

  ‘Honoured guests, come from all the nations of Christ, the serene Emperor embraces your thoughts to his heart. He gives thanks to the One God that you have come to fight at his side in the cause of righteousness, and would not see your keen swords dulled through unuse. But before you pass from our walls, he would have you swear the oath customary among our people, to serve him truly and to restore to him that which is rightfully his, the ancient Roman lands of Asia.’

  A murmur arose at the back of the room, and the envoy’s face darkened. Even the translator’s tact could not disguise the true intention of his words, for he spoke in haste and anger, with frequent jabs of his finger towards the impassive Emperor.

  ‘Great star of the morning, we humbly beseech your indulgence. While nothing compels us more urgently than the desire to see your glory and power restored to its fullest lustre. .’ The translator faltered, his talent for equivocation clearly stretched to breaking. ‘But we Franks are jealous of our oaths, and do not give them lightly. We beg more time for reflection.’

  Krysaphios’ lip curled. ‘We know well how close you guard your allegiance. That is why we honour you as allies. But the munificent Emperor would have you remember that he is quick to show his gratitude to those who aid him.’

  The eunuchs who had borne in the barbarians now reappeared, four mahogany caskets slung between them. As they neared the dais they seemed to trip, sinking to their knees and tipping forward their loads. The chests fell open and the barbarians gasped as a king’s treasure spilled out across the floor. Golden chalices and plates, bowls and bracelets, necklaces set with pearls, myriad shining trinkets and enough coin among them to pay an army. Both barbarians were on their feet, stooping down to touch the riches before them with wonder on their faces. One scooped up a handful of hyperpyri and let them trickle back through his disbelieving fingers; the other held a drinking vessel, and stared at it as though he had found the cup of Christ.

  ‘Great are the rewards for those who pledge their loyalty to our cause,’ said Krysaphios.

  But the barbarians showed little heed. They were talking urgently between themselves, fingering the treasures as they spoke. There seemed to be some disagreement.

  ‘That’s unsettled them,’ said Aelric. ‘That much gold could turn anyone’s mind.’


  ‘Buying allies can be an expensive habit. Allegiance bought with gold is like meat in the sun: it festers quickly.’

  The two barbarians concluded their argument and turned back to Krysaphios. For all the wealth at their feet, neither looked happy.

  ‘The friendship of the Greeks is a valued honour,’ said the interpreter. ‘But nothing gains merit by haste. We ask time for pause, to carry this offer’ — he waved his hand at the scattered treasure — ‘to our lord Godfrey.’

  ‘The lord Godfrey should have sent ambassadors who could vouch for his thoughts and speak with his voice,’ Krysaphios told them. ‘But perhaps you wish to retire to a private chamber to consult your hearts.’

  The envoys nodded dubiously. Again the eunuchs ran forward to raise their litters, but the barbarians disdained them, and were already walking back down the aisle to the door.

  ‘Halt,’ called Krysaphios, and they paused. ‘None leaves the Emperor’s presence.’

  Without warning a tremendous noise exploded through the room, and a billowing column of smoke rose around the Emperor’s dais. The barbarians trembled, grasping one another for support as if they expected a bolt of lightning to sear into their flesh.

  The smoke began to clear, and I felt a surge of shock as I looked down at where the Emperor had sat. He was gone, and with him the gilded throne, the bronze lions, everything: all that remained was a smooth disc of white marble.

  Aelric must have noticed my shaken pallor. ‘Don’t worry, Demetrios,’ he said, touching my arm. ‘That was no miraculous barbarian weapon. It always happens like that, to excite the foreigners.’

  There was a touch of scorn in his voice, though I was too flustered to comment on it. Looking through the eddying remnants of the smoke, I could see the ambassadors hurrying out of the door glancing nervously over their shoulders. Krysaphios and Isaak, I noticed, had also disappeared.

  ‘Well, I saw no sign of the monk in their retinue. Did you, Aelric?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Though if he prefers to hire others to do his work, it could have been any of them.’ It was hard to think of the monk while marvelling at how close I had been to the Emperor, at the glory which surrounded him; I was still remembering the splendour of the barbarians’ entrance when the door behind me opened. A slight commotion in the room caught my attention, but it was only at the sound of the voice that I shook off my daydream.

  ‘Why do we persist with all that theatre? The smoke stains my robes and scalds my cheek — it’s a miracle that it hasn’t burned my beard off. How would I look to the barbarians then, Krysaphios, with one cheek charred and shorn?’

  ‘It serves its purpose, Lord.’

  I turned around, forgetting even to sink to my knees. The man who had sat on that throne so motionless and unyielding, the prince of peace and the morning star and the heart of the empire, now paced only a few strides away. Beneath the well-groomed beard the cheeks were ruddy, like a peasant’s; thick eyebrows surmounted his flashing eyes. Even under his shapeless robe you could see the breadth of his chest and shoulders, sense the rough strength in his arms. He moved with restless energy, barking his thoughts to Krysaphios and the Sebastokrator who stood respectfully by the door.

  I collapsed to the floor and made the customary obeisance, rigid with apprehension. I had spent almost two months thinking of little other than his safety, of the cares and motives of his killers — but as an abstraction, a riddle: never had I considered him a living, breathing man. Now, as he strode around the small chamber, it was hard to imagine him otherwise.

  ‘Who is this?’ he demanded, breaking off the litany of his impatience with ceremonial. ‘Why is he here?’

  ‘Demetrios Askiates, Lord,’ Krysaphios murmured. ‘He is the only man who has seen the monk who tried to murder you on the feast of Saint Nikolas. He is here to protect you.’

  ‘Get up, then, Demetrios Askiates.’ The Emperor’s eyes fixed their curiosity upon me. ‘I have heard your name. But tell me, can you protect me against the inflammatory excesses which the credulous minds of barbarians require?’

  ‘Lord. .’ I stammered.

  ‘No matter. I knew when I accepted the throne that assassins, ingrates, invaders and usurpers would try and depose me from it: I did not think I would have to pose there like a statue while gouts of smoke roared about me. Perhaps I should haul the great founder Constantine down off his column and erect him on that throne. He would serve as well.’

  ‘But did you see the terror in their eyes, brother?’ Isaak asked merrily. ‘They imagined you were some pagan god of the ancients, Zeus descended to claim their souls.’

  ‘I fear the gold made more impact on them. What do you say, Krysaphios?’

  ‘I fear even the lustre of gold will not warm their hearts. The deceit was plain in their faces. Their captain has sent them as a distraction, to divert us with hopes of promises to come until their strength is sufficient that we cannot resist them. Then he will come — and he will lay down his own terms.’

  ‘The chamberlain is right.’ Isaak’s fingers twisted a pearl which dangled by his ear. ‘If all Duke Godfrey wanted was to spear Saracens in the name of his church, then he could have taken the oath and be besieging Nicaea even now, rather than casting threats outside our walls. Delay favours his ambition.’

  The Emperor leaned against a wall and stared at a hanging icon of the Theotokos. ‘So — the barbarians are duplicitous. That we knew. What do you propose we do with them, brother?’

  ‘Muster our armies and confront them.’ There was no doubt in Isaak’s voice. ‘When they see the size of our forces, they will agree our demands immediately.’

  ‘And if they do not?’ Alexios probed. ‘Our legions are not so invincible as they were in the age of our grandfather, even of our uncle. That is why the barbarians have come.’

  There was a shout at the door, and all looked around as it opened to admit Sigurd. He wore a wolf pelt cloak from his shoulders, while his hauberk cast dappled crescents of light across the floor.

  ‘Your pardon, Lord.’ He genuflected. ‘The ambassadors ask to take their leave. What are you doing here?’ he added, puzzled. I thought he spoke to me, though his eyes were on Aelric.

  ‘Let the barbarians wait,’ said Krysaphios. ‘They can leave when the Emperor dismisses them.’

  ‘More smoke and toys,’ Alexios muttered. I was having difficulty reconciling this reluctant, businesslike figure with the autocrat who controlled the fate of nations.

  Isaak looked up. ‘But what do they say? Have they agreed to take our oath?’

  ‘They plead that they must consult their leader. They wish to defer their decision for a later time.’

  ‘If they needed their captain’s assent then he could have come himself.’ Isaak punched the palm of his hand. ‘I told you, brother, they will lead us a dance until they can strike us. Our only hope is to strike first.’

  ‘But what if they do not surrender when we mass our army? What if I am sitting on my horse at the head of my cavalry and the barbarians refuse our demands? Then I will either look a coward, or be forced to press home the battle. A quarrel between us and the barbarians will draw laughter in the court of the Sultan, and will do nothing to restore our inheritance. And if we lose the battle — what then? Our walls will be undefended and the barbarians will take the city — we will lose everything.’

  ‘We would not lose the battle, not against those barbarians. Throw gold on the ground and they would root at it like swine.’

  ‘Dyrrhachium. Joannina. Ochrid. Arta. Have you forgotten those battles, Isaak, merely because there are no triumphal columns or arches to remind you? I have not. The barbarians defeated us there, and whatever their defects, they fight at least as hard as we do — doubly so when there are riches to be won. They are a race of gamblers, and if they thought they could take our city they would not hesitate to risk the throw.’

  By the door, Sigurd shifted a little on his feet. The gesture was not lost on
the Emperor. ‘But what to do now, you say? Tell them, Captain, that. .’

  I was genuinely curious to see what the Emperor would decree, but at that moment a movement by my side distracted me from his words. Aelric, who had stood by me in silence all this time, was moving forward, unbidden. He staggered a little, as though under a heavy burden, and there was a dull emptiness in his eyes. You might have thought he had drunk too much, save for the deliberation with which the axe lifted off his shoulder and settled into his hands. The weight seemed to compose him: his stride stiffened, and the muscles of his arms tensed as the blade came up beside his head.

  ‘What. .?’

  Almost numb with surprise, and almost a second too late, I saw the impossible truth and sprang forward. The Emperor’s back was to us, though he must have sensed something was amiss for he began to turn; Krysaphios was looking away, and Isaak was speaking with Sigurd. A bow of light played across the blade as it swung past a pendant lamp, and a roar rose in Aelric’s throat.

  For an instant it seemed as if my heart stopped, and with it all time, but mercifully my body continued to move. I dived for Aelric’s feet, flailing my arms forward to catch him. His axe was slicing through the air as I felt my fingers make contact with his brass-ringed boots; I fastened my grip around them and let my full weight meet his legs.

  There were many shouts, but his was one. His knees buckled and he tumbled forward, tangling me between his shins as his axe struck the floor. What else it might have hit in its path I could not tell. Our momentum carried us sliding across the marble a few feet, until at last we came to a halt. Even then he was not defeated; he pulled free of my grasp and began to rise to his feet, his axe still in his hand.

  A roar sounded from above, and I looked up. Sigurd was standing over me, a tower of rage and fury. His face was ashen, shaken, but there was not the least compunction in his eyes.

  ‘You betrayed us,’ he breathed. ‘Everything.’

  His axe swung down, and hot blood splashed against my cheek. At a little distance, Aelric’s head rolled free across the floor.