The Logothete pointed down the tunnel leading from the balcony. ‘Quite simple. Follow the rising sun and you should reach it in about a year.’
About a year! Vallon was so shocked that he missed some of the Logothete’s smooth exposition. He shook himself. ‘Even Alexander the Great never travelled so far.’
‘You’ll be following the Silk Road, a well-trodden trade route, travelling in stages, stopping and resting at entrepôts and caravanserais.’
Vallon stiffened. A year felt like being saddled by a dead weight, but that represented only the period of outward travel. A year to reach China, a year returning, and God knows how long spent between the two termini. He felt old before he’d taken a single step.
‘Might I ask the purpose of the expedition?’
The Logothete spread his hands. ‘Constantinople is the mirror of Western civilisation. By all accounts, China enjoys the same glittering pre-eminence in the East.’ He brought his hands together. ‘It’s only natural that the two poles of civilisation should establish diplomatic relations. Yours won’t be the first Byzantine mission to China. I’ve examined the records and discovered that the empire has sent seven embassies to China in as many centuries.’
‘Resulting in benefits to Byzantium. I trust.’
The Logothete’s breath condensed in the chill air. ‘They have created mutual recognition and respect.’
Achieved absolutely nothing, Vallon interpreted.
‘Now is the time to build on this foundation,’ the Logothete said. ‘An alliance with China will yield practical rewards.’ He pulled his cape tight over his shoulders. ‘Vallon, you don’t need me to tell you what a plight we’re in. Seljuks within a day’s ride of the Bosporus, Normans hammering at our Balkan possessions, Arabs threatening our sea lanes. Byzantium is under siege from all sides. We need allies; we need friends.’
‘I agree, but I fail to see how a foreign power a year’s journey to the east can offer any succour.’
‘China is also threatened by the steppe barbarians. Form an alliance with them and we can squeeze our common enemy, allowing us to concentrate on foes closer to home. Other benefits will flow from establishing a conduit to the East. With our trade routes closed or under competition from Venice and Genoa, opening up a road to China will provide a much-needed lifeline.’
Vallon knew that he was on the rim of a whirlpool and would be sucked down if he didn’t thrash clear. ‘Lord, I’m not the man to accomplish these goals. Next year I turn forty. My health is not as robust as it was when I made the journey to the north. I have —’
The Logothete slapped the document. ‘You’re cunning and resourceful, steadfast and brave. Don’t think your actions at Dyrrachium have gone unnoticed. You’ve had years of experience campaigning against the nomads. You employ Turkmen soldiers in your own squadron.’
Vallon opened his mouth and then shut it. A decision had been made at the highest level, and nothing he could say would change it.
The minister resumed his seat. ‘There are other prizes to be sought in China.’
Vallon’s response sounded dull in his ears. ‘Such as?’
The Logothete looked over the empty arena. ‘You know that silk is Constantinople’s most valuable export.’
‘Yes, Lord.’
‘Do you know where we obtained the secret of its manunfacture?’
‘A place called Seres, somewhere in the East, beyond the River Oxus.’
The Logothete turned in some surprise. ‘You’re better informed than I imagined.’
‘Hero of Syracuse told me, passing on information he obtained from Cosmas. Both men thirsted for knowledge about far-off places.’
‘I’d like to meet this Hero of Syracuse.’
Vallon held his tongue, and after a few moments of interrogative silence, the Logothete continued. ‘Seres and China are one and the same. Five hundred years ago, an official who held a post corresponding to mine sent a pair of Nestorian monks into a silk-making town east of Samarkand. They smuggled silk worms back in hollowed-out staffs.’ The Logothete reached under his furs and stroked his gown. ‘Silk has been the mainstay of our wealth ever since, but now the Arabs and others have learned how to produce it and broken our monopoly. It’s time to discover fresh secrets in China – new metals, ingenious war engines.’ The Logothete eyed Vallon. ‘No doubt you’ve seen Greek Fire used in battle.’
‘Yes. I’ve never employed it myself. I don’t know its formula.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Greek Fire is the secret weapon that forms the bulwark between Byzantium and its enemies.’
‘Long may it preserve us,’ Vallon said, in the tone of someone reciting a response in a litany.
The Logothete stepped close and spoke in a scented whisper. ‘Suppose I told you that China possesses a weapon more powerful than Greek Fire.’
Vallon resisted the instinct to step back. ‘That would be a prize worth having.’
The Logothete withdrew. ‘Three years ago slavers in Turkestan captured a Chinese merchant who eventually ended up in Constantinople. The man had been a soldier and engineer. Under questioning, he told his interrogators that Chinese alchemists had formulated a compound called Fire Drug, a substance that ignites with a spark and explodes when packed into a container. Now then, Vallon. You’ve seen a sealed bottle of oil burst in a fire. Poof! Alarming and possibly injurious to those standing close by.’ The Logothete’s face ducked back into the firelight. ‘In the same circumstances, a bottle of Fire Drug would blow everybody within twenty yards to shreds.’
Vallon massaged his throat. The Logothete swung away and tramped along the balcony, one hand slapping the rail.
‘Packed into cylinders, Fire Drug propels arrows twice as far as any bow can shoot. Encased in iron spheres, it explodes with a force that can shatter a ship into splinters.’
‘An army equipped with such a weapon wouldn’t need knights, only engineers.’
‘Precisely,’ the Logothete said. ‘But the strange thing is that the Chinese don’t exploit this terrible incendiary for military purposes. Apparently, they use it to frighten away evil spirits.’ The Logothete paused. ‘We want you to obtain the formula for this devastating compound.’
‘Lord, Byzantium has possessed Greek Fire for centuries, and during all that time we’ve kept the secret of its manufacture to ourselves. The engineers of Cathay will guard their formula just as closely.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find a way of discovering the secret.’
‘Steal it, you mean. If the theft is discovered, it would wipe out any diplomatic gains at a stroke.’
‘That won’t do at all. You must use guile and ingenuity.’
Vallon recognised finality in the Logothete’s tone. He drew a shuddering breath. ‘When does the expedition set out?’
‘Next spring, as early as wind and weather permit.’
‘Lord, if the embassy is so important, I can’t understand why you would choose a foreign count to lead it.’
‘Not lead. Escort. Professional diplomats will head the mission. You’ll meet them in due course. But you’re right. Your rank must befit the importance of your commission.’ The Logothete bowed. ‘Congratulations, Strategos.’
General. Never had promotion been so unwished for. It was all Vallon could do to bow and acknowledge the honour.
‘I should stress that the expedition is secret,’ the minister said. ‘Your promotion will be announced as recognition for your valour at Dyrrachium.’
‘I understand,’ said Vallon.
The Logothete resumed his seat. The braziers hummed in a swirl of air. A harsh female voice spoke. ‘We’ve been told that your wife is a beauty.’
Vallon’s night vision had sharpened. A veil covered the speaker’s face, but he was sure that the woman was the Empress-Mother, Anna Dalassena, the most duplicitous schemer in Constantinople and the woman who’d plotted her son’s seizure of the throne. Which meant that the third figure hunched over in his furs must be Alexius.<
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‘My wife is from Iceland,’ Vallon said. ‘The island breeds a fair race.’
‘You dwell in Galata, I understand. I’ve never been there. Of course, when you return, you must find a home closer to the palace.’ Her hand described a circle. ‘And perhaps a small estate on the Marmara coast.’
Vallon managed a bow before turning to the Logothete. ‘How many men will I command?’
‘One hundred cavalry, chosen from your own squadron, each man selected for his courage, loyalty and versatility in arms. Our ambassador will be accompanied by his personal guards and staff. With grooms, muleteers, surgeons, cooks – about two hundred men in all.’
‘Two hundred is too few to fight a battle, too many to keep supplied on a year’s land march.’
‘I don’t anticipate any serious fighting. I’ve already taken steps to arrange a safe conduct through the Seljuk territories in Armenia and Persia. Once you’ve passed through those lands, you won’t face anybody more fearsome than nomad bandits.’
How do you know? Vallon wanted to shout. That’s how you dismissed the Seljuk Turks who defeated the cream of the Byzantine military and captured the emperor only ten years ago. He breathed deep. ‘My men are mercenaries. I can’t compel them to follow me to China.’
‘You won’t tell them until you’ve taken ship. Until then, you must convince them that they’re bound for another spell on the Bulgarian border. Only when you’re three days’ sail from Constantinople will you reveal your orders. To soften any distress this might cause, you’re authorised to tell your men that they’ll be drawing double wages for the duration of the expedition.’
None of them would see a penny, Vallon thought. All of them would perish in a nameless desert with not even a coin to close their eyes against the sun.
‘I’m sorry, Lord. I won’t lie to my men. They’re a rag-tag bunch drawn from many lands and my greatest pride is that they trust me. I won’t betray that trust. I will take only volunteers who know what hazards they face.’
Outside the walls of the Hippodrome, dogs barked and a bell tolled from a distant church. Gases hissed in the braziers. The third figure – it had to be Alexius – reached out and took the Logothete’s sleeve. The minister leaned and then straightened.
‘Very well. You’ll tell your squadron at the last moment, without informing them of their precise destination. That’s a simple security precaution. You’ll be carrying a great deal of treasure.’
Vallon drew himself up. ‘I’m honoured that you regard me as equal to the task. I humbly submit that you overestimate my talents and I beg to be relieved of it.’
‘Your request is denied, General. You have three months to prepare. During that time, you will meet with the diplomats and learn everything you can about China.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘That would be treason, and the punishment for treason is to be blinded and whipped through the city sitting backwards on an ass.’ The Logothete gave a signal and Chlorus emerged from the tunnel. ‘His Imperial Majesty has promoted Vallon the Frank to a general’s command, and an officer of such high rank shouldn’t be exposed to another choppy ride on the Bosporus. You’ll find a carriage waiting at the Chalke Gate.’
Vallon’s escort set him down outside his villa and rode back to the ferry. He hesitated before pulling the bell, aware that this might be one of the last times he entered his home. To the south the metropolis slept under a glowing bubble. Across the Bosporus only a few isolated lights marked the Asian shore. He wrenched the bell-pull and Wulfstan shepherded him inside, goggling with questions he didn’t dare ask. Caitlin jumped up from the fireside.
‘Was I right? Has the emperor rewarded your valour?’
Vallon sat down and massaged his eyes. ‘In a way. I’ve been promoted to general.’
‘Then why do you look like a man under sentence of death?’
‘I’ve been ordered to lead an expedition to China.’
‘Where’s that?’
Vallon gave a curdled smile, aware that he would hear the same question many times in the months ahead. ‘Already I face a problem. I have strict orders to tell no one about the mission.’
‘Nonsense, Vallon. I’m not one of those Greek gossips. We’ve never let secrets divide us.’
‘I’m merely warning you that you mustn’t repeat anything I tell you.’
‘Of course I won’t.’
Vallon blew out his cheeks. ‘China is an empire on the other side of the world, a year’s journey away, a year back. I’ll be old before I return. If I return.’
Caitlin took both his hands. ‘You’re frozen.’ She turned and called. A maid appeared. ‘Hot wine for the master.’ Caitlin led him to a couch, sat him down and knelt before him, kneading his hands. ‘I couldn’t bear such a long separation.’
Vallon shrugged. ‘The only way to avoid the mission would be to flee Byzantium.’
‘Where would we go?’
Another shrug. ‘I could take up the Seljuk Sultan’s offer to join his army.’ Vallon laughed. ‘I encountered the Normans’ second-in-command on the field of battle. He made a similar offer. I could go anywhere they’d employ an ageing mercenary.’
Caitlin looked around the comfortable apartment. ‘It would mean giving up everything and starting afresh in a foreign land. The children would have to learn new languages.’
Vallon sat straight. ‘No. I won’t allow my family to be uprooted. I’ll carry out my orders, even if I might never see my loved ones again. I’m sorry that you will have to make a similar sacrifice.’
The maid returned with the wine. Vallon turned the cup in both hands. Caitlin rose and sat beside him. ‘If anyone can make the journey and return home safe, it’s you.’
Vallon lifted the cup to his lips and knocked it back in one, aware that Caitlin had made only a token stand against what was effectively a death sentence delivered against her husband.
‘How long until you leave?’ she asked.
‘Three months.’
‘Then there’s hope. The emperor might change his mind before then. Every week brings news of fresh alarms on the frontier. They won’t send you on such a far-flung expedition if there’s fighting to be done closer to home.’
Vallon summoned a smile. He squeezed Caitlin’s hand. ‘You’re right.’
Her expression became pensive. ‘If you do go, will you ask Hero to join you?’
Vallon swung round. ‘Of course not. It didn’t even occur to me. As for summoning him… He’s a distinguished physician in Italy. He wouldn’t throw up his career to tag along on some reckless adventure. Heaven forbid.’
Caitlin leaned towards the fire. ‘And Aiken?’
Vallon studied her face in profile, the firelight gilding her skin. He stroked a hand down her cheek. ‘No. The challenge is too severe. The lad will stay here and continue his studies.’
Caitlin closed her eyes in relief and kissed Vallon on the lips. ‘Thank you, husband.’ She rose in one graceful movement and extended her hand. ‘I think it’s time we retired.’
Vallon pressed her hand to his lips. ‘I fear my thoughts are too wrenched about to give you the consideration you deserve.’
Caitlin brushed her hand over Vallon’s head and withdrew.
He watched her glide out of the room, his thoughts dark and rancid. Much later his servant found him staring into the fire, studying the pulsing embers as if they were a prefigurement of his destiny, open to any interpretation.
IV
Hero stood in the bow, a warm breeze from the south blowing his hair about his face. The first swallows of spring skimmed the surface around the ship, and high in the sky storks drifted in lazy gyrations on the way back to their nesting grounds. Ahead, the Sea of Marmara funnelled into the Bosporus, the mile-wide strait flecked with sails, the city of Constantinople beginning to shape itself out of the haze on the western shore. With swelling heart, Hero watched the metropolis draw nearer, its sea walls taking on massive form, mansions and palace
s and tenements spilling over the promontory in a great upwelling of civilisation.
He glanced around smiling, wanting to share his pleasure, and his gaze fell on a youth watching the approaching city with a mixture of awe and apprehension. The lad was Frankish, only about sixteen, but tall and well-set with a face that reminded Hero of the young Emperor Augustus – the same jutting, high-bridged nose, curly hair, rather prominent ears and a mouth both truculent and sensitive. He’d caught Hero’s attention soon after boarding the ship at Naples. Partly it was because he was alone and a Frank, a youth trying to project an image stern beyond his years. He was obviously poor, dressed in a patched tunic and crudely repaired shoes. For food all he had was a satchel of what looked like cold porridge that he cut with a knife and forced down with stolid revulsion. Hero had tried to engage him in conversation before and been rebuffed. The youth shunned all company, possibly because he spoke no Greek. Now, seeing the lad’s scarcely disguised nervousness, Hero decided to make another attempt.
‘A wonderful sight, but intimidating on first acquaintance. Imagine. Half a million souls dwell behind those walls.’
The young Frank glanced at him, surprised to be addressed in French, then looked away.
‘This is my second visit,’ said Hero, ‘but the sight still quickens my pulse like no other. I’ll point out the landmarks if you want. The land walls were built by Theodosius more than six hundred years ago. They’re nearly four miles long and no army has ever breached them. Those splendid columns and façades above the sea walls are part of the Great Palace. Beyond is the dome of St Sophia. In a short while you’ll be able to see the whole structure, the most beautiful cathedral in Christendom.’
‘I’m not here to admire the views.’
‘I didn’t imagine you were. I assume you’re travelling to Constantinople to join the military.’
‘Assume what you like.’
St Sophia in all its glory glided into full view. ‘My name is Hero of Syracuse. Some people think it’s a girl’s name.’ He pointed back down the Sea of Marmara. ‘Like the maiden whose lover Leander swam the Hellespont each night to be with his mistress. In fact my father named me after the inventor and mathematician, Hero of Alexandria.’
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