A Death in the Venetian Quarter

by Alan Gordon

  The fire was already climbing the lower reaches of the hill, leaping from roof to roof with the ease of an acrobat. We spilled the contents of the barrel from a small promontory onto a burning rooftop below us. There were cries from the top of the hill, and we turned to see the monks of the Monastery of the Pammakaristos beckoning to us.

  “There’s a cistern there!” shouted the Varangian.

  We pushed the wheelbarrow up to the top of the hill. The monks were swarming around it. I thought of an anthill that had been roused by malicious children with flaming twigs. The monks were organized, thank Christ, and had seemingly every bucket on the hill either filled or waiting to be filled. We filled the barrel and wheeled it back down the hill until we met up with the fire once again. We upended the barrel, then went back up again.

  We repeated the process over a hundred times, working well into the night. It was backbreaking work. I have heard soldiers after a battle, boasting of how they held some hill against an enemy onslaught. Well, we held the Fifth Hill against the fire, fellow fools. The line of houses below the promontory burned down, leaving a band of scorched ground between us and the rest of the flames. The fire spread to the valley between the Fifth Hill and Blachernae but met up with the Blachernae wall at one end and a crowd armed with buckets from another cistern at the other end. Finally, having nothing more to consume, it died out.

  I realized, as I sank to the ground in utter exhaustion, that I had lost all track of time, not to mention what was happening in the rest of the world. And that bothered me, because somewhere in the middle of the fire’s path was our home.

  SEVENTEEN

  [T]he emperor of Constantinople, Alexios, sallied forth from the city …

  ——ROBERT DE CLARI, THE CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE

  I watched out the window as Feste left for his meeting with Choniates. I wanted desperately to go with him and see my theory validated, but Niketas was his contact, not mine. He looked tired as he trudged into the early morning gloom, and it was more than the unnatural hour. He had set his cap and bells at an immense task when he came up with the plan to forestall the war, and the thoughts of failure and the ensuing slaughter weighed him down more than any length of chain could have done.

  I turned my hands to baking bread, just to see how it would go. It had been a long time since I had performed this simple task, and the resulting dough was a bit lumpy, but it felt good to knead while the city slept around me.

  I set the loaves aside to rise, then took the remaining flour and mixed it with some chalk that I had pounded to a fine white powder. My bag of whiteface was running low. I had stocked up on kohl and rouge before the siege, fortunately. They were hard to find at the moment, among other useful things. I scrubbed my face clean, then applied my makeup. I had just finished the green diamonds under my eyes when I heard the first crash and the shouts from the seawall.

  Plossus and Rico sprang from their cushions, weapons drawn, blinking uncertainly. We dashed up to the roof, Plossus carrying his stilts. He gave Rico a boost up to his shoulders, then jumped up to the footrests.

  “What’s going on?” I called.

  “The fleet’s coming across,” said Rico. “I expect the army is doing the same.”

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  We ran back down through our rooms. I glanced at the rising dough with regret, but there was no time. Maybe I could bake it later.

  Plossus took off to find Father Esaias while I roused Rico’s donkeys. Rico brought his cart around. We hitched the sleepy beasts up quickly, and with a flick of the dwarf’s whip, we were riding to Blachernae.

  People were already gathering at the inner walls, shouting for information, demanding action. The Imperial Guards were out, shoving the crowd back and clearing the entryways. They allowed us to pass through, the gates closing behind us, muffling the shouting.

  Normally, I would go straight to Euphy’s chambers, but I wanted to know the situation with the Emperor first. So did Euphy, as it turned out. She was already up and in full regalia, regaling her regal husband with one unwanted opinion after another until he finally stood and shouted for his guards to remove her bodily from the room. Two came up and looked at her uncertainly as her hand went to her waist. She raised a small dagger in the air.

  “This arm for Byzantium!” she cried. “If you will not be man enough to face the enemy, then I shall step forward—”

  At a furious signal from Alexios, the guards caught her from behind, wrested away the dagger, and dragged her off, still screaming.

  “At last, some peace and quiet,” muttered the Emperor. “Someone tell me what’s going on out there.”

  “The attack is on two fronts,” said an officer. “The army is trying to take the Blachernae wall with scaling ladders with little success.”

  “I should think not,” said the Emperor. “And the other front?”

  “The fleet is attacking near the Petrion Gate. We think they mean to try and take Blachernae from that direction.”

  “A good plan,” pronounced the Emperor. “They’ll try and proclaim my nephew from the palace. Well, how goes the defense?”

  “Excellently,” asserted the officer. “In fact, we have already taken prisoners.”

  “Have you?” exclaimed the Emperor in delight. “Are they here?”

  Yes, sire.“

  “Let me see them at once,” he declared.

  A pair of Frenchmen, stripped of their armor, were led in. Despite many wounds and bruises, they stood proudly before the Emperor.

  “Excellent deportment in defeat, I must say,” said the Emperor, inspecting them critically. “How are you, gentlemen?”

  They looked at him and said nothing.

  “Oh, dear,” he said. “I forgot they don’t speak Greek. Fetch the Imperial Interpreter, somebody. So, where were these fine fellows taken?”

  “At the base of the tower below Petrion,” said the officer.

  “Well done, well done,” said the Emperor. Then he frowned suddenly. “At the base of the tower, you said?”

  “Yes, sire,” said the officer, a bit nervously.

  “But the base of the tower—do you mean to tell me that the Venetians have gotten inside the seawalls?” shouted the Emperor.

  The other officers in the room looked pointedly at the one who had been doing all the talking.

  “Take this oaf out and get me someone who knows what’s really going on!” shouted the Emperor. “Get reinforcements down to Petrion. Good God, I am surrounded by incompetents.”

  “Hand-picked by yourself,” muttered Rico.

  Twenty minutes later, a runner from the Varangians came in.

  “Well?” said the Emperor heavily.

  “My lord, the Venetians have taken the Petrion Gate,” he said. “They occupy four towers, and are working their way along the wall in both directions. We are trying to retake the towers, but they have crossbowmen everywhere and the height to their advantage. More knights are holding the gate itself, and they say that the Doge himself has come ashore.”

  “And the Crusader army?” asked the Emperor quietly.

  “Attacking Blachernae with scaling ladders and siege towers,” said an Imperial Guardsman. “We are holding them there for the moment. But if the Venetians work their way up the wall to Blachernae, they could join forces and take the palace.”

  “And if they do that, they’ll stick a crown on my nephew’s head and proclaim him,” concluded the Emperor. “And they’ll be able to defend it from the inside. Curse my royal ancestor for building it on a hill. All right, the immediate danger is from the Venetians. Do we have enough men to drive them off the walls?”

  “Most of the troops are committed to the land walls, waiting to attack,” said a general. “If we pull them away, that weakens the defenses.”

  “Sire, the people are calling for an attack,” said Philoxenites, who had been listening off to the side the whole time. “They are demanding leadership.”

  “Leadership,”
mused the Emperor. “They want their Emperor to act like one, is that it?”

  Philoxenites bowed.

  “You are their father,” he said. “They are your children. They need your protection. If you fail to provide it …”

  “Then they’ll find a father who can,” said Rico.

  Alexios looked at the dwarf, startled. Rico returned his stare evenly, his arms folded in front of his chest.

  “Have you turned against me, little Fool?” said the Emperor.

  “You have turned against yourself, Great One,” said Rico. “Now, it is time for you to return to yourself.”

  The Emperor placed his hands on the edge of his throne and forced himself to his feet, wincing.

  “Fetch my armor,” he said. “Saddle my horse. The Emperor will ride to battle.”

  “But, sire …” started a general.

  “Nothing to fear,” said Alexios. “We have to attack the army. They’re outnumbered, so they’ll have to send for help. The Venetians will have no choice but to leave the walls and reinforce them. Then we can retake the gate and the towers. Let’s go.”

  He staggered off to his bedchamber as servants came running with his armor.

  “You know, that’s not a bad plan,” commented Rico.

  I nudged him and pointed. The flutist was taking advantage of the commotion to slip out the side entrance.

  We gave her a short lead, then cut through the soldiers and servants dashing about and went through the same doorway. She was nowhere to be seen.

  “Split up?” suggested Rico.

  “No. Let’s stick together. She isn’t likely to be leaving the palace just yet.”

  From behind us, soldiers were shouting, “The Emperor rides! Make way for the Emperor! Victory to Alexios Angelos!”

  “Think he’ll pull it off?” I asked.

  Rico shrugged. “Self-interest is a powerful motivator,” he said. “At least he’s finally understanding the situation. Whether that means he’ll take the bull by the horns or run for his life, I don’t pretend to predict.”

  “Let’s go find the Egyptian,” I said.

  We decided to search the section of the palace overlooking the landwall, thinking that she would be looking for a window with a good view of the battle. The palace unfortunately had plenty of those, and it was some time before we spotted a door slightly ajar that led to a storage room on the uppermost floor. I pushed it open gently and saw her watching intently as wave after wave of Crusaders were driven back by rocks, arrows, and boiling oil.

  “Mind if we join you?” I asked.

  She jumped at the unexpected intrusion, then shrugged uncertainly. She pretended as usual to not understand much Greek. I stood next to and slightly behind her at the window while Rico closed the door and leaned casually against it.

  From this vantage point, we could see the entire field of battle. The Crusaders were so intent on their immediate objective that they didn’t notice the gates opening about a league to the west of us. It took the cheers of the onlookers in the city to alert them to the Greek army pouring onto the plain, and they pulled back from the walls and wheeled into battle formation with surprising speed.

  “They are well trained,” I said. “I think they’ll give us quite a battle even if the numbers favor us, don’t you?”

  She nodded in a agreement, then stiffened as she realized I was speaking in Arabic.

  “You speak my language,” she said.

  “A tutor from my youth,” I said. “He taught me his language and mathematics. I remember the mathematics, too. Would you like to hear me add something?”

  “Salaam alekhem, lady,” called Rico, grinning at her.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “That depends on what happens out there,” I said. “Let’s watch. Oh, please, don’t leave yet. I must insist upon your company.”

  I had my knife at the small of her back. I knew that I had the advantage of her. One of the problems with wearing as little as she did was that it left her no means of concealing a weapon.

  We could see the Emperor riding at the head of his army as the city cheered him on. The Crusaders had six divisions. The Greeks filled the plain.

  As the Emperor and his troops rode forward, the Crusaders pulled back to the palisade they had constructed. Everyone from heavily armored knights down to the cooks’ boys wearing pots tied across their chests for protection was ready to kill for Christ. Some horsemen peeled off toward the Golden Horn, and soon the Venetian fleet began appearing off to the right. The men on the ships came to shore and quickly joined their fellows on the Kosmidion.

  All that stood between the two armies was the Lycos river. There were several bridges across it, and the rest was easily fordable. There was a hush as the city waited for the Emperor to lead the attack. I held my breath, knowing that one of two things would happen, and that if we had guessed wrong, then I would become a murderer before the day was out.

  The Greek army inched forward, agonizingly slow. Another hundred paces and they would be in bowshot. Then fifty paces. Then thirty.

  Then they stopped.

  “What is he doing?” she whispered.

  “Deciding,” I said.

  Those of the Crusaders who were still mounted feinted toward the Lycos, then withdrew. The Greek army stood there. Suddenly, a single division of Frenchmen charged in an unwieldy bulge, closing the distance between the two armies.

  And the Greeks pulled back. In orderly, purposeful fashion, they marched back to the military gate from which they had emerged, the Emperor at the lead.

  The citizens watched from the rooftops in stunned silence. Then a single, strong voice burst through the stillness.

  “The Emperor flees!” he shouted. “Coward! Down with Alexios!”

  The cry was picked up and repeated up and down the walls, and reverberated across the Mese and through the city. It became a steady roar of rage and disappointment.

  I recognized the first cry, of course. Plossus was in fine voice today, and all of his Guild training paid off. He had timed it perfectly and projected it well, and the rabble-rousers we had recruited from Father Esaias did their job fanning the flames. The resulting revolt might have happened anyway, but even the driest tinder needs a spark.

  “Why do they denounce him?” protested the flutist. “Can’t they see he only brought the army out to decoy the Venetians away from the seawall?”

  “My fellow entertainer, I am surprised at you,” I said. “First law of pleasing the public is to give them what they want, whether it’s performing or warfare. Displease your audience, and you’ll be run out of town.”

  “He won’t leave,” she declared.

  “He will if you persuade him to leave,” I said.

  She looked at me, her eyes narrowed down to slits. “That’s why you’re here with a knife at my back? To ask me this? Why should I?”

  “Because he’ll listen to you,” I said. “And because it will suit your masters as well.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “I’ve been following you, you know,” I said. “Ever since I saw you hook up with that captain in the Moslem quarter. You’re a Saracen spy, milady, and I’ve got the goods on you.”

  “Who will believe you?” she scoffed.

  “Quite a few people,” I said. “But I’m not interested in denouncing you. I want you to work your seductive charms on the Emperor and get him to leave town. I don’t think he’ll need a lot of persuading. And it will be in your interests.”

  “You see, lady, we figure that with Alexios off the throne, the Crusaders are going to have to remain here a while just to help the new regime settle in,” explained Rico. “And since your masters have been doing whatever they can to keep the Crusade from coming to a theater of battle near them, you’ll come out smelling like a rose.”

  She looked back and forth between the two of us.

  “Who do you work for?” she demanded.

  “We’re just fo
ols,” I said. “We work for no government and no church.”

  “And if I refuse, you denounce me,” she said.

  “No, lady,” I replied. “If you refuse, then we report how, in your despair over the public cowardice and shame of your Emperor, you threw yourself from this very window to your death.”

  “It will be a magnificent recounting,” said Rico. “I shall be weeping copiously for your loss.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  She glanced out the window, estimating the height in her mind and not liking the result.

  “And if I denounce you instead?” she asked.

  “Listen to what they’re shouting down there,” I urged her. “If they storm Blachernae, do you think that the Emperor’s concubine will be spared?”

  “Excuse me for a moment, ladies,” said Rico. He slipped out the door. Seconds later, we heard a thud and a clatter of armor. He came back in.

  “Well?” I asked her.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll persuade him.”

  I sheathed my knife, relieved. Rico opened the door for us, bowing as we passed by. There was an Imperial Guardsman lying in a heap nearby. The flutist looked at him, then back at the dwarf.

  “Did you do that?” she said, impressed.

  He bowed, grinning broadly. She walked away, shaking her head.

  “Think it will work?” he asked.

  I shrugged.

  There were cries of panic from the side of the palace facing the city. We ran to a balcony and watched in horror as we saw a great fire climbing the Fifth Hill and surging across the valley before us. Below us, we saw the Emperor and his retinue gallop into the courtyard. The Emperor started barking orders, and servants and soldiers scattered in all directions.

  “I’d better get down there,” said Rico. “To think, Julius Caesar gained this empire by crossing a river, and now Alexios has lost it by not crossing one.”

  “And that makes all the difference,” I said, watching the flames finally die down just short of the Blachernae wall. “Do you know what I was thinking just now?”