Siege

by Jack Hight

  'The trip should be a quick one with this following wind,' Longo told them. 'We will sail down the Genoese coast, past the Arno river in Florence, and should reach Corsica well before nightfall. We will stay at my family home in Bastia and then sail on to Ostia the next day. You should be in Rome by tomorrow afternoon.'

  'I have never heard of Bastia,' Sofia said. 'What is it like?'

  'It is a small town, built on the steep, rocky coast of Corsica. The island itself is under the control of a group of Genoese traders called the Maona, and each of the great Genoese families has representatives amongst them. Corsica has been Genoese for almost two hundred years, although you would never know it. The people are still as desperate for independence as ever.'

  'My father says that the Corsicans are like animals,' Julia said. 'They must be domesticated to be of any use.' Her face was beginning to take on a greenish cast.

  'He would no doubt speak differently if it were his country that were occupied,' Sofia replied. 'I admire these Corsicans. It requires great bravery to fight a battle that nobody believes can be won.'

  'Or great foolishness,' Leontarsis mused. 'Sometimes I fear that we are all of us only playing the fool on this mission.'

  'On the contrary, Leontarsis,' Longo said. 'A fool fights when he has no chance. A brave man fights when he has no choice. No, the only fools are those who do not come to your aid. As for the Corsicans, only time will tell whether they are fools or not. I for one cannot blame them for wishing to be free.'

  'I did not mean to cause offence,' Julia said, blushing. 'I know little of these matters and… If you'll excuse me, My Lord…' Julia bowed and, covering her mouth with one hand, made a quick retreat from the rail. Her maid joined her as she hurried below to her cabin.

  'I will take my leave as well,' Leontarsis said. 'The air on deck does not appear to agree with me.' He turned and followed Julia below.

  Sofia shook her head. 'Seasickness must be terrible,' she said. 'I love the ocean, the feeling of freedom that comes from slicing through the waves, the wind in my hair.'

  'You are a sailor, then?' Longo asked.

  'Hardly,' Sofia said, laughing as the prow of la Fortuna struck a wave head on, spraying both of them with water. 'I had been on ships within the Golden Horn, but my trip to Venice was my first true encounter with the sea. I love it. How lucky you are to have a ship of your own, the freedom to go wherever you wish.'

  'I am not so free,' Longo replied. They stood quietly for some time, enjoying the sunshine and the unending rush of the sea under the prow. Longo had canvas chairs rigged for them on the foredeck, and they sat, watching the coast of Italy roll by. The mountainous Republic of Genoa was ending now, the high hills tapering into the gentler landscape of the central Italian states of Modena and Florence. Other ships began to appear on the horizon. Longo pointed to an inlet on the coast.

  'The mouth of the river Arno,' he told Sofia. 'There is a port there that serves Pisa and Florence.'

  Sofia nodded. 'I have heard of it,' she murmured. Then, turning to look Longo in the eyes, she asked: 'If you were free to do as you wished, then what would you do?'

  Longo paused. What would life even mean without duty to guide him? 'I do not suppose that I would do very much differently,' he said at last.

  'And her?' Sofia asked, nodding towards the cabin.

  'What? You do not think that she is a good match?'

  'She is beautiful, like a delicate flower, but she is so young.'

  'She is the daughter of one of the most powerful families in Genoa, and beautiful as you say,' Longo replied. 'She is all that could be asked for in a wife.' He paused, considering. 'But what of you? What would you do if you were free?'

  'I would fight to defend Constantinople,' Sofia replied without hesitation. 'And I would travel. I have seen so little of the world, and books can only teach so much.'

  'Fighting and travelling are not as glorious as they sound,' Longo said. 'One grows tired of both.'

  'Are you tired of fighting, Signor Giustiniani?'

  'You may call me Longo, Princess. And yes, I am weary of war. I used to desire nothing more than battle against the Turks, but lately…'

  Sofia nodded, but did not speak. Longo wondered if she understood him. He felt, somehow, that she did. They sat in silence until the distant smudge that would become Corsica appeared on the horizon. 'We will be landing soon,' Longo told her as he rose from his chair. 'I must make preparations. Until tonight, Princess.' Longo had Sofia and Julia escorted to their rooms in his family's villa, high in the hills above Bastia, while he spent the rest of the afternoon at the docks, busy reviewing accounts with the factor who oversaw his fishing and shipping interests on the island. It was dark when he finally arrived at the villa. He had ordered a lavish meal for his guests, but when he arrived, Longo found that only Sofia had come to take part in the feast. 'Ambassador Leontarsis and Lady Julia beg your pardon,' the house steward told him. 'They requested that you be informed that neither of them is hungry, and that they will see you tomorrow.'

  'I see,' Longo said and sat at the table across from Sofia. 'Julian, see to it that Leontarsis and Julia are taken soup and bread, and have someone find a physician to provide something to calm their stomachs.'

  'Very thoughtful of you,' Sofia said.

  Longo smiled. 'I was thinking more of my own welfare than theirs. I would prefer that Leontarsis have his wits about him when he reaches Rome. And Julia is to be my wife; I know enough of women to know that the more she suffers now, the more I will suffer in the future.'

  'Indeed,' Sofia replied, smiling back. They both busied themselves eating, and the conversation lulled. They moved through the courses — sauteed skate, roast pheasant stuffed with goat's cheese and achingly sweet Corsican oranges — while the candles burned low. Longo watched Sofia between bites. She was beautiful, but not like Julia. Sofia was no fragile flower; she was more like a finely crafted sword. But she was a bit dull at present, subdued and distracted.

  'Is the food to your liking?' Longo asked.

  'It is delicious.'

  'I ask only because you seem troubled, Princess. Perhaps you are worried about your reception in Rome?'

  Longo caught her eyes, and to his surprise, she blushed. 'Yes, that is it,' she agreed. 'The pope's support is vital.'

  Longo nodded as he studied her, trying to read her face. When she caught him staring, this time he blushed. He was acting like a fool, Longo thought. Still, he could not take his eyes off her.

  'It is growing late, and I understand that we must depart early tomorrow,' Sofia said. 'I should retire.'

  Longo took a candle from the table and led her out of the dining room, into the open courtyard at the heart of the villa, and up a set of stairs. He stopped before a room overlooking the courtyard and opened the door.

  'Good-night, Princess,' he said, but neither of them moved. They stood facing one another, silhouetted in the doorway. Their eyes met, and this time neither of them looked away. Suddenly Sofia stepped forward and kissed him. Her lips were soft and warm. Longo kissed her back, hard, but then she pulled away. Her cheeks and neck were flushed. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Longo looked into her eyes and saw confusion and panic. He took a step back, putting more distance between them.

  'Forgive me,' Sofia said at last. 'That was wrong of me.' Longo said nothing, waiting for her to finish. 'I… Perhaps I should take another ship to Ostia tomorrow, if that is possible.'

  Longo nodded. 'There is a ship sailing for Rome before sunrise tomorrow. I will see that you and Leontarsis are safely aboard.'

  'Thank you, Signor Giustiniani,' Sofia said. Their eyes met again, and she looked away. 'And thank you for your kindness. Good-night, and God be with you.'

  She slipped into her room and closed the door behind her. Longo stood there for several minutes until finally, he turned and walked slowly away. Longo returned to Genoa two days later. Julia was quiet and brooding throughout the trip and only answered
his questions with curt replies. Longo guessed that she was still suffering from seasickness.

  When they reached the Grimaldi palazzo, Julia hurried inside with hardly a word to Longo. He mounted his horse, but just before he rode out of the courtyard Grimaldi called out for him to wait. Longo turned to find him striding out of the palazzo, and Julia standing in the doorway, watching. Longo dismounted and clasped hands with Grimaldi.

  'Did you have a good trip?' Grimaldi studied Longo.

  'The sea was calm, and business is well.'

  'Julia tells me that you spent a great deal of time alone with Princess Sofia. I trust that nothing untoward happened between you.'

  'Of course not,' Longo said. But an image of Sofia kissing him burned in his mind, and he looked away.

  'Good,' Grimaldi replied, 'because the time has come: Julia is ready to wed.'

  'But she is young yet, is she not?'

  'She is fourteen, old enough to bear children,' Grimaldi said. 'In two weeks' time, you will marry.' Longo did not reply. He thought of Sofia, laughing aboard la Fortuna as the sea spray hit her. 'It is not a suggestion, signor,' Grimaldi insisted.

  'I will be honoured to marry her,' Longo replied.

  Chapter 8

  FEBRUARY 1450: ROME

  Sofia stood before the tall, bronze doors of the pope's court, biting her lip as she waited for her first audience with Pope Nicholas. Leontarsis stood to her right, tugging at the jewelled collar of his ceremonial caftan, the letter from the Synaxis gripped tightly in his other hand. They had arrived in Rome a week earlier to find the pope gone, meeting with the German king Frederick III somewhere to the north. The delay had given Sofia time to explore the city. It was a marvel unlike any she had ever seen. Genoa, with its close-packed buildings perched over the bay, had impressed her, and she had been awed by Venice, a city magically built upon water. But Rome tugged at her heart in a way that those cities had not, perhaps because it was so very much like Constantinople. Rome, too, was filled with the ruins left by centuries of empire — the baths of Caracalla, the Colosseum and the forum — but unlike Constantinople, it was a bustling city, vibrant again after centuries of decay. New buildings were rising everywhere, many built from the very stones of ancient Rome. The old Roman forum had come to life once more, holding a daily market. Everywhere there were signs of prosperity. Constantinople was still the capital of the Roman Empire, but Rome was now the glory of Christendom.

  And at the root of it all was Pope Nicholas. Sofia had learned all she could about him over the past week. Although only the son of a physician, he had risen quickly through the ranks of the church due to a prodigious memory and an insatiable love of learning. Elected a little under three years ago, he had already overseen the end of the Avignon Papacy and brokered an agreement with Frederick III that restored the rights of the pope vis-a-vis the German king. Now, he had turned his attention to the East. He wished to aid the Greeks, but he was firmly against any union that did not place him at the head of a unified church. He would not react well to the Synaxis' letter. Still, he loved Greek scholarship, and perhaps Sofia could use that to her advantage.

  The doors before Sofia swung inward, revealing a long hall illuminated by rows of windows on either side and filled with expensively dressed courtiers and more humbly dressed religious men. As a herald announced them, Leontarsis and Sofia strode through the crowd, Sofia looking past the finery around her to the pope. She had expected an older man, grey-haired and emanating beatific authority, but Pope Nicholas V proved to be a handsome, polished man in his early fifties. He had sharp Italian features and deep, intelligent eyes ringed with black, the eyes of a man who read much and slept little. He was seated on a small throne in full papal regalia — white robes, a conical hat and a staff in his hand. When Leontarsis reached the foot of the throne, he knelt and kissed the pope's ring. Sofia followed suit. The pope bid them rise and welcomed them in Greek.

  'Andronicus Bryennius Leontarsis, Princess Sofia, you are both welcome,' he began, his accent flawless. 'We are honoured by the presence of such illustrious ambassadors. I hope and pray that your stay will be a fruitful one.'

  Leontarsis bowed again. 'Your Holiness, it is we who are honoured by your most gracious reception. On behalf of my lord, the emperor Constantine, I must express our thanks for your wise leadership of the unified Church and your constant friendship towards us. He offers his friendship in return and begs that you consider this letter from the Synaxis of Eastern bishops.'

  'Ah yes, the unified Church,' Nicholas said as he took the letter and set it aside, unopened. 'I am sure that we will have much to discuss concerning the unified Church. But what of you, Princess Sofia? Do you also bring a message from your emperor? Or shall you allow your beauty to speak for you?'

  So he was charming as well as handsome, Sofia thought. 'I never allow my beauty to speak for me,' she replied in Latin. And then in Italian, 'I find words to be much more eloquent.'

  'Indeed, as the Bible says, "Speech finely framed delighteth the ears",' Nicholas quoted. 'But I am amazed. You are a linguist, then, as well as a beauty.'

  'The two are not mutually exclusive, Your Holiness, although it has been truly said, "Men trust their ears less then their eyes".'

  'Herodotus!' Nicholas exclaimed, clapping his hands together. 'You are a scholar then as well. All the better. I greatly prize scholarship. As you have no doubt read, "There is only one good — knowledge — and one evil — ignorance".'

  'Surely, Socrates believed so,' Sofia said, and Nicholas beamed with pleasure. 'But scholarship alone is a poor teacher. Was it not Heraclitus who wrote, "Much learning does not teach understanding"?'

  'Yes indeed,' Nicholas agreed. 'And you might have added, "there is nothing so ridiculous but some philosopher has said it".' He arched his eyebrows questioningly.

  'Cicero, Your Holiness.'

  Nicholas nodded his satisfaction. 'Your learning does you honour, Princess Sofia. I must introduce you to one of your learned countrymen who has done me the honour of residing at my court: the Cardinal Bessarion. He is a wise man, who has taught me much.'

  'I shall be glad to meet him,' Sofia replied. And indeed, she would, particularly if Bessarion had the ear of the pope. 'But I do not believe that he could have much to teach Your Holiness.'

  The pope smiled. 'Your words are kind, but, as pride is the downfall of man, I shall be forced to disagree.' He picked up the letter from the Synaxis and tapped it nonchalantly against the arm of his throne. 'Princess, Leontarsis, the friendship of the Greek emperor is most welcome, as are you both. You will join me for dinner tonight, when we will discuss this letter of the Synaxis. Until then, I must ask that you excuse me.' The pope rose and left the room amidst respectful silence. As soon as the door closed behind him, the room burst into noisy life, courtiers grouping in clumps to gossip and politic. Leontarsis went straight to a chamber-pot in the corner to relieve himself.

  'I thought that went well,' Sofia said to him when he returned. 'The pope seems well disposed towards us.'

  Leontarsis merely grunted his affirmation. No doubt he was already preoccupied with that night's dinner, where he would bear the brunt of the pope's outrage over the letter of the Synaxis. Sofia hoped that he would not say anything foolish. Constantine had instructed Leontarsis that he was not to support union unless the pope agreed to all the demands of the Synaxis. The pope would not react kindly to such an intransigent stance, and Leontarsis had little skill for sweetening harsh words. Indeed, it might be better if Leontarsis were not present at the dinner.

  'Leontarsis, are you feeling quite well?' Sofia asked him.

  'Much better now, yes,' he responded absently.

  'I rejoice to hear it, because if you fell ill before this evening's meal,' she suggested, 'you would not be present tonight when the pope discusses the letter of the Synaxis. You would have to postpone your meeting with him until he has had more time to reflect.'

  'What? Sick?' Leontarsis asked. His confusion vani
shed. 'Yes, I am feeling rather poorly. I am not sure that my seasickness has quite passed. Would you do me the honour of representing me at the pope's table tonight and expressing my regrets?'

  'Of course,' Sofia replied. That was one problem solved. But there was still the letter to deal with. How to make the pope understand that the only way to deal with the Synaxis was to call their bluff? Perhaps Cardinal Bessarion could be of help. Indeed, he looked like the only hope that she had. A little over an hour later Sofia followed a young priest into Bessarion's study, a square room occupying one of the upper floors of the papal palace's south tower. Books filled the room, overflowing the bookshelves and covering much of the floor as well. In the centre of the room a desk floated amongst the sea of books, and seated at the desk was Bessarion. The ageing scholar's appearance contrasted sharply with the clutter of his study. He was immaculately dressed in the red robes of a cardinal, his white hair cut short beneath a red skullcap and his white beard neatly trimmed. He looked up from the manuscript laid out before him, and his face brightened. 'Princess Sofia, you are most welcome,' he said, his voice quiet and deep. 'I have heard great things of you.'

  Sofia curtsied. 'Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Your Eminence. You do me great honour.'

  'Please, call me Bessarion. "Your Eminence" is far too lofty a title for an old man such as me,' he replied with a smile. 'Now, Princess, I presume that it is not questions of scholarship that have brought you to me. You wish to discuss union and support for Constantinople, I have no doubt. Of course, you know that the pope wishes to give what aid he can, so long as the Union is enforced. But I must warn you, this letter of the Synaxis has not helped your cause.'

  'You have read the letter, then?'

  'Yes. The pope summoned me to him as soon as he left his audience with you. The letter left him quite upset. He is very clear where he stands. The pope will never agree to another council, nor will he agree to a union in which he is not the absolute head of the Church.'