Rav’an thrust the paper towards her. “It just came in from Famagusta, Theo. What do you make of it?”
Theo wiped her fingers on a cloth, took the paper and glanced at it. She frowned, then her mouth twitched with amusement. “Is this some kind of joke?” she demanded.
“I, we don’t think so, Theo. It arrived this morning from Dimitri,” Jannat told her.
“Hmm. If this is as serious as I think it is, we have to try to find a solution. Is the Queen that girl Tamura?” Theo inquired.
Rav’an nodded. “If she really is in difficulties we owe it to her to help, don’t we? It’s a question of, um, experience and sisterly support… isn’t it?” She said with an arch look at her friends, who both began to laugh.
The bewildered servants, the wounded patients in the chambers nearby, and other occupants of the castle heard the animated but muffled voices of the three ladies, interspersed with shrieks of laughter, from the closed doors of the physician’s chambers for well over an hour. The servants shrugged, smiled at one another, and agreed that the women were at last enjoying their time free of their men.
*****
Diocles, Chief Minister to Isaac Komnenos, was worried. Who was this newcomer who professed to be a Junior Ambassador for the Emperor of Byzantium? The title itself was insulting enough. A full ambassador would have been more diplomatic. On the other hand, Isaac had supported William the Norman, King of Sicily, in his abortive attempt to wrest the empire from Angelos, during and immediately after the gruesome killing of Andronikos the butcher. It was common knowledge that Isaac had held hopes of being appointed emperor by William. Diocles had felt that Isaac was being not only premature but delusional. But then, the Emperor rarely listened to good advice. He had sided with William, and now here was an official visitor from Constantinople. He came talking of peace and unity, but in Diocles’ experience, what a politician said and what he intended were very rarely one and the same.
Diocles sighed. The Emperor had just come back from a flying visit to Larnaca and Limassol, where he had heard complaints from the merchants about high taxes and the depredations of pirates, who were becoming ever more bold.
As usual, Isaac had barely listened, not even when the new commander of his forces added his voice to the growing lament. The pirates were well coordinated, and they probably had spies on land for they were masters of surprise: attacking at night, burning, kidnapping people for the clamoring slave markets, and plundering whatever they could.
Instead, Isaac had demanded that they lend him money on credit against his legendary store of gold. No one believed the Emperor would keep his word. He seldom told the truth; he issued absurd edicts that no one, least of all the eunuchs who swarmed the palace, knew what to do with; and he forced merchants to lend money to him on promises to pay them back with gold. He never did pay anything back. Diocles was one of the few people who knew that in reality there was gold hidden in the cellars of the palace at Famagusta. He thought it was very immoral of the Emperor to keep borrowing coin while reneging on his promises.
Now he was having to organize at very short notice an audience with this odd-looking fellow from Constantinople, who oozed good will and smiled far too often, demanding an audience. Diocles hoped that the man had brought letters; if he had not, he might find himself in the dungeons for being a fraud. Diocles instinctively disliked the man, who called himself Aeneas Sanna. What kind of a name was that? A family name that alluded to hay!
The ship had actually arrived the previous day, but the passengers had been forced to remain on board until the Emperor and Diocles returned to the city. Diocles decided that he would put the stranger up in the house abandoned by Pantoleon, the monster who had formerly occupied the place with his mercenaries. A fitting accommodation, he thought to himself, as he climbed the steps to the women’s quarters to talk to Tamura.
She welcomed him into her rooms and offered a little of the very drinkable wine that Diocles shared with her, though he remained mysterious about its origin. She smiled a welcome and seated herself. At her command the slaves Martina and Siranos brought some tiny refreshments—she knew Diocles had a sweet tooth—and, following a hand gesture from Tamura, disappeared into another room. Diocles was quite sure they had their ears glued to the curtain, but he didn’t mind.
Here he could let his guard down, just a little, for a while, and share some gossip with Tamura, who as always wanted to hear his perspective while providing her own.
“So how is the Chief Minister, and what is the news?” she enquired with a pretty smile, showing good teeth.
He smiled back with his hand just in front of his mouth. He knew his teeth were in very poor shape. He had very little to be vain about. He was balding, his ears were sprouting hair like a rabbit, and his beard was straggly; but somehow she made him feel younger, so he enjoyed coming to see her. It wasn’t as though they didn’t see one another about the palace and in the extensive gardens, but here, somehow, he always felt as though she was on his side.
“The Emperor heard the usual complaints, my Lady. The merchants, and now even the garrison commanders, are concerned about the pirates who infest the coast.”
She sighed. “They are dangerous. I long to go to Paphos for the baths, but I am afraid of the coastal road.”
Diocles agreed with her. “It would be best to wait until something has been done about them, my Lady.” He had no idea what the Emperor might do, however. When pressed by his commanders, Isaac had snarled at them, which meant that he didn’t have a plan, and the subject had been dropped.
“Did he, did he… enjoy himself while in Larnaca?” she queried.
Knowing exactly what she was talking about, Diocles sent her a sympathetic glance.
“Well… I think he tried, my Lady, but… it didn’t go well.” He recalled the crying girl who had been chosen for the Emperor being hustled out of his tent late that night and told to go home by the unpleasant guards. Clutching her clothing about her she had run off into the night, wailing. Her family might not even accept her back, which meant that yet another innocent would be condemned to the streets, to end up in a mean and dirty brothel or starve to death. He shook his head and looked with respect at Tamura, who had so nearly suffered the same fate but had somehow managed to beguile this fickle and spiteful man into making her the senior lady in the palace.
She gave a sigh of her own, then sent him an odd look. “I have asked for help,” she stated.
“What kind of help?” he asked, curious.
“You know that he has this problem, and because of that he gets angry, and makes things worse. For everyone. I have asked for help from someone I know in the city.”
Diocles was intrigued. It had been a very long time since he had been able to do anything in bed with anyone, either boys or girls.
“I wonder what might be going on in the castle?” she asked rhetorically.
He smiled. The question always came up during these visits. Each of them knew that the other had some kind of contact with people of that enigmatic place on the mountain.
“I was going to ask if you could be at the audience tomorrow, my Lady,” he asked to change the subject.
“You know I would be delighted, Chief Minister. Now tell me all you know about this mysterious visitor. Is he from the City?” she asked, referring to Constantinople, which was known far and wide by that name, especially in the provinces, none of which could boast of having a city even a fraction of the size.
*****
Aeneas prepared himself for the audience with care. His robes were of good patterned silk, as was the matching rimless hat lined with fur. He wiped his face and bald head, which had beaded with sweat for the second time within an hour. Despite the sweltering heat of the crowded city of Famagusta, he felt that to be anything less than perfectly dressed for even this pseudo -emperor would be considered a slight, and he wanted to start off on the right foot. He called his servant to come and brush some imaginary motes of dust off his shoulde
rs, but because he was nervous he slapped the man’s hand aside and shouted for Aquila.
The bodyguard slouched into the room and leaned against the wall. “What is it… Sir?” he rasped, in his dry-as-a-desert voice.
Aeneas bridled. “I want you to be a good deal more presentable than that!” he exclaimed irritably. “You look like a common sailor. We are going to see the Emperor of Cyprus! And where is that lout Macrobius? He should be here by now!”
Macrobius, the other thug who had been foisted upon Aeneas for his ‘protection’, had been sent to the ship to collect the rest of the baggage Aeneas had brought with him.
“He’s on his way back. The laborers in this town don’t know their left from their right. They have dropped things all over the place, and God alone knows what they might have stolen,” Aquila remarked.
Aeneas threw him a shocked look. “You mean they have plundered our baggage?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “Are they not slaves to be flogged to death for such behavior?”
“Hmm, no. These are what are called ‘Freemen’. They work the docks, and I suspect they steal whatever they can from whomsoever they can. If I caught one of them I’d kill him on the spot, but… I haven’t yet!” Aquila took out a knife and cleaned his fingernails.
Little did he know how right he was. Dimitri had infiltrated the ranks of the labor force in the harbor and now his men controlled most of the activity. Talon had been very pleased to hear of this initiative, as it meant that no ship came or went without Dimitri knowing exactly who was on it and why. He also kept the looting to a minimum, because it would not do to gain a reputation for plundering. Word got around fast among the merchants that the Freemen of the docks of Famagusta were more reliable than most. Unfortunately, the Emperor’s taxes were exorbitant. In this case, Dimitri had wanted to know as much as he could about the new arrivals; so Maymun and Khuzaymah, his two best henchmen, had done some careful searching among the boxes and cases that came off the ship.
Aeneas arrived at the palace right on time and walked up the steps to the entrance, where he was greeted by a minion of Diocles, who had instructions to humiliate him if at all possible. In this manner the Chief Minister could find out a little more about the temper of his visitor. People who are nervous and tense tend to betray their real feelings, he knew, so the servant who approached Aeneas looked down his elongated nose to ask, “What might your business be here?”
Aeneas was taken aback. “I am here to see the Emperor, and you should be more respectful!” he spluttered, adjusting his hat and sweating all the more.
The servant gave him an unctuous smile and pretended to consult a list, slowly running his finger down the margin. “Name?”
“Aeneas Sanna, Ambassador from the Emperor of Byzantium!” he almost shouted.
The servant frowned at him as though to say, “No need to shout, I’m only doing my duty.”
“Hmm, don’t see you here, Sir. Was it for today? The Emperor is very busy.”
Aeneas nearly burst a blood vessel. “Yes!” he shouted this time, his face and bald head going puce. “I was summoned by your Chief of something or other and here I am!” Who was this little functionary to question him? “The Emperor of this copper pot little island?” he gobbled to himself.
The minion consulted his list again, looking aggrieved, “There is no need to be rude, Sir. Hum, hum, hummmm. Oh, here it is! Yes, of course, you are on right this minute.” The servant feigned surprise. “We’ll have to hurry. Please follow me.” He spun about and led the way briskly into the gloomy interior of the palace, ignoring the murderous looks he received from both Aeneas, who had to trot to keep up, and his accompanying thugs.
“You and you alone must present yourself with your papers to the Emperor,” the haughty servant explained when they had entered the audience room. The room was filled with spectators, as the arrival of an emissary from the City was cause for great curiosity. The throne seemed like a league away along a narrow, reddish carpet that looked dirty and moth-eaten.
“You must approach on hands and knees, Sir, until you arrive at the base of the steps leading to the throne, and then you must bow low and await the kindness of His Majesty,” the servant intoned.
Aeneas stared at the carpet and the rows of people on either side of it with horror. Never in his life had he been forced to do anything of the sort, although he had heard that this had once been common practice in Constantinople itself.
Giving a great inward sigh, he signaled his men to wait for him and dropped to his knees. “God help me, but this had better be worth it!” he muttered to himself as he began the long journey along the carpet towards the throne, clutching the rolls of paper which announced his rank. The crawl along the worn and dirty carpet, listening to the provincial Greek of the Cypriot nobles and their tittering wives, cemented Aeneas’s determination to tear this place apart and leave with the gold that he was charged with finding. His disdain for the crowd was now matched by his rage at the humiliation he was experiencing.
At last he arrived at the steps in front of the throne and paused. He dropped his head to the carpet and waited.
After a few moments the Emperor spoke. “We are pleased to greet an embassy from Constantinople. You may rise.”
Aeneas nearly got to his feet, but an old man standing next to the throne gestured sharply for him to remain kneeling. He sat back on his heels and raised the documents for someone to take. The old man obliged, opened the sealed rolls, and laid them in front of Isaac, who pretended to read them.
“We ask, what brings an embassy to our shores?”
This public talk was a mere prelude to the interview which Aeneas prayed might follow. This audience was to impress, and, he feared, entertain the crowd present. Well, he could send a message of his own to the lickspittles of this upstart tyrant. “Your Majesty, I bring news of Constantinople and greetings from his Majesty Isaac Angelos, Emperor of all of Byzantium, who wishes you good health and happiness.”
There was a pause while Isaac Komnenos looked at him from slightly bulging, dark brown eyes as though assessing him. It was not a friendly look. But then the Emperor nodded. “We will talk later. Chief Minister, arrange it.”
The old man retrieved the papers and bowed. “At once, Your Majesty.”
Aeneas, still on his knees, had time to look around. He noticed some hard-looking men in an assortment of armor who stood behind the throne. Then his glance landed on a very beautiful woman seated on a smaller throne to the King’s left. His eyes widened. She was stunning, and quite a lot younger than the Emperor. She regarded him with a disinterested look and he dropped his eyes. It was time to pay attention to what the Emperor might say next.
In fact the audience was over. The Emperor rose to his feet, and the entire room full of people bowed very low as he swept away in a rustle of stiff silk robes and a strong whiff of perfume. The beautiful woman also rose and followed the Emperor out through the passage behind the throne.
The moment Isaac left, the room erupted with shouts as people who had wanted an audience realized that for yet another day they were to be denied. For this they blamed the Chief Minister, at whom they waved their petitions and shouted angrily for attention. Meanwhile, a minion touched Aeneas on the sleeve and beckoned him to follow.
They arrived at a closed doorway where a rough-looking guard scrutinized them before opening it and allowing them passage. Aeneas was nothing if not a man who attended to detail. He’d already noticed the whole palace was in a deplorable state of maintenance, from the stained and dirty carpets to the cobwebs in the corners of what had once been brightly gilded ceilings. He was therefore not too surprised to find this room in only slightly better condition. The Emperor Isaac Komnenos was standing this time, with several people nearby. One of them was the beautiful woman, who stared at Aeneas as though he had just crept out of a hole.
A very bulky man stood to the Emperor’s right and scowled, and there was the Chief Minister again. Aeneas bowed before the
Emperor as low as he possibly could, and then waited in that position.
“We have decided to talk privately with you, Junior Ambassador Aeneas,” Isaac said in an imperious manner. “We find it interesting that after much time we finally have a junior ambassador at our doors from the City at our doors! What could possibly have brought this occasion about?” His tone was dripping sarcasm, and Aeneas winced inwardly. However, he steeled himself and looked up.
“Sire, I have come on behalf of the Emperor of Byzantium on a mission to establish an embassy here in Cyprus and to promote relations between our two countries. There have been, as you may know, er… disturbances, but now that matters have calmed, His Majesty thought it important to send an embassy to renew our friendship.”
Isaac looked skeptical. “Is that all?” He fidgeted with the tassel on his sash, looking uncertain.
“Indeed it is, Sire. It has been far too long since the Emperor and Your Majesty have had communications, and he felt strongly that we should amend that situation. Hence my presence here.”
_____________
Chapter 6
Zenos
Trained to another use,
We march with colors furled,
Only concerned when Death breaks loose
On a front of half a world.
Only for General Death
The Yellow Flag may fly,
While we take post beneath—
That is the place for a spy.
—Rudyard Kipling
After Aeneas had departed for the villa that Diocles had assigned him, the group remained in the chamber to discuss the situation. Isaac’s newly appointed Chief Gatherer of Information, a man named Zenos, was being careful about how he responded, while Tamura wore a pensive look.
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