Tom Harper - The mosaic of shadows

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.