Tom Harper: The mosaic of shadows

I cut him short. ‘Is the chamberlain within? Tell him that Demetrios Askiates and Sigurd the Varangian have returned from Galata. Tell him we have news which must be told.’

Whether from the surprise of being countermanded, or the flat certainty in my voice, the sergeant disappeared through the door, and emerged humbly ten minutes later to confirm that the chamberlain would see me immediately.

It was probably the most exalted gathering I would ever witness, I thought, as the bronze doors closed behind me. I had entered the room where I had once met the Sebastokrator, the broad chamber built atop the walls overlooking the plain. It was filled with the light of many candles, and with the glittering array of more generals, counsellors and their retinues than I could count. Apart from Isaak and Krysaphios, I recognised the Caesar Bryennios, the Emperor’s first son-in-law; the great eunuch general Tatikios whom I remembered from his triumph against the Cumans; and myriad others in gilded armour and the regalia of their offices. All stood save the Emperor himself, who sat on his golden throne in the centre of the room and inclined his head to the arguments which flowed about him. On the marble floor, between the pointed shoes of his courtiers, I thought I saw blood.

I was too shabby to be noticed by that shimmering assembly, but Krysaphios noted my arrival and gradually slipped around the edge of the throng to greet me in a corner.

‘You have returned,’ he said calmly. ‘When we saw the barbarians marching from their camp, we feared the worst. Particularly when we received reports that some of our soldiers had been executed.’

I stared into his shifting eyes. ‘It was a trap. If the monk was ever there, he was not in the house when we arrived. Instead we found barbarians, hundreds of them, waiting for us. They cut down many of our force and took the rest captive. When they started murdering prisoners for the sport of their crowd, we escaped. They know that the Normans will come, and they are eager to seize the spoils for themselves before that day.’ I leaned closer. ‘When the barbarian captain Baldwin addressed his army, he told them he had an agent in the city who would see to it that the gates were open to them. I have discovered that he was taught at the same school where the monk learned to hate Byzantium. He and the monk must be in league.’

To my surprise and chagrin, Krysaphios laughed openly at this news. ‘Your effort does you credit, Demetrios,’ he told me, immaculate condescension in his voice. ‘But you are tardy with it. The Emperor’s enemies have already revealed themselves.’

I stared about the room. The Emperor Alexios still lived and breathed — so much was obvious. ‘Was the blood on the floor. .?’

‘The monk’s doing? No. Those windows through which the Emperor surveyed the battle make an inviting target from without. Many Franks tried their aim with arrows, and one struck the man who stood beside the throne.’

‘I winced to think how nearly we had been undone. What was this battle you speak of?’

Krysaphios glanced back to the middle of the room, where a stout general was making an impassioned oration against the barbarians, recapitulating their historic offences. ‘I told you that the barbarians had revealed themselves as our enemies: so much was obvious, as soon as they had ambushed your expedition. After they left Galata, they pillaged their way around the Golden Horn until they arrived at the walls. The palace by the Silver Lake is entirely destroyed.’

‘They left little untouched in Galata either.’

‘Then they drew up their army over there’ — Krysaphios pointed through the windows — ‘and began an assault on the palace gate, trying to burn it open. All afternoon they launched themselves at our defences, while within our walls the mob rioted and demanded war.’

‘But the Emperor did not succumb?’ I said, remembering the words of the guard by the sea gate.

Krysaphios’ eyes narrowed. ‘Not yet. Invoking the sanctity of the day, he ordered the archers to keep to the walls and fire over the barbarians’ heads, or at their horses if they pressed too close. Even now, when they hammer at our gates, he holds out hope that there can be peace and does not admit his folly. But fortune will desert them tomorrow. Even the Emperor cannot defy the howl of the mob forever, and when the barbarians attack again he will have no choice but to destroy them. As many have long demanded.’

‘But what if he commits to battle and does not destroy them? What if they pierce our defences and break in?’ I saw scorn rising on Krysaphios’ lips, and hurried on. ‘What of the monk? Surely tomorrow will be the day he strikes.’

Unexpectedly, Krysaphios chuckled. ‘The Great Friday of Easter — a good day for martyrdom. But the Emperor will never be alone; his guards, family and commanders will attend him constantly. And it would need more than one man to open our gates, against the will of all who manned them. If even that concerns you, then stay and keep watch. Unless you again prefer the familiarity of your own bed.’

‘There is enough of the soldier left in me that I can sleep where I am needed. But I fear for my daughters. If the mob riot again tomorrow and they are caught up in it, I will not forgive myself.’

Krysaphios’ lip turned a fraction upward. ‘Every man in this palace has a family, Demetrios, and all those wives and sons and daughters must wait in their own homes with the rest of our people. Do you really struggle between your obligations to two girls, and your duty to the millions in the empire?’

I had no patience for such contempt. ‘If the empire cannot protect my family then I have no use for it; my duty is to my kin. You yourself might understand if you had more than a mule’s seed.’

I regretted those words even as I spoke them, but the toil of the day had crushed my patience and loosed my wits. I saw anger sear Krysaphios’ cheeks and did not bother to wait for its eruption.

‘I will go and guard my family. If I were you, Krysaphios, I would not stand too near the windows tomorrow.’

I turned on my heels and walked stiffly from the room, invisible to the gilded company who still threw the same arguments between each other. Neither Krysaphios nor the guards tried to stop me, and once I was past the bronze doors there was too much confusion for any to notice. I descended the stairs in a daze of bitter misery, and had just gained the second courtyard when I heard running steps behind me, and felt a hand on my arm.

I turned, to see a handsome, apologetic-looking young man. His dalmatica was of the finest fabric, fastened with a brooch in the shape of a lion, while the ornament on his tablion betold a rank far above his years.

‘My apologies, Master Askiates.’ His voice was light, and his manner friendly. ‘My lord Alexios the Emperor saw your departure and begs you to stay. He fears he may need you tomorrow.’

‘The Emperor was wrapped in a council of war when I left — can he really have seen me?’

‘My lord Alexios has both eyes and ears, and he does not always use them in unison. Will you stay, by his invitation?’

It was hard to resist the easy humour of this youth, but the single purpose in my mind overrode all else. ‘I must return to my home. I worry for my daughters’ safety, and I fear there will be more danger in the streets tomorrow.’

‘And the Emperor shares those concerns. He will send his guards to bring them here.’

At a stroke, all my resistance ebbed away. Though the palace was far from safe, and though any battle in the city would rage fiercest here, I would rather see my daughters by my side in a stout fortress than at the mercy of the mob. I nodded my agreement. ‘I will stay.’