Guy Kay - Sailing to Sarantium

When autumn came round again, in a mortal world greatly changed by then, those coming at dawn on the Day of the Dead to perform the ancient, forbidden rites found no dead man, no crafted birds in the grass. There was a staff, and an empty pack with a leather strap, and they wondered at those. One man took the staff, another the pack, when they were done with what they had come there to do.

Those two, as it happened, were to know good fortune all their days, afterwards, and then their children did, who took the staff and the pack when they died, and then their children's children.

There were powers greater than royalty in the world.

"I should be exceedingly grateful," said the cleric Maximius, principal adviser to the Eastern Patriarch, "if someone would explain to us why a cow so absurdly large is to be placed on the dome of the Sanctuary of Jad's Holy Wisdom. What does this Rhodian think he is about?"

There was a brief silence, worthy of the arch, acidic tones in which the comment had been made.

"I believe," said the architect Artibasos gravely, after a glance at the Emperor, "that the animal might be a bull, in fact."

Maximius sniffed. "I am, of course, entirely happy to defer to your knowledge of the farmyard. The question remains, however."

The Patriarch, in a cushioned seat with a back, allowed himself a small smile behind his white beard. The Emperor remained expressionless.

"Deference becomes you," said Artibasos, mildly enough. "It might be worth cultivating. It is customary-except perhaps among clerics-to have opinions preceded by knowledge."

This time it was Valerius who smiled. It was late at night. Everyone knew the Emperor's hours, and Zakarios, the Eastern Patriarch, had long since made his adjustments to them. The two men had negotiated a relationship built around an unexpected personal affection and the real tension between their offices and roles. The latter tended to play itself out in the actions and statements of their associates. This, too, had evolved over the years. Both men were aware of it.

Excepting the servants and two yawning Imperial secretaries standing by in the shadows, there were five men in the room-a chamber in the smaller Traversite Palace-and they had each, at some point, spent a measure of time examining the drawings that had brought them here. The mosaicist was not here. It was not proper that he be present for this. The fifth man, Pertennius of Eubulus, secretary to the Supreme Strategos, had been making notes as he studied the sketches. Not a surprise: the historian's mandate here was to chronicle the Emperor's building projects, and the Great Sanctuary was the crown jewel among them.

Which made the preliminary drawings for the proposed dome mosaics of extreme significance, both aesthetic and theological.

Zakarios, behind his thick, short, steepled fingers, shook his head as a servant offered wine. "Bull or cow," he said, "it is unusual.. much of the design is unusual. You will agree, my lord?" He adjusted the ear flap of his cap. He was aware that the unusual headgear with its dangling chin strings did no favours to his appearance, but he was past the age when such things mattered and was rather more concerned with the fact that it was not yet winter and he was already cold all the time, even indoors.

"One could hardly fail to agree," Valerius murmured. He was clad in a dark blue wool tunic and the new style of trousers, belted, tucked into black boots. Working garb, no crown, no jewels. Of all those in the room, he was the only one who seemed oblivious to the hour. The blue moon was well over to the west, above the sea by now. "Would we have preferred a more «usual» design for this Sanctuary?"

"This dome serves a holy purpose," the Patriarch said firmly. "The images thereon-at the very summit of the Sanctuary-are to inspire the devout to pious thoughts. This is not a mortal palace, my lord, it is an evocation of the palace of Jad."

"And you feel," said Valerius, "that the proposal of the Rhodian is deficient in this regard? Really?" The question was pointed.

The Patriarch hesitated. The Emperor had an unsettling habit of posing such blunt queries, cutting past detail to the larger issue. The fact was, the charcoal sketches of the proposed mosaic were astonishing. There really was no other simple word for it, or none that came to the Patriarch's mind at this late hour.

Well, one other word: humbling.

That was good he thought. Wasn't it? The dome crowned a sanctuary- a house-meant to honour the god, as a palace housed and exalted a mortal ruler. The god's exaltation ought to be greater, for the Emperor was merely his Regent upon earth. Jad's messenger was the last voice they heard when they died: Uncrown, the lord of Emperors awaits you now.

For worshippers to feel awe, sweep, immense power above them..

"The design is remarkable," Zakarios said frankly-it was risky to be less than direct with Valerius. He settled his fingers in his lap. "It is also. disturbing. Do we want the faithful to be uneasy in the god's house?"

"I don't even know where I am when I look at this," Maximius said plaintively, striding over to the broad table surface where Pertennius of Eubulus was standing over the drawings.

"You are in the Traversite Palace," said the little architect, Artibasos, helpfully. Maximius flashed him a glance etched in rancour.

"What do you mean?" Zakarios asked. His principal adviser was an officious, bristling, literal-minded man, but good at what he did.

"Well, look," said Maximius. "We are to imagine ourselves standing beneath this dome, within the Sanctuary. But lying along the… I suppose the eastern rim, the Rhodian is showing what is obviously the City. and he is showing the Sanctuary itself, seen from a distance…"

"As if from the sea, yes," said Valerius quietly.

"… and so we will be inside the Sanctuary but must imagine ourselves to be looking at it from a distance. It… it gives me a headache," concluded Maximius firmly. He touched his brow, as if to emphasize the pain. Pertennius gave him a sidelong glance.

There was a little silence again. The Emperor looked at Artibasos. The architect said, with unexpected patience, "He is showing us the City within a larger meaning. Sarantium, Queen of Cities, glory of the world, and in such an image the Sanctuary is present, as it must be, along with the Hippodrome, the Precinct palaces, the landward walls, the harbour, the boats in the harbour…"

"But," said Maximius, a finger stabbing upwards, "with all respect to our glorious Emperor, Sarantium is the glory of this world, whereas the house of the god honours the worlds above the world… or should." He looked back at the Patriarch, as if for approval.

"What is above it?" the Emperor asked softly.

Maximius turned quickly. "My lord? I beg your. above?"

"Above the City, cleric. What is there?"

Maximius swallowed.

"Jad is, my lord Emperor," said Pertennius the historian, answering. The secretary's tone was detached, the Patriarch thought, as if he'd really rather not be forced to participate in any of this. Only to chronicle it. Nonetheless, what he had said was true.

Zakarios could see the drawings from where he sat. The god was indeed above Sarantium, magnificent and majestic in his solar chariot, riding up like sunrise, straight on, unimpeachably bearded in the eastern fashion. Zakarios had half expected to protest a prettily golden western image here, but the Rhodian had not done that. Jad on this dome was dark and stern, as the eastern worshippers knew him, filling one side of the dome, nearly to the crown of it. It would be a glory if it could be achieved.

"Jad is, indeed," said Valerius the Emperor. "The Rhodian shows our City in majesty-the New Rhodias, as Saranios named it in the beginning and intended it to be-and above it, where he must be and always is, the artisan gives us the god." He turned to Zakarios. "My lord Patriarch, what confusing message is there in this? What will a weaver or a shoemaker or a soldier beneath this image take to his heart, gazing up?"