Robert Lyndon - Imperial Fire

Vallon’s escort set him down outside his villa and rode back to the ferry. He hesitated before pulling the bell, aware that this might be one of the last times he entered his home. To the south the metropolis slept under a glowing bubble. Across the Bosporus only a few isolated lights marked the Asian shore. He wrenched the bell-pull and Wulfstan shepherded him inside, goggling with questions he didn’t dare ask. Caitlin jumped up from the fireside.

‘Was I right? Has the emperor rewarded your valour?’

Vallon sat down and massaged his eyes. ‘In a way. I’ve been promoted to general.’

‘Then why do you look like a man under sentence of death?’

‘I’ve been ordered to lead an expedition to China.’

‘Where’s that?’

Vallon gave a curdled smile, aware that he would hear the same question many times in the months ahead. ‘Already I face a problem. I have strict orders to tell no one about the mission.’

‘Nonsense, Vallon. I’m not one of those Greek gossips. We’ve never let secrets divide us.’

‘I’m merely warning you that you mustn’t repeat anything I tell you.’

‘Of course I won’t.’

Vallon blew out his cheeks. ‘China is an empire on the other side of the world, a year’s journey away, a year back. I’ll be old before I return. If I return.’

Caitlin took both his hands. ‘You’re frozen.’ She turned and called. A maid appeared. ‘Hot wine for the master.’ Caitlin led him to a couch, sat him down and knelt before him, kneading his hands. ‘I couldn’t bear such a long separation.’

Vallon shrugged. ‘The only way to avoid the mission would be to flee Byzantium.’

‘Where would we go?’

Another shrug. ‘I could take up the Seljuk Sultan’s offer to join his army.’ Vallon laughed. ‘I encountered the Normans’ second-in-command on the field of battle. He made a similar offer. I could go anywhere they’d employ an ageing mercenary.’

Caitlin looked around the comfortable apartment. ‘It would mean giving up everything and starting afresh in a foreign land. The children would have to learn new languages.’

Vallon sat straight. ‘No. I won’t allow my family to be uprooted. I’ll carry out my orders, even if I might never see my loved ones again. I’m sorry that you will have to make a similar sacrifice.’

The maid returned with the wine. Vallon turned the cup in both hands. Caitlin rose and sat beside him. ‘If anyone can make the journey and return home safe, it’s you.’

Vallon lifted the cup to his lips and knocked it back in one, aware that Caitlin had made only a token stand against what was effectively a death sentence delivered against her husband.

‘How long until you leave?’ she asked.

‘Three months.’

‘Then there’s hope. The emperor might change his mind before then. Every week brings news of fresh alarms on the frontier. They won’t send you on such a far-flung expedition if there’s fighting to be done closer to home.’

Vallon summoned a smile. He squeezed Caitlin’s hand. ‘You’re right.’

Her expression became pensive. ‘If you do go, will you ask Hero to join you?’

Vallon swung round. ‘Of course not. It didn’t even occur to me. As for summoning him… He’s a distinguished physician in Italy. He wouldn’t throw up his career to tag along on some reckless adventure. Heaven forbid.’

Caitlin leaned towards the fire. ‘And Aiken?’

Vallon studied her face in profile, the firelight gilding her skin. He stroked a hand down her cheek. ‘No. The challenge is too severe. The lad will stay here and continue his studies.’

Caitlin closed her eyes in relief and kissed Vallon on the lips. ‘Thank you, husband.’ She rose in one graceful movement and extended her hand. ‘I think it’s time we retired.’

Vallon pressed her hand to his lips. ‘I fear my thoughts are too wrenched about to give you the consideration you deserve.’

Caitlin brushed her hand over Vallon’s head and withdrew.

He watched her glide out of the room, his thoughts dark and rancid. Much later his servant found him staring into the fire, studying the pulsing embers as if they were a prefigurement of his destiny, open to any interpretation.

Hero stood in the bow, a warm breeze from the south blowing his hair about his face. The first swallows of spring skimmed the surface around the ship, and high in the sky storks drifted in lazy gyrations on the way back to their nesting grounds. Ahead, the Sea of Marmara funnelled into the Bosporus, the mile-wide strait flecked with sails, the city of Constantinople beginning to shape itself out of the haze on the western shore. With swelling heart, Hero watched the metropolis draw nearer, its sea walls taking on massive form, mansions and palaces and tenements spilling over the promontory in a great upwelling of civilisation.

He glanced around smiling, wanting to share his pleasure, and his gaze fell on a youth watching the approaching city with a mixture of awe and apprehension. The lad was Frankish, only about sixteen, but tall and well-set with a face that reminded Hero of the young Emperor Augustus — the same jutting, high-bridged nose, curly hair, rather prominent ears and a mouth both truculent and sensitive. He’d caught Hero’s attention soon after boarding the ship at Naples. Partly it was because he was alone and a Frank, a youth trying to project an image stern beyond his years. He was obviously poor, dressed in a patched tunic and crudely repaired shoes. For food all he had was a satchel of what looked like cold porridge that he cut with a knife and forced down with stolid revulsion. Hero had tried to engage him in conversation before and been rebuffed. The youth shunned all company, possibly because he spoke no Greek. Now, seeing the lad’s scarcely disguised nervousness, Hero decided to make another attempt.

‘A wonderful sight, but intimidating on first acquaintance. Imagine. Half a million souls dwell behind those walls.’

The young Frank glanced at him, surprised to be addressed in French, then looked away.

‘This is my second visit,’ said Hero, ‘but the sight still quickens my pulse like no other. I’ll point out the landmarks if you want. The land walls were built by Theodosius more than six hundred years ago. They’re nearly four miles long and no army has ever breached them. Those splendid columns and façades above the sea walls are part of the Great Palace. Beyond is the dome of St Sophia. In a short while you’ll be able to see the whole structure, the most beautiful cathedral in Christendom.’

‘I’m not here to admire the views.’

‘I didn’t imagine you were. I assume you’re travelling to Constantinople to join the military.’

‘Assume what you like.’

St Sophia in all its glory glided into full view. ‘My name is Hero of Syracuse. Some people think it’s a girl’s name.’ He pointed back down the Sea of Marmara. ‘Like the maiden whose lover Leander swam the Hellespont each night to be with his mistress. In fact my father named me after the inventor and mathematician, Hero of Alexandria.’

The youth ignored Hero’s out-held hand. ‘I’ve never heard the name and I’m not interested.’

Hero made one last effort. ‘We still have some time before we reach harbour. This breeze sharpens my appetite. Will you share breakfast with me? Just some bread, figs and cheese. A flask of decent wine.’

The youth rounded on him. ‘Look, I know your type. I’ve had to deal with them since I left Aquitaine.’

‘Aquitaine? That’s interesting. As it happens — ’

‘Don’t tell me. You just happen to have a friend from Aquitaine, so why don’t we all get together for a quiet supper. You’re not the first who’s tried that on.’