Robert Lyndon: Imperial Fire

Vallon stepped onto a covered balcony overlooking a lake of darkness surrounded by the faint breathing glow of the city. It took a moment to realise that the U-shaped arena beneath him was the Hippodrome, and that he was looking down on it from the imperial box. His flesh seemed to congeal about his bones.

Three figures swathed in fur overgarments occupied the balcony, seated around two braziers that cast only enough light to suggest form but not features. Vallon had the impression that one of them was veiled and possibly a woman.

One of the muffled shapes rose. ‘An interesting perspective,’ he said. ‘Looking out over the city while it sleeps.’

Vallon struggled for words. ‘Indeed.’

‘I am Theoctistus Scylitzes, Logothete tou Dromou. I apologise for dragging you away from your hearth on such a bitter night.’

Vallon decided that a deep bow was sufficient response. No seat had been set out for him and the minister obviously had no intention of introducing the other figures. Vallon indicated the arena. ‘It’s strange to see it empty. The last time I was in the Hippodrome it must have held sixty thousand spectators.’

A breeze fanned the coals, throwing the Logothete’s bearded face into relief. He held up what looked like a bound document. ‘I’ve been telling the emperor about the travels that led you from the barbarian northlands to Constantinople.’

Vallon’s nape crawled at that ‘I’ve been telling’. His gaze darted to the other two figures. Was that the emperor? Surely not.

‘Yes,’ said the Logothete, ‘I spent two days studying the report you wrote for my predecessor.’

Vallon found his voice. ‘I didn’t pen it myself. It was written nine years ago, before I’d mastered Greek. The account of our travels was set down by a companion, Hero of Syracuse.’

‘Quite so. He seems to have a gift for literary exposition.’

‘He has many gifts.’

‘And a fertile imagination.’

‘My Lord?’

The Logothete tapped the book. ‘Most interesting, absolutely fascinating.’ He paused. ‘If true.’

‘Tell me which part of the account rings false and I’ll try to set your doubts to rest.’

Theoctistus laughed and smacked the document across his knee. ‘The whole damn thing. Are you really telling me that you journeyed from France to England, then sailed north to Ultima Thule before returning south through the land of Rus and crossing the Black Sea to Rum?’

‘Yes, Lord.’

‘And all to deliver a ransom of falcons demanded by that rogue Suleyman.’

‘In essence, yes, Lord.’

The Logothete appraised him. ‘You’re a remarkable fellow, Vallon.’

‘Remarkably lucky. If I succeeded, it was because I was well served by a brave and ingenious company.’

One of the other figures leaned towards the Logothete and whispered. The minister nodded.

‘Vallon, I’ll come to the point. I want you to undertake another journey on behalf of the empire.’

Vallon’s guts constricted. ‘May I ask where you propose to send me?’

The Logothete took a moment to answer. ‘In your account you describe a former Byzantine diplomat, a noted traveller known as Cosmas Monopthalmos.’

Vallon saw the Greek’s dark eye as if it were yesterday. ‘Indeed I do, Lord. Although I only met him in his dying hours, he left a lasting impression.’

‘Then you’ll remember that Cosmas travelled as far east as Samarkand.’

‘It’s only a name to me.’

‘Samarkand lies beyond the Oxus, in the wilderness that spawned the Seljuk Turks and all the other swarms of horse nomads who plague our eastern frontiers.’

‘You want me to lead a mission to Samarkand?’

‘You’ll pass through it. I calculate that it marks the halfway point on your journey.’

Despite the cold, sweat filmed Vallon’s forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Lord. My knowledge of that part of the world is flimsy.’

The glow from the braziers cast the Logothete’s face in sinister relief. ‘Have you heard of an empire called China? It goes by other names, including Cathay, though some reports suggest that Cathay and China are separate empires. Its own citizens, subjects of the Song emperor, call it the Middle Kingdom or Celestial Empire, titles stemming from their belief that it occupies an exalted position between heaven and earth.’

‘I’ve heard rumours of a rich kingdom at the eastern end of the world. I have no idea how to reach it.’

The Logothete pointed down the tunnel leading from the balcony. ‘Quite simple. Follow the rising sun and you should reach it in about a year.’

About a year! Vallon was so shocked that he missed some of the Logothete’s smooth exposition. He shook himself. ‘Even Alexander the Great never travelled so far.’

‘You’ll be following the Silk Road, a well-trodden trade route, travelling in stages, stopping and resting at entrepôts and caravanserais.’

Vallon stiffened. A year felt like being saddled by a dead weight, but that represented only the period of outward travel. A year to reach China, a year returning, and God knows how long spent between the two termini. He felt old before he’d taken a single step.

‘Might I ask the purpose of the expedition?’

The Logothete spread his hands. ‘Constantinople is the mirror of Western civilisation. By all accounts, China enjoys the same glittering pre-eminence in the East.’ He brought his hands together. ‘It’s only natural that the two poles of civilisation should establish diplomatic relations. Yours won’t be the first Byzantine mission to China. I’ve examined the records and discovered that the empire has sent seven embassies to China in as many centuries.’

‘Resulting in benefits to Byzantium. I trust.’

The Logothete’s breath condensed in the chill air. ‘They have created mutual recognition and respect.’

Achieved absolutely nothing, Vallon interpreted.

‘Now is the time to build on this foundation,’ the Logothete said. ‘An alliance with China will yield practical rewards.’ He pulled his cape tight over his shoulders. ‘Vallon, you don’t need me to tell you what a plight we’re in. Seljuks within a day’s ride of the Bosporus, Normans hammering at our Balkan possessions, Arabs threatening our sea lanes. Byzantium is under siege from all sides. We need allies; we need friends.’

‘I agree, but I fail to see how a foreign power a year’s journey to the east can offer any succour.’

‘China is also threatened by the steppe barbarians. Form an alliance with them and we can squeeze our common enemy, allowing us to concentrate on foes closer to home. Other benefits will flow from establishing a conduit to the East. With our trade routes closed or under competition from Venice and Genoa, opening up a road to China will provide a much-needed lifeline.’

Vallon knew that he was on the rim of a whirlpool and would be sucked down if he didn’t thrash clear. ‘Lord, I’m not the man to accomplish these goals. Next year I turn forty. My health is not as robust as it was when I made the journey to the north. I have — ’

The Logothete slapped the document. ‘You’re cunning and resourceful, steadfast and brave. Don’t think your actions at Dyrrachium have gone unnoticed. You’ve had years of experience campaigning against the nomads. You employ Turkmen soldiers in your own squadron.’

Vallon opened his mouth and then shut it. A decision had been made at the highest level, and nothing he could say would change it.

The minister resumed his seat. ‘There are other prizes to be sought in China.’

Vallon’s response sounded dull in his ears. ‘Such as?’

The Logothete looked over the empty arena. ‘You know that silk is Constantinople’s most valuable export.’