Tim Severin - King's Man

'That is the Dome of the Chain,' explained our host, whose name I gathered was Nasir. 'It's the model of the main building, made by the original architects. They produced it so that the caliph Abd-al-Malik, who ordered the construction, could approve the design before building began. Nowadays we use it for storing valuables.'

But Trdat was already out of earshot, hurrying towards the smaller structure.

'Thorgils, that eight-sided base on which the Dome rests,' he called over his shoulder, 'there was one in ancient Athens just like that. That's why my grandfather made me study the classic buildings, to learn from their skills. Just as the men who designed the Dome must have done. How I wish my grandfather could have seen this.'

Trdat circled the small building excitedly. 'Do you mind if I take some rough measurements?' he asked Nasir.

The Saracen hesitated for a moment, then said, 'I suppose it can't do any harm. It will not be allowed inside the Kubbat as-Sakhra, the Dome itself. There you can only take a quick look.'

Trdat walked around the Dome of the Chain, counting his paces. Then he measured its diameter by reckoning the number of paving slabs across its width.

'Brilliant,' he breathed admiringly as he stood back to judge its height. 'It's the geometry, Thorgils. The height of the eight-sided base is the same as its width, and the height of the Dome is the same again. The result: perfect proportion and harmony. Whoever designed the structure was a genius.'

'Two of them,' said Nasir. 'A local man from the city by the name of Yazid-ibn-Sallam, and a great scholar called Abdul-ibn-Hayah.'

Trdat was squatting down and drawing with his finger across a paving slab, attempting make an outline in the dust. 'I wish I had brought wax and stylus,' he said, 'but I think I know what we will find inside the main building.'

Nasir looked at the Armenian as if he was touched in the head. 'We should not be loitering here. Just a quick glance inside is all that is permitted,' he warned, escorting us to the Golden Dome.

To me it was like a triumph of the jeweller's art, a diadem. Swathes of glittering mosaics covered the outer sides of the octagon, while the cupola above it gleamed as if solid bullion.

'How do you keep the Dome so clean?' I asked.

'In winter, when there is snow or rain, we cover it with animal skins and felt.' Nasir replied. 'The caliph had not intended that the Dome should be gilded, but the work went so well and so swiftly — it took just four years to build - that a hundred thousand gold dinars were left over from the money allocated to the architects. It was decided to melt down the coins and use them to cover the Dome in gold leaf.'

We had reached the entrance to the building, and he held up his arm to prevent us going any further, but we were close enough to see inside. At the centre, right beneath the Dome, was a honey-coloured area of bare rock which, Nasir explained, was the spot from which their prophet ascended to a Seventh Heaven. This Holy of Holies was surrounded by a circuit of marble columns which supported the great vault soaring overhead. Looking upward into the bowl of the Dome, I gasped in astonishment. Its interior was covered with gold mosaic work, and from the very centre dangled a chain on which was suspended a gigantic chandelier. The light from hundreds upon hundreds of lamps reflected and glittered off the golden surface.

'Now breathe deeply,' Nasir advised us. The air was heavy with the smell of saffron, ambergris and attar of roses. 'That's my task,' said our host proudly. 'I supervise the preparation of the perfumes which the attendants sprinkle on the sacred rock and burn in the censers. But it is time we left.'

'Double squares,' mused Trdat thoughtfully as we walked back to the inn. 'Just as I thought. That is what I was trying to work out when I was scratching in the dust. The interior of the building is based on a design of two sets of squares interlocking. The inner ones determine the circumference of the Dome itself, the outer ones provide the dimensions for the octagon. Best of all, I now know the size and shape of the dome which I will propose for the shape of the new basilica at Golgotha. I will model it on what I saw today, placing twelve pillars below, one for each of the apostles. I have all the information I need to work up my designs for the restoration of the Anastasis and the buildings around it. It is time we returned to Constantinople.'

Harald and the Varangians, when I told them the news, looked very pleased.

'Is the great Dome really solid gold?' Halldor asked. 'No, it's a hundred thousand dinars turned into gold leaf,' I answered.

'Who would have so much money to spare?' he marvelled.

'Saracen rulers are prepared to pay enormous sums for what they hold most dear,' I said casually, not realising that my comment would help Harald achieve his life's ambition — the throne of Norway.

FIVE

THE DROMON PICKED up her moorings in Bucephalon harbour after a frustrating homeward voyage. Headwinds meant that our passage back to Constantinople took much longer than anticipated, and already there was a wintry feel to the city when I said goodbye to Trdat, then accompanied Harald, Halldor and the others to the barracks of the Varangians-without-the-Walls.

We arrived in time to intervene in an angry confrontation between the Norsemen of Harald's war band and a senior Greek staff officer. The professional army, the tagmata, was soon to deploy to Italy for a campaign in the west, and the Armamenton, the imperial arsenal, had been working at full stretch to prepare weapons and supplies. Now the clerks who issued horses and weapons to the soldiers had drawn up a timetable for the troops to collect their requirements. Harald's five hundred Varangians were flatly refusing to re-equip with standard weaponry, preferring to retain their own axes and shields. Harald curtly informed the Greek staff officer that his men were a special force, recruited under his personal command, and he took instructions only from the palace or direct from the army commander, the strategos. The Greek glared at the Norwegian and snapped, 'So be it. You will find that the new strategos expects instant obedience, especially from barbarians.' Then he stalked off, seething with indignation.

'Why all this fuss about our weapons?' Halldor asked me. 'Why wouldn't they be good enough for the Greeks?'

'They are fiercely proud of their history,' I told him, 'They've been running an empire for seven hundred years and so feel they've learned how to organise things properly, whether a tax system or a military campaign. They like to do everything by the book - quite literally. During my time in the Palace Guard, our young Greek officers would arrive with their heads stuffed full of military information. They'd learned it by reading army manuals written by retired generals. Much of the advice was very helpful

— how to load pack mules or scout an enemy position, for instance - but the trouble was that it was all book-learned, not practical.'

'Fighting is fighting,' grumbled Halldor. 'You don't have to read books to learn how to do it. Practising how to form up in a battle line or how to use a battle axe left-handed, that sort of thing helps. But in the end it is valour and strength that win the day.'

'Not as far as the imperial army is concerned,' I countered. 'They call themselves "Rhomai", the Romans, because their military tradition goes back to the Caesars and they've been fighting on the frontiers of empire for centuries, often against huge odds. They've won most of their battles through superior generalship or because they are better equipped or better organised or . . .' and here I thought about the scheming Orphanotrophus . . . 'because they've been able to bribe the opposing generals or create some sort of disarray in the enemy ranks with rumours and plots.'