A Burning Sea Page 17

  He lit it and walked on, grit crunching underfoot, the torch flame illumining the vaulted archways looping away into shadow. In each alcove he saw rows of shelving and each shelf was stacked with skulls. Hundreds of them, so that with the shadows dancing amongst them, he was struck with the notion that he was in the grisly hoard of some foul beast, not the resting place for saints in a holy church.

  The gloom weighed heavy beyond his torchlight. Yet he was no stranger to darkness; his childhood had been full of it. Even so, with the close air, he felt the shadows pressing in. He scolded himself for a coward as he used to do as a child. He would finish this. There was some secret here.

  He suddenly noticed a shadow his torch could not chase away. Stepping closer, he perceived that the wall separating two alcoves was in fact two walls. Between them was a gap of some two or three feet. He held his torch closer. A narrow corridor ran all the way to the back wall. There was nothing there. No skulls, no shelves. A corridor to nowhere.

  This puzzled him.

  He edged down it and within moments he was face to face with a blank wall. His hand touched cold stone. Curious, he thought. Why this space? With no answer, he turned to go but as he did, the torch flame fluttered. He stopped. Held the torch close to the corner. The flame writhed in protest. That was when he noticed the long crack in the crook of the wall.

  Not a wall, he smiled to himself, but a door.

  In a fit of excitement, he put his shoulder into the corner and shoved. All at once, it shifted and swung smoothly inwards. He felt like a boy again, his blood prickling with the thrill of discovery.

  He went inside. The walls were no longer brick-lined but chiselled out of the native rock. The flame revealed a pathway ahead, leading downwards, deeper into the hillside. He had to stoop now and hold the flame away from him to keep it from scorching his face. To his surprise though, the air was not stale. It had a freshness to it. And then he heard another sound over the crunch of his sandals.

  Running water.

  His heart beat faster as he drove downwards, the rushing sound getting louder with each step until all of a sudden the torchlight expanded. He took another step and his foot jarred heavily. A splash of water. He almost fell but just caught himself against the ceiling.

  He paused, catching his quickening breath. The water wasn’t deep but it was piling up around his ankles. The bed underfoot was solid and smooth like pavings. Or tiles. It was a few seconds before he realized where he was. He was standing inside an aqueduct – one of the miracles of engineering that kept the city alive. The gradient was only slight, but the stream steady. He turned into it and started wading. . .

  Pushing uphill, he felt his triumph surging within, not caring how far or how long it took him, hungry only to know where the tunnel would lead. If Justinian found his way in, he could find his way out.

  The torch was half-burned through now, the young monk all but forgotten. His short, staccato breaths echoed off the damp walls. He was counting. A hundred steps – two, three, four hundred. Eight more and he saw what he was seeking. Another hole in the wall.

  He dragged himself out of the stream, hauling the sodden hem of his robes behind him. He stumbled upwards, feeling like the first man fighting his way out of the womb of the Earth, thirsty for that first shard of daylight.

  Suddenly there it was. He ran, the flame roaring behind him, till he burst out onto an open hillside. Below him he saw the two islands floating at the head of the Horn. Behind him the ground rose to a ridge. He hurried up it, sweating and stumbling his way to the crest.

  And there laid out before him was a beautiful sight. The walls of the Great City stretched south like a banner of red and white against the pale dust of the plain; and to the west, the encampment of a hundred thousand men. The Armies of Allah, poised to swallow the city whole.

  Katāros’s fist tightened. His long nails dug into his palm. For now he held the key.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  If the scale of the city outside was bewildering, the interior of the Great Palace dazzled her senses.

  Lilla’s scarlet slippers hurried over the cold marble to keep up with the gold-and-white figure gliding before her. She had followed Lord Katāros for what seemed like leagues through the long, lavish corridors and hallways, dressed in new robes generously provided by the grand chamberlain at his own expense. A gorgeous creation of patterned red silk with gold damask hems and cuffs, demurely covering her from chin to wrist. The girdle of woven gold silk provided the only hint of her figure beneath. Her head was covered with a veil of pure white gossamer through which her long flow of honey-gold hair shone with ease. ‘We don’t want to hide you entirely,’ Katāros had said mysteriously.

  Gerutha had cast a more doubtful eye over Lilla’s new appearance. ‘Don’t you forget who you are,’ she said.

  ‘How could I?’

  Indeed. How could she forget? This could be the first step on the long journey back to her home. And her revenge. Perhaps fate was already smiling on her. That very morning Einar had come to the palace bearing tidings.

  Lilla had sent word to him from the palace, hoping it would reach him at their lodgings in the inn under the Sign of the Dolphin off the Grand Portico on the north side of the city. After two days of waiting, their new servant Yana had knocked at the door of Lilla’s chambers and announced that a ‘brute of a man’ was demanding to see her.

  Einar’s news was both astonishing and alarming. Erlan was alive and in the city. But by her karl’s account, he was either imprisoned or enslaved or maybe worse. He had come not a moment too soon, since the summoning for her audience with the emperor followed hard on his heels.

  They entered the Daphne palace – which Katāros told her was the imperial family’s private wing of the sprawling Great Palace complex. They passed over endless mosaics, each fashioned from a hundred thousand shards of glass and stone: an eagle swooping on a snake, a deer caught in the hunt, children playing with a hoop, so lifelike she could almost hear their laughter. At last they came to a huge set of golden double doors that rose to a vaulted ceiling, flanked by two guards in white.

  ‘This is the Chrysotriklinos,’ said Katāros. ‘It means something like the Golden Meet-Hall in our tongue.’

  She nodded silently, throat tight with nerves.

  ‘A word of advice, my lady. When you enter, you will see many things. Ignore them. Focus on him only. He has little time for pomp, despite what you see.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ she said.

  He was not as she had expected. Although what was that? A man like the heroic statues adorning the city? A man of beauty? A man more like a god? Certainly it was not this man. A man this. . . ordinary. Yet his gaze was direct, unwavering.

  He was set in his throne like one of the rubies set in his own crown: one piece of a larger whole. The purple of his robes surrounded by a blast of gold, quite unlike the carved oak of her own royal seat. Behind him rose a semicircular recess adorned with an image of their Christ-God with his symbol of the cross. She had counted eight such recesses coming in, and above them a circuit of windows filtering sunlight onto gilded mosaics. She dared not glance around to take in more than that as Katāros announced her, then stood aside to serve as translator.

  The first of the emperor’s words he translated were these:

  ‘It sounds almost as though we are equals, Queen Lilla, daughter of Sviggar. And yet I have never heard of such places. Sve—ahl—and. . . Dee—un—mark.’ His voice was unusually deep. It was strange to hear the lips of a man so powerful forming the name of her homeland for the first time.

  ‘There is a world between your lands and mine, Your Majesty,’ she replied.

  ‘So the lord chamberlain tells me.’ He brushed a thoughtful thumb across his lips. ‘One day you must tell me of it. And of your own lands and customs.’

  ‘At your leisure, Majesty.’

  He glanced at Katāros and back at her. ‘You understand our time here must be brief.’

  �
��It was gracious of you to see me at all, Majesty.’

  ‘That is to say, Queen Lilla – why are you here?’

  His directness disarmed her momentarily. Suddenly the whole venture seemed absurd. A fantasy concocted in the mind of a drunkard. Or a fool. But then she remembered the metal taste of earth in her mouth and drew herself up.

  ‘I came here to form an alliance, Your Majesty.’

  ‘An alliance?’ The emperor chuckled. ‘Well, we are in need of good allies at present, Lady.’

  ‘You will find none better. Mine is the most powerful kingdom in the north.’

  ‘Yet the north is far away. And unless my spies have failed me, you did not bring your armies with you.’

  ‘True, Majesty. My retinue is small. We were forced to travel discreetly.’

  ‘Pity,’ Leo replied. ‘My need is rather pressing, as you may have heard.’

  ‘What I have heard, Majesty, is that in you, your people have the answer to their prayers.’

  ‘You flatter me.’

  ‘Is it not hard truth? As solid as the famous walls of this city?’

  The Emperor Leo didn’t answer for some time. Perhaps she had gone too far and he thought she was mocking him. ‘Christ willing, the city will stand,’ he said at length. ‘The infidel will be defeated and this dark tide will recede. In the meantime, you should not underestimate the danger we are all in, whoever sits on this gilded seat.’

  ‘As you say, Majesty.’ She bowed her head.

  ‘Now,’ he sighed. ‘For my part, I am curious about what you hope to gain from an alliance with me.’

  ‘I, too, have an enemy, Majesty. One who has taken much from me.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

  ‘Not as sorry as he will be when I return to my homeland.’

  ‘And so. . . return with what?’

  ‘An edge, Majesty, over him. . . I know not what exactly. Whether fighting men, or gold and silver. . . or perhaps something else entirely.’

  ‘And supposing I had any of those things to spare for you – what would I gain in return?

  ‘We have many things of value – furs, oil, honey, whale ivory, tin, timber, leather hides—’

  Katāros began listing these goods to his lord in Greek but the emperor suddenly raised a hand for silence. ‘Trade goes hand in hand with peace, Lady,’ he answered. ‘But the empire is at war and in a battle for its very survival. A few pots of honey aren’t going to help us.’

  ‘Men, then,’ she said abruptly. ‘Fighting men. When I can spare them.’ At this Leo nodded, showing a degree more interest.

  ‘And you?’ he said.

  ‘Me, Majesty?’

  ‘You are a queen. Is there a king of these northern lands? A lord husband?’

  ‘There was. He is dead.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ His gaze grew a little keener. ‘Although, of course, that creates its own opportunities.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You are too modest. You have omitted from your list the most valuable treasure of all.’

  Lilla was not stupid. She held the emperor’s gaze, her expression as guileless as she could make it. ‘There are many ways to seal friendship between two great kingdoms.’

  She noticed two small spots darken on his cheek. Perhaps this ordinary man did feel something after all. ‘The empress,’ he said, a little too pointedly, ‘would doubtless welcome your friendship. Alas, she is presently unwell. In any case, I must think on this. But I cannot give you the answer you desire now. I fear your stay here will be longer than you intended. The Arab fleet is already in the Sea of Marmara. We expect to see their sails to the south at any moment. Once we do, there will be no leaving this city.’

  ‘I understand this, Majesty. And I pledge to do whatever I can to help you achieve victory.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Leo snorted. ‘I mean it as no insult, Lady, but from what you say you are powerless to do very much for me at all.’ Leo tipped his head at Katāros. ‘All the same, you are a welcome guest in this palace. Please treat it as your own.’

  ‘You are very kind, Majesty.’ Leo had already half-turned away when she added, ‘There is one other request I have to ask of you, which is certainly in your power to grant.’

  Leo turned back with a rustle of purple silk. ‘Go on.’

  ‘There is a countryman of mine in this city. I understand he serves a general named Arbasdos.’

  ‘I know Arbasdos. But nothing of this man. What is he to you?’

  A good question. What was Erlan to her? She hardly knew herself. ‘He is important to me,’ she said.

  ‘Important?’ Leo peered at her carefully, then laughed. ‘By the saints, look at her, Lord Chamberlain! I feel almost envious of this man.’

  ‘He was a warrior who served my father,’ continued Lilla. ‘I have need of him myself now.’

  ‘He must be an impressive man indeed if you came all this distance for him.’

  ‘I came to seek an audience with you, Majesty. When I learned that this man also had come to Byzantium, I resolved to find him.’

  Leo turned to Katāros. ‘Do you know of this man?’

  Katāros’s shadowed eyes shifted between them. ‘I have heard something,’ he answered in Greek. Lilla listened as the emperor spoke with his official, picking up only one word. Doúlos. At last the chamberlain addressed her directly. ‘I believe the man you seek is a slave in the general’s household. I have heard he is a warrior of formidable skill. And. . .’ He paused, seeming reluctant to continue.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I understand he is being held in very poor conditions.’

  ‘He belongs in my service,’ she replied quickly before her imagination flew too far. She turned to the emperor. ‘I implore you, Majesty, to have him released at once and brought to me.’

  When Katāros relayed this to Leo, the emperor laughed. ‘Alas, there are some things even an emperor cannot do. Whatever is the price of this man’s freedom, it is between you and the strategos.’

  The door in the north-west apse suddenly flew open and a palace guard marched in, his steps clicking briskly on the marble surface. He wasted no time presenting himself to the emperor. As Leo began interrogating him Katāros glided over to her.

  ‘The audience is at an end, my lady.’

  ‘What happened?’ she said.

  ‘It seems an envoy from the Arab Prince Maslama is here. The emperor must see him at once.’ He touched her elbow and turned her to the massive double doors. ‘Be patient, Queen Lilla.

  If you seek this man, I can take you to Arbasdos.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon,’ he said, already ushering her from the golden hall. ‘Soon.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When the Sveär queen was gone, Katāros returned to his post beside the emperor. Leo had meanwhile dismissed all but two of the excubitors – the so-called ‘sentinels’ who guarded the imperial palace. Even these he posted outside the hall. It seemed the emperor trusted no one but him – poor fool – and wanted no other ears to overhear his conversation with Prince Maslama’s envoy.

  When he was presently shown in, the man introduced himself as Abdullah Abu Yahya al-Antaqi al-Battal.

  ‘An honourable name for a young man,’ replied the emperor in Arabic. It was the language of his childhood, Katāros knew, and he spoke it like a native. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to use it each time I address you.’

  ‘Abdal-Battal will suffice, Majesty,’ said the envoy stiffly. He was young but Leo would not make the mistake of underestimating him for that. If Maslama thought the man capable of representing him, then no doubt he was. Either that or else wealth had secured him this honour since he was clearly rich. His dark green tunic and armour were expensive, his black beard oiled to a sharp point and his long black hair pushed back with a band of scarlet silk.

  ‘You bear a message from your prince,’ said Leo.

  The envoy’s light brown eyes narrowed. ‘Prince Maslama offers you his h
ighest regards. And he wishes to remind Your Majesty of the agreement struck before your rise to the imperial throne.’

  Katāros’s ears pricked at this. An agreement? The first he had heard of this.

  ‘Go on,’ said Leo.

  ‘The time to honour your pledge has come. Throw open your gates. Hand over the city, and Allah will be merciful to you.’

  ‘The terms of our agreement were specific. Did he tell you? Maslama guaranteed the life and property of all in the Imperial City.’

  ‘My lord is happy to repeat his assurance. Open the gates and all shall be—’

  ‘He also promised he would support me in retaining my position over the city and its provinces, if I were to accept the suzerainty of his brother, the Caliph Sulayman.’

  ‘So I understand. And do you, Majesty?’ The barb in the envoy’s question was unmistakable.

  ‘How can I if your prince insists on undermining my standing?’

  ‘I do not follow, Majesty.’

  ‘What chance have I of keeping this throne if your master believes he can simply throw down his lines before our gates and demand that I hand over the keys to the city?’

  Abdal-Battal gave a soft grunt of mirth. ‘Majesty. You have seen our numbers. Today we control most of Anatolia and half of Thrace. The empire is already ours. We could take this city by storm, if we so chose. But in such circumstances, life and property would no longer be assured. Bloodshed, plunder, destruction. These are all your people could expect.’

  Leo let his soldier’s gaze sit heavily on the envoy for a few seconds. ‘Muawiya, the first caliph of the House of Umayya, was inflated with this same conceit. He tried and failed to force the walls of this city – his dream died with him. For five years the walls stood. They will stand for another five if I choose. Your master’s shame, on the other hand, will stand for ever.’

  Seeing he had riled the emperor, the young envoy had tact enough to recede. He bowed his head. ‘Majesty.’

  ‘Tell your master, he shall have his keys and our allegiance. But he must be patient. Time, Abdal-Battal, is the necessary ingredient of success. Prince Maslama surely understands the need to save face. There are elements within our walls who would risk all to save Christ’s citadel from falling into the caliph’s hands. Insurrection. Murder. Stiff-necked resistance at every turn. These are what he could then expect.’ Leo smiled suddenly. ‘The people must be lulled. Like a little child, they must be put to sleep. Do you understand?’