The Mosaic of Shadows (37 page)

He had both grown and withered in the last two months. His beard was now full, though still close to the chin, and hunger had chiselled away at his face to reveal the man beneath. But he was thin, far thinner than after weeks of the monks’ hospitality, and if work had kept his arms and legs hard with sinew it had also stooped his back a little. What had it done to his spirit?

He seemed unsure what to say, but this was no time for long silences. ‘Are you going to kill me, Thomas? Or turn me over to that demon Baldwin to be dismembered?’

‘You are the enemy of my people,’ he said harshly.

‘I am your friend. I saved you from death, once, you remember.’

‘You tied me up like a thief.’

‘And then set you free.’

I saw the tip of his sword decline just a fraction before his arm stiffened again. ‘You are the enemy of my people. You try to starve and kill us.’

‘Will you orphan my daughters because we serve different masters?’

The mention of orphanhood must have bitten his conscience, for he went very still, and suddenly the eyes which stared at me seemed to be those of a child again. I thought to say more, to evoke his own parents, but I did not want to twist the knife of memory too far. He would not have forgotten them, I told myself: if their loss could sway him, then it would be so, and if not, then I would die.

‘I do this for your daughter,’ he whispered at last. ‘And because you save my life.’

‘Thank you.’ I could hear more shouts, and the echo of horses’ hooves drawing near. ‘Can you help me get to the harbour? To find a boat?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘No boats. The Greeks take them all. And my people look for you there. Go away. Go up to your friend on the hill.’

Panic and incomprehension stalled my mind for a moment, before I realised whom he meant. ‘The merchant Domenico? You mean him? Is he still there?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘I see him sometimes. He help you.’

That was something I would discover myself. I had not seen the merchant Domenico since before the Feast of the Nativity, and he was closer in kin to the barbarians than to the Romans. But Thomas spoke truthfully of the alternatives: the Emperor
had
ordered all boats away from Galata, to complete the barbarians’ isolation, and it was in the lower reaches of the city, around the docks and gates, that the search for us would be thickest.

‘Will you lead us?’

Thomas did not answer, but turned his back on me and began moving up the street at a half-run. I followed with Sigurd, who had watched my conversation with Thomas in silence.

‘Do you trust him?’ he whispered as we approached the corner.

‘I would not choose to trust him. But it is not my choice to make.’

‘It may still be the wrong choice. We should have knocked him down and left him in a corner. Then at least we would have had a sword.’

‘It will take more than a sword to escape from this trap.’ I spoke shortly, for ahead of me Thomas had not stopped at the corner, but had run straight out into the crossroads, and I heard frantic shouts erupt as he came into view. He turned to acknowledge them, and I watched in helpless despair as he shouted back, waving his arms confidently. Were we betrayed? I could scarcely stand to wait there, helpless, utterly ignorant of whether he summoned our doom or our salvation. Beside me I felt Sigurd tensing himself, as if to spring forward and strike Thomas down, and I touched his arm to stay him. If Thomas had revealed us to his countrymen, we would be powerless.

Thomas turned and began walking towards us, moving with an almost insouciant air. Only when he was out of sight of the main road did he drop the pretence and hurry to meet us.

‘I tell them you are not here,’ he said curtly. ‘They go.’

‘You sent the Franks – your people – away?’ As I listened, I could hear the truth of it, for the noises which had been almost upon us were now fading to a few lingering shouts. We waited until they were almost silent, then followed Thomas away from that place, up into the streets which led inland from the harbour. Thomas was a sure guide, and as the shore and barbarians receded he grew ever quicker, darting around corners and seeking out crevices if danger threatened. Once he was so fast I thought he might intend to maroon us, but he always reappeared, beckoning us upwards.

And suddenly we were in the mouth of an alley which faced a lime-washed wall, and the gate I had passed through once on a December afternoon. Thomas pointed at it.

‘Domenico.’

I took his arm to thank him, but he drew away abruptly.

‘You can come with us,’ I told him. ‘After this you have earned your freedom. You can live in the city and make a new life.’

He did not answer, but disappeared back down the hill. Back to the barbarians.

We crossed to the gate, and endured a terrified wait while the suspicious doorkeeper approached, argued with us, took our names to his master and finally returned, grudgingly, to admit us. The courtyard was little improved from when I had last visited – worse, in some respects, for the orange trees had not taken to their soil, and had shed most of their leaves onto the unpaved ground. The facade remained incomplete and unpainted, but there was no sign of the workmen or their tools. I doubted Domenico would have wanted too much ornament with barbarians for neighbours. Somehow, though, through invasion, siege, famine and war, the little merchant had managed to keep as plump and well-groomed as ever. Only the rims of his eyes told the strain he was under as he welcomed us to his house.

‘You stretch the laws of hospitality, Demetrios,’ he admonished me as we sat in a cool, unwindowed room deep in his house. ‘I do not usually entertain outlaws.’

‘Nor do you now. The law of the empire still holds here.’

Domenico giggled nervously, and wiped his brow on the arm of his gown. ‘Is it the law of the empire that imperial soldiers are executed in a public square by a Frankish lunatic? That a hysterical mob rules the streets of Galata with the justice of the sword?’

I leaned closer, urgency in my eyes. ‘Were you there in the square? Did you see what befell us?’

‘Me? No, indeed no. But I hear much.’

‘There was an argument between two of the barbarian captains, the Duke Godfrey and his brother Baldwin. Do you know what they said?’

We were interrupted by the arrival of a servant bearing a flagon of wine and a plate of smoked partridge. I downed my glass as soon as it was offered, and gobbled the tender meat like a glutton.

‘You no longer observe your fast,’ Domenico observed.

‘Not today,’ I admitted between mouthfuls. I could serve my guilt later. ‘But tell me of the barbarians.’

Domenico sucked some fat from his fingers. ‘My report is that Baldwin, the younger of the pair, declared that the Emperor had shown his true intentions, that after penning them up, starving them of food, and heaping indignities upon their holy quest, he had declared war. To this, he averred, there was only one response. They must invade the city itself, and drag the impious usurper from his throne. Only thus would the honour of God be satisfied.’

‘Let them try,’ snarled Sigurd. ‘I saw no siege engines in their camp. If they assault the walls and legions of Constantinople with their rabble, they will learn what happens when the Emperor goes to war.’

‘So said Duke Godfrey. But his brother answered him that he had a spy within the walls who would open the city as the Lord opened Jericho to Joshua. He added a few slurs against the prowess of your race which I need not repeat, but the crowd adored it. Especially when he demonstrated the ease with which your soldiers died.’

I poured myself more wine, splashing it over the rim of the cup in my haste. ‘Did he name the spy?’

Domenico looked at me severely. ‘And perhaps reveal when he would strike, and by which ruses he would open the gates? No, he did not. But there were other things he said, which I guess would interest you greatly. A Norman army is coming . . .’

‘I know.’ I lifted my hand wearily. ‘In two weeks it will be here, and then there will be twice as many barbarians to contend with. This is not news to me. Surely Baldwin will wait until then.’

Domenico sighed. ‘You do not know how their minds work, Demetrios. Baldwin has not come to see the holy sights of Jerusalem, nor to help his Norman rivals gain a throne. He has come for himself, and he is terrified that if he delays others will snatch his prize. That is why, even as we speak, his army straps on its armour and prepares for battle.’

‘You seem well acquainted with the barbarian’s plans.’ Sigurd curled his fingers into fists, and let them loose again. ‘How does a merchant come to know the minds of our enemies so well?’

‘In the same fashion as I come to have meat and drink on my table when all around me eat rats. I listen for what I want, and pay generously when I find it. Baldwin and his brother hold sway over this colony, so I learn everything I can of them, in the hope that one day the information may avail me something.’

There was a silence in that dim room, while each of us summoned our thoughts. At last I spoke. ‘If the barbarians are marching on the city, in the hope that a traitor will undo us, then we cannot delay. We must get word of this to the palace, and warn the Emperor of their intentions.’

‘You cannot leave this house,’ said Domenico. ‘Baldwin has unleashed the mob in this colony. It is a calculated act, to stir their blood to a frenzy and to affirm their loyalty, but if you venture from here you will be slaughtered. Far better to wait until the rage has subsided and the army has left. Then we can leave in the cover of night.’ He saw the objection rising in me. ‘They have no boats, and it is a long march around the Horn. They will not take the city by surprise.’

‘And their spy?’ In my heart I had already named him as the monk. ‘What if he works his evil before the Emperor is alerted?’

Domenico shrugged his round shoulders. ‘What of it? If you go tonight, he may have acted before you arrive. But if you go now you will certainly be too late, for you will never reach him.’

‘And tonight you will help us escape?’ pressed Sigurd.

‘God willing. If the mob have not burned down my house and looted all I own. Though I hope they will not come this far – the hill should deter them, I think.’

‘And in the meantime?’

‘In the meantime you should stay in here. There is more food if you desire it. Or you could pray. It is, after all, the day for it.’

I did pray in the long hours which followed, repeating the pleas of the prophets again and again until a dark look from Sigurd silenced me. After that I kept my prayers in my heart, while Sigurd prowled around that small room like a bear in its cage. Sometimes we spoke, but neither of us could muster much effort, and our words inevitably fell away unheeded. Domenico’s servant brought some bread and water, which we ate gratefully, and a little after that I managed to hold back the horrors from my thoughts long enough to fall asleep. Once I awoke thinking I heard shouting in the distance, but it came no nearer and soon I slipped back into dreams.

I woke again to a tugging on my arm, and opened my eyes to see Domenico peering down on me.

‘It is dusk,’ he said. ‘In half an hour, when it is dark, we will go.’

I rubbed the grit from my eyes, and took a sip of the water he had brought. ‘Have the barbarians gone?’

‘Their army left many hours ago, but the rest of their camp are still in the streets seeking out what little plunder remains. It will still be dangerous to venture among them.’

‘Not so dangerous as when we came here,’ I said. ‘You have saved our lives today, and I will not forget it.’

The merchant sat down opposite me, the chair creaking under his weight. ‘In truth, my friend, I do not do this because of my love for your people, though I bear them no grudges.’ He peered nervously behind him, where I could see the dim figure of Sigurd sleeping on a bench. ‘The Emperor’s blockade has all but ruined me, while every day from my window I see the ships of my rivals unloading across the bay.’

‘If I reach the palace alive,’ I told him, ‘and if there is a single man in the palace who will listen to me, you will have the grandest mansion which stands in the shadow of the old acropolis.’

‘I hope so, my friend. I hope so. My father in Pisa will be unhappy if I return a beggar.’

We sat there in silence and darkness a few moments, the only sound Sigurd snoring in his corner.

‘Tell me what else you know of Baldwin,’ I said. I was too alert to sleep again, and Domenico was not so well known to me that silences were comfortable.

He shrugged, sucking on a dried fig. ‘Little things, pieces of gossip and hearsay. He has brought his wife and children – did you know that?’

‘I did not,’ I admitted. ‘Does our climate agree with their health?’

Domenico chuckled. ‘It will do, when they are queen and princes in his new kingdom.’

‘He has no lands in the west? In Frankia?’ It was half a question, half a statement, for I remembered the Count Hugh taunting him to such effect in his tent.

‘None. His father was a count, and his mother heir to a duchy, but he was the third son and so got neither. According to rumour, they intended him for the church, but you have seen the temper of his soul. I do not think he was long in the great cathedral school at Rheims. After that . . .’

Domenico was never a man to diminish a tale which could be expanded, but he broke off in confusion at my shout of astonishment.

‘Rheims? Baldwin was at Rheims? The barbarian town, where they keep the shrine of their Saint Remigius?’

‘I believe so.’ Domenico was looking up at me in alarm, while behind him Sigurd stirred from his sleep. ‘I have never been there. Why?’

‘Because the monk was at Rheims – that was where he joined his order, and was turned against the Romans. Where Baldwin must have found him.’ I remembered the monk’s brother describing his cruelty. ‘I imagine they found much in common. So when Baldwin came east, and needed a man who could pass for a Roman yet had the barbarian faith in his heart, he chose the monk, Odo.’