Byzantium

monstrous bird. ‘You are those vandals!’ he shrieked. ‘You are those delinquents who have brought the serpent of your chaos into the garden of my Rome! And your serpent’s name is Michael! Michael! Michael the gambler, Michael the speculator, Michael the idolator of unclean chance! Michael who has known the harlot who fouls all Rome!’

Joannes’s arms were at his side again, and his voice fell to its original, curiously familiar rumble. ‘I have brought you here, brothers, so that you may understand what it is my friends and I are building here in Rome. So that you may know that beauty, and become part of its perfection.’

Joannes signed to the Thracian guards, turned, and stalked swiftly towards the gate, his black frock billowing; it was as if he were the one desperate to escape the demon of this place.

‘Conservat Deus imperium vestrum,’ chanted the five white-robed voukaloi, the language of the ancient ‘Romans lifting with a clarion resonance into the golden dome of the Hall of Nineteen Couches. The voukaloi were eunuchs, and after the first few extended notes their smooth, pale cheeks puffed out and glowed like lanterns flickering on.

‘Bona tua semper,’ chanted the last voukalos in the line, his solo voice ringing out to challenge the echoes of the chorus.

‘Victor sis semplar,’ rang out the next.

‘Multos annos vitae.’

‘Victor facia semper.’

‘Deus praestet.’

Michael, Emperor, Autocrator and Basileus of the Romans, reclined on his couch at the head of the Imperial table. To the Emperor’s left was the Orphanotrophus, his ungainly, extended form a sleeping black beast perched on the crimson silk-upholstered dining couch. To the Emperor’s right reclined the Nobilissimus Constantine, resplendent in the purple pallium and scaramangium of his office. Next to the Orphanotrophus Joannes reclined the Hetairarch Haraldr Nordbrikt, placed there against the dictates of protocol at the request of the Emperor. Also at the request of the Emperor, the Hetairarch wore a dagger concealed within his scarlet scaramangium. The rest of the Emperor’s long, narrow table, as well as the eponymous Nineteen Couches arrayed beneath the great dome and in the abutting apses, were filled with the dignitaries of the Imperial Court, all attired as prescribed by protocol. Gold plates lit by the candelabra glittered at every setting.

The Imperial Chamberlains moved among the guests, pouring the wine into goblets fashioned of gold leaf set between layers of glass. Bibite, Domini Imperatores, in multos annos, Deus Omnipotens praestet,’ chanted the voukaloi in unison. ‘May ye lead a happy life, my lords,’ chanted the second voukalos in Greek. ‘Deus praestet,’ the first voukalos chanted in counterpoint; he inhaled deeply, and then, as the chamberlains began to water the wine from silver ewers, began again. ‘In gaudio prandete, Domini’

‘May ye be joyful while ye feast, master,’ concluded the second voukalos.’ Michael rose and gave the ceremonial toasts, and then more chants accompanied the presentation of the delicacies. Michael’s hand shook as he tried to spoon black caviar out of a silver dish; the eggs dribbled onto the gold- embroidered tablecloth in front of him. A eunuch whisked the little black pellets away, leaving an oily smear. The lesser dignitaries at the far end of the hall quickly grew raucous with the wine, but the Senators seated at the Emperor’s and nearby tables limited their conversation to nervous whispers. At the head of the table, the Emperor, the Nobilissimus and the Orphanotrophus made no attempt to converse with one another. After the serving of the fish course the Nobilissimus asked the Hetairarch if this particular type of flounder was found in Thule; Haraldr replied that he was not familiar with it, though it was hard to compare tastes when the fish was smothered in the omnipresent garos sauce. Three acrobats performed between the fish and meat courses – a burly man who balanced a long pole on his head and two boys who executed handstands and swings atop the pole, far up among the dazzling light clusters.

The Orphanotrophus seemed concerned only with ensuring that his goblet was filled as quickly as it was emptied, which was quickly indeed. Haraldr was soon certain, despite the fears Michael had professed to him earlier in the day, that Joannes was too drunk to be an effective assassin, and that his attack would take the more subtle form he had described at his town palace. Perhaps the dinner would pass without incident. Perhaps the differences between the Emperor and the Orphanotrophus could even be mediated at some point, in private. And Haraldr himself had not given up on coming to some agreement with the Orphanotrophus.

After dinner enormous gold bowls – large enough for a man to bathe in – filled with figs, apples, grapes, melons and oranges, were brought into the hall on trolleys covered with purple cloth. One of the trolleys was halted at the centre of the Imperial table; directly above it three gilded cables with thick gold rings on the ends descended from the ceiling like golden snakes gliding out of the night. Eunuchs attached the rings to hooks on the sides of the bowl; a mechanism in the ceiling lifted the bowl, swung it over the heads of the Senators, and lowered it into place in the centre of the table. The rings were removed and the ropes slithered back into the dome.

The Nobilissimus Constantine appraised an apple thoughtfully, almost as if he could see his reflection in it. ‘I note,’ he said, his first words since he had spoken to Haraldr about the fish, ‘that the Pretender to the Caliphate is enjoying the hospitality of Rome yet again.’ Constantine nodded at the Saracen prince seated at a nearby table, one of several such exiled leaders maintained at the Imperial Court, in sumptuous style, as potential instruments of diplomacy. ‘How long has this noble son of Hagar been a guest here in Rome?’ Constantine looked directly at Joannes. ‘You would know, wouldn’t you, Brother, since you have been the principal distributor of the largesse he enjoys.’

Joannes’s ponderous head lifted and seemed to yaw very slightly as he stared back at Constantine. He said nothing in reply.

‘Consider the policy, Majesty,’ said Constantine, now addressing Michael. ‘The Orphanotrophus aspires to reclaim Tripoli from the Caliphate by the presence of a gilded camel driver at the court of Rome. He supports this rather oblique pursuit of our interests with the argument that the Imperial Taghmata is unavailable to offer more vigorous diplomacy, because the so recently humbled Bulgars are eternally restive.’ By the time he had completed these words, Constantine had an astonished audience of hushed Senators staring down the table at him; Senator Scylitzes, who had paused in his own discourses to sample a fig, set the half-eaten piece of fruit down as carefully as if it were a delicate piece of blown glass. ‘Majesty,’ Constantine continued, ‘I was rather more impressed by the policy you proposed concerning the governance of Bulgaria, one that would concurrently address the problem of the reduced strength and effectiveness of the Imperial Taghmata in other areas of strategic import.’

‘Indeed.’ Joannes’s voice had the same effect that the sound of the dome splitting might have had. The hush spread backwards through the room and within a few breaths the entire vast hall was silent. Even the eunuchs paused at their tasks, their glistening white forms rigid, as if they had suddenly turned to ice. ‘I am curious as to your musings on this subject, Nephew.’ Joannes’s head extended forward from his supine body like the bobbing head of a serpent.

And the Emperor looks like a rat transfixed by the serpent, thought Haraldr. Michael would never have the courage publicly to challenge Joannes. That was the problem.

‘Yes . . .yes . . .’Michael faltered, and glanced at Constantine, whose forehead had begun to bead with perspiration. ‘Yes.’ Michael cleared his throat and the entire assembly of dignitaries seemed to shift on their couches at once. ‘It … it is my thinking that the tax we now collect – or perhaps more often fail to collect – in Bulgaria is assessed in a manner that is injurious to our defence of that frontier and also deprives us of needed revenues.’ Michael seemed to have commanded his tongue, but his dark eyes were surrounded by gleaming whites, as if he were reading an order calling for his own execution. ‘It is customary among the Bulgar people to pay their taxes in kind with portions of their crops and herds, rather than to render payment directly in silver and gold, of which there is an acute shortage among the small farmers upon whom we rely for the preponderance of our revenues. The Bulgar-Slayer recognized this and allowed payments in kind in lieu of coin, the result being a steady flow of revenue and relatively little discontent over tax exactions among the subjugated people. The recent policy has been to abolish payments in kind and force collections in coin, which has actually decreased our revenues and inflamed sentiment against Rome, providing an opportunist like the Khan Alounsianus the necessary grievance to convince his people to rise against us. The net result, as I say, heaps predicament upon predicament.