them with our bows, but always without success. After that, we’d made sure to stand well out from the shore at night, with guards posted on the main deck.
From Euboea, we’d struck out for the East, straight through the Aegean. Every day, the sun had burned down from a sky of darkest blue on to still waters of blue and silver. We’d then entered the main shipping lanes, and were passing trading ships and fishing boats and war galleys. We’d passed little islands, sometimes putting in to shore. On some I saw abandoned temples gleaming white in the distance, and monasteries and fortifications of various kinds. To the bemusement of the crew, I’d scampered about the remnants of more civic and more populous ages, chasing away the queer lizards that darted all over the ruins and filling my head with details of inscriptions and building styles.
On days when we hadn’t landed, I’d swum in the warm salty waters, with Martin’s voice calling out every so often he might have seen another dolphin. Despite the clear assurance of Aristotle and of the sailors stood beside him, he couldn’t be brought to believe the things weren’t dangerous.
There had been a quickening of the traffic as we passed into the Hellespont, and a fair crowding of it as the channel widened out into the Propontis. It was now, looking left across the water, that I first saw the great City. Piled on to a high, central hill, its public buildings looked down over walls of a size and magnificence that came close to topping my wildest dreams. These surround the city, guarding its landward side with a triple fortification that no enemy has ever breached, or can ever breach. The two lengths of wall that front the sea are less elaborate but still provide adequate protection.
Even if you aren’t allowed inside, the walls give an idea of how vast is Constantinople. The two sea walls are each about three miles long. The land wall is another three miles or so. Beyond the walls, suburbs – though mostly long abandoned – stretch some way into Thrace, and cover the neighbouring shore.
When I first arrived, the whole blunted triangle and its depend encies may have contained a million people. Even today, it must remain the biggest and richest city in the world.
‘Behold the ancient city of Constantine,’ said Martin, sounding glum beside me.
‘Come, now,’ I said, ignoring his mood, ‘you know much better than that. Just three hundred years ago, this was a dumpy little town without walls, called Byzantium. Compared with Rome, it’s a thing of yesterday. It was only when the Great Constantine established the Faith, and then wanted a capital he could fill with churches and with better access to the frontiers, that this place became anything at all.’
Ignoring the challenge to debate, Martin continued leaning on the rail and looked bleakly across the diminishing expanse of water that separated us from the City walls. The conversation of flags between ship and shore was ordering us closer in; I supposed it was to avoid the more important shipping in that crowded channel. Built on the far edge of Europe, the city faces Asia across waters narrow enough to swim, but for the treacherous tides.
‘Three hundred years,’ he said at length, ‘is long enough to bring every vice and every crime to ripeness. You wait and see.’
There was a sudden shouting behind us. Men were running all over the ship, pulling on ropes. The sails came down, and I heard the dull beat of the drum as the rowers took over from the wind and we turned left into the Golden Horn – the long, sheltered harbour that washes the north-eastern sea walls and makes Constantinople a greater commercial centre even than Alexandria.
I’d never seen so many ships before. Some crowded along the docks that lined an unwalled stretch at the city’s edge and that were repeated on the opposite shore. Others stood out in the channel and little boats darted between them and the docks. On land, I could see row after row of vast warehouses of the kind I’d seen in Ostia. But those were mostly abandoned, crumbling away beneath their vaulted roofs. These were bursting with all the produce of the world – foodstuffs, textiles, spices and drugs and aromatic goods, manufactures of all kinds, works of art. Whatever can be bought and sold, you’ll find in those warehouses.
The Captain was shouting orders to his men and greetings to other ships as we navigated our way slowly and carefully across the harbour. No longer responding, his signalman was intent on the rapid waving of flags onshore. Every time the message was reported, the Captain would bark another set of orders. Since they all spoke Syriac to each other, I had no idea what was being said.
From a few hundred yards out, I could see the swarming crowds on the docks – naked porters fetching and carrying, officials and their secretaries consulting lists, men and women of every condition and colour. I made out a line of slaves all chained together, still wearing the clothes of their northern home, their skins red from the burning sun.
Beyond the docks the land rose upwards. Here, I allowed myself a sight of a jumble of glittering buildings. Some of these looked quite old – at least, they were in the ancient style of the Greeks. The larger buildings were all in the modern Imperial style. I strained to see more of them, but the afternoon sun was in my eyes and it dazzled me. I also couldn’t explain the little dark projections at regular points along an inner wall.
Partly to rest my eyes, I looked down into the water. Further back, the oars were breaking it into a white foam. Where I stood at the front of the ship, I could see my own reflection, clear but distorted by the parting of the waters. I had put on my best robe for the occasion – yellow with a dark blue trim that gave me a vaguely official look. Because I still wasn’t up to growing a proper beard, I’d let my hair grow very thick and had bound it with a ribbon into a mass of gold.
I gave myself a little hug as I leaned forward over the rail and looked down at that beautiful reflection. Behind my back, people might well be asking about the exact nature of my citizenship. None could deny that, visually, I was among the most glorious objects they had ever seen. I was like an old statue, with all the paint and gilding still fresh upon it. As ever when I caught an unexpected view of myself, I could feel a stiffy coming on.
Still beside me, dressed in a suitably contrasting grey, a hat to keep the sun off his milk-white, freckled skin, Martin cleared his throat. It was one of those noises he made when somewhere between moderate concern and paralysing fear.
‘We’re putting into the Senatorial Dock,’ he said flatly.
Certainly, we were going straight past the place where I’d seen all the activity. Still shouting orders I couldn’t understand, the Captain was pointing to some other landing place round a bend in the shore.
For the hundredth time that day, Martin reached up to make sure his hat was in place. Hair as red as his doesn’t long survive a thirtieth birthday, and I knew Martin was approaching that age faster than he wanted.
‘Our things’, he added, ‘will still need to clear customs, but it shouldn’t be as searching as I expected.’
‘Well,’ I said, trying to keep my voice neutral, ‘let us be grateful for that.’
Martin had warned me how the Greeks like to check everything when you land, and even try to levy duties on your personal effects. I hadn’t liked the thought of that. If we could avoid it, I’d not object to a little change of plan.
I looked again towards the shore which was approaching fast. With the crowds behind us, we were putting into a small landing faced with blue marble and overlooked by buildings of restrained grandeur. Leading up to the main city, there was a wide avenue lined with trees.
Following Martin’s glance to the landing place, I could see a small, though very fat man dressed in a robe with a purple border. Beardless, of indeterminate age, he seemed to be wearing a wig – or perhaps it was a full head of hair dyed black. It was hard to see the details at that distance or in that terrible glare of sunlight. A secretary stood beside him, his face cast down. Behind him, at a respectful distance, stood various retainers, some of them armed.
‘That’s not the Permanent Legate, or his people,’ Martin hissed, his grip tightening on the rail. ‘It’s a Gloriosus. There’s a really senior official waiting to greet you. You only see people of that status come down to greet foreign ambassadors.’
My stomach turned over. The scared speculations I had pushed out of my mind on that hasty, midnight rush down the Tiber came crawling back. With the shore getting closer and closer, I felt like a man who falls from a high window and sees the ground rushing towards him. Even if I’d dared to ask, would the Captain have turned back?
I wanted to say something reassuring to Martin. All I did was reach out to him under cover of the rail. He took my hand in his. It was cold and sweaty, but firmer than my own. We stood close together as the ship covered the last hundred yards or so.
‘He’ll be expecting our total deference,’ Martin whispered with a slight nod at the official. ‘You address him as “Your Magnificence”.’
