death, his sons had fallen to squabbling among themselves for supremacy, thus leaving the empire free to concentrate on the defence of its northern borders, as well as the new and growing threat posed by the latest Arab terror, the Seljuq Turks.
Now the Romans, as they styled themselves, were back-and the fact that this time they were here to help him win back the Holy Land did not cheer him as much as they might have expected. He had seen in Robert Guiscard the naked face of the West, and he had good reason to fear and despise it. For the welfare of the empire, however, he would not allow personal rancour to dictate his conduct towards the pilgrim lords. He would receive them; he would even welcome them, but he would not believe them, and he would never trust them.
As Alexius neared the first ranks of tents that formed the perimeter, he noticed a fair number of merchants had gathered to offer their goods to the pilgrims-everything from precious gems, and rolls of the brilliant silken cloth for which the weavers of Byzantium were justly famous, to cabbages, boiled eggs, and flat bread. Closer, he heard in the bickering tones of trade a somewhat strident note, and quickly discerned that the bargaining was not flowing with the usual harmony of purpose. Seeing several disgruntled merchants-their handcarts filled with unsold produce-leaving the proceedings, the emperor hailed one of the men and asked what ailed him.
'Agh!' The merchant rolled his eyes. 'By the Pure Light of Heaven, these Romans are worse than barbarians! They want everything but will not pay. There is no talking to them. I am finished.'
Before the emperor could reply, the man demanded, 'Do they think us fools, that we should give away our wares? Look at these melons!' He plucked a round ripe melon from the neatly-arranged stack. 'Did you ever see such beautiful melons? And these apricots! Here, try one. Did you ever taste such an apricot?'
No, the emperor said, he had certainly never tasted such a wonderful apricot.
'Of course not!' cried the merchant. 'I grow all this with my own two hands! Food fit for the Basileus himself! And what do they do? They blow their noses at me!' Taking up the handles of his cart once more, the man continued on his way. 'Theotokis is finished with them! Let them remember that when they are starving! Agh!'
Other merchants voiced similar complaints: the Romans had gold enough, but refused to part with it. They seemed to believe that, along with the grain and water the emperor provided, anything else they wanted should be given to them, too. For the merchants, that was bad enough; worse, however, was the Romans' inexplicable disdain. The abuse pouring out of the mouths of the visitors first embarrassed the emperor, then bewildered him. To a man, the Latin knights appeared to hold their Byzantine brothers in lowest contempt, reviling them, cursing them, even as they clamoured and cajoled for their goods.
'Pig! Over here!' they called, making sounds like hogs snuffling. 'Here, pig! You call this bread, pig? I would not give you a turd for it.'
Or, again: 'What! Think you I would touch this cloth after you've had your filthy hands all over it? Get it away from me, you shit-eating dog!'
This litany of crude abuse was repeated wherever the merchants clustered. And if it was worrying to the tradesmen, Alexius found it alarming. Encamped before him was a vast army of fighting men who did not recognize the simple unity of their common faith and brotherhood, who considered themselves superior to their eastern kinsmen, and moreover exempt from the obligations of ordinary human decency and goodwill.
What the produce merchant had said was true: these Romans were worse than barbarians. The benighted barbarian only wanted whatever valuables he might carry away. These men wanted the world-and, indeed, saw themselves ruling it. That notion, Alexius determined, would be soundly squelched at first opportunity. Yes, but it must be defeated subtly, quietly, and without overt antagonism.
He strolled along the perimeter of the immense camp, watching the knights and footmen. They were, almost without exception, big men: tall, long-limbed, heavy of shoulder, belly, and thigh, hard-handed and thick-muscled; when they walked, their heels struck the earth with solid purpose, their movements ponderous rather than lithe. Their skin was pale, without natural colour, resembling raw dough in both texture and consistency. Alexius entertained the notion that his slightest touch would leave a lingering impression on such pasty flesh.
Their faces were broad, with thick lips and large noses; their eyes wide-set, but small beneath heavy brows. Alexius could not imagine any woman finding such horse-like features attractive. Worst of all, they wore their hair long-like maidens' hair-and like that of young women, it hung loosely about their necks in desultory curls; curiously, however, except for the occasional broad moustache, they kept themselves clean-shaven. The combination of long hair and smooth chins and jowls appeared odd to the Byzantine eye; it struck Alexius as somewhat obscene-as if the foreigners perversely insisted on covering that which should be revealed, and revealing that which should be covered.
Their garments were coarse and heavy, sombre coloured. Most wore an outer coat over a knee-length tunic cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt from which hung their knives. Some few, he noticed, did possess an outer cloak of better fabric, sewn with bright squares or stripes of contrasting colours-red and green, yellow and blue, black and white. But, whether cloak or mantle, tunic, or leggings, all were made for a clime much colder and more changeable than that to which they had come, and, God help them, far colder still than that to which they were going.
Their feet were covered with tall leather boots, or shoes of the old Roman style with tough soles and thick uppers which laced up the leg with stout leather thongs. In this, at least, they showed a little wisdom; the ground of the Holy Land was rough and arid, more rock than soil, and a soldier who could not walk or run could not fight. Too many good men died because their shoes could not take the strain of the march, let alone the fight, Alexius reflected; the emperor set great store by a soldier's footwear.
In manner, the westerners were much as he expected: haughty, insolent, and rude. They swaggered insufferably as they walked, hailing one another with uncouth gestures, their talk broken by coarse and raucous laughter. Loud in speech, brash in action, they were, in a word, crude; on the whole, they behaved as if they had neither a grain of civility in their souls, nor a redeeming thought in their heads. They were uninvited guests in a land far from home; for the love of Christ, did that mean nothing to them?
The arrogance and ambition of their leaders might be expected, but the casual cruelty of the average fighting man was definitely a startling and nasty surprise. Alexius saw in it the ugly shape of a malignant wickedness-a vile sinfulness which proceeded from a core of hate and ignorance and greed.
Having seen enough, the emperor turned away in disgust and hastened back to the palace to call his advisors and prepare for the battle to come. By the time he slipped once again through the hidden gate, Alexius had devised the first strike. It would come, he decided, in the form of a gift-or, better still, many gifts-the more gaudy and expensive the better.
FIFTEEN
The emperor kept his unruly visitors waiting for nine days, then despatched the Commander of the Imperial Excubitori with a summons. 'The emperor will receive you,' Nicetas informed the brother lords icily. 'Make yourselves ready. An escort will be sent to conduct you to the palace tomorrow morning.'
The next day, Godfrey, Duke of Bouillon, and Baldwin, Prince of Boulogne, each attended by numerous noblemen and vassals, were led into the great reception room of Blachernae Palace. The two lords and their entourage walked in open-mouthed awe of their peerless surroundings. Marble floors of palest green, polished to mirror-brightness, stretched away on every side beneath a gilded ceiling which glimmered overhead like a firmament of gold, supported by a forest of graceful pillars of marble so pure and white they seemed to shine with the radiance of the moon.
Led by the magister officiorum-stately, regal, holding high his ebony rod of authority-the Romans passed through two enormous doors of burnished copper which opened silently on hidden hinges to admit them into a vast cavern of a room possessed of even greater opulence than anything they had yet seen. The rarest blue and green marbles, imported at unthinkable expense from the farthest reaches of the empire, lined the walls and floor, gleaming and radiant in the light from a hundred perfumed wax tapers set in candletrees of gold all around the room.
Before them on a raised dais of expensive porphyry, dressed in his purple robes, wearing a crown of gold inset with rubies and pearls, sat Basileus Alexius Comnenus, Elect of Heaven, Supreme Ruler of All Christendom, God's Vice-Regent on Earth, Equal of the Apostles. If their first glimpse of the most powerful man alive did not
