The mosaic of shadows by Tom Harper

Author:Tom Harper [Tom Harper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Histoire
ISBN: 9780312338671
Published: 2005-06-01T10:38:53+00:00

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I had hoped to have an hour or two to probe around that camp with Father Gregorias, to see if I could glean any sign of the monk having been there, but that was clearly impossible. Duke Godfrey might have managed a bare civility, but his brother Baldwin’s crude spite was closer to the mood in the faces which surrounded us when we emerged. As we remounted, I saw that Count Hugh no longer took his place at the head of the procession, but dropped back so that he was in the midst of the Varangians. Gregorias and I had no such fortune: we were at the rear again, and had to endure a strained half hour in the fear that we might be dragged from our horses and butchered, or find an arrow between our shoulders, before at last we came through the Patzinak cordon.

At the Gate of Lakes we halted again, this time for Hugh to leave our column and pass through another gate into the first courtyard of the new palace. Remembering Krysaphios’ instructions to report to him there, I followed.

Against the decadent sprawl of the old palace, expanded out over many centuries, the new palace was a compact building whose growth was purely, dizzyingly vertical. It was built on a hill, with a commanding view over the Golden Horn to the north and the line of the ramparts to the south. Much of the brickwork was as yet unplastered, but there was none of the chaos of construction that I had seen at Domenico’s house.

A boy came and took our horses, while a guard led us up a steep stair to a high terrace, where two sets of bronze doors brought us into a high-vaulted room. There was neither ornament nor decoration on the walls, and the marble floors were of the simple, modern style. But the view at the end was breathtaking, a row of full-length, arched windows looking out to the dark sprawl of the barbarian camp. The room must be built atop the great walls themselves, I thought, on the outermost line of our defences. It would take a confident man to stand by those windows, and I noticed that neither of those present chose to risk it.

‘Count Hugh. What success?’ It was Krysaphios, interrupted in his conversation with the Sebastokrator Isaak.

‘None.’ Hugh crossed to a finely wrought chair, inlaid with gold, and slumped into it. ‘They are impossible, my countrymen, full of false pride and toothless threats. They have no love of nobility, no respect for their betters. I cannot talk to them.’

‘Threats?’ Isaak looked at him keenly. ‘What threats?’

‘None that would trouble a man of your power. They say they want only boats to cross the straits, and then they will depart. But they will not swear the oath the Emperor demands.’

‘With boats they could attack the sea walls, divert our strength.’ Isaak paced the room in agitation. ‘What exactly did they threaten?’

Hugh wiped an ornate sleeve across his brow. It came away smeared with grime.

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