City of God by S. J. A. Turney

Author:S. J. A. Turney [Turney, S. J. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788633109
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2019-05-08T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13: The Victorious Franks

August 18th 1203

Was it a good thing or a bad one that the Franks had withdrawn from their encampment outside the walls and returned to Galata and their original place of repose? Arnau couldn’t decide. Ostensibly it represented a good thing for the people. Not having siege machines aimed at their walls and the countryside outside ravaged and foraged by an occupying force was clearly beneficial. But that force remained a strong threat sitting just across the Golden Horn alongside their Venetian allies. There was speculation in the city that when the emperor returned from his tour with the Frankish leaders, the Venetians would be paid and the army and fleet would move on, returning to their Crusade.

Neither Arnau nor Ramon were remotely convinced.

The more hopeful and naïve of the people believed that their life would more or less return to normal when that happened. That they would be able to pay lip service to the Pope and privately go on with their heretical Eastern devotions. That they would return to being an empire with their own government, without Western interference.

Not at all convinced.

Ramon and Arnau descended the stairs from the sea walls close to their favoured Pisan church in good time for the service, wearing their full regalia with the red cross, earning reserved and careful looks from the Byzantine soldiers around them. Never had Arnau been more grateful for the bulky Waring guardsmen that accompanied them. They wore their white mantles at all times now, displaying the proud red cross of the Order which labelled them ‘Crusaders’ among the majority of the imperial citizenry. Ramon had approached Bochard carefully and requested permission to spend their days in the city in simple drab tunics, or at least plain white, the red cross being so negatively associated with the Franks in the city’s eyes. Bochard had flatly refused. In his view it was unnecessary, and the Order’s symbols, he said, would prevent them becoming a target for any angered Crusader. Thus they had left the palace via the city walls, using them to cross half the city to the Pisan enclave without ever descending into the disgruntled city itself.

Father Bartolomeo would have everything ready for the service, and the two knights prepared themselves as they passed through the few short streets from the walls to the church, shrouding themselves in fresh cloaks of serenity. It did not do to bring the troubles of the mundane into the house of God, after all. Arnau walked quietly, wondering how much longer they would remain in this boiling pot of anger.

Such was his internal focus that he failed entirely to note the noise until Ramon suddenly halted, hand going to Arnau’s shoulder to stop him.

‘Listen.’

The younger man did so. It took him a moment. There was the ever-present symphony of the seashore – lapping waves, creaking timbers, splashes and the endless coarse cries of gulls. And closer there were the sounds of soldiers atop the walls. There was the hum and susurration of city life all around them.

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