The Walls of Byzantium (41 page)

‘What makes you think it can fix dye?’ she asked at last.

‘Benedo has been working on it. He thinks it might. It needs to be tested.’ Luke looked up. ‘Like your loyalties, Fiorenza,’ he added quietly. ‘Are they not tested? For Chios’s gain would seem Trebizond’s loss.’

Fiorenza’s frown was temporary and, magically, turned into something else. She laughed. ‘My loyalty is untested, Luke. It is entirely to my lord Longo.’

Luke rose. ‘Then we should drink to it. Did we finish the wine at lunch?’

‘I have more in the saddlebag. Lie down. I will bring it to you.’

Luke obeyed and closed his eyes. The late-afternoon sun brought forth golden dots that pulsed to the rhythm of his heart.

Fiorenza poured wine and the conversation turned, like the day, from the clear to the unclear and from the seen to the unseen. It was a conversation about love and allegiance and loyalty and about all the things that were invisible and in question between them. It flowed and divided like the stream beside them and its sound was often lost in the noise of water and the first cicadas as they picked up the song of the approaching night.

Luke had not tasted wine so good or so strong in his life before. Its taste filled his mouth and then his senses, one by one, so that he felt light-headed, with a strange tingling in his limbs. Fiorenza talked on and he tried to listen but something else was speaking to him. Her voice was an infusion of desire into his very soul and he felt alive with need.

Then it was night and she had stopped speaking and was regarding him with some calculation and her dress seemed to have slipped at the shoulder. Luke could hardly breathe.

‘What is this place, Fiorenza?’ he asked thickly. His head was swimming. ‘Who else do you bring here?’

‘Hush, Luke. Do not speak of such things.’

And she was next to him then and her scents were mixed with those of the grass and the river and the flawless texture of her skin was touching his and the calls of the night were muffled by the sounds she spoke into his ear.

‘
My beloved is unto me …
’ she murmured and her tongue was soft and her breath warm.

‘
My beloved is unto me a cluster of camphire
,’ she whispered and Luke turned his head and felt her tongue travel slowly across his cheek until it found his mouth.

Now she was lying beneath him and the masterpiece of her beauty looked up at him in its calm perfection.

‘I … I can’t,’ he breathed.

‘You can, Luke. And you must.’

He felt her legs open beneath him and her lips brush his and then stay there should any word escape.

You must
.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHIOS, SUMMER 1396

Luke had no idea how or when the complicated business of separating their limbs had taken place, but when he awoke to sunshine and headache and deafening birdsong, Fiorenza had gone. And such was his state of bewilderment that he wondered, with some hope, if she’d ever been there at all.

But she had. Because beside him the grass was flattened and at his feet were two cups resting on their sides. He sat up and held his head in his hands and let his tongue explore the bitter residue of wine in his mouth. Then he looked carefully around him. Her mare was no longer tethered, so she was not somewhere in the valley gathering their breakfast.

She had loved him, and left.

Luke sat up and reached forward to pick up a cup. The smell from it was not entirely of wine and he examined the inside more closely. On its curved bottom, amidst the spots of pooled liquid, were gathered the smallest of white lumps. Luke put in a finger and drew it to his lips.

Mastic
.

Mastic as aphrodisiac. He’d never believed it, thinking it a
placebo for the ravenous harem, but perhaps mixed with something other?

Luke pushed his hands through hair that still smelt of her and thought of Anna. He rose and walked unsteadily to the stream and lay down in it, gasping at the cold. He rubbed his arms and legs and cleaned between his thighs. He put his head against the flow and scratched his scalp with his fingers. And he drank until his cheeks were frozen and his teeth ached. Then he climbed on to the bank and lay in the weak sun and tried to think of what to do.

What have I done? Oh God, what have I done?

A whinny from the trees reminded him that he was not alone. Norillo was there and was nosing something on the ground: his clothes. He got up and walked over to the stallion and placed his cold cheek against the warmth of its neck.

‘Norillo,’ he whispered, ‘where did she go?’

He stooped to his clothes and pulled them on over his stillwet body. Something remained where they’d been. It was a small phial and it was nearly full of a clear liquid. He removed the stopper and lifted it to his nose.

Mastic as aphrodisiac
.

He untied the horse and began to walk back up through the trees and into the field of poppies that led to Cape Pari and where it had all begun the evening before.

He reached the top of the hill and stopped, staring out to sea.

There, sailing gracefully south, oars moving in perfect unison, was all that was left of the once-magnificent fleet of the Byzantine Empire.

Ten ships. Ten triremes flying the yellow and red of the imperial pennant, the
basilikon phlamoulon
, from their mastheads.
Ten where there had once been hundreds. If ever there was proof that the Empire was in its last days, it was surely here in these ten, lateen-rigged triremes that had rowed themselves away from the Ottoman fleet besieging Constantinople but had still managed to punch their way through the Ottoman ships encircling Chios.

Luke leapt on to the back of Norillo and shouted and waved but they were too far away to see him and the drum would anyway drown the sound of his voice. So he dug his heels into the sides of the horse and raced back down to the track in the direction of Chora.

Norillo needed little encouragement to stretch himself and it was only three hours later that Luke found himself trotting through the outlying streets of the capital towards the seafront. Word had got out that the fleet was approaching and there were excited people all around him moving in the same direction. When he reached the broad boulevard that skirted the bay, it was already thronged with citizens of every age.

Luke steered Norillo towards the castle at the north end of the bay, passing between windmills that turned their latticed blades to the breeze that crept in from the sea, and was soon riding across the moat and through the Porta Maggiore with its gaudy Giustiniani arms above.

Luke looked down and saw grass stains on his hose. He had not shaved and, despite his bathe in the stream, could still smell the scent of Fiorenza on him. The Adorno Palace was nearby and he knew that Signor Gabriele’s stout wife had a fondness for him and that her husband was most probably on his estate on the Kambos. He would find fresh clothes there and tools for shaving. He turned towards it.

An elderly servant answered to his knocking and seemed
unsurprised to see him. Opening the door, he bowed as low as he was able and ushered Luke past him and into a large hall ringed with tapestries of the hunt. Its floor was of black marble and provided Luke with a clear reflection of his appearance.

‘I wondered …’ he began, but the man put his finger to his lips and beckoned him towards the stairs where a second servant was offering a glass of something that Luke didn’t want to drink.

Again he tried to speak but was hushed politely and the finger pointed upstairs. It seemed there was someone asleep, or perhaps at prayer, above who was not to be disturbed, although the palace was large and on at least three levels. Luke made signs to leave but the retainer was insistent that he follow him and Luke agreed, straightening his pourpoint and checking his buttons.

At the top there was a curving balcony and several closed doors and one that was slightly ajar, and which had voices coming from the other side. The servant gestured towards it and Luke walked forward and opened the door.

The first person he saw, seated with others around a large mahogany table, was Marchese Longo. By his side, in clothes he did not recognise, sat his wife, the Princess Fiorenza of Trebizond.

The others around the table were all male and constituted a gathering of the shareholders of the Campagna Giustiniani. There were the signori of the Banca, the Campi, the Arangio families, and all the rest, and at their head sat their solid host, the elderly Gabriele Adorno.

He rose when Luke entered. ‘Luke … a surprise,’ he said bowing slightly and smiling with what seemed genuine pleasure. ‘We hadn’t expected you, but it is fortuitous that you have
heeded the call. It is your navy that we expect at any hour to grace our harbour and we have assembled here to agree what is to be done.’

Luke realised that he’d been staring at Fiorenza. He recovered and allowed himself to be led to a chair. ‘Forgive my appearance, my lords,’ he said, sitting down. ‘I have ridden fast.’

He looked around the table. Fiorenza was looking at him with one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

Gabriele Adorno nodded absently and then turned from Luke to the business of the meeting. He addressed his fellow signori.

‘My friends, the galleys of the Byzantine fleet will be in our harbour by nightfall. We need to agree how we will receive them. Marchese, please.’

Longo got to his feet and walked over to where a large map of the Middle Sea had been pinned to an easel. He drew his dagger and used it as a pointer.

‘The fleet has come from the port of Palea, above Monemvasia, where it has sheltered since learning that the Ottoman fleet is equipped with cannon,’ he said. ‘We don’t know its destination but we can suppose Constantinople. The arms they carry on their decks would suggest that they mean to have another try at breaking the blockade, despite the cannon.’

He paused and his dagger travelled the map. ‘Gentlemen, we Genoese have created a trading empire across the eastern Middle Sea and up into the Black Sea. Its centre has always been Constantinople, or at least our port of Pera, across the Golden Horn, and we have been a good ally to the Empire.’

He stepped back from the map and lowered his dagger. He looked at the men gathered around the table. ‘But we have to acknowledge the possibility that Constantinople will fall, and
may fall soon. And we have to recognise that the Turks may become a naval power to rival ourselves and Venice. They have already approached our brothers in Genoa about the possibility of us building ships for them and they’ll be doing the same at the Serenissima.’

He paused and lowered his voice. ‘But perhaps the worst thing we must face, gentlemen, is that we may have been backing the wrong party all these years, and the Venetians may now be backing the right one.’

Marchese walked over to the table and placed his two fists on it as he leaned forward.

‘If I may put it plainly, signori,’ he said softly, looking from one to the next, ‘if Constantinople falls, then next to fall will be our island and the Turks will have a ready ally in Venice. It is on this basis that we should decide whether or not to give shelter to the Byzantine navy.’

There was an uncomfortable silence around the table broken only by the asthmatic breathing of Adorno. ‘But our tribute, Marchese,’ he said. ‘Would the Turk so readily risk such a source of revenue? The Venetians are hardly reliable.’

‘No?’ answered Longo. ‘We’ve always believed that. We’ve always thought that only we Genoese understood the alum business which pays our tribute so handsomely. But look at Trebizond.’ Here he turned briefly to Fiorenza as if she were its embodiment. ‘The Venetians cheated us out of the alum monopoly from the mines at Karahissar and have learnt how to ship and trade it from Trebizond. They could do the same here. Why not?’

Still none of the signori spoke.

‘So, I ask again: are we about to antagonise the Turk by revictualling the navy of its enemy?’

Then Zacco Banca spoke. ‘We may not be able to pay the tribute at all if we can’t ship our alum. Remember, the Turkish pirates captured three of our round ships last month and another two last week. Now we have this blockade and no way of getting to our markets in the west.’

‘Indeed,’ said Giovanni Campi. ‘So what, Marchese, are you proposing that we do?’

‘I don’t see we have any choice, my lords,’ he said quietly. ‘I fear we must refuse entry to this fleet.’

Fiorenza said softly, ‘My lord, this is unworthy.’

Longo gazed down at his wife and there was love and sadness in his eyes. ‘Unworthy? Yes, lady, it is unworthy. But what else would you have us do? This Empire is doomed and our duty must be to Genoa. To Chios. To ourselves and’ –he glanced at Luke – ‘to our children.’

The sadness in Marchese Longo’s eyes was in those of every other one of the Genoese sitting around the table and the noises of the city outside were suddenly inside the room amidst the long silence. A decision had been made about loyalties and honour and every one of the signori wanted to be somewhere where they might better convince themselves that it had been the right one.

Then Luke spoke. ‘There is another way.’

The heads turned to him with impatience. The difficult decision had been made. And he was not one of them, not of the Campagna Giustiniani.

‘Let Luke speak,’ said Fiorenza. ‘It is his island too.’

Longo looked from his wife to Luke. ‘By all means speak, Luke,’ he said and sat down.

Luke rose to his feet and walked the length of the table until he reached Fiorenza and the map. ‘My lords,’ he began, ‘I have
lived amongst you now for some time. You have been kind to me and I hope that I’ve done you some service in return. I know you to be worthy men and that any decision you make today will be as honourable as the times allow. But there is another way, which will serve all parties, I believe.’

‘Another way?’ asked Longo.

‘Yes,’ said Luke. ‘What if the fleet is, in fact, admitted to the harbour here at Chora, and the Megas Doux and his captains received with all the pomp we can muster? What if we then offer them an alternative as to where they might go next? The Empire needs two things to survive: success for the crusade that is assembling in the west, and money. What if we persuade the Megas Doux to instead take his ships to Venice, and to go with their holds full of our alum? From Venice they can put themselves at the disposal of the Duke of Burgundy’s crusade and the Empire can take a generous share of the proceeds from the alum.’