Imperial Fire (10 page)

The Logothete’s mouth opened in anticipation. ‘Do you have an alternative?’

A bubble formed on Skleros’s lower lip. ‘Yes, I do. Justin Bardanes is a noble lord with a distinguished military record and a subtle grasp of diplomacy.’

The Logothete seemed to sadden. ‘Bardanes plotted against the emperor and has shown no distinction in the field except to demonstrate how smartly he can retreat. I can’t discern any recommending feature except for the fact that he’s your cousin.’

Skleros reddened. Giving him no time to protest, the Logothete stabbed a finger in Vallon’s direction.

‘Whereas the general’s credentials are beyond question. You all know about his extraordinary travels and his exemplary valour at Dyrrachium. If you have reservations about his appointment, voice them to His Imperial Majesty. I’ll arrange an audience if you wish.’ The Logothete’s voice dropped. ‘But know this: it was our emperor, the grand and hallowed Alexius Comnenus, who personally selected Vallon for the mission.’

Skleros slunk back. ‘I’ll say no more.’

The Logothete bestowed a wide smile on the company. ‘Then let’s go in to lunch.’

The Logothete seated Hero on his left and quizzed him on various matters pertaining to his journey to the far north, the minister displaying an impressive grasp of geography and foreign affairs. The conversation turned to medicine and science, and here again the minister demonstrated an admirable breadth of knowledge. After listening to Hero’s account of his work as a physician, he made a gesture that took in part of the palace behind him.

‘The Magnaura has a fine library containing many rare medical texts. Perhaps you’d like to explore its treasures.’

‘It would be a dream come true.’

‘Is there a particular author whose works you’d like to study?’

‘One of the physicians I most admire is Hunayn ibn Ishaq. He wrote a text called
Ten Treatises of the Eye
that I’ve been trying to track down for years.’

The Logothete’s eyebrow formed a sinuous line. ‘The name is familiar. Excuse me while I enquire.’ The merest tilt of the head brought a clerk hurrying to his side. Their quiet exchanges ended in a brilliant smile aimed at Hero.

‘We have two copies – both in the original Arabic, one of them penned by Hunayn himself. You’re welcome to copy it, or if you prefer, I can assign the task to one of my
antiquarii
.’

‘I would prefer to translate it myself. Even the most sensitive of scribes tends to make errors of interpretation when dealing with specialist subjects.’

‘I understand.’

Conversation turned to other matters. Hero found the Logothete an engaging and stimulating host and was rather disappointed when the minister rose to signal that the occasion was over. The minister escorted him to the door.

‘I would have liked to talk longer. Unfortunately, I have to rehearse a formal reception for the Venetian ambassador. Let us meet again at your convenience. In the meantime…’ The Logothete handed Hero a small codex volume bound in ivory.

Hero opened it. There on the title page was Hunayn ibn Ishaq’s signature in flowing calligraphy on papyrus. His bemused gaze darted up.

‘A gift,’ said the Logothete. ‘Consider it small recompense for any misunderstanding I might have caused.’ He raised a hand. ‘No, no. I insist.’

‘Thank you,’ Hero said. ‘Thank you.’ He looked around with delight, his smile withering under Vallon’s jaundiced leer. He cupped a hand to his mouth and whispered in English, ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘Said the fly to the spider.’

Hero moved his table to catch the early morning light and opened the book. He had long admired Hunayn ibn Ishaq for his breadth of scholarship, but until now he’d been able to read only a fraction of his work, and that in poor translations. Hunayn, a Nestorian Christian born in Iraq at the beginning of the ninth century, had studied medicine in Baghdad and mastered Greek and Persian in order to translate scientific treatises written in those languages. He was no mere copyist, though. He interpreted and refined, applying his own practical experience to the books he rendered into Arabic or Syriac, and he also wrote more than a score of original works, including the
Ten Treatises
. His reputation stood so high that the caliph had appointed him his personal physician and placed him in charge of the House of Wisdom, a school dedicated to the transmission of classical knowledge.

Hero leafed through the pages and came upon a detailed drawing of the human eye, all its parts illustrated. He studied it for some time before turning back to the beginning.

Peter interrupted to ask if he would be joining the household for breakfast, but Hero was so absorbed that he declined the invitation without raising his eyes from the page. He had read about half of the book when someone knocked on the door. He covered the text with his hand.

‘Come in.’

Vallon entered, bade Hero a good day and crossed to the window. He stared across the strait. ‘I’ve arranged your return passage. A merchant ship sails in three days. You’ll slip aboard just before she casts off. You’ll be beyond the Logothete’s reach before he discovers that you’ve gone.’

Hero rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry to have put you to unnecessary trouble. I hope you didn’t pay the fare in advance.’

Vallon turned. ‘You’re going on that ship if I have to carry you aboard myself.’

Hero gave him a quick look. ‘Have you noticed anything amiss with my eyes?’

Vallon’s brow furrowed. ‘I know your vision isn’t sharp.’

‘Examine my left eye. Closer. Do you see it – a veil over the iris? The clouding is caused by what the ancients called a “cataract”, or “foaming water”. Every month it grows thicker. The condition doesn’t correct itself. It becomes more acute with time and usually spreads to the other eye. If left untreated, I calculate that in five years I’ll be blind.’

Vallon’s throat pulsed. ‘All the more reason to spend those years in profitable study rather than wasting them on a foreign adventure.’

Hero continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Apart from the company of friends, reading is my greatest delight. Without books I can’t acquire the knowledge I need to advance my medical skills. Without clear vision, I won’t be able to practise those skills. In short, if I lost my sight I would lose my purpose.’

Vallon splayed a hand across his face. ‘Hero…’

‘I come to the point. The book the Logothete gave me discusses diseases of the eye and their treatment. Cosmas told me that physicians in China have perfected an operation to remove cataracts by surgery. There. Isn’t that a good enough reason to make the journey?’

Vallon swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t realised.’

‘So let’s agree that my mind is settled. Actually, it was settled the day I arrived.’

‘If you’re sure,’ Vallon said in a husky voice.

‘Quite sure. My motives are selfish, but I hope that what skills I’ve learned as a physician will prove useful on what I know will be a difficult journey.’

Vallon hung his head. ‘Oh, Hero. You don’t know how much your…’ He broke off, his hand going to the hip where his sword should have hung. Hero heard a shout. Vallon wrenched open the door and Wulfstan appeared, almost falling over himself in glee.

‘What the devil’s got into you?’ Vallon snapped.

‘Beg pardon,’ Wulfstan gasped. ‘Some kid just arrived with a message. An Englishman and his family, all wearing Seljuk dress, have landed at the Harbour of Theodosius, claiming they know Vallon the Frank.’

Hero and Vallon gaped at each other. ‘It can’t be.’

‘It is,’ Wulfstan said. ‘The lad didn’t give a name but said the man had corn-coloured hair and his woman had hair as pale as flax. And they’ve got a giant dog with them and two kiddies. The harbour guards won’t let them leave.’

Vallon pushed past Wulfstan and strode into the hallway. ‘My lady, come quick. Amazing news.’

Caitlin bustled in. ‘What now? I can’t take any more alarms.’

‘Wayland and Syth have arrived in the city. We’re going to collect them.’

Caitlin steepled her hands in front of her mouth and screamed. ‘I’m coming with you.’ She ran for the door. ‘What about the girls?’

‘Bring them with you. Aiken, too. Wulfstan, order a caique. It will be quicker than riding.’

On the ride down the Bosporus they worked themselves into a fever of speculation over what could have brought Wayland and his family to Constantinople.

‘The Logothete must have sent for him,’ said Hero.

‘No. Wayland wouldn’t uproot his family on the minister’s say-so.’ Vallon gestured towards Wulfstan and put a finger against his lips. ‘Let’s wait and see.’

The Harbour of Theodosius on the Marmara coast was Constantinople’s largest port, built to handle Byzantium’s grain imports from its former Egyptian colony. Vallon’s party hurried down the quay, dodging stevedores and fishermen unloading catches.

‘That must be them,’ Wulfstan cried, pointing at a cordon of soldiers.

Their officer strode forward and saluted. ‘General Vallon?’

‘I believe you’ve detained an English family.’

Behind the soldiers, a tall blond man with Viking blue eyes rose from a bale. Up darted a slim lady, holding in each hand a tow-haired boy and girl, the boy clutching a miniature bow, the girl with tear-swollen eyes folding a doll to her chest. Beside them stood a long-limbed Anatolian shepherd dog with a tucked-up waist and shaggy cream and grey pelt.

‘Syth!’ Caitlin shrieked, and ran forward and gathered the woman in her arms. Vallon advanced at a stroll, smiling from ear to ear.

‘Wayland.’

The Englishman smiled a lazy smile. Years of staring into the sun had etched a fan of lines around his eyes. He looked weary and his quilted tunic was travel-stained.

Syth smiled the lovely smile that still glowed in Vallon’s memory. Two children hadn’t spoiled her figure, and her eyes remained as clear as northern skies.

Wayland kissed his old companions. ‘Captain Vallon, it’s good to see you again after all these years.’

‘He’s a general now,’ said Hero.

‘There are no ranks between us,’ said Vallon.

‘Hero, I’ve often thought of you and I’m delighted that you look even cleverer than when we parted.’ Wayland noticed Wulfstan and laughed. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see.’

Wulfstan threw out his chest. ‘I’m the general’s houseguard. A reformed character. I even go to church. Come here, you bastard, and let me hug you.’

Vallon presented Aiken. ‘This is my adoptive son. He’s English. His father was an officer in the Varangian Guard.’

Aiken shook Wayland’s hand. ‘It’s an honour to make your acquaintance.’

Hero put the question that everyone wanted answering. ‘What brings you to Constantinople?’

‘Later,’ said Vallon. He put his arm around Wayland. ‘Let’s take you home and then we’ll chase all the missing years.’

The officer intervened. ‘I’m sorry, General. The Englishman served at the Sultan of Rum’s court. I’m afraid I can’t release them until they’ve been properly examined.’

‘The devil with that. I can vouch for them.’

‘I’ll need more than your word, General.’

‘If that isn’t good enough, I can vouch for them before the Logothete tou Dromou.’

‘It’s his officials I’m waiting for.’

‘Then tell them they can find us at my villa, but not before tomorrow at the earliest. My friends need rest.’

Caitlin was already leading Syth and the children to the ferry, brushing aside a soldier who made a half-hearted attempt to detain her.

‘Very good,’ said the officer.

Wulfstan jostled Vallon’s arm as they boarded the caique. ‘Now we’re all together again. Like old times.’

Vallon’s tone was sad. ‘No. Those days are gone, and we’ll never see them again.’

On the trip back up the Bosporus, Caitlin handed out snacks from a basket. The children were called Brecc and Averil and regarded their counterparts with silent fascination before falling asleep in their mother’s arms. The whole family gave off an air of exhaustion.

‘Your rooms have been prepared,’ said Vallon when they reached the villa. ‘Sleep as long as you like. If you feel like joining us for supper, we usually dine at sunset.’

Caitlin showed the guests to their room. Hero waited until they’d left before turning to Vallon.

‘It will be hard to keep the expedition a secret.’

‘We simply tell them that I’m leaving for another tour of duty, and that you’re accompanying me to observe the customs of the natives.’

Hero said no more on the matter and he and Vallon went to the study to go over the inventory drawn up by the Logothete. It ran to sixteen pages – so many horses and mules, javelins, suits of mail and lamellar armour, sacks of hardtack…

Vallon put pen to paper. ‘We’ll be taking about one hundred and thirty horses and pack animals, each needing twenty pounds of dry fodder a day. The voyage to Trebizond could take two weeks, so that means we’ll need…’ He began his calculations, making frequent crossings out and brushing his hair up into spikes.

‘About thirty-five thousand pounds,’ said Hero.

Vallon looked up from under his brows. ‘How do you do that in your head?’

‘With the aid of the signifier zero. It’s quite simple. I can teach you how it works in less than an hour.’

Vallon held up a hand. ‘Not that again. You know it’s beyond my grasp. I’m too old to learn new ways.’

‘Actually, I introduced Aiken to the concept and he picked it up straight away. Why don’t you let him help with the inventory?’

‘That’s not a bad idea. It will teach him that soldiering isn’t just about slaughtering and being slaughtered.’

‘What will we do for provisions once we reach Trebizond? Will the governor be expecting us?’

‘No, and he’s going to have an unpleasant shock when I show him the imperial orders demanding that he opens his granaries and warehouses to us. After that we’ll have to pay for our provisions. We’ll be carrying fifty pounds of gold solidi, which the Logothete assures me is acceptable currency all along the Silk Road. On top of that there’s the squadron’s pay – a hundred and thirty men averaging two solidi a man every month for a year, with the remainder to be paid in arrears to those lucky enough to see home again.’ Vallon cocked an eye. ‘What does that add up to?’

Hero half-closed his eyes for a few moments. ‘Forty-five pounds.’

‘So a hundred pounds of gold plus the gifts for the Song emperor. Let’s hope pirates don’t get wind of our fortune.’

They were still ploughing through the inventory in late afternoon when a child’s cry broke into their calculations. They went to the veranda to find Zoe seated on the dog’s back, being led around the courtyard by Brecc, Caitlin looking on in apprehension. Wayland stood beside her freshly bathed and wearing a smart tunic of blue shot silk borrowed from Vallon’s wardrobe.

‘Are you sure that dog’s safe?’ Caitlin demanded.

‘Don’t worry. If the children plague him too much, he’ll take himself off somewhere quiet.’

‘I’m not taking about the
dog’s
welfare. I meant, are my children safe with that brute?’

‘He grew up with my own youngsters and has never so much as nipped them.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Batu. It means “faithful”.’

‘Is it the dog Syth picked out at the emir’s encampment?’

‘His son. Old Burilgi was killed by a bear two years ago.’

Caitlin’s voice came from high in her throat. ‘I don’t think I want to hear any more. Wulfstan, don’t take your eyes off my girls for one moment. I’m going inside to see Syth.’

The women and children dined separately, as was the custom in Constantinople. The evening was warm and the men ate in the courtyard, bats cutting erratic paths through the lamplight.

Vallon waited until the first course had been served. ‘You haven’t told us the reason for your flight.’

A gust of feminine laughter carried from the house. Wayland composed his hands on the table. ‘We lived comfortably in Rum, but we never really adjusted to Seljuk ways. The curbs they place on women are hard to tolerate for English folk. Matters came to a head when one of the sultan’s nephews asked to take Averil as his bride. It wasn’t a request we could refuse, but we determined that our daughter should make her own choice of husband when she came of suitable age. We talked about it at length, not knowing what to do, until the sultan himself ordered us to send Averil to his nephew’s household. We forged papers and joined a caravan travelling to Sinop, where we took ship for Constantinople. It wasn’t as simple as I make it sound.’

‘I can tell that your journey was fraught.’

‘It was hard for the children.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Return to England. We’re not penniless. I have enough gold to pay for the journey and buy a decent holding of land.’ Clearly uncomfortable, Wayland changed the subject. ‘But you, Hero. What brings you to Constantinople?’

Vallon answered before Hero could speak. ‘A happy coincidence. Hero decided to pay a visit, and when I told him that my next posting was to the Danube border, he insisted on accompanying me.’

Hero examined his plate. ‘In a few weeks, Vallon and I leave on a mission to China.’

Vallon grabbed the edge of the table so hard that the crockery rattled. ‘I told you not to say one word about that matter.’

‘You can’t keep it a secret. Caitlin has probably already told Syth. And how would Wayland feel after we slip off and he learns that we’ve gone to the other side of the world? Explain what we’re up to, and make it plain that there’s no place on the expedition for a husband with two young children. Anything less would be a betrayal of our friendship.’