Traveller Probo
105. 11th Century Constantinople

The officials scampered importantly. Dressed in beautiful tunics embroidered with red, theirs was the uniform of the palace of the Emperor.

Professor Taylor had once been privileged to have an audience with the Queen. It had been when he received his OBE and some of the staff at Buckingham Palace had similar attitudes to the staff here. Friendly but self-important, though here the power had teeth.

The academic sat, pale and shocked. They had arrived at their audience quite early, expecting a variety of briefings and delays. What they didn’t expect was the human misery that confronted them on the busy main thoroughfare. The crowds watched silently as lines of ragged men struggled, each with his hand on the shoulder of the one in front. Dried lines of blood marked the front of their faces. While they still had eyes, they had been skilfully blinded by an upward cut through their lower eyelid, severing their optic nerve with the point of a dagger to render them forever sightless.

One of the crowd had made the comment, “They should consider themselves lucky they still have eyes. It would have been nothing for our lads to remove them altogether.” After all, they were fellow Christians. Each line of fifty was led by one who was permitted to retain the sight in one eye. For the Travellers, this was a picture of utter despair. Some of the Bulgars wept, their tears tracking more bloody streaks down their cheeks, while others closed their useless eyes, gritted their teeth and moved mechanically, one step ahead of the other, determined to survive. A few in the gathered crowds threw rubbish or rotten food but compared to the punishment already meted out, this additional abuse seemed a petty thing.

By the roadside a priest raised his hand and sung a blessing upon them. A few of the blinded men looked up in hope. Many were young, only boys. The Travellers watched the parade and Professor Taylor noted the reactions of his companions. They were men well-used to the sight of death and injury but he doubted any would have seen anything so cruel. He didn’t even want to think how the blind men would survive as they walked the slow, weary miles to home.

They were also foreigners in this city, so the academic and his colleagues must treat their visit with Basil the Bulgar Slayer with more than a little trepidation.

They greeted Leon and Florian close to the great Chalke Gate that would take them into the Royal Palace precinct. The merchants were surrounded by a retinue of minders to move lesser beings out of their way. Dressed in glorious finery, they attracted covetous looks from most who saw them. Leon wore a blue tunic embroidered with black, while Florian’s gown was decorated with a scene from the Bible, depicting the Saviour’s gifts from the Magi, all embroidered in gold thread. The work was truly beautiful.

Professor Taylor had opted to be received in their Traveller tunics and breeches, hopefully for the amusement of the Emperor and his court. So they stood drably, like sparrows before peacocks.

They passed beneath the Chalke Gate’s impressive icon of Christ the Pantocrator–the universal ruler–and into the Royal Palace complex were servants led them through a magnificent, colonnaded reception area decorated with beautifully crafted mosaics and walls painted with expansive biblical scenes. Sweeping martial frescos were carved into stone walls and decorated with bronze or gilded weapons and armour, while heroic statues gazed at them with stony eyes, painted to look as realistic as possible. The Palace was a showpiece of stunning artworks and the chosen route designed to awe and intimidate foreign dignitaries and representatives of powerful Byzantine families alike. Finally they entered a spacious reception with marble benches set aside for the many supplicants. Professor Taylor walked to examine one expansive scene of Jesus feeding the multitudes. The common theme was of divine symmetry, of a universe where the Emperor ruled with his advisors, bishops and generals just as Jesus ruled in heaven, surrounded by angels and saints. He wasn’t the Jesus on the cross as was more familiar at home.

They were now outside the Phiale of the Greens, where the Emperor held informal court.

“Incredible,” murmured Professor Taylor. “So much of this is lost, so much destroyed.”

“That was about 1204 wasn’t it?” asked Parker. Like the other Travellers, he seemed awestruck at the sight of the art and architecture, something Professor Taylor saw was true for the other delegations in the room. Light poured through windows of coloured glass while echoes compelled all to converse in hushed whispers.

“Correct,” nodded the academic, with an impressed smile. “The fourth crusade, where greedy, corrupt Christians destroyed greedy, corrupt Christians. Their stupidity, sponsored as it was by the Church in Rome, weakened the Empire to the extent that they laid the foundation for the rising Ottoman Sultanate, the Islamic power who carried out the 1453 Siege of Constantinople. For this reason, the events of 1204 are sometimes seen as marking the final stage in the Byzantine Empire’s decline.”

He turned to his companions and gave a bitter smile, “Will we never learn?”

An aid approached to reiterate the protocol involved in any audience with the great Emperor. Only Professor Taylor, McFee and Talon, would take part. Leon and Florian would also join them as sponsors. Hulking Varangian Guard stood at attention by the entrance, resplendent in their formal livery of deep blue tunics and scarlet cloaks. Their razor axes reminded Professor Taylor of the gruesome recent events and he felt deflated. “I should be more excited but all I feel is numbed. While I’m horrified at our men’s suffered, I just can’t get the Bulgars out of my mind.”

Parker, seated next to him, nodded in sympathy. “I know Professor but you can keep it together. Just concentrate on one thing at a time; on making a good impression, of saying what you want to say. The lads will be recording what they can and the UAV will monitor from above. Don’t think of what you saw this morning until we get home.”

“How can I do that? Those poor, poor men.”

“You will, because you must,” replied Parker. “In war, any war, shit happens that can freeze your blood but you have to function. If you don’t, you end up dead.”

Professor Taylor didn’t reply but looked up as another delegation walked in. By their dress they were a Church delegation from Rome. A senior official, clad in the deepest red embroidered with gold, strode in with a gaggle of priests and a couple of soldiers whose hands looked to itch for a sword. The neatly tonsured priests were clad in robes of pale wool overlaid with a black cloak. All wore crosses of silver that shone in the lamplight, for the chamber was lit by a number of gigantic olive oil lamp chandeliers.

As they entered, another delegation bowed and approached to kiss the hand of the senior official. There was the sound of conversation in Latin.

“They must be Venetians,” observed Professor Taylor. “They are a powerful nation in their own right now but currently they aim to avoid the conflict between the Church of Rome and the Byzantine Emperor. They still need the Empire’s favour and protection.”

“So, give it a few hundred years and they’ll bite the hand that protects them,” added Poxon with a nod.

“Exactly,” agreed the academic. “Well remembered sergeant! They will carry those who will sack this great city and leave it as a mere shadow of the glory we see now.”

There was little to identify the Venetians from other supplicants, other than their guard who wore dark-blue tunics. Parker commented on the lack of any medieval insignia, which had the academic nod. “More insignia will be developed as great houses begin to become involved for the struggle for power. Even here, the great two-headed eagle of the Byzantine royal family is not yet in favour. They only use a simple red cross motif. Interesting.”

Interpreting Taylor’s mood to be linked to nerves, Leon took the academic under his wing. “Lord Taylor, this is an honour above all. Only when you are judged and placed on the right hand of God himself will you have a greater occasion than this. The Emperor is taken with many affairs of State, yet he wants to see us. This is in his informal audience chamber but the Emperor Basil is known to be less interested in the opulence of ceremony. Just there, the Phiale of the Greens, is a courtyard central to the Royal Palace. The Emperor still uses it, even though he is more inclined to support the Blues.”

“Have you been here before?” asked Professor Taylor.

The leather merchant chuckled, plainly excited. “Oh no, my friend. Florian and I have never been accorded the honour.”

Servants brought trays of finger-food and carafes of water flavoured with lemon and honey. As they ate, McFee nodded in the direction of the delegation. “So, they’re from Rome?”

Parker shrugged as he chewed the salted fish and bread. Professor Taylor noted the soldier had bitten off the head and crunched on it whole, as had their hosts. He, on the other hand, tried to eat around the fine bones of a herring sized fish and gave up, opting instead for a meaty pastry. Despite the bones, the food was very good.

“Well, let’s see,” suggested McFee as he finished his drink. “You up for a visit?” he asked. So, followed closely by Professor Taylor, he wandered to the Roman delegation but their two soldiers moved to stand firmly between them and the priests. The nearby Venetians watched with unabashed curiosity.

“Where do you think you’re going,” grunted a grizzled soldier in barely recognisable Latin.

“We mean no harm friend,” replied McFee with a smile. “My leader here wishes to speak with one of your priests, if he may. We are friends in the Lord.”

The guard grunted and turned to speak with the delegation. The guards were dressed in a bleached tunic with a red cross emblazoned on the right chest with a mitre and crossed keys beneath. His most outstanding feature was that he smelled so strongly of body odour it was doubtful he had ever washed.

One of the priests approached. He was a quiet, gentle man who introduced himself as Brother Bartolomaeus. When they introduced themselves as a delegation from Aengland, the priest’s blank look indicated he had no idea such a place existed.

“Are you of the Faith brothers? Have you accepted the holy sacraments of Christ into your lives?” he asked earnestly.

Professor Taylor lied smoothly, “We have Brother. We were taught and baptised in the holy community in Giolgrave by the Abbott Aldfrid and received the Holy Communion. May the Lord’s name be praised.”

Brother Bartolomaeus frowned and then nodded gently. “What is your purpose here?” he asked.

The academic gave an inward smile, for the Priest assumed he had the right to ask. “We aim to learn, gain wisdom, and trade, Brother Bartolomaeus,” he responded.

“Ahh to gain knowledge, and proof. Don’t we all want proof brothers? Without proof, we are left to faith.” nodded the priest. He used the Latin word ‘Probo’ suggesting they were to examine and prove the great City of Constantinople and the Emperor, so was a subtle form of sarcasm.

“Indeed Brother,” smiled Professor Taylor. “Alas, we are also here for more earthly pursuits. Our people are rich in silver and we hope to trade with The Radiant City.”

“Silver!” exclaimed Brother Bartolomaeus in surprise. “Then, May I invite you to the Holy City of Rome? Your visit might bear more fruit and save souls.”

“Then we are grateful to have met,” smiled Professor Taylor.

“Yes,” replied the Priest with a smile. “Perhaps we might talk further? His Grace the Bishop Leto of Tivoli will no doubt have time to discuss such matters over the next days, Lord …”

“Taylor,” smiled the academic.

“Lord Taliare,” mouthed Brother Bartolomaeus with a small frown, as if the name was unusual. “Shall we meet again? I will have your man give the location of your quarters to our man. We will then look to meet.”

The priest looked around and the Bishop summoned him back with an impatient jerked his head. “Well, I must go brothers,” Brother Bartolomaeus apologised smoothly as he nodded in farewell.

“It has been a pleasure to speak with you, Brother,” confirmed Professor Taylor. “God be with you.” He hesitated as Brother Bartolomaeus held out his hand. Rather than automatically kiss the offered hand, he bent and touched his forehead lightly on the knuckle. He suspected kisses to be reserved for the Bishop. The priest then gave a small bow and murmured, “Go with God,” and turned to join his own delegation.

As they returned to their group, they were closely watched by their hosts, who frowned. “Why do you wish to talk with the heretics?” asked Florian indignantly, mystified at their interest in the Roman delegation.

“We seek knowledge where we can, my friends,” replied Professor Taylor. “Not all is as we would like but it does interest us to question the unseemly, especially when seen in the court of our great Emperor.”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy as they looked with distrust to the Papal delegation. The visitors looked overawed and out of their depth, despite the Bishop’s show of overwhelming arrogance. To make matters worse, a delegation of local priests wandered past. They were led by the Patriarch, the head of the Church in the East. All in the chamber immediately fell to their knees and made the sign of the cross. Thanks to their training, the Travellers knew to follow suit, leaving the Roman delegation still sitting or standing.

The Patriarch was an imposing sight. Dressed in gold and white finery, with of mitre of embroidered gold thread, he was followed by an entourage that was almost as resplendent. The head of the Church cast not a glance towards the Romans, though a few his followers looked askance, scandalised by the visitors’ blatant disrespect. Varangian Guards held open the audience chamber doors to allow the Patriarch and his followers entrance, while Bishop Leto glared after them with a visceral hatred.

“May God strike them!” whispered Leon, appalled. “To be in the presence of the Patriarch himself and then see heretics who give no respect to the great man of God,” he murmured in dismay.

“That didn’t go well,” murmured McFee.

Professor Taylor agreed quietly.

Their hosts wandered off to replace a privy, so Professor Taylor took a moment to explain. “This is the beginning of the end, you see. The end of a unified Christian Church. As you know, the Church within the Byzantine Empire has become firmly tied with the imperial government, in a similar manner as the Church of England is now tied to the British monarchy. Meanwhile, in the west, Christianity becomes subject to the laws and customs of nations that owe no allegiance to this Emperor. People of Rome and Western Europe want to remove themselves from the east, believing the Eastern Romans are no longer Romans but are Greek. There’s so much animosity that they would prefer to be ruled by the heathen Goths than by Constantinople. Remember, relations have been strained for hundreds of years. Many Popes weren’t Romans from Rome but were Greek. The Roman Pope of this time, Benedict VIII, is one of the family of the powerful counts of Tusculum in Italy. The Romans hate the Emperor and especially hate the Patriarch. Because the Emperor lives here, this is the Roman Empire and the Patriarch of Constantinople is seen to be head of the Christian Church. The Roman Bishops, and the office of the Pope, believe otherwise.”

“So, as usual, it’s all about power,” nodded Poxon.

“Exactly,” agreed the academic with a shrug. “Religion is to control the hearts and minds of the populace and is the true game of power in Europe. There’ll only be one real victor. They’ll end up excommunicating each other in about thirty years and the Byzantine Empire will fall because of Western treachery.”

“Nice,” replied Parker with a hint of sarcasm.

The Roman delegation seethed with indignation that the Patriarch and his party could enter while they were forced to take the role as supplicants.

The great doors opened and a herald called for the delegation from Aengland to step forth.

Their hosts had just returned and looked across in stunned anticipation while they unconsciously smoothed their garments and hair.

The eminent history professor from the 21st Century, a man of learning who had studied this time and location all of his life, would meet with the Emperor of the Byzantine Empire, the Rome in the East.