Justinian

MYAKES

Aye, Brother Elpidios, Justinian was pious. No one, not even his enemies- of whom he had a great whacking host- would have denied that. But I don't think it's from piety alone that he has such fond memories of the ecumenical synod. That was the time, that was the place, when he first started doing things on his own. He found out he could, and he liked the feeling.

Me? Yes, I think the bishops were a good and pious bunch. They started only a couple of tavern brawls I know of, and over the space of most of a year that's pretty fine, don't you think? And only one woman I heard about claimed a bishop got her with child, and not everyone believed her.

You say your standards are higher, Brother? Well, you have to remember, you're a holy monk, and I was just an excubitor. In those days, I started tavern brawls aplenty, and if no pretty girl said I put a loaf in her oven, it wasn't for lack of trying. Yes, I was a sinner. And Constantinople was a good town for a young man- oh, all right, for a sinner- to be alive in, too, that it was.

What's that? You never saw the place? You never saw Constantinople? Well, yes, now that I recall, you have said you were born in the provinces, and of course you've been here since you were young. But you've missed something mighty fine, that you have. There's not another place like the Queen of Cities in the whole wide world, not half there isn't. Damascus? Damascus can't hold a candle to it. Thessalonike? Thessalonike's not a bad town; I was there with Justinian. He'll talk about that later on, I expect. But Thessalonike is a town. Constantinople's a city- it's the city. They don't call it that for nothing, you know.

How is it different? Well, just for starters, it's got more people in it than you can shake a stick at. You'll never in all your days see so many people all in one place. You'll never in all your days smell so many people all in one place, either. It's a strong odor, but it's not always a nasty one. And in Constantinople, there always seemed to be a hint of spices and perfume to it- it's not just ordure and folks who've gone too long between baths. Ah, maybe that's an old man's memory playing tricks on him, but maybe it's not, too.

But where else could you walk down the street and see good old ordinary Romans and blond Slavs and Arabs in robes and Persians in hats that look like chamber pots and Lombard merchants with greasy hair and folk from who knows where bumping elbows with one another and not even hardly noticing they were doing it? You ever notice how, when a stranger comes into a village or a little town, everybody gives him the once-over, even if he's a Roman like everybody else? It's not like that there. There's too many people for them to keep track of who belongs and who doesn't, so they treat everybody like he belongs. Takes some getting used to, I know, but it's true. And they'll swindle their fellow townsmen just as happily as they will a stranger, too. Oh, aye, indeed they will. They'll steal the tunic off your back and sell it to you before you notice how you got to be naked.

But you can get anything you want there. Anything at all, I think. If you can find it anywhere in the world, you can find it in Constantinople. That means churches, too, mind you, Brother Elpidios. When you think of Constantinople, you think of the church of the Holy Wisdom, of course, and maybe the church of the Holy Apostles, too, where they bury the Emperors and their kin- you'll hear about that in due course. But those are only the big ones. They've got other fancy ones dedicated to the Virgin and John the Baptist and Saints Sergios and Bacchus and\a160… I could go on for a while, but you get the idea. And they've got little tiny churches that maybe only a dozen people can crowd into at a time, some of them dedicated to saints nobody three blocks away ever heard of. Something for everybody, like I say.

Even leaving the palaces out of the bargain, you've never seen the like of some of the houses there. They don't build 'em like that out in the country, let me tell you. I grew up in a shack made of mud bricks; my old man had to shore it up after every big rainstorm. Not like that in the city, no sir. The fancy brickwork the rich folks have on their houses- Lord! Baked bricks, one and all, and not just baked bricks, but bricks baked in different colors to make pictures or designs. Makes me shudder to think what work like that must cost, so it does.

No, poor folk don't have anything that fancy, of course, but they do live in stone houses or ones made of baked brick. Some of 'em just have rooms in big buildings, four or five stories high, they put up so they can crowd more people into the same space. You won't see anything like that anywhere else, either.

The main streets are all cobblestoned, so you can use 'em in any weather. That's not so in the alleys, I grant you, but still. How many times have you gone outside in the rain and sunk up to your backside in mud? A good plenty, I don't doubt, same as me- same as anybody. But you don't have to, not in Constantinople. Not all the time, anyhow.

And the things you can buy! Let me tell you, Brother Elpidios, along the Mese there's everything your heart could desire. There are shops that sell frankincense and myrrh from down in Arabia, and others that sell amber from way up north somewhere- God must know where the stuff comes from, but I don't, not exactly. There are coppersmiths and jewelers and potters and leatherworkers and candlemakers and oil sellers and boatbuilders and fishermen and weavers and tailors and cattle drovers and wool dealers and butchers and bakers and glassblowers and scribes and.. and I don't know what all. Everything!

What's that? You can find people who do those things in every town? You can find one or two, maybe, most places. In Constantinople, there are dozens, sometimes hundreds, of people who have the same trade, so you can pick exactly the one you want, the one who does your kind of work at your kind of price (or who's sly enough to make you think it's your kind of price, anyhow).

And you will find trades at Constantinople you won't see anywhere else. Silk weavers, for instance, and the dyers who make the purple for the Emperor's robes. There's always the stink of rotting sea creatures round their shops, but you can buy the meat from the murexes for cheap, because they don't use most of it. Take 'em to a tavern for the cook to fry up in bread crumbs and olive oil, and they're as tasty a little supper as your heart could desire.

Oh, the taverns! If you had gold in your pocket, you could drink with the lords of the city, so you could, and the places they'd go were near as fancy as their houses, don't you doubt it for a minute. Some of them liked buying excubitores drinks; they hoped we'd tell them things about the Emperor. Gossip in Constantinople's like nowhere else, too. Anybody who let his mouth get ahead of his wits didn't last long, though. Things went down from there, too, down to dives nastier than I've ever seen anyplace else, dives where the wine was vinegar and the beer was mule piss- and piss from a sick mule, at that. Some folks, though, don't go to a tavern to talk. They go there to drink. Vinegar and mule piss will get you where you want to go, if that's all you've got in mind. Like I keep saying, something for everybody.

Girls for every price, too. No, I don't remember how fancy a wench it was who said a bishop put a loaf in her oven. A bishop, though, you'd think he'd want something choice along those lines, wouldn't you? Yes, of course I mean if he was sinner enough to want anything along those lines at all. You could find 'em- if you were looking- in taverns, or strolling along the Mese (after all, they were for sale, too), or in brothels, too, of course. Some of 'em ended up marrying well; some saw the light and went into convents (Eh? God bless them? Of course, God bless them- did I say anything different?); some just got old and ugly. Some weren't that young and weren't that pretty to start with. They couldn't charge as much, unless they did things none of the others felt like doing. Oh, sure enough, a young man with a little gold- or even a little silver- in his belt pouch could have himself quite a time, that he could…

Aye, if I hadn't had my eyes burned out, I'd likely be a sinner still. I make no bones about it. All things work for good in the end, is that what you said there? I won't argue, Brother Elpidios. How could I argue with the likes of you?