The Walls of Byzantium

CHAPTER TWELVE

SERRES, RUMELIA, WINTER 1394

The wine had been warmed and probably strengthened and it slid down Anna’s throat with the softness of newly drawn milk. She sat in the tent of Devlet Hatun and looked up at the two women who’d brought her there and saw her future in their slave eyes. She was even dressed as one of them.

Then she thought of Luke and what they’d so nearly made happen and a shiver of sorrow crept up her spine like the trace of a frozen finger. She lowered her head and looked into the depths of her goblet; pieces of cinnamon bumped against the rim in lazy circles. She was stronger for the drink.

It was an hour since she’d come from Bayezid and she’d spent it in silent and horrified contemplation of her future.

I am to be part of the bargain.

At last Olivera Despina spoke. ‘Your father, the Emperor and the Despot are before the Sultan now, as is my brother Prince Stefan.’ She paused and took Anna’s arms in her hands. She looked hard into her eyes. ‘The Sultan is becoming drunk and unpredictable. I fear for their lives.’

‘Then we must act,’ said Anna.

The flap to the tent opened and Mehmed appeared. He was frowning and walked quickly towards them. ‘The last part was short,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘My father has given the Emperor an ultimatum and he wants an answer tomorrow. Surrender Constantinople or watch every citizen of the city killed or enslaved.’

Anna gasped. ‘He cannot mean that. Why would he want a capital with no population?’

It was Olivera Despina who answered. ‘We would do well to remember that he took six thousand slaves when Thessaloniki fell. And now he has Temur to compete with. He can certainly mean it.’

‘There’s worse,’ Mehmed continued. ‘My father made a boast when his vassals had left the tent.’ He paused and looked at Anna. ‘The Emperor, the Despot and your father must escape. Tonight.’

Princess Despina’s tent was smaller than Devlet Hatun’s and it housed no naked odalisques or miniature orchestra. But then she was not of nomadic stock and had no taste or feel for the steppe. The carpets on the ground were Persian and less deep than the Sultan’s and the silks of the tent walls were partially hidden by Flemish tapestries. A bed stood between two wood burners, which scented the air with rose. Anna’s head was clearing quickly from the fog of wine.

Olivera Despina was brisk and purposeful and Anna liked her better every moment.

‘Quickly, change into these.’ She pointed to some clothes that lay on the bed. ‘They’re my maid’s and include a veil which you would do well to arrange with care. Your hair is not of Turcoman origin.’

While Anna changed, the Princess spoke.

‘Your father, the Emperor and the Despot are in my brother’s tent. I will be permitted to enter, and with me goes my maid whom God has blessed with the same height and shape as yourself. And she is always veiled.’

‘Why will your brother be with them?’ asked Anna, stepping forward to allow the Princess to hook her veil into place.

‘Because my brother, although a Christian, is still a sworn vassal of the Sultan. If anyone can persuade Manuel to relinquish his empire, it will be the man who lost his on the field of Kosovo.’

‘Manuel will not surrender his empire,’ said Anna with more conviction than she felt.

‘No?’ replied Olivera Despina. ‘Not even with the prospect of his subjects being slaughtered by the Turk as he looks on? If he cannot escape this place, he will surrender.’

She stepped back to look at Anna. ‘You are ready to go. Say nothing from now on and especially in my brother’s tent, whatever the temptation. Recognising you will make it harder for your father to leave.’

She lifted the folds of the entrance and both of them stepped into the biting cold of the evening and a semicircle of unexpected soldiers.

‘Majesty,’ said a muffled voice, ‘we are here to escort you.’

The voice came through the mail of an aventail so that it seemed as if two eyes had spoken.

‘Who sent you?’ asked Olivera Despina, recovering her poise. ‘I asked for no escort.’

The question was unnecessary. The light from the torches, held aloft by every other of the dozen men, illuminated the gold mail of the Sultan’s personal bodyguard.

The captain of the guard signalled to his men to form two lines either side of the women. Then he bowed to the Princess and made the gesture to depart.

Walking behind her, Anna could see fear stiffening her every movement and prayed it was only visible to her.

They heard Prince Stefan Lazarević’s tent before they saw it. The men’s voices were audible in the still night air and they were all talking at the same time. The Emperor’s Varangian Guard, all bearing axes, stood outside the tent, stamping their feet and blowing on their hands. There were six of them.

Inside the tent, Manuel and his brother faced each other across a table with two guttering candles at its centre. They stopped talking and looked up as Olivera Despina entered. A much younger man stood behind them.

‘Sister!’ he cried. ‘They did not tell me you were at the camp!’

Brother and sister embraced and stood holding each other’s faces, searching each other’s eyes for signs of hope, or even the comfort of a father’s memory.

Anna looked at her own father and saw a man she had not seen before.

Simon Laskaris had aged by twenty years. His face was gaunt and lined with misery. Behind Anna’s veil, tears were falling and they were a river and warm to the taste and she couldn’t stop their flow. She willed herself not to move, not to run over to take in her arms this shrunken man with disordered hair and wild eyes.

What has happened to you?

Why did she even need to ask that question? Here was a man who had lost a son and a daughter and any will to live. Here was the one man in the tent for whom death would be a release.

‘Princess, we are pleased to see you.’ The Emperor of the Byzantines raised his hands in greeting. ‘Have you further news for us? Are we to leave this place alive?’

The Princess looked at her brother and raised her finger to her lips. Then she moved to the table, taking Prince Stefan’s arm as she did so. Everyone, except Anna, moved to surround the candlelit surface as if to bear witness to a sacrifice.

But before Olivera Despina could speak, there was a loud sniff and they turned to see a nose appear between the entrance folds of the tent. Then came a second. The Sultan’s dogs trotted over to the table and began to explore the clothes of those gathered at its edges.

Then the page from Trebizond stepped into the tent, smiling. His face glowed with an unnatural light and Anna wondered whether some concoction of oils was at work to create this miracle. He was perhaps twelve years old and Anna wanted very much to touch him. She turned to see him better and it was then that she saw the dagger in the sash at his waist. Its jewelled pommel had caught the light of a candle and was sending stars to the roof of the tent.

It was the Grand Vizier’s.

Assassin.

Her movement had been seen by the boy, who turned to her, still smiling.

‘Girl,’ he said in musical Greek, ‘there is wine outside. Bring it.’

Anna hesitated. Should she understand Greek? Should she leave a tent that contained her father and an angel with a dagger?

The boy looked at her curiously. Then he repeated the command in Turkish and Anna found herself bowing. Outside, she was met by a servant holding a tray on which stood four silver goblets. She took the tray and went back inside, putting it down on a table beside the entrance.

The boy had moved further into the tent and was still smiling.

‘My lords, I am the Prince Caspar, nephew to the Basileus in Trebizond and page to the Sultan Bayezid. My master has sent with me some hot wine to assist your discussions. He wishes these only to be held between his vassals and asks, therefore, if you, Protostrator, would wait in another tent?’

The boy looked with innocence at Simon Laskaris, who seemed uninterested in the proposal. Anna’s eyes, bright above the veil, bored into Theodore’s back.

Do not let my father leave with that boy.

But the Emperor smiled at the young prince from Trebizond.

‘I know your uncle the Emperor well, Prince Caspar,’ he said. ‘Certainly the Protostrator can retire.’

The boy bowed and turned to Anna. ‘Please serve the wine. The Emperor first.’

Anna was thinking fast. How could she prevent her father leaving? The tray she was holding was warm which meant that the wine in the goblets must be very hot.

She walked towards the Emperor but there was a dog in the way. It was circling the carpet, its long head down, looking for a place to settle.

Anna tripped.

The dog reacted as Anna had hoped. The head spun round towards her, its teeth bared. Anna let out a cry and fell against her father. The goblets fell to the floor, one releasing its contents over Simon Laskaris’s hand.

The old man grunted in pain. His hand was scalded and he held it to his chest. Then Olivera Despina was at his side examining the burn.

‘Quick,’ she said, ‘we must take it outside to the snow.’ She turned to Anna. ‘Help me.’

The women led Simon Laskaris out into the snow, Anna holding the hand as gently as she was able. Outside, she knelt next to her father and pressed snow on to it. Around them stood the six Varangians and, beyond them, the soldiers of the Sultan’s bodyguard. There was a moon.

Anna looked hard at her father. He seemed oblivious to the pain and there was still no recognition of Anna in his vacant eyes. She fought back her tears.

Olivera Despina glanced at her. She whispered. ‘We will leave him out here until I can take him away myself.’

When they re-entered the tent, the boy had changed. The gold had dulled, the halo had faded and there was no smile on the face that turned to look at them. He looked petulant and his hand was resting on the dagger at his waist. Behind him, the three princes were huddled together, talking in whispers. The dog was standing above the fallen goblets and licking the remains of the wine from the carpet.

‘Lord Laskaris’s hand needs attention,’ Olivera Despina told the boy. ‘I will take him to my tent where my women can see to him.’

The boy glanced down at the dog, which had brushed against his leg. His expression was a mix of irritation and something Anna thought might be fear.

‘The Sultan’s women will see to the wound,’ he said, looking up. ‘He must come with me.’

‘I am a woman of the Sultan,’ replied the Princess quietly. ‘Or is the pleasure you give to our lord such that he no longer knows who his wives are?’

The boy’s gold turned to crimson and he bit his lower lip. Anna wondered if he might cry. There was a long pause and the three men behind stopped their conversation to watch. The dog let out a long sigh.

Then there was a command and the sound of weapons raised in salute. A mailed arm swept open the tent flap. A cold blast of air nearly extinguished the candles and bumps arose on Anna’s bare arms. Prince Mehmed walked in, followed by his mother and the masked captain of the Sultan’s bodyguard. He was holding Simon Laskaris by the arm.

Mehmed drew the boy to one side and asked him something. Then Mehmed turned to Simon Laskaris and took his hand, inspecting the damaged flesh.

He addressed Theodore: ‘If my father’s page has orders to remove the Protostrator, then he will go with him. The burn is of no consequence.’

Anna opened her mouth to shout to the Despot that it was a trap, that her father was to be murdered.

‘Control yourself, girl,’ hissed Olivera Despina, spinning around.

By now, Simon Laskaris was being bustled out of the tent by the guard captain, Prince Mehmed and the boy following.

Anna, released from the Princess’s grip, fell to her knees. Her hands were covering her eyes and through her fingers she could see the dog on the carpet lying very still. Too still.

She looked up. Others were looking at the dog as well. The dog that had licked the wine from the carpet.

The dog that was now dead.

The Princess knelt down beside her. ‘You knew?’ she asked.

‘No!’ whispered Anna. She paused and looked across at her through a film of tears. ‘Why did you stop me from helping my father?’

‘Because you would have betrayed us,’ she replied, getting up. ‘Your father is safe.’ She looked down at the dog. ‘I didn’t think it would be poison.’

Anna unhooked her veil.

Theodore had been staring at the Serbian princess’s maid for some minutes, shaking his head slowly in amazement. Now he smiled.

‘Anna.’

Anna went over to him. ‘Majesty, I am glad to see you. But this is a place of death. You must take my father away.’

There was commotion outside. A heavy weight fell against the side of the tent.

The tent flap opened and the captain of the guard stepped in, his sword drawn. The plume on his helmet was stiff with cold and there was ice on the aventail covering his face. He looked around the room, then turned and wiped each side of his blade on the tent door before sheathing it in a single movement. Anna looked hard into his eyes. They were unblinking and fixed on her and a flash of memory came to her. Then he lifted a hand and unhooked the aventail, letting it fall to his shoulders.

Yakub.

‘Your father is safe, for now,’ he said. He turned to the Emperor Manuel. ‘Majesty, the boy is returned to his tent. The Sultan sleeps and his bodyguard is tied up and gagged. My men are outside. But we don’t have much time and you must leave now. Lord Laskaris is waiting with the horses.’

The Emperor was composed. ‘And my guard, Prince Yakub?’ he asked. ‘What of them?’

‘One of the Varangians is dead, lord. They barred our entry. It was necessary.’

Manuel frowned but then nodded. He put on his cloak and walked over to Prince Stefan. ‘I fear that next time we meet will be on the field of battle and on opposite sides. God go with you.’

The Despot had put on a cloak and pulled the hood over his head. Yakub drew him to one side and spoke to him in a whisper.

Theodore walked over to Anna and placed his hands on her arms. ‘You cannot come with us, Anna,’ he said softly. ‘Yakub has told me why you’re here. We cannot provoke Suleyman into sending another army to Mistra.’

Anna nodded dumbly, willing herself not to run from the tent into the arms of her father.

‘We owe you our lives.’ He bent down to kiss Anna on the forehead.

Anna said nothing and felt the hand of Devlet Hatun on her shoulder. Then she remembered something.

‘Wait!’ she said. ‘The Turkish fleet at Constantinople. It has cannon, supplied by the Mamonas. Our fleet is sailing into a trap.’

Theodore’s face darkened. ‘You’re sure of this?’ he asked.

‘It is true,’ said Olivera Despina. ‘I heard it myself.’

The Despot nodded and then looked at Anna. ‘We shall take care of your father, I promise.’