Chapter 1 - Stepping into the unknown
Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy
Homer - The Odyssey
(trans. Robert Fagles)
Sergio did his best to ignore the unfriendly looks he got as he walked through the streets of Thessalonica. His dress marked him out as a Latin, or a Frank, as these rude Greeks named all westerners. He had given up trying to explain the difference between French, English, Italians, and Iberians. To the small-minded people of this land they were all Franks, barbarians no better than the infidels from the East. At his side walked Juan, steady and certain as ever, unconcerned by the bystanders. In his world they were utterly unimportant, and not worthy of note. How Sergio wished for Juan’s disregard of the petty slights, but they rankled him, and deeply. At times he wanted to grab a shopkeeper or monk by the ears and shake them till they begged!
No, that would only cause trouble. He was being watched he knew. Sergio doubted few moments had passed since his arrival in town six weeks ago when hidden eyes were not upon him. He was being observed, and judged. Tested. So he calmly walked through the streets, back straight, and seeming proud.
Court tonight was being held in the stately house of Lord Septimus, one of the Archons. Sergio had been in two minds about attending. Lord Septimus had made plain his distaste of Sergio, but Father Zacharias had insisted. Fortunately this was an open meeting of the Court, not a private affair. Otherwise Sergio would definitely not have attended. Tonight however it would see Damian presiding, and to him would go all the necessary Imperium to maintain the Peace of the Trinity.
The Peace of the Trinity. The phrase exemplified so much of what put him on edge since he had landed at Dyrrachium three months ago. Sergio was used to the Traditions that defined his life, but here they had the Legacies. They were much the same, but subtly different. The differences made his skin crawl. There were so many ways to mis-step, so many ways to trip up on the familiar, but variant, etiquette of the Eastern Courts.
At the gate stood two guards, and Septimus’ second childe, Isaac Serriates. Isaac was impeccably turned out, and he looked Sergio up and down with a cold, calculating eye.
“Good evening.” He spoke in accurate, slightly accented, Latin. “We had wondered whether you would deign to show your face. This is your servant?” he asked, nodding his head towards Juan.
“Yes.” No need to dignify this with the illusion of conversation.
“He may await your needs in the servant’s quarters. Gregory here will show you to the hall.” He indicated a house servant whose presence had been hidden by the shadow.
Lord Septimus has spent a lot of money on the house over the years, that much was plain. It was surprisingly empty of decoration. Only a few small statuettes in discrete niches and some geometric patterning on the floor relieved the severity that so well evoked the Patrician’s character.
The banquet hall was, in contrast, richly decorated. Fine tapestries adorned the walls. The tables and couches were richly carved and covered with fine cloths and silks. Statues lined the room, carvings of men proud and long dead. The ceiling was decorated with frescos showing mythic scenes. From somewhere music was being played, though Sergio could not spot the ensemble. One wall had many arches that led into a garden, which was set around a central pool and fountain.
Most of the Court was already gathered, some standing, some reclining. His eyes immediately search for Damian, and found him laying on one of the couches talking easily to another of the Archons. To his side, and a little removed behind, stood a proud looking man Sergio had not seen before. There was no doubt that he was relieved to see Damian already here, and so he looked further around the room. There were small groups, couplets and singletons. From each to each went servants, all carrying a tray laden with either delicacies or drinks. It was a serene moment, broken by the necessity of moving away from the door.
His entrance did not seem to create much comment, and for that Sergio was grateful. He took up station in a recess next to statue, out of the way. A servant proffered a tray of fine glass goblets. The entrancing miasma of vitae wafted from them, and he took one. He watched as the servant went to another, and did the same. Only when Sergio saw two others accept glasses from that tray and sip without sign of alarm did he let himself taste.
Sergio was no connoisseur, but Lord Septimus certainly was, in keeping with his kind. To Sergio the blood was infatuating, but that was normal. Entirely normal. He supposed that many here would discuss such matters as the origin and the nature of the subject from which a particular vintage was harvested, but his palette was not that refined. Still, it was good, and he sipped appreciatively. The music was pleasant, and the atmosphere relaxing.
“I am surprised to see you here,” the voice from his side startled Sergio. It was Amos. In the short time Sergio had known him it was obvious that Amos exhibited the stealth for which his kind were legendary. Cowled and cloaked there was nothing to be seen of the Leper, but the material he wore was very fine and not entirely out of place. Sergio’s own western style was arguably more jarring.
“I was persuaded,” Sergio answered in his passable Greek, and sipped again. The vitae was very good. Of all people in this room appearances would matter perhaps least with Amos. Amos had also become the closest thing a friend Sergio had in this strange city.
“By Father Zacharias? It is interesting that he takes such an interest in you.”
“No less so than yours, surely.”
Amos shrugged. “People expect me to take an interest, I try not to disappoint. Your presence though has somewhat … energised … the Father. It has caused some people to wander.”
“Should I be concerned?” The last thing Sergio needed was expressions of ‘interest’ in his affairs, however politely undertaken, by all and sundry.
“So long as you flit around the edges like this, yes. Either settle down or move on. Nothing is so dangerous to you as your current status,” Amos reminded Sergio, his voice intense. Sergio nodded his agreement. It was true enough. “You have been here six weeks. If you were a Poet or a Patrician it would not matter, but you are not so fortunate to have such a background.”
“If I chose to stay, would I be allowed to?” It was something Sergio had wondered in the past few weeks.
“Of course.” Amos said it simply, as a matter of fact. “There would even be no dissent. There is a deal on the table, if you want it.”
“It seems like my fate is nicely sealed,” Sergio commented with some bitterness.
“Not at all. Tomorrow you could leave this city, and leave its politics. It is really up to you, but the longer you stay the harder it will be to leave free from entanglements. Far better to make a decision than have to stay because of some promise or debt.” Amos nearly spat the final word.
“And where would I go?” Sergio asked, switching unconsciously back to Latin now that he was not concentrating. “Constantinople? Back to Italy? To the Holy Land? None of these seem likely options for me.”
“You could always go south into Greece,” replied Amos in the same language.
Sergio paused a moment. “I have heard it is a backwater.”
“True enough, as far as that goes. Most people consider it such, but for one such as you … Athens … could be the place to go.”
Athens. The very name rung like a chord. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So that you think well of me. Why else? Think on it. Ask Damian, if you want. But I must be about other business. This is a very good vantage point you have picked incidentally. I will remember it.” For a moment Sergio stared at the departing back of Amos, before he shook his head and turned his attention back to the centre of the room.
