”Is this for worship or audience?” Selenus whispered out of the side of his mouth, his curiosity overcoming his nerves. Even this meager attempt to mask his voice failed, the hint of the question echoing in the vast rotunda. He could hear the priest chanting softly and trailing incense behind them, the leather sandals reminded Selenus of the clop of hooves, slowly and deliberately.. Ahead, a second cleric, with golden garb, did the same, purifying their passage. So many questions raced through his mind as he stood there in the antechamber of the palace, awaiting the impending audience with Emperor Zeno. Everything was done so deliberately here, from the steps a visitor took, to the exchanged words, even to who was present, from the pairs of hard
Silentiarii and
Palatinii glaring at them to the priests with their cleansing ritual. Would it take days merely to see the Emperor? Romulus himself did not have such complicated forms. It only made the waiting worse.
The rain clattered off the marble facade outside, splashing playfully off golden doors and proud statues of imperial predecessors. It was if a million fingers tapped impatiently on the walls, echoing through the austere foyer. Around them, in recesses dotting the circular chamber, more statuary stood impassive, imposing by sheer height alone. The sights and sounds made him nervous and his glances were darting, taking in the shadows which even the braziers had trouble overcoming.
From the views he had had on their short journey from ship to palace, Constantinople was everything Rome was not. It had similar architecture, naturally, and far fewer buildings than Rome, yet these were all immaculate, in perfect care and arrangement. These were no hints at a great imperial past, rather these were pronouncements of a glorious imperial present! The marble edifices on the twin hills were grand and elegant, proclaiming the survival, indeed thriving, of the East while the West declined.
There was little doubt, however, that their reception lacked the imperial grandeur Romulus might have hoped for. Their vessel had been met in the Propontis by two imposing war galleys which had steered them steadily, if menacingly, into one of the small harbors on the southern flank of the peninsula. It reminded him of Ostia, this artificial harbor, literally carved out of the landscape, another of Theodosius’ attempts to ease access into the capital. Their escort had met them on the docks, approximately fifty soldiers, Selenus judged. With their thick woolen overcoats draped over plain brown tunics, they were clearly decked out for a night’s garrison duty on the coastal walls and not for diplomatic show. Indeed, after a brief greeting, their captain, a bored
Hyparchos named Astikole, had briskly moved them along into the city proper.
”Ah, the party from Italia. This way,” he had curtly announced in sharp Greek as Selenus, Markus, Addiaea, and Lucius filed off their ship. The wave of his hand brooked no questions and they had meekly followed, wondering if the Emperor was moving them straight into confinement.
Even as the soldiers quickly marched them through the city, the sights of a flourishing imperial capital, even when rained upon, lifted their spirits. Selenus was impressed by the sheer width of the main artery cutting through the city, the
Mese. This was a Roman road in its prime, he marveled, not the decaying, overused roadways at home. A steady drizzle hampered their movements, making their robes cling and obstruct their legs as they walked. Few of the city’s residents came out to watch, rain-soaked escorts being unremarkable in strategic city such as the one they had the privilege to reside in. Every nation on earth, it seemed, sent diplomats and merchants to the Great City of Constantine, and this shabby, rain-soaked quartet was hardly distinguishable from any other arrivals, east or west.
Constantinople was a peninsula with its tip facing east, gradually widening to the west, where it was protected by two sets of imperial walls, the 4th century defenses built by Constantine and the much more formidable set of double-walls and moats constructed by Theodosius in the early 5th century. Neither of these did the embassy see in the gloomy overcast, having landed within the heart of the city proper. The
Mese cut through the city with forked precision, the base of it running from the
Philadelphion crossroads east to the palaces and churches of the old city. Along the fork they were on, which ran northeast from the Golden Gate to the
Philadelphion, they were treated to close inspection of the various forums lining the passage, from the
Forum Arcadius to the
Forum Bovis. There were economic and political gathering-points for city magistrates, wealthy merchants, and the fawning visitor. With each building they passed, the scale and ornate design seemed to magnify, a dramatic indication at how deeper they moved into the city. They swept past the Forum of Theodosius, the Forum of Constantine with its triumphal arch and porticoes, to the wide open
Augusteum, inviting the visitor onward to even grander sights. The Hippodrome stood proudly, a mere quarter of the size of the
Circus Maximus, and yet home to exciting races between the city’s four premier chariot teams. Julian’s
curia stood to the south, where the Senate sat. On the eastern side was the proud column from which all imperial roads were measured – the
Milion.
Finally, there were the reminders of the city’s religious heritage - the small Church of the Holy Wisdom (
Hagia Sophia) built by Theodosius, overshadowed by the somewhat larger
Hagia Irene, where Bishop Acacius held forth. Acacius’ own ostentatious residence, the
Patriarcheion sat nearby.
Now at last, as they were guided past the palace walls into the grand entrance, the
Chalke, did Selenus begin to realize that their long walk through the city was not merely to minimize their importance, but to overawe them with Constantinople’s greatness. Even rain could not prevent that and this had led to the nervous moments in the Great Palace, where they stood awaiting Zeno’s pleasure.
