I understood that it was to be more than a simple trading party, although trade was indeed part of it, for Trebizond, owing to its location at the furthest extent of the eastern frontier, had long supplied Byzantium with its silks, spices, jewels, and other essential luxuries which, I quickly learned, the Arabs controlled. Each year, a great fleet of merchant ships made its way to Trebizond for the trade festival which was held in the spring. Delegations from all over the world attended the festival.
Recently, however, the Byzantine delegation had been running afoul of Arab pirates who preyed on ships passing to and from the market, which created the necessity of sending an escort of warships to protect the merchants-a costly exercise, and one which the imperial navy would rather avoid, all the more since the ships were increasingly needed elsewhere. For this reason, the emperor was risking the winter seas in order to send an envoy to arrange for a council with an entity called the Caliph of Samarra. If the council proved successful and the raiding could be brought under control, much expense and bloodshed might be avoided at next year's festival.
It was late in the day when the protospatharius finished his business and departed. I begged leave to return to the city, thinking I might worship again in one of Constantinople's churches, or even receive word from Justin as to the fate of my brother monks, but Jarl Harald would not allow it. He demanded I tell him what had passed between the emperor and myself the day before.
I had hoped he would not ask, but in the event I had already decided that I would tell him the truth-at least, as much of the truth as I could without betraying the confidence of the emperor.
"You returned to the ship late in the night," the king pointed out. "I am wondering what use the emperor made of my slave."
"Jarl Harald," I answered, "it is true that I was long absent from your side. The emperor wished to speak with me about the voyage to Trebizond."
"I see," the king replied, in a way that suggested he did not see at all why the emperor should bother himself about me.
"I believe he was grateful to you for bringing the harbour master to justice," I suggested, side-stepping the issue slightly.
"Ah, yes," replied Harald, as if remembering the incident was a strain on his mind, "the harbour master. Nothing else?"
"The emperor believes that he cannot trust many of his court officials," I offered. "That is why he makes such liberal use of mercenaries-men who prosper with his success, but have nothing to gain at his demise. He is well disposed to reward those who earn his pleasure."
"This Basil is shrewd, I think. He uses well the tools of his craft," Harald mused. "Did he ask about me?"
"About you, Jarl Harald? No, he did not ask me anything about you, or your affairs. But I can tell you that he appeared well satisfied with the bargain between you and him. In any event, he said no more about it-only that he found such alliances useful because he could place little trust in others."
"Heya," observed Harald absently. Obviously, I was not saying what he expected to hear. He was silent for a moment, and then said, "You will stay on the ship until we sail. This I have decided."
He dismissed me then, and I went to the prow of the ship and hunkered down in the sharp V-shaped nook formed by the high-swept keel and sides. There, below the fierce painted dragonhead, I turned my face to the planks, closed my eyes, and tried to impose some small order upon the chaos of my thoughts. Sure, this had been a most confusing run of days for me, and I was feeling the strain of trying to swim against the tide of swift-moving events.
To begin: I had arrived at the city of my death. Strangely, this no longer frightened me. I suppose I had lived long enough with the knowledge for any fear and dread to have abated. And now that I was here, I felt nothing-save an ambiguous curiosity. My lucid dreams never foretold falsely, however; experience had long ago taught me that what I saw never failed to come about. Still, I had arrived in Constantinople, I had walked abroad in the city, and yet I lived. I did not know what to make of that.
Nor did I know what to make of Justin's suggestion that word of my brother monks might be forthcoming. For if they had reached Constantinople, the emperor certainly would have known. Even without the gift of the book, they would have sought audience with him. Reason suggested the pilgrimage had not succeeded, but hope argued otherwise.
And then there was the emperor's secret. What was I to make of that?
