Emperor's Marble Pavement

W. Douglas S.

Description

The Emperor's Marble Pavement, the second of four novels about the fall of Constantinople, finds Niccolo Gritti and Demetrius Alexandrou plunged in the turmoil of a city on war's brink, their friendship complicated by the presence of Theodora, Demetrius' pious sister and the prostitute Cinnamon. Now in the Emperor's service, Niccolo must make accommodation with an embattled Venetian merchant colony. The struggle between Constantine's supporters and those who would appease the Ottomans climaxes in the infamous Service of Union in Hagia Sophia. Then Demetrius disappears, a victim of his peace-party enemies. Niccolo goes in pursuit and the friends are reunited in the Turkish court, under the cynical eye of Mehmet II. Here, courtesy of Nestor-Iskander, a Christian fanatic in the Sultan's service, they witness the Ottoman siege train's ominous preparations before fleeing back to Constantinople. In The Emperor's Marble Pavement, the cross-currents of personal and historical destiny take on new turbulence.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 31 janvier 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528944731
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Emperor’s Marble Pavement
Part Two of the Last Vigil, A Novel About the Siege and Fall of Constantinople in 1453
S. W. Douglas
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-01-31
The Emperor’s Marble Pavement About the Author Copyright Information Timeline Chapter 1: A Homecoming and an Exile Chapter 2: A Palace and a Duke Chapter 3: Theodora Chapter 4: In the Venetian Colony Chapter 5: Journey to the Land Walls Chapter 6: Estrangement Chapter 7: Cinnamon Chapter 8: An Emperor at Bay Chapter 9: Sphrantzes Chapter 10: The First Audience Chapter 11: In the Palace Guard Chapter 12: Venetian Polities Chapter 13: The Road to Hagia Sofia Chapter 14: An Act of Union: Scene the First Chapter 15 : An Act of Union: Scene the Last Chapter 16: Hat or Turban? Chapter 17: Demetrius Disappears Chapter 18: Niccolo’s Pursuit Chapter 19: Journey to Edirne Chapter 20: Guests of the Sultan Chapter 21: Nestor and Beelzebub Chapter 22: Birth of a Monster Chapter 23: Escape Chapter 24: Debates and Councils Chapter 25: The Condottiere Lands
About the Author
The author was born in 1952. He read English at Exeter College, Oxford, and went on to write his doctoral thesis there on the poetry of James Merrill. He has previously published four collections of poetry, two novels and – under the pen-name S. W. Douglas – Breaking the Flood , part one of The Last Vigil . He is married with a son and daughter.
Copyright Information
Copyright © S. W. Douglas (2019)
The right of S. W. Douglas to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528928021 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528928038 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528944731 (E-Book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Timeline
Part 2: The Emperor’s Marble Pavement
Monday, November 13, 1452,
to
Friday, January 26, 1453
Chapter 1: A Homecoming and an Exile
“His eminence will see you now.”
The emphasis which the sallow-faced, lantern-jawed factotum placed on ‘will’ as he re-entered the red marble-floored but rather dingy anteroom where Demetrius and I had been left waiting for some minutes, served to remind us both – if reminder were needed – of his original incredulous reaction to my friend’s request earlier that morning, after we had, as he put it “disrespectfully penetrated and disturbed the quiet of his office” (really no more than a lumber room), on the floor below.
“You wish to go up and see the Megadux? Just like that? Now? With this, this Genoan in tow?”
Demetrius had placed a warning hand on the sneering factotum’s shoulder.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Manuel. My friend can understand our language better than he speaks it. And he’s not Genoan.”
“Venetian actually,” I had muttered, feeling my anger rise.
The factotum grinned contemptuously.
“Very well. What’s it to me which Godforsaken Italian shit-hole he hails from?”
Then turning back to my friend before I could react.
“Demetrius Alexandrou, you always were full of pride, and I see your self-indulgent and futile travels round the Mediterranean have done nothing to teach you humility.”
My friend, whose naturally imperious presence had been enhanced by his donning of a commander’s military cloak or ‘Paludamentum’, high boots and ceremonial sword retrieved the day before from his chest in his mother’s house at Studion, had visibly drawn himself up, sighing in mock pity
“Manuel, Oh Manuel… You always were a pedantic rascal. And deeply insolent with it. Do as I say and be quick about it. My friend here won’t brook much more of your filthy tongue I can tell you.”
There could be no gainsaying Demetrius’ determination. But still Manuel had resisted. Then allowed a sly half smile to steal across his face.
“It’s an expensive business keeping up appearances as the Archduke’s secretary. Especially nowadays, what with the price of grain and wine and…”
Demetrius’ face had hardened but, rummaging under his cloak, he, nevertheless, passed a couple of silver basilikons across to the secretary’s waiting hand. Having swiftly assessed then pocketed the bribe Manuel, still affecting an exaggerated reluctance, came out from behind his desk and led us with a deliberate slowness up a flight of cracked and pitted marble stairs to the anteroom. As he was disappearing through a great carved door set into the far wall (a door whose scuff marks loose handle and unoiled creaking hinges bespoke long neglect), Demetrius said in as loud a voice as possible.
“These petty officials. They’re the bane of the Empire. They should be mercilessly culled.”
And now the secretary was back, holding the door ajar for us to go through with a barely concealed distaste. When, during the interim, I had angrily commented on his bad manners to Demetrius, my friend had looked suddenly weary.
“Yes, Niccolo, I am sorry. A guest such as yourself is entitled to expect more of us. But I warned you didn’t I, even when we were chained together in that stinking galley. This is indeed what the city has descended to. We are riven with dissent and factionalism. Class against class. Parent against child. And everyone’s bad points are made trebly worse by the threat that hangs over us. As for this Manuel. I swear he’s grown more obnoxious since I set sail. But he’s Lucas Notaras’ right-hand man. And to see the Megadux, we must go through him and him alone. But look on the cheerful side. In my father’s time, we would have had to grease the palms of twenty such men and even then only be assured of an interview with someone slightly higher up the hierarchy. Our falling on hard times has its advantages I suppose. We are in a sense both too poor and too few to be able to stand on too much ceremony.”
“Yet you told me coming up to Blachernae that this Notaras was a relation.”
“On my mother’s side, yes, but very distant.”
“Do you Greeks have to pay when you want to visit a relative?”
Demetrius had laughed at this.
“We may not be able to stand on ceremony anymore, but in the Empire, a man’s office still defines him. It is in a sense his reason for being. Manuel knows this and trades on it. He also knows that I know he has Notaras’ ear. And Notaras can be an awkward customer. One would not want to be in his bad books. So yes, I had my fun with Manuel, but I kept him sweet as well just to be on the safe side. And, Niccolo, remember what I told you earlier: this interview or should I call it audience – Manuel I am sure would prefer the latter term – is important, for both our sakes.”
And then before I had had time to digest all this information, we were entering the sanctum of the most powerful man in Constantinople below the Emperor himself. As we passed through the inner doorway, I felt the sticky snag of a spider’s web prickling through my hair.
I should not have been surprised at how even this seemingly trivial encounter contained many seeds of ominous import. Hadn’t Demetrius just reminded me of his warnings, issued many weeks ago, before I had even set eyes on the city? Moreover, ever since we had disembarked from the Amalfan cog and crossed over to the Scala de Drungario, I had been aware of presences in the air, a heavy foreboding cut with something brittle and on edge. As Demetrius had himself pointed out, the threat of imminent siege was partly to blame. Yet even he hadn’t been prepared for all the seagates to be closed in broad daylight. At first, when we found that the Gate of the Drungarii had been barred, my friend assumed this to be an inexplicable exception and headed east along deserted quays dotted forlornly here and there with tangled cables, broken spars and upended crates to the next entrance into the city, the gate of St John di Cornibus, John the Forerunner. But this too was closed, obliging us to penetrate still further east, Demetrius announcing confidently that if any gate were open, then the Perama would be. It wasn’t. However, to the left, set in the wall, we saw a small postern door. After knocking on this repeatedly, we were at last rewarded with a suddenly slid back shutter framing an ill-favoured soldier’s face. Demetrius had had to use all his eloquence to convince him that, dressed as we still were in the same drab and indigent looking cast-offs we had acquired back in Rhodes we weren’t a couple of vagrants who deserved to be driven away immediately with curses and kicks.
“I left on the Emperor’s business, and I am returning to conclude it. Now let us pass.”
The soldier stroked his stubbly jaw nervously, unable to deny Demetrius’ authority but gripped, nevertheless, by suspicion. Eventually, it was only the arrival of an officer who, peering out from the shutter, suddenly, recognised Demetrius as a member of the nobility that saved the day. Swiftly, the shutter was closed and the postern opened. Telling the guard to stand down (who, relieved not to have to take responsibility for an awkward situation, gladly did so, joining some of his brethren for a game of jacks in the dilapidated wooden hut that served as a guard room), the officer ushered us through into a cobbled square from which a single street mounted steeply southwards toward the just visible dome of the Mother Church.
“The lad don’t mean any harm, sir, just doing his duty.”
Then darting a swift and not altogether friendly glance in my direction.
“Your friend, sir, if he’s Venetian like you say, he’ll have to register with Signor Mino