Long before the time of Troy, which lay not far away, this had been a trade crossing and market for products of Hind, China, Persia, Central Asia, Russia, and Europe. As early as 556 b.c., ships from China had come to the Persian Gulf to trade with Ur of the Chaldees.
The city of Constantinople, also known as Byzantium, was a rough triangle lying in Europe with its point toward Asia. Protected on the landward side by a wall of eleven gates, the peninsula lay between the Sea of Marmora and the Golden Horn, separated by the Bosphorus from Asia. Like Rome, Constantinople was built upon seven hills. On the sides facing the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn these hills were relatively steep, but they sloped more gently toward the Sea of Marmora.
Strabo, the geographer of ancient times, said the Bay of Byzantium resembled the horn of a stag, and when flooded by the rays of the setting sun, the water shone like a sheet of burnished gold, decorated by the tiny, gemlike ships crossing and recrossing the waters of the Horn.
“If you have not heard the story,” Phillip said, “of how the Bosphorus was named, it will amuse you. It is said that Io, the mistress of Zeus, was pursued by the wife of Zeus and driven from land to land until finally she came to the shores of the Bosphorus. Transformed into a cow, she plunged into the water and swam safely across, therefore the strait was given the name Bosphorus which means the Crossing of the Cow.”
The Golden Horn I found to be four miles long and about a quarter of a mile wide. Walls ran along the seaward sides of the city, but outside the walls and along the shores of the Golden Horn were the quays and warehouses where merchant vessels tied up or anchored. Beyond were the houses and resorts for seafaring men built upon pilings over the water. Farther back, where the city wall came down to the water, lay the imperial palace.
There were magnificent buildings—the Cathedral of St. Sophia, the new Basilica of Basil I, and the Church of the Holy Apostles. Near the area where Phillip had his home was the Royal Portico and the Royal Library. There were no public libraries in Constantinople.
Nor did I discover that easy intellectual freedom to which I had become accustomed in Córdoba. Life was less casual, restricted by law and custom. We went one night to a wine shop, done in the extravagant style of the Byzantines, a place near the Royal Portico. A dozen men were seated about, drinking, and talking in subdued voices. We seated ourselves, and Phillip ordered a bottle of wine and listened to the talk. Some spoke of troubles to the north, some of trade, of their mistresses or the amount of wine they had drunk the night before. They spoke of gaming and the circus. Many seemed to be partisans of Andronicus, the cousin of the emperor who they hoped would replace Manuel I.
After the intellectual ferment of Córdoba the conversation seemed stilted and dull, and I soon became restless and ready to escape the city, yet I desperately needed money and tried to think of some way toward an income. As I listened, an idea came to me suddenly. If books were in short supply, why not copy some from memory?
How many did I remember? Their authors were hundreds of years dead and could only be pleased to have their ideas in circulation once more. If I could copy several of these books, I might present them to those in a position to aid my cause.
Monks and lay scribes were copying books, many for export, but these were of a religious nature. Books of other kinds were almost impossible to discover.
The door opened suddenly, and two men entered. Beyond the door I saw others, perhaps a bodyguard. The first was a handsomely built man with a beautifully shaped head and magnificent eyes. He possessed a regal quality that foretold his name. This was Andronicus Comnenus. Bardas was his companion.
They came to our table. Phillip arose hastily, but I, perhaps because Bardas was there, did not rise. It was my way to conform to the customs wherever I might be, but this time I remained seated.
“Rise!” Bardas ordered angrily. “You are in the presence of Andronicus Comnenus!”
“Respect him I do, but in my country it is not the custom for people of my order to rise in the presence of kings. Nor do kings interrupt when we are speaking.”
Phillip paled, and Bardas was shocked. It was to his credit that Andronicus was merely curious. “From what land do you come? This is a custom with which I am unfamiliar.”
“From Armorica, far west of the Frankish lands. Mine was a Druid family; in generations past we were priests and the counselors of kings.”
His eyes sharpened with interest, and he seated himself. “Yes, yes, of course! I should have remembered! I supposed all Druids to be dead long since.”
“Mine is a country where customs linger, but only a few pass on the old ritual and the old knowledge.”
“Learned by rote, is it not? The father reciting to and instructing the son?”
“From uncle to nephew in my case. The Druids were from my mother’s side.”
He was as intrigued as I would have been in a similar case. “You interest me. I should like to talk of this. It has been written the Druids possessed secret knowledge, no longer known, and had great powers of the intellect.”
Never had I attempted to use the knowledge in which I was trained as a child beyond the use of the memory itself. In Córdoba, to translate or copy a book was to make it mine, whether I willed it or no. As for the secret knowledge, I was among the few alive who had been trained in its use. Now might be the time.
Miracles were a matter of everyday acceptance here, and all manner of mysteries were believed in, some with reason, most without. There were in the city and its vicinity temples where ancient rites of Greece were still practiced. This I had learned while with the convoy from Greeks who were merchants.
Andronicus was steeped in intrigue, accustomed to the buying and selling of information. “I have only arrived in your city,” I said, “my wealth was lost when the Petchenegs attacked our caravan. I must find a means to recoup my losses or leave the city.”
“Oh? You were one of the merchants with the Hansgraf von Gilderstern?”
Surprised I was at his knowledge, but he merely smiled. “We are informed of such things. It must be so, for we have many enemies, and the steppes of Russia are the homeland of many. Also, there were those who looked forward to trade with the Hansgraf. Well, I am sorry.”
Phillip chose the moment to fill a glass for him, and one for Bardas.
Bardas also chose the moment. “There is reason to believe this man entered the city without passing the inspectors.”
Andronicus ignored him. “Caesar wrote of the Druids.” He glanced at me. “You have this knowledge?”
“My people were of the ancient blood. Such knowledge is passed generation after generation under a blood oath.”
He glanced at me thoughtfully, a measuring, probing glance. “I would give much for such knowledge.” He turned to Bardas. “Your purse,” he said.
Bardas’ features stiffened, but reluctantly he took out his purse. Andronicus hefted it in his palm an instant, then placed it before me. “Please accept this. We must talk soon.”
He arose. “Come, Bardas.” He lingered. “This ancient lore? I have heard of methods for developing the intellect, even for seeing the future. Is this true?”
“I do not know what you have heard.” I spoke carefully. “We have many secrets.”
They departed then, but the glance Bardas threw my way was pure hatred.
Phillip was silent, then he said, very quietly, “You are a man of many sides, Kerbouchard. I know not what to think of you.”
“Think this of me. I am a man who must survive, and along the roads I have learned a little, as a man will.”
“You lost much in the attack of the Cumans. I do not think you lost all.”
“The goods of this world, Phillip, are soon lost. Fire, storm, thieves, and war are ever with us, but what is stored in the mind is ours forever.
“I have lost even my sword. All that remains is what I have learned and some discretion in how it is to be used.”
“It would be dangerous to deceive Andronicus.”
“I shall not deceive him. Perhaps he will receive a little more than he expects, and a little less.”
We sat silent, and I said, “The man is brilliant, but a dilettante. He would have my knowledge in capsule form to be swallowed with one gulp. He wants the magic, Phillip, but not enough, not enough.”