“It is proper,” he said, “that I rise in the presence of one who does not kneel to kings, and whom kings do not interrupt.”
“Your Majesty is well informed.”
“It is the necessity of emperors. Tell me, what did you think of Andronicus?”
“A brilliant, interesting man, even a fascinating one, but utterly unscrupulous and dangerous to the empire as well as to you.”
“Know you not that he is my cousin?”
“Your Majesty, my ancestors were, as you know, advisers and confidants of kings. One rule we had: We told our kings the truth or what we believed to be true.”
“It is a rare quality,” he said quietly. “It is no wonder you were not interrupted by kings, nor that you sat at the head of the table.”
“We had only our wisdom to offer, Your Majesty, and only our truth.”
“So then, what would you have me do with Andronicus? You believe he would like to be emperor, do you not?”
“Yes, he would like to be emperor. There is nothing he would not do to be emperor. What should you do with him? As you are doing. Keep him, by all means. He will be the focal point for all your enemies, and while he lives, there is not likely to be another.
“Keep him, value him, and by watching him you will know by his associates who your enemies are. They will come to him as flies to honey, and to no other so long as he lives.”
Manuel turned to his bodyguard. “You were right, Odric, this is a valuable man.”
He turned back to me. “You have said he was both brilliant and dangerous. Should I not fear that his plotting will destroy me?”
“No, Your Majesty. You know your enemy well, better than he knows you. Andronicus believes he is much more clever than you, and this will never permit him to guess the truth, that you are using him for a purpose. Also, I suspect Andronicus plots better than he acts.”
Manuel stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “And you have been in Constantinople for only a matter of weeks? I fear how much you would learn if you were here for months!”
“Perhaps less; before too many factors are involved the vision is often clearer. There was once a man who preferred to visit a city before he learned the language. He believed he could better estimate its quality before hearing the comments of its citizens. He depended on what he could see, hear, and sense.”
He asked about our defeat by the Petchenegs, or Cumans, as he called them. In detail I described their numbers, leadership, and attack. I described our retreat, our defense. Knowing him for a soldier, I gave a clear outline of the strategy and tactics of our defeat.
“Your Hansgraf was too good a man to lose. Had he come to Byzantium, I should have given him command of an army.”
For more than an hour we talked, of wars and men, of tactics and the means to victory. “There,” he said suddenly, “lies the weakness of our city.” He pointed across the Golden Horn toward the narrow harbor beyond. “If ships could get inside our great chain, the city might fall.” He glanced sharply at me. “When next you see Andronicus will you speak of this visit?”
“He will know of it, I am sure. Andronicus is one who would have many spies.”
“And what will you say?”
“That I had a book to give you, in return for which I hoped a favor.”
“The book is in Greek?”
“It is now.” I handed it to him. “It came from a Persian source.”
He opened the pages, glanced at them, became enthralled. The sun lowered; the garden grew cool. Glancing up, he said, “Please seat yourselves. I shall be long.” He read on, occasionally turning back a page or two. “You wished a favor? What favor?”
“I wish to get a slave from the fortress of Alamut, and if I cannot get the slave, I intend to enter the fortress.”
He stared at me as if he believed me bereft of sense, then shook his head.
“The slave?”
“My father.”
“It is impossible. The fortress is impregnable. It cannot be taken by assault, nor is any slave allowed to leave it alive. For years I have sought such a slave or someone who might tell me of the fortress and its defenses. There is no one. Nor is anyone allowed to enter who is not of their cult.”
He stood up. “I should be glad to help, but what you ask is impossible. A dozen kings have tried it or planned it. None have succeeded.”
He handed me the book, but I refused it. “The book was written for you, Your Majesty. Please keep it.”
“I am in your debt. The book is a valuable one.” He paused. “There is a place for you in my service.”
“I am grateful, but I go to Alamut.”
“You will need money. You will need horses.”
“One horse I have; my others were taken by the Petchenegs, although”—the thought came to me—”if I could get word to Prince Abaka Khan, I might buy them back.”
“Abaka Khan has been to my court.”
The sun was gone, a cool breeze came over the water. “I have affairs to which I must attend. I am grateful, Odric, for bringing this man to me.”
He extended his hand. “Think of another service I can do you. It will be my pleasure.”
When he was gone we left by the postern gate, which closed after us. Lights thrust into the darkness of the waters like golden daggers. A coolness arose from the harbor.
“You have a friend,” Odric said.
“I like him.”
“He is a soldier, as strong as any three of my men even today, and he has been emperor more years than I have lived.”
At the end of the street Odric paused. “I return, but be careful. Our streets are unsafe for a man alone.”
“I am not alone,” I told him, “I have my sword.”
46
It has seemed to me that each year one should pause to take stock of himself, to ask: Where am I going? What am I becoming? What do I wish to do and become?
Most people whom I encountered were without purpose, people who had given themselves no goal. The first goal need not be the final one, for a sailing ship sails first by one wind, then another. The point is that it is always going somewhere, proceeding toward a final destination.
Until now my task had been to find if my father was alive, and if so where, and then how to free him from slavery. These were but temporary goals. What was it I wanted? Where was I going? What had I done to achieve it?
Mine was the day of the adventurer. Only a few years before, William, so-called the Conqueror, had led a bunch of adventurers and soldiers of fortune from Normandy into England. Possessing little beyond their courage, their judgment, and their swords, they had taken rich lands and turned them to their own use.
Another Norman family had captured Sicily and built a small empire but a rich one. He who had a sword could carve his way to wealth and power, and the kingdoms of the world were ruled by such men or their descendants.
Yesterday I arrived hungry and in rags; today I was the confidant of kings; so can a man’s fortune change. Yet power, riches, and the friendship of kings are but transitory things. Riches are a claim to distinction for those who have no other right to it. Ancestry is most important to those who have done nothing themselves, and often the ancestor from whom they claim descent is one they would not allow in the house if they met him today.
Great families were often founded by pirates, freebooters, or energetic peasants who happened to be in the right place at the right time and took advantage of it. The founder would, in most cases, look with disdain on his descendants.
To me the goal was to learn, to see, to know, to understand. Never could I glimpse a sail on an outbound ship but my heart would stumble and my throat grow tight. Up to a point a man’s life is shaped by environment, heredity, and movements and changes in the world about him; then there comes a time when it lies within his grasp to shape the clay of his life into the sort of thing he wishes to be. Only the weak blame parents, their race, their times, lack of good fortune, or the quirks of fate. Everyone has it within his power to say, this I am today, that I shall be tomorrow. The wish, however, must be implemented by deeds.
Within a few weeks my father would be free, or I should be dead.