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Chapter 1

 

When the sky began to go dark, fires were lit even outside the defensive ring of carts. Camels and horses were grazed and guarded on the other side of the stream, while people had a poor but merry feast in the middle of the camp.

 

Thomas and Oleg pleaded tiredness and went into the tent allocated to them. Thomas took off his armor with relief, wanted to put his two-handed sword into a corner, but there were no corners, so he put it in the head of the bed, following the wonderer’s example. Oleg stripped off, lay down with enjoyment. “A ship tomorrow! I love sea. Though my people know mostly steppes, as they previously knew woods… Or maybe the sea laps in the blood of Slavs?”

 

“There’s only wine that laps in my head,” Thomas moaned. “How would they mount camels?”

 

“You can grip at the camel’s humps. But if you fall, the way down is longer!”

 

Thomas collapsed on the bed, tossed and turned for a while. He started to snore when the curtain was removed silently and Samoth entered the tent. The chieftain’s face was confused, he fiddled with his shirt torn on the breast. “Excuse me, dear guests, for I bother you, but we have news. Riders came from the Great Sultan.”

 

Thomas alerted, felt the bag with the cup in the head of his bed. Oleg said nothing, looked at the chieftain searchingly.

 

“They say two extremely dangerous outlaws have managed an escape from his prison.”

 

“Come on,” Thomas hurried him up.

 

“They described the appearance and distinctive marks of… Of the two of you.”

 

Thomas tensed and pulled his sword closer. “What did you tell them?” Oleg asked.

 

“What I could? But one of mine told them at once that both men whose marks fit are in our camp. As our guests. And the riders demanded us to give you up!”

 

“Come,” Thomas urged him on.

 

Samoth put his hand in his bosom, scratched himself there, caught something and squeezed in his strong nails. “I don’t think they came from Sultan,” he said in a dull voice.

 

“Why?” Thomas asked quickly.

 

“Sultan would not demand of those who are not his subjects. Neither his tributaries. Uryupins submit to no one! We are a free nation.” He burst with laughter, threw out his thin chest proudly. Thomas kept his hand on the sword hilt, glanced around, listened, cast slantwise glances at Oleg. “I exposed them at once. And they had to confess they came from afar but not from the Sultan. They said you were condemned to be quartered in Persia, burnt in India, buried alive in Moesia, lapidated in Judea, crucified in Constantinople… And to something in other places I don’t recall. Guilty of corruption of minors, sacrilege, incest, destruction of the temple of Silul…”

 

Thomas shook his head. “I’d need more than one life to do all of it! Maybe the wonderer did? He’s older and has been everywhere.”

 

Oleg thought for a while, scratched the back of his head warily. “Have I ever ruined the temple of Silul? At that time, I was on the other end of Lanka!”



 

The chieftain nodded with relief. “I knew they were exaggerating. Besides, preventing men from leading the life they want is none of our concerns. We never interfere the rites of others. Our gods put it clearly: you shall not impede!”

 

“Did they leave?” Thomas asked in a constrained voice. He kept his sword.

 

“They told us the reward for your heads. Stated in rupees, dinars, guldens, golden rings, ostrich feathers, ivory bone, even in some kunas… A sack of gold for each of you, to put it shortly.”

 

They felt a cold blow in the close hot air within the tent. A man would kill easily for a coin, even no gold one. And there are two sacks of gold flung out lightly by someone powerful who wants the work done with utmost care and complaisance.

 

“The Seven?” Thomas said, gasping for air. Oleg nodded. “What did you decide?” Thomas asked Samoth in a heavy voice.

 

The chieftain looked aside, his face embarrassed. “Such important matters… when all the tribe is concerned… I should discuss with the elder. Even with all of my people.” He backed out from the tent.

 

Thomas jumped, straight from the bed, to a small window in canvas. It was filmed with yellow ox bladder. He saw adult Uryupins crowded at the far end of the camp, arguing lively. The sky was dark, studded with stars, but the Uryupins were lit by crimson flames, which made their faces look even more sulky and cruel. Men disappeared to come back with weapons. Due to some strange custom (or simply poverty), they wore swords and daggers unsheathed. Bare steel blades looked particularly ominous in the red light of fires.

 

“A sack of gold…” the wonderer drawled thoughtfully. “May we come out to them?”

 

Suddenly, Thomas gasped, his face went white. He looked through the dim film with terror, as though he saw a ghost. Oleg seized the sword, jumped up to his side.

 

Two well-clad warriors came out from a far tent and walked up to the cluster of arguing ragged men. One was broad-shouldered, remarkable by nothing but moving like a professional soldier. Another was… Gorvel! He was emaciated, his face maimed, a gaping wound in place of his left eye. Thomas did not recognize the other knight at once: his fire red beard had gone grey all over! Gorvel moved in the same brisk, predatory way, looked over the crowd vigilantly with his one remaining eye. He was clad in light armor: thin coat of mail down to his knees, his chest and back covered with plates of best Damask steel – and belted with a Khazar sword.

 

There were shouts in the crowd, but Thomas could not hear the words. After the false envoys of Sultan (and true ones of Secret Seven), Samoth the chieftain came out of the tent. He raised his arms to calm the men down, cried at the top of his voice and lungs, bending his chest forward, red with overstrain, “Men of the free nation of Uryupins! You know our guests, the envoys of Sultan, made a long way. With the only purpose to make us rich! Two sacks of gold for two heads of strangers! We can buy a herd of camels for each Uryupin man, luxurious tents and best food, slaves and carpets! A sack of gold means the best sabers of Damask, rich shops in any city and lands for us to buy… Think it over!”

 

“What will they do to them?” someone in the back rows cried out.

 

Gorvel bowed and stepped forward, raised his hand. He was almost a head taller than most Uryupins, and his strong voice, the only thing that had not changed about him, sounded imperious and stentorian. “We shall tie them up, for they are dangerous outlaws, then tie them to the legs of our camels and drag them behind as we ride. There’s sand everywhere, so they won’t get smashed up. If they even gorge with hot sand on the way and die, we don’t care! The Sultan told us to bring them, no matter dead or alive.”

 

The chieftain lifted his hands. “The envoy of Sultan, you’ve put it very understandable!” he approved.

 

Thomas came back to the bed, started to put his armor on hastily, clicking with clasps and rustling with belts. In those minutes, he grew more pinched than after fighting the bear. It is hard to fight men after you have enjoyed their hospitality!

 

A far voice of chieftain seemed to have reached his ears. “Men of the tribe, now you know what to do…”

 

In a hurry, Thomas slapped his helmet on, tightened the belt. Far from the tent, there was a happy roar of hundreds of mighty throats, approaching and growing louder, mixed with the trample of feet, merry squeals, clang of steel, as if someone was hitting his shield feelingly by the sword hilt.

 

Oleg stood by the window, his face strange. His lips stretched, as though to whistle. “Oh dear… Sir Thomas, just look at it!”

 

Thomas snatched the sword and rushed up, feeling the beastly strength back to his tired body. The sword seemed stuck to his palm, his heart thumped with all its might, forcing up fury for a fight.

 

Through the window, he saw a huge excited mob coming towards their tent. Uryupins thrust clenched fists overhead, raised swords, sabers, and plain sticks, two or three men swung ropes. In the very middle of the crowd, there were Gorvel and his assistant: stripped off their armor and helmets, tied up tightly, their clothes torn. People spat and flung clods of mud at the them as they walked. Gorvel’s face was covered with blood, his grey beard matted into a puny goatee, his front teeth missing. His assistant had large swollen bruises under his eyes.

 

They were dragged past the tent, in which Thomas and Oleg stayed put. One of the carts was removed to throw the captives outside the camp. Men came running up with two fast annoyed camels. The mob yelled, bustled, and hooted. The captives were flung down on the ground, tied with long ropes to the camels. In a hurry, the broad-shouldered soldier was tied to both camels at once: his left leg to one and his right to another. The mob roared with laughter and cheers. In the turmoil, someone fetched the camels a stick. The animals gave a hollow roar, raised their hind legs and ran, dragging the captives. There was a tree in hundred steps ahead. With disgust and horror, Thomas saw the camels running apart to pass on both sides of the tree!

 

He turned away at the very last moment, gritted his teeth, closed his eyes tightly. Gorvel was dragged by a single camel, but the way was rocks, snags, and dry clods of earth, and the humpbacked runner kept accelerating his speed, in fright of his master who was running with shrill screams.

 

Thomas gave a jump when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. The wonderer forced the knight to turn his back, started to unclasp his armor. Oleg’s face looked made of stone. “They offered it themselves!”

 

“Yes, but…”

 

“Who comes for wool is at risk of getting shorn. Strip off, quickly! When the chieftain comes, you’ll burn with shame.”

 

“I am burning!”

 

“To be honest, I also have, as Christians say, sinned in my mind.”

 

Thomas dropped the pieces of armor in a haste, listening to the far shouts and rustling sounds of feet. Through the window, they could see a dusty cloud moving away after the running camels. Now Thomas knew what a fast speed racecamels could gather. “Every man would be dead in two hundred steps… In two miles the last!”

 

“I hope he would,” Oleg said, frowning. “Last time I left him to death but allowed a chance… A tiny one! But he used it! Or… someone helped him.”

 

Thomas recalled Gorvel’s maimed face, empty socket, grey beard. “The Secret Seven?”

 

“Someone of their nearest.”

 

“Do they have magic?” Thomas asked suddenly.

 

“Many things can be done without it,” Oleg evaded.

 

Thomas’s face turned stone. “I see,” he said slowly, as though rolling heavy stones at the same time. “But if they have magic, why don’t they simply take the cup from us? What am I against magic?”

 

Oleg was silent for a long while, with his head down. Suddenly it seemed to Thomas that the wonderer’s motionless face livened up a bit, his tired wrinkles smoothed. He sounded exhausted but strong. “Once they wanted to lead the world by the way of magic… And fought apostates: the knowers. Fought them fiercely, ruthlessly, but their strength was fading. When the supreme magician, the head of Secret Seven, great Fagim perished in fight with… er… one of the apostate knowers, the remaining Secret Ones turned to knowing. Since that time, knowing is often called science…”

 

“They gave up magic?!” Thomas exclaimed with delight.

 

Oleg smirked unkindly, feasting his eyes on the beautiful knight with his sky blue eyes. “Gave up… for others. For the mankind! That was what I strove for. But they retained magic for own use.”

 

Thomas felt creepy, as he noticed the strange slip. He shivered. “Will they… use it?”

 

“To take the cup? Yes, if other ways to get it fail them,” Oleg replied thoughtfully. “If they have an urgent need to do it. Urgent! That will make them break their own rules. But I can’t fathom why do they need it?”

 

He peered intently in the side where the dust cloud had vanished in the night. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. Thomas did not dare to ask what exactly the wonderer had striven for and why he spoke in such a way as though he’d fought the invincible Secret Ones before.

 

Early in the next morning, they parted with the hospitable Uryupins. Thomas couldn’t help confessing and begging pardon for the sin he’d committed in his mind.

 

The chieftain smirked, made a broad gesture, as if to embrace all of his people. “Why do you think we are that poor? Just because we are honest! But all the gold on earth is no match for the magic gold my people have in their souls. Why would we sell honor and conscience for two sacks of plain gold?”

 

They embraced at parting. Thomas whipped his stallion hastily: he could not bear to see the accusing brown eyes of Iguanda. If now he saved her, he should have taken her. She would rather be eaten by the bear than by sorrow for the mysterious knight from the far North…

 

When the tribe was left far behind and the horses took a slow pace, Thomas pounded his thigh with his metal fist several times, while speaking in a tone of persuasion. “There are men in this world! There are. Even in the bloody and treacherous Pagan world. There are!”

 

Oleg smirked. “Have you doubted it? Your god didn’t sacrifice his life in vain, did he? He must have also thought there were men in the world. Though everyone was Pagan then!”

 

Thomas said nothing, unwilling to keep the conversation up. This Pagan’s words often smelled of mockery even when he spoke very seriously.

 

Oleg was frowning. He would often glance at the sand under the horse hooves or look around. For some reason, he made a semicircle and, once the sand dunes hid him from view, whipped his horse and dashed on like a whirlwind. Astonished, Thomas could barely keep up. But the wonderer did nothing in vain, so Thomas drew out his sword.

 

They saw three mounted men who rode hastily, watching the tracks on the sand. Thomas saw the hoof prints of their horses from a distance. His fury boiled up, like water in a bowl on red-hot coals. “Damn it!” he said fiercely. “Would we ever get rid of spies?”

 

Before the wonderer could give a signal, Thomas gripped his sword and, with a terrible yell, rushed on the riders. They were too busy with the tracks, which were buried quickly by sand and wind, so they failed to hear the knight’s furious shout at once. When they looked back, shrieked and started to urge their horses, it was too late. A destrier can develop a colossal speed within a short distance. He came up with the back horse, hit it with own body, toppling the rider into the sand. The second rider was reached by Thomas’s sword: a flat side of it, but the blow sent the man flying like a useless old pot thrown away.

 

The third one spurred his horse. He would have escaped, but Thomas heard, helpless, a ringing blow of iron on iron. The rider jerked his hands up, jumped in his saddle and collapsed on the ground. His helmet, knocked down by the arrow, fell on the other side of the horse.

 

“We got you, crows!” Thomas yelled with gloat. He saw a dark shadow, some likeness of a ghostly bat, sweeping over one man. Thomas was sure that was a devil taking the soul of the sinner, as the man had been slashed by sword from the back of his head to the middle of spine.

 

They tied up the rest two, flung them into the circle of the grass trampled by horses. Oleg lit the fire at once, started to gather wood. He was sullen and thoughtful, red hair falling on his forehead, inhuman green eyes looking with enmity.

 

Thomas smiled contentedly. There’s no honor in defeating the weak, but their captives look strong warriors. One has malevolent sparkles in his eyes, his hands twitch, as he tests the rope for strength. Another lies still like a snake in hide, before it jumps. He seems capable of keeping silence even if tortured.

 

Oleg brought an armful of twigs and muttered. Thomas could not hear the words, but the twitching captive asked anxiously, “What this savage wants?”

 

Thomas shrugged. “He asked whether it’s time to eat you. I answered it’s too early.”

 

The captive let out a squeak and passed out. The other one, who had been silent and motionless, begged in a shaky voice, “Good sire, you are Christian… Please protect us!”

 

“No need,” Thomas comforted him. “He’s forbidden by his Pagan faith to eat people under the rays of all-seeing sun. He’s a fire worshipper!”

 

The captive went trembling all over, his head tossed in fright. The great orange ball had passed zenith and was rolling down with relief. The captive gave such a start that made him bob. His face turned grey. “That means… we are safe till evening only?”

 

“You are,” Thomas assured. He yawned and stretched himself with joy, feeling his joints turn and crunch faintly. “If only the sky is not covered with clouds… but that’s rare in this land.”

 

The captive looked with terror over the knight’s head, where a small cloud, as white and fluffy as a kitten, sprang up and started to grow.

 

Oleg made the fire blaze up, fetched more twigs. The captives saw him asking the knight of something and the knight looking warily at the close hedge of thick bushes. “What he wants now?” the captive asked hastily.

 

“He’s impatient. Says the cloud is too slow. Asks me to help him to make a shelter of branches, so that he could drag you there himself.”

 

The captive trembled. “I’m sure you won’t help him.”

 

Thomas knitted his brows menacingly. “Do you mean I’m an idler?”

 

“No, I don’t,” the man babbled in panics, almost weeping, “but this savage…”

 

“He is my friend at arms,” Thomas replied proudly. He got up with dignity. “Though a savage, he saved my life more than once! You’ve shamed me when you pointed at my self-love and laziness that don’t befit a noble knight. Certainly I should help my companion… do him this small favor. After that, I shall spend a couple of hours fishing at the bank. They say fish is tender and delicious here! I’ll show you… Oh, I see. Well, it’s the final destination of everyone.”

 

* * *

 

After that, nothing hampered their way to the coast of Black Sea. The Greeks called it Pontus Euxine, which meant “the hospitable sea”, or the inhospitable sea in other times. Many other nations inhabiting its shores named it simply “the Russian sea”, for its waves being crowded with Russian ships long since. Ruses traded and robbed, carried goods and people by sea, made plundering raids on the opposite coast, where local tribes, nations, and states changed often. Russian pirates, forders, free daredevils, Cossacks, and other brigand men gave their forays oversea an ironic name of “going for winter coats.”

 

All the way Thomas neighed, as he recalled the captives vying with each other in crying out everything they knew, selling and betraying their masters, promising to be good slaves, only to avoid their entrails being pulled out and devoured for them to see… The wonderer rode silent and thoughtful: the captives had told nothing worthy.

 

Easily, they found Gelong, the shipmaster. He was fierce with hangover, shaggy and violent, his crew avoided him. At first, he went barging on Thomas, being filled with bad blood, a happy beast in presentiment of a good fight, but Oleg hurried to interfere. He told Gelong they’d come from Samoth, his blood, as his best friends and comrades who’d been drinking with him the day before – and the savage beast of a shipmaster changed to a beaming, happy man who embraced both of them, clapping on shoulders. Then he wheeled round to the trembling cook who was looking out from behind a bundle of ropes, roared in a stentorian voice, “Wine to the bottom cabin! Lots of wine!”

 

Thomas heaved a sigh. “We’ll be going along the shore,” Oleg cheered him up. “If we get drunk, we’ll feel less of the rolling, as our heads swing and our bellies gurgle…”

 

They had to sell the horses. There was hardly enough space aboard for two men, and that they owed to Gelong’s cordiality. Oleg praised Thomas for his wise deed, advised him to keep saving all maidens from beasts, as all of his great predecessors had done: Targitai, Perseus, Ivasik, Beowulf, Sigurd… “They would also receive a good reward. Sometimes a double one if the girl contributed to it.” Thomas scowled and snarled. He was sad of parting with his destrier, whom he’d stormed the Tower of David and climbed the walls of Jerusalem with.

 

With bags on their backs, they came aboard. At once, the sailors raised a fore-and-aft sail that was strange to Thomas. In the northern seas, a sail is seldom in use. Rowing is more relied upon, and if even they raise the sail, it is a straight and square one. But the oars of Gelong’s ship were in disorder, and her crew started drinking straight off. They resumed doing it, to be more exact. Only three or four men kept a lazy eye on the ship.

 

The wind was even, fresh and steady. In case of need, sailors would turn the sail deftly: a skill not known to Vikings. The master informed they would arrive to Constantinople, the capital of Roman Empire, in a week. Thomas puffed up like a little owl, ready to argue that Rome was the capital, but Oleg intruded and took the conversation away from a slippery road. In fact, the Great Roman Empire had been having two capitals, both Rome and Constantinople, for a long time, and its sigil, the proud eagle, was portrayed with two heads to transmit the idea of Empire having a single body and two heads that would not live without each another. The emperors of the Western and the Eastern Roman Empire (the latter often named basileus) did not make any difference, but the fact that the single Christian Church had divided into the western and the eastern branch did. That difference was still tiny, but Oleg had seen much of the world. He’d seen peoples who split amicably but began terrible bloody wars two or three generations later.

 

Once, in a vague dream sent by either gods or his soul who managed a look into the distant future, Oleg saw the emblem of the Russian Empire: a two-headed eagle as a symbol of Russian princes and, later, Russian tsars, but could not fathom how that was possible. Will Rome come and capture Slavic lands? Or will Russian hosts finally achieve the long-lasting dream of their princes and take Tsargrad with its lands for themselves and their children?

 

They shared the cramped cabin under the steer box with three more men: two merchants and a fat idle boy. Those three would enter no conversations but turn away, hiding their faces. They were clad as common people but their faces and hands were too white and well-groomed. Thomas winced, irritated by the company of sleek traders (if those were traders). He spent most of the daytime on deck, watching dolphins. Twice he saw the huge oblique comb of a sea serpent, but it vanished before he could call the wonderer.

 

Once a ghostly ship sailed by. The sailors made much ado, shouting of a trouble brewing. Thomas moved away with disgust, lest their sweaty unwashed bodies touch him in their bustling about. In wars and wandering, he had seen not only ghostly ships but whole ghostly cities, not to mention castles, towers, and minarets! And ghosts of caravans, oases, and lone men could be seen in hot Arabia almost every day.

 

Oleg, attracted by the clamor, climbed on the upper deck in haste. “What’s up?”

 

“A vision,” Thomas replied sarcastically. “For all to see. But, unlike you, they neither exult not thank gods. And what do you think? Can a vision do any harm?”

 

“Surely it can,” Oleg replied confidently. “To another vision.”

 

“I see… But that’s a concern of theirs. Let them fight each other as they like, we will not muddle. But can they harm live men?”

 

“Definitely! If live men get lost in contemplation, treating it as a circus, and let their ship crash into rocks or another ship.”

 

The ship sailed without letting the shore out of sight. In times Thomas could make out the ruins of ancient towers or remnants of old cities. That fertile land had seen many nations and states changing each other. Thomas had heard, with half an ear, only about the most powerful of them: the Hittite Kingdom, Lidia, Midia, Ahmenids. There had been the empire of Alexander the Great, then the Seleucids, the kingdom of Pontus, Pergamum, the possessions of Romans and, at last, the state of Seljukids, which was destroyed a year before by a mighty Crusader host from far northern lands. The nations rise like flowers in spring, their tongues get mixed with the remnants of previous ones and diluted, then they fall under the pressure of some newcomers. Last year, the warriors of Christ came here for the first time. Surrounded by alien tribes, they hurry to raise strong castles and fortresses… Will the Crusaders resist?

 

All the way to Constantinople, the ship was followed by dolphins who jumped in waves and looked with gleaming curious eyes. The sailors told Thomas that dolphins had once been men who went into the sea to avoid war and grief and live happily ever after, with only a vague memory of kinship that attracts them to people. Thomas tossed fish and slices of bread to dolphins, thinking seriously of whether he would become a careless dolphin to escape the bitter human life where a man had to take each step by fight. He failed to resolve it at once, even as he recalled the immortal mages following his tracks and the unknown traps waiting ahead.

 

As the ship rounded a cape, some golden sparkles flashed in the sun far ahead. Oleg heard Thomas sigh loudly at his side. The knight’s face was excited. Those gleaming sparkles are the domes of Christian temples, each one covered with twenty or thirty poods of pure gold. And Constantinople has thousands of such domes. The city was known as Tsargrad to pirates and Varangians, to Artania, Slavia, Kujavia, and then Kievan Rus’, Novgorod, to princedoms of Chernigov,,,

 

Probably, Oleg thought with his heart thumping, it is the oldest city in the world. All the caravan ways pass here, at the joint of two giant continents: Europe and Asia. Since long ago, there had been roaming tribes whose names sank into oblivion. Each of them changed the name of the city, which was burnt down, destroyed, and rebuilt again. Nations would be born, get old and die, their tongues dying with them, but the city kept standing on the bank of the channel, as she was needed to everyone.

 

The place was visited by Hittites, Macedonians, wild men of Pannonia, Italy, Scythia, Hyperborea. Everyone who came from north had to follow the same path, which their feet had trampled into a broad trodden road, and the one walking from south had another path, but both of them were doomed to meet here. By the will of gods, all roads follow the folds of earth. At the cross of those two paths, a city emerged. It had changed many names, but the first one to be remembered was the last but one: Byzantium. When Constantine, the Roman emperor, was looking for a place to build his new capital, he found no better place than the ancient Byzantium, so the city was given a new name: Constantinople, which meant “the city of Constantine.”

 

The Emperor had the city broadened immediately. For a start, he blocked the neck of land between Europe and Asia by a tall stone wall, then raised hundred and forty large battle towers on it, to protect the wall, to house soldiers, their weapons and provisions. The wall that fenced the new capital off the sea was guarded by eighty more towers.

 

Inside the walls, Constantine built palaces, fortresses, luxurious houses for high officials, massive barracks for his imperial guard, sumptuous temples (those were then ruined to raise churches, no less sumptuous, on their solid foundations), high guest mansions and storehouses. He also built prisons and had broad cellars dug under them: ordinary for plain prisoners, secret for particularly dangerous ones, and the most secret for the personal enemies of the Emperor. The secret torture chambers looked at the bay, and dead bodies in sacks, with boulders tied to their legs, were shook off into the water. Near the most secret torture chambers, there were secret treasury rooms, also graded by accessibility: the most important ones could only be visited by Emperor himself.

 

During his last visit, Oleg had noticed how thoroughly Constantine had been decorating the capital city, how ruthlessly he ravaged his other lands, driving the best masters and craftsmen together into the old Byzantium – and how fast Byzantium was changing to majestic Constantinople, as polished slabs of marble and basalt, statues of gods and heroes, centaurs and chimeras had been brought there from all around.

 

Constantinople looked unassailable. The old Byzantium had got shy and lost in the magnificence of the capital city, turned into one of its quarters, neither the poorest nor the richest one. It was Agnir for thousand years, Oleg thought bitterly, and Kerch for the next thousand and Komonsk for the following ten centuries and Byzantium for the same time and a bit more. For a thousand of years till today, it has been known as Constantinople.

 

His shoulders flinched, as though of a sudden blow of the cold northern wind. What name will it get for the next ten centuries? Which nations will come to crush its present inhabitants: New Greeks, a mixture of Slavic migrants and remnants of neighboring savage tribes who took a proud name of Romans but their neighbors call them Romays[15] and later will know them as Byzantines? Or the pointless destruction of one nation by another will be stopped someday?

 

Thomas watched closely the growing walls, his eyes glittered with professional interest. “No one, for thousand years, has taken this stronghold by storm… Have you been inside?”

 

“I have,” Oleg replied. His voice sounded strangely muffled. Thomas turned to him in surprise. Oleg nodded. “Yes, I have been there! Both inside and outside.”

 

“I see a wonderer’s life is good,” Thomas sighed. “You can get where a man with sword is not allowed.”

 

The wonderer’s face stiffened as if he tried to recall something buried deep in his memory. Thomas did not dare to break the silence: in times, the wonderer looked very mysterious. The knight would take no notice of such trifles before he’d been dragged by life across different countries, peoples, and customs. Though that had only made the Christian hold in his soul stronger, he learnt to feel the souls of others. Even the souls doomed to Hell’s fires for their disbelief in Christ.

 

Oleg came back from his brooding. “If the Secret Seven retain a whim to get your cup, a man of theirs shall be waiting in Constantinople,” he warned Thomas. “This gate from Asia to Europe can be escaped by no one!”

 

“There are more people in Constantinople than ants in a forest! We will get lost to view.”

 

“We won’t if they put a man at the moorings.”

 

Thomas put his palm on the sword hilt. Oleg knew it without looking back: hundreds of times had he seen this gesture, habitual for Thomas in every trouble.

 

“Whom are you going to slash? There are lots of people on the pier.”

 

“May we disguise?” Thomas suggested warily.

 

Oleg gave a long look over his proud figure, distinctive at any distance in his gleaming armor. “How?” he asked with sullen irony.

 

“Er… I could, though I hate it, turn my shield with other side as we go ashore. I can even put it into my bag! We are searched by my arms: a sword and a lyre on starry field, aren’t we? There’s no point changing it: The Secret Ones should be experts in heraldry, as it is studied everywhere, first of reading and writing, as the most important of sciences. So they will know any move by the starry field of the shield, get the meaning of it…”

 

“A good disguise,” Oleg approved, “but let’s forget it. The Emperor has tens of thousands spies in his service. They meet merchants, pilgrims, beggars, settlers, and sailors on the city gates to ransack their belongings and levy a duty, but their most important job – the one for which they get second salary from a secret pocket – Is to watch for the second face of they who look plain merchants or beggars. For their true face. The city is penetrated constantly by spies and scouts, assassins and agents of remote kings and robber gangs. Almost all of them are got to their bottom by sophisticated secret service men easily – but they’re allowed into the city all the same, under a covert supervision, to find out all of their links and aims and accomplices. Often they’re allowed out of the city too, with no harm done to them, if that serves some distant purpose of the Empire. And those purposes can be more far-going and sinister than the naive and straight-minded kings of young western realms can even imagine!”

 

The ship dropped anchor in half a mile from the shore. There were hundreds of other ships, large and small, rocking on waves, while new ones were coming and light fast boats with strong-shouldered rowers bustling about.

 

Gelong waited patiently for a port official to come by one of those boats. A stout man, but not a fat one, he walked to the bridge, accompanied by the shipmaster. The mates slipped into the holds, like nimble rats, to leave the two of them in private. The official and the master studied the list of goods thoroughly. The official marked some of them as forbidden. The master started to argue, pointing out those things had been allowed the last time, but the official remarked with reason that even mountains and seas change over time. His assistants came out to collate the lists, and there was arguing again. Gelong was going dark. When the assistants, all together, turned their backs, he sighed and poured a handful of golden coins into the official’s pocket. Thomas winced: the Empire had rotted through! However, the duty to be paid got smaller at once and the official left, having his assistant stay aboard to serve as a pilot.

 

The ship approached the close mooring cautiously, choosing its way among other ships. Thomas stood in his full armor, feeling his sword. “A rotten place,” he said with disapproval. “That’s a pity… It’s so beautiful! The Holy Bible says of many kingdoms: Babylon, Nineveh, Assyria. Where are they now? Once while crossing a desert, I saw some ruins of towers and buildings in the sand. Sometime palaces had been rising there and gardens growing and splendid birds singing… And I walked knee-deep in hot sand, only deserts around, and almost squealed as a pig with sorrow for the lost beauty. Though I knew the city must have been inhabited by wicked Pagans, as it died thousands of years before Christ!”

 

Oleg peered intently at the approaching moorings crowded with people, carts, bright litters, horses in sumptuous attires, guards with gleaming blades. “To save everything means to leave no space for the new. You’d better watch no beautiful towers but ugly people. Your arrival is already known to all the spies of the Seven.”

 

“Do you think they’ll try to take it straight on the moorings?”

 

“Be ready,” Oleg advised. “I think this city will be the greatest challenge to you.”

 

Thomas’s cheeks went white, his eyes lost reverie and started running over the motley crowd. The ship edged her way between high-sided galleys, a bridge was thrown to the land. Thomas and Oleg were almost the first to come ashore: straight after the merchants and strange young boy who, all the three, were twisting with unfathomable fear.

 


 


Date: 2015-02-03; view: 521


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