The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [121]
Catherine de Charetty grasped her husband’s arm. “Look!”
His gaze was already on the Florentine party, and he did not remove it. “I see,” he said.
“He is wearing—”
Then he looked at her, amused. “Well, yes. He, too, has been dressed by the Basileus. I rather think, my Caterinetta, that your stepfather and I are to be received at the Palace together. What could be better?”
“But—” she said.
“But what? He cannot harm me, and what he will get from me, he has earned. Now, much more important: here is the Emperor.”
The path from the Palace was steep. Observed from below, the cavalcade appeared at first smooth as a serpent, uncoiling in the grey, lightless air; incongruous as a brushful of paint on old cloth. Then it became near, and distinct, and through the brilliant clamour of the bells you could hear the fluting of other instruments as well as the drumbeats; and you could see the silk and gold fringe of the standards, rocking like ships leaving harbour.
In Bruges, one saw the world. Catherine had watched Duke Philip and the court of Burgundy ride into the Princenhof, his train a mile long. She had seen the state arrivals of princes, and the captains of the Venetian galleys. She understood costly fabric. She knew with what diverse and extravagant costume men of high birth affirmed their rank in the West. She had heard of Byzantine ritual but had never witnessed, in ordinary life, the consequences of preserving intact through the centuries the mode and costume of an ancient culture. Except, of course, for the dress and rites of the Church. There was no one to explain that the Emperor stood on earth for his god, and hence such rites were his everyday habit.
The standards were made of crimson satin, heavily fringed, and the standardbearers and musicians wore the same colour. The horses had manes white as silk, bound with ribbons and tassels; and golden harness and beaded caparisons, and saddles studded with silver. The riders wore crowns and diadems looped and strung and fringed with fine jewelled chains, and had shining hair in every colour from bright gold to black. Their robes, narrow as grave clothes, were armoured with precious stones; with gorgets and belts and bands of ancient gems, thick as crabs. Their backs were straight; their bodies were slender as dancers’; their faces were masks of symmetrical beauty. They reached the plateau of the monastery and began to pass round its walls, while the murmuring silence was pierced by the abrupt clamour of trumpets. There was a pause. A body of scent began to move through the air, displacing the incense. Where it came from, you could see the gleam of cloth of gold, and a sparkle where drifts of jewels gathered in shadow. The cavalcade had dismounted. The court was there, disconcertingly close, and about to enter the monastery precincts. She could see them. The scent was suddenly oppressive and strange. The composed faces, men’s and women’s, were painted.
Heralds and standards came first; and then young boys and maidens throwing yellow spring flowers. A golden-haired boy of a beauty she had never imagined walked next, dressed in ivory silk, a gilded bow in his hand. Behind, pacing slowly between his confessors, was the Emperor. In the crook of his right arm the Imperial crosier lay like a lily. Over his left was wrapped a swathe of the long, elaborate pallium. Above the tunic, the dalmatica, the silken eagles woven in purple and gold, she saw a noble profile, calm and resolute beneath the tall stiffened gold of the mitra. From the rim of the crown, strings of light pearls fell to the jewelled yoke on his broad shoulders, and mixed with the loose curling gold of his hair and his beard. Behind him, the train of men and women and youths, of officials and nobles and churchmen stretched far off through the trees. There was a ceremonial escort in moulded gold armour, each line of plumes as white as filled down on a nesting ledge.
From the north porch of the church, a group of white-bearded men had slowly emerged, robed in sparkling vestments. Their