The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [135]
Nicholas said, “That with unrest beyond the mountains behind him, perhaps the Basileus will find it harder to collect the tolls and taxes from his people.”
“Is it ever easy to pay tolls and taxes?” said the lady Violante. “True, the Empire is less than it was; certain wealthy families have always complained; the peasants are sly, and transform their wealth from corn into cattle. There is always someone to complain if a road is not maintained, or a route safeguarded from brigands, or a well allowed to fall into disrepair. But no. The Emperor exacts all he needs for the court and his palaces. We are not poor. We have gems. You can scotch the rumour, if you hear it, that the Greeks are too mean to pay mercenaries—you have been paid. Or will not spend money on defences—you have seen the walls. Trebizond endures. Even under Timur it endured and even prospered, while the Mongol horde took from Georgia the coat of mail forged by the hands of King David the psalmist himself.”
Nicholas sat without speaking. Then he said, “Trebizond was a vassal state of the Mongols.”
“But the Mongols have gone,” the lady said. “The White Horde of Uzum Hasan will go too, or win all of Persia and sit in Tabriz or Diyarbekr, troubling no one. The Ottoman army will take one thing or another, but will always go back to its cities in Europe. Trebizond will continue.” She paused. “Have I reassured you? I felt you uncertain.”
“About what, Despoina?” Nicholas said. “I shall buy what books you can spare me. And if I am uncertain, it is only because I fear to keep the Emperor waiting.”
He had heard the door open. Her eyes lifted, and some signal must have passed. She turned her eyes back to him. “He has awakened, and will see you. You will discuss al-Jazari.”
“Al-Jazari?” he said.
“The engineer whose book you hold. And perhaps other devices. But I am told he will not expect you to stay long, in view of your illness.”
“My illness?” he said.
“You became unwell in the baths. Otherwise you would have joined him immediately. He will understand. You are flushed. You sweat. Are you shivering?”
“I am undoubtedly shivering, Despoina,” said Nicholas.
“Then you may leave,” she said.
He rose, and bowed, and left, while a servant brought the box after him. There was no sign of his clothes; nor was he offered any means of improving his appearance. He gathered that the omission was not accidental. A chamberlain finally received him and introduced him by a small door into a room he thought at first empty. He was admiring the silk of its hangings when he saw the dais, and the bed, and the figure, loosely robed, reclining upon it. He felt, from the heat in his face, that he had probably assumed an appropriate flush. The Emperor said, “You may come a little nearer. There. You are unwell?”
“Forgive me, Basileus,” Nicholas said. He rose from the prostration, but slowly. Upright, he allowed himself a quick glance before dropping his lids.
The pillows and sheets were of silk, much disordered. Uncovered, the Emperor’s hair was seen to be of a light ruffled gold, paler by two or three shades than his beard. Below the heavy robe, the strong neck was bare. His hands, loosely clasped, were fine and massively ringed. The Emperor said, “Who has it in his power to command weakness? We do not blame you. We are told you make toys.”
“I make engines for use and for pleasure. What is your wish?” Nicholas said.
“We should like a clock,” said the Emperor of the Hellenes. “A clock such as the Persians had, for my palace. Will you make it?”
“Gladly, Basileus.”
“You would make it