The Spring of the Ram - Dorothy Dunnett [139]
This was all to the point, since one of the objects of the celebration was to impress the citizens of Western cultures. Byzantium, once proud to call itself Rome, now regarded Rome as beneath it. Other potentates, nearer at hand, must also be reminded of the splendour and might of the Emperor, who held high the flame that Constantinople in her weakness had surrendered. And beyond the balconies, the cushioned benches, the barriers, were the people, who must have their festival, paid for by their generous ruler who, on this day of the year, could be seen sitting godlike among them, with his Empress and his heirs. A great deal of money, each year, was spent on the Meidan at Easter.
It was customary for all those with places to walk there, climbing by lesser streets to free the processional way. Up this steep street, laid with mats and sweet-scented leaves, lined with townspeople behind the glittering ranks of the Guard, would ride the Imperial family. The family would occupy the villa balconies hung with cloth of gold and spring garlands which fronted the upper side of the Meidan. Flanking galleries would serve the Household and the Patriarchal Court with its icons. Below, at ground level, tiered and cushioned benches had been erected for the foreign merchants, the Greek princes, the clergy.
Ushers with wands greeted and placed every party. Tobie, judging it nicely, got his medicated young man and his fellows up the hill rather late, but still well before the Emperor’s entry. Loppe, sent on ahead to ensure and locate their half-dozen seats, stood erect by the Florentine flag with the absence of expression on his handsome black face which was, with Loppe, a sign of contentment. His eyes were fixed on Nicholas, who still had to cross the width of the Meidan. Nicholas said, “Tobie. Unless I’m giving off steam, behave normally. I remember what to do. One foot in front of the other, but not both at the same time unless I’m a robin.”
He was wearing the Emperor’s coat, with a light feathered hat, and embroidered gloves on his hands. These were part of the trousseau which had been among their first purchases. Godscalc and Julius, although attired in the black of their profession, had robes of a finer cut and quality than any they had formerly owned; Tobie smouldered in physicians’ scarlet, and Astorre and le Grant wore chestnut velvet over dun silken doublets. An investment, Nicholas had said. A tailor had appeared, who had cut the clothes and had them sewn in his workshop. The lady Violante, Tobie suspected, had made a good case for spending a lot of their capital quickly. He made to rub his bald head, and was baulked by his cap with its lappets. He made sure that Nicholas was still not only conscious but talking, and looked about for other parties of merchants.
They were all, like themselves, on the upper side of the Meidan, in the shadow of the Imperial balconies. On his left, the Lion of St Mark pointed to the place of the Venetian Bailie, whom Nicholas had visited two days before, or so Julius said. Further on his left, the red cross of St George identified the Genoese. All Tobie could see was a posy of headgear. He said to Loppe, whose duty it was to stand behind them, “Can you see Doria? Or the demoiselle’s daughter?”
Nicholas said, “I asked him. He says they’re both here. And the dog.”
“What dog?” said Tobie; but Nicholas was talking across le Grant to Astorre. Godscalc’s eye, he saw, disapproved of the subject. To hell with Godscalc. A change in the noise made him turn.
The sky was clearing. A hazy light from the west illuminated the arena and the buildings beyond it, their flat roofs descending like shelves, green with creeper and potted laurels and borders of rosemary and patches