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thought. They understand the danger. ‘I will see to it that the succession is handled swiftly,’ Helena continued. ‘My oldest son, Constantine, shall be named emperor, and there will be no dissension, no civil war. I thank you for your news, Signor Longo. We are in your debt.’
    ‘You do me too much honour, Your Highness,’ Longo said. ‘But I have one more piece of news to deliver. My men and I passed through Selymbria on our way to Constantinople. Your son, Demetrius, was there. He will arrive before Constantine even knows of the emperor’s death.’
    ‘Of course,’ Helena replied coolly. ‘We are expecting Demetrius any moment now. But do not fear. I will deal with my son when he arrives, and I will send a messenger to Constantine informing him that he is now the emperor.’
    ‘Demetrius will no doubt arrive with force, Your Highness,’ Longo said. ‘My men are at your disposal, if you have need of us when he arrives.’
    Helena shook her head. ‘Thank you, Signor Longo, but I believe I know how to handle my son.’
    ‘Then may I offer the services of my ship? She is fast, and Mistra is on the way to Italy. Allow me to carry your message to Constantine.’
    ‘I accept your gracious offer,’ Helena replied. ‘John Dalmata will travel with you. Constantine trusts him. I will send two officials, Alexius Philanthropenus and George Sphrantzes, with the crown. Constantine shall be crowned emperor as soon as you arrive.’
    Longo nodded his agreement. ‘I will await Lord Dalmata and the officials at my ship. It is harboured in the Golden Horn, at the Port of Pera. We will set sail this very night.’
    ‘Very well,’ Helena said. ‘May God go with you, Signor Longo.’
    The sun had set by the time Longo’s ship, la Fortuna , got under way. Tristo and the other soldiers were already below decks, drinking and playing dice. The ship’s crew scurried about the deck, preparing the rigging. The two ambassadors from Constantinople were in their cabin, suffering from seasickness. Longo had stayed on deck to talk with Dalmata. He was a man of few words, but forthright and intelligent. Like all of the Varangians, Dalmata’s ancestors were Saxon nobles who had come to Constantinople generations ago, after King William conquered England, and Dalmata retained the brown hair, grey eyes and lighter skin of his kinsmen. He had been raised in the imperial household and trained in combat by his father, the emperor’s personal bodyguard before him. Dalmata told Longo that Constantine was a strong man and would be a good emperor. They had grown up together in the palace, and Dalmata counted Constantine as a friend. Longo was glad to hear that Constantine was capable. He would need to be if his empire were to survive.
    Dalmata excused himself to see after the two ambassadors, and Longo was left alone on deck. He stood near the rail, alone with his thoughts as a strong westerly wind hurried la Fortuna across the Sea of Marmora. Longo had been campaigning with Hunyadi for nearly a year, and it had been much longer since he had lastset foot in Italy. He was eager to feel the warm sunshine of his homeland, eager to walk his fields once more and to watch his grapes as they ripened in the sun. But looking towards Constantinople, dark on the horizon with lights shining here and there, Longo felt something pull at him. A part of him always felt more at home in the East, far from the shores of Italy and the squabbles of his countrymen. Perhaps things would be different if he married, as his chamberlain Nicolo had been urging him to do for years. He thought of the Princess Sofia, with her bright, intelligent eyes, and then laughed at himself. He would never see her again, and he knew better than to wish for things he could never have. He had learned that lesson long ago.
    Longo turned away and made his way to the ladder leading below decks, but before he could descend he was stopped by a noise so unexpected that it took him a moment