The Walls of Byzantium Read Online Free PDF

you pay them.’ He looked down. ‘Get up, Simon. I can’t talk to you down there.’
    Laskaris rose from his knee.
    ‘It’s their way of sealing a contract,’ said the Despot, pulling a chair to the table. ‘You put your mark on the paper and then tear it in two. They claim their money when we join the two bits later. Ingenious. Wine?’
    The Protostator took the goblet.
    ‘Sweet wine from Mount Ganos.’ The Despot raised his glass and drained it in a gulp. He wiped his beard and looked suddenly at his friend. ‘Do we still have Mount Ganos, Simon?’ he asked.
    ‘I fear not, Majesty. Most of Thrace belongs to Bayezid now.’
    The Despot sighed. ‘Well at least we’ll still have the Malvasia, assuming those Mamonas pirates haven’t sold the last barrel to the Sultan. Did you know they sell it to the Sultan?’
    ‘I had heard something,’ murmured the Protostrator, sipping his wine.
    ‘Horses too, I gather,’ went on the Despot. ‘Since the Turk took Adrianopolis for his capital and renamed it Edirne, they’ve been doing regular business there. The Sultan wants to build up his cavalry and Mamonas has access to Outremer stock. Apparently they’re fast and fierce. Destriers that bite their way into battle.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, we can’t afford them any more than we can cannon. Let’s go outside and see what’s going on.’
    The Despot took the arm of his Protostrator and led him from the chamber, up the winding steps and out on to the top of the tower.
    The Vale of Sparta stretched out before them in miniature. Simon Laskaris had woken every morning of his forty-eight years to the reassuring sight of that huge plain with its farms, orchards, vineyards, olive groves and the bright ribbon of the Evrotas River winding its way through it all. It was a world of green, ordered prosperity, a world in balance, a world worth fighting for.
    Now he saw smoke rising across the plain. Closer to, he saw the tanneries and storehouses alight and tiny Turkish soldiers running to set fire to houses in the Albanian and Jewish quarters.
    ‘St Demetrius,’ said the Despot suddenly.
    ‘Majesty?’
    ‘He’s our patron saint, isn’t he? Have we done enough prayingto him, do you think, Simon? Should I organise a procession or something?’
    ‘Highness, he was also patron saint of Thessaloniki.’
    Theodore considered this, stroking his long beard. Thessaloniki, north of the Peloponnese, had fallen five years ago. He looked down at the square in front of the palace below. It was a place he’d wanted to be the new Athens, a place where children would sit at the feet of philosophers and learn of reason. It was a place he loved.
    ‘The Turks are a very conservative people,’ he said. ‘Their religion leaves very little room for doubt. They won’t keep our square.’
    ‘No, lord,’ agreed the Protostrator. ‘And the cathedral will become a mosque.’
    Both men were silent for a while, each contemplating what this future held for them.
    ‘Well, no time for conjecture, Simon. What do we do?’
    The Protostrator turned back to the plain and pointed at the gigantic pavilion in the centre of the camp. ‘Two Horsehairs, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Which means that someone other than the Sultan is leading this army.’
    In the little square of beaten earth outside the entrance to the pavilion stood a single lance driven into the ground. At its top, moving gently in the breeze, were two horse-tails.
    ‘The Grand Vizier, do you think?’
    ‘No, I hear he is in Serres with his master. I think we may have one of Bayezid’s sons before us. Perhaps the eldest, Suelyman.’
    ‘Is that good or bad?’
    Laskaris shrugged. ‘It is the janissaries who will decide the battle,’ he said. ‘Look at them! Have you seen such a sight?’
    They both looked down at the gardens before the pavilion where groups of men with tall white hats, each sprouting an extravagant plume, stood talking to each other. They seemed in no hurry to begin