She’d been a screamer, I remember that. Back in my youth, I’d always found that vaguely irritating in a prostitute, personally favouring those who shut up and got on with the task in hand. But then, one rarely got the opportunity to shag an Arab in those days, and certainly not in Old Rome. And, I dimly recall, it was a very passable shag, certainly worth every ounce of gold in the Nomisma I’d saved up from a week’s wages once I’d heard there were Arabs in town.
I never had time to reflect on it, though. Exiting the brothel, I suddenly found myself surrounded by armed men, dressed in the drab uniforms of the Papal Guard. The captain of the Guard, a portly fellow in his mid-forties was familiar to me- we’d worked together a few months back catching a thief in the Papal library. Now, though, his normally beaming face wore only a dark frown. He failed to make eye contact.
“Errikos Basileos”, he began; using, I noted, the formal Rhomanian form of my name- “I am here from the Lateran Palace, under orders of his Honourable Holiness the Kamemarios. You are to be escorted into the Holy Presence, and remain there until his Holiness sees fit”.
Well now, I thought, as the soldiers formed a tight phalanx about me, this was most interesting. Ever since the Holy Father and Patriarch Samuel had departed Old Rome to take up the throne of the New five years before, the Kamemarios had been the highest authority in all of Italy. Such was the extent of his power that he had even eclipsed the Catapan in Panormos. It was widely known that the Kamemarios was the only real confidant of the Pope-Emperor in the West, perhaps, even, in the whole Empire. And now, I was being taken into the man’s presence. What the devil did he want with me?
The Lateran Palace was an impressive building. It’d been restored under the Emperor George the Italian about a century before, and was decorated inside with gorgeous mosaic art, depicting George and his wife Zoe engaging in all sorts of holy activities, washing the feet of the poor, tending flocks of sheep and lambs, dedicating newly discovered icons. I crossed myself several times as we passed through the building, and made a mental note to confess my sins at the earliest opportunity. After all, who knew when the Almighty might choose to judge me?
To my surprise, I was led away from the main halls and down a long corridor, decorated with mosaics and statues of triumphant Emperors, all the way from the Blessed Constantine to David the Nazarene, the most recent occupant of the throne before Samuel. I was ushered into a small room, and then the soldiers left me alone.
It was a dark room, lit by a roaring fire, and a welcome contrast to the chill outside, which, even in March, was creeping in as evening approached. Stood at a large, marble-topped desk, were two men. One of them dominated the room- large, shaven-headed and aggressive looking. I wouldn’t have liked to have run into him on a dark night. But he wasn’t the one to whom my attention was drawn. Instead, I couldn’t help myself but be drawn to his companion.
The second man was small and thin, with neatly combed and short black hair. I couldn’t estimate his age, though he couldn’t have been much younger than forty, and was probably nearer fifty. His hands scurried about the desk, moving papers and documents around, back and forth, occasionally rapidly scrawling across one of them with a brightly coloured quill. His eyes were, proportionally, huge, and had the effect of making him look somewhat awkward and gangly, like one of the children at my school who’d been bullied by all. Most noticeably of all was his hunchback, and I noticed a wince of pain as he looked up at me.
“You are Enrico Baseggio?” His questioning, in Latin, was direct and to the point. Suddenly uncomfortably aware of who the short man was, I swallowed and nodded.
“I will forgive you for your impudence in merely standing before me. I am the Kamemarios of Rome, the deputy of his Imperial Holiness. This (he gestured to the tall man) is my friend and assistant, Magnus. Magnus is a Bithynian and speaks no Latin, so, rest assured, our conversation will remain in strictest secret between you and I. I expect you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here?”
“Yes, your honour. I can assure you I’ve not broken the law. In fact, I’ve worked in the Lateran before, you may have heard…”
The Kamemarios cut me off with a little flick of his wrist, almost as if he were swatting off a fly. “That’s not what I want of you, Enrico. I am indeed aware of your work in the Lateran last year, and was impressed with your efficiency and loyalty to Holy Mother Church. I also know you are a tutee to pupils at the Imperial Academy, and I hear your knowledge is impressive for a man of your age. That being so, I have decided to… reward you, for your services to the Church.”
“Thank you, your Honour.”
That same irritated flick of the wrist silenced me. “As you may be aware, three years ago, the Spanish broke away from Mother Church, and are currently engaged in blackest heresy. Our agents have even suggested to us that their King is courting the False Prophet of the Desert Faith, and is considering raising him to the status of a Saint in the Spanish Church. Since, in our kindness, we seek to divert them from this undoubted descent into Hell’s embrace, we need someone of education and ability to go to the Ruling City to compile enough evidence to dissuade the Spanish from this course of action”.
I quickly turned this over in my mind. It seemed unlikely to me that the Empire was particularly interested in the antics of Spanish heretics- it’d only been a couple of decades before that we’d crushed heresy on our own without much difficulty, and no dossiers of evidence had been needed then. It had been all blood and violence in those days, or so my mother told me, when my father had led a battalion of soldiers and died in the fighting. I had no desire to get caught up in anything like that.
“Much as I am honoured that you would consider me for such an assignment, sir, I’m afraid I cannot accept. I must stay in Old Rome to care for my mother”.
The Kamemarios looked at me in polite fury. His companion, on the other hand, looked ready to explode. Lunging across the table at me, he cursed in Rhomanian “You dare speak in such a way to us?! My master should have you flogged and thrown into the Milanese death pits!”
“Magnus…” The Kamemarios’ tone was gently threatening, speaking now in Rhomanian. “That will do.”
“If that is your final answer, Enrico, then I must accept it. But, before I do so, I must say I am impressed at your dedication to your mother. Plenty of sons would jump at the opportunity to see the Ruling City, parents or not. Why do you persist in your loyalty to an old woman who can offer you very little?”
“I am all Mother has. It wouldn’t be Christian to abandon her.”
The Kamemarios smiled broadly. “Quite so. And, I’m sure you’d agree, it would be equally un-Christian to go cavorting with desert whores behind her back?”
My heart sank. The Kamemarios, it seemed, had backed me into a corner. There was no escape now. He must have seen my facial expression, because he smiled still more broadly, and switched back into Latin.
“Come now, Enrico, we can help each other here. You will go to Constantinople to find me the evidence I need, and, in return, I’ll personally make sure your mother enjoys the finest care in all of Rome. And she needn’t hear about any of your little indiscretions.”
I nodded, struck dumb by the man’s effortless triumph over me. The Kamemarios smiled still more broadly, his large eyes quivering with mirth in their sockets.
“Then, dear Enrico, I salute you for your loyalty to the Church. You will travel with the party of Saracens that I brought to Rome in order to escort you to the City. I wish you a pleasant voyage, and eagerly await your return to us come the autumn.”
And with that, I was off, bundled out of the Lateran, hurriedly explaining things to my tearful mother, and then off down to Ostia with that party of grim faced Arabs. I didn’t know it then, but my real life began that day. The Ruling City, the New Rome, the Citadel of Emperors awaited me. I was sailing for Constantinople.