Chapter 411 - 291: Bohemond (3)

But Bohemond had no need to confront them; he was inclined to use them.

The party arrived at the tip of the peninsula, where every street and alley converged.

They soon understood why. They were entering a vast, open plaza known as Augustus Square.

To one side was the magnificent Saint Sophia Cathedral. Its dome, taller than any other church they had seen, was not made of copper but of gold, and its walls shimmered with silver and sea-blue mosaics.

The walls depicted the lives of the Saints, alongside a jewel-encrusted Statue of the Virgin Mary, her robes and Crown covered in precious stones. Light clouds floated at her feet; at first, Bohemond thought they were cotton, but upon closer inspection, he saw they were carved from alabaster and mother-of-pearl.

Opposite was the Emperor’s palace, known as the Grand Palace. Its walls rose hundreds of feet straight up from the plaza. Farther in the distance towered a massive arena, said to hold a hundred thousand spectators.

The palace walls were adorned with exceptionally fine mosaics, depicting stern, bearded men—the founders of the Byzantine Empire—their victories over various enemies, and the diverse forms of commerce that sustained the city.

The mosaics featured turquoise ships, sheaves of grain rendered in intricate patterns, and wagons laden with various goods. All of it shimmered in the morning light, as if pulsating with life.

They dismounted before the palace gates, where grooms in turbans and loose trousers took their horses. Count Raymond walked in the lead, with Bohemond and the other nobles following.

Raymond couldn’t resist looking up. The gates they passed through were as tall as the entrance to Heaven, their mahogany doors inlaid with bronze and studded with silver spikes that glittered in the sunlight.

A troop of armed guards escorted them into an inner courtyard. These guards were all tall Black men dressed in turquoise turbans and gold-trimmed robes. Suddenly, they all prostrated themselves on the ground. A deep drum began to beat, and two massive doors swung open, moving without a sound despite their immense weight.

Then, as if on some unseen signal, the entire court fell silent. They stood in the fragrant air, a warm sea breeze wrapping around them like a cloak.

The nobles entered the room.

The entire room was filled with the scent of sandalwood, which Bohemond found somewhat oppressive. At the far end of the room sat a solitary figure.

It was Emperor Alexios, seated on a remarkably simple wooden throne.

Alexios extended his hands. "My friends, welcome in the name of the Lord," he said. But he did not rise.

Count Raymond was the first to speak. "You received my messages."

Alexios smiled faintly. "Which one?" he asked. "The one from Sirembria, the one from Rhodosto, or the one about my dear brother? Do you still wish to wear his skin?"

Raymond said nothing more, merely grunting.

"We salute you, Your Majesty," Bohemond said.

"By the grace of God," Alexios replied with a smile. "I am glad you could make it."

Bohemond then turned to introduce the other nobles, but Alexios stopped him with a finger that flashed with the light of diamonds. "I know who they are," he said.

Count Raymond grudgingly thanked the Emperor for supplying the army, then asked bluntly, "When can we cross the strait?"

Alexios smiled at him and answered warmly, "As soon as you sign the agreement."

"What agreement?" Count Raymond demanded.

"Merely a formality," said Alexios. "You will register as my vassals and swear to return to me the lands you reconquer that were once part of my territory. In return, I will provide you with transport, equipment, and supplies, and I will recognize the marquisates you may establish in the Holy Land."

"Look, I’m a man who appreciates ceremony, but we have our Savior’s work to do, so I’ll dispense with the nonsense. I am a vassal of His Majesty Philip, King of the Franks, and you had the good fortune to imprison the King’s brother. More importantly, we have all sworn fealty to His Holiness Pope Gregory, so that ends this discussion of paperwork," Raymond roared, spitting.

He drew himself up again, crossing his arms and falling silent.

Alexios let his gaze sweep slowly over them before finally rising, adjusting his strings of pearls and his robes. Then he shouted, "You will either sign, or you will stay here!"

His voice echoed through the room, making the candlelight tremble. The sound was so sudden and piercing, but Count Raymond stood his ground, unmoved.

"I will not swear an oath to a Greek," Raymond said. "With or without your help, I will cross the strait into Syria!"

"You will not be able to leave this place!" Alexios said. "Not one ship will carry you, and no one will lift a finger to help. You will return to your homelands in shame and explain to your bishops and families why you let our Savior suffer in the prisons of the Turkic people!"

"You dare speak to me like that..." Raymond began, but Bohemond placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

Alexios took the opportunity to look at Bohemond, his old rival. "And what is your opinion, my friend Bohemond?"