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everything flowed through the Golden Horn, and, and what we could do as traders--
Krasicki lifted a palm. Hold. Perhaps later, when we have more manpower, a wider network, perhaps
then that will be worthwhile. But at present we re too sharply limited in the man-years available to us. We
cannot squander them. Never forget, we must complete Phase One by a definite date. No, Havig, what
is necessary is a quicker and more direct approach.
What--?
Given a large hoard of coin and treasure, we can finance ourselves in an era when this is currency. But
you know your-self how cumbersome is the transportation of goods through time. Therefore we must
acquire our capital on the ... on the spot? ... yes, on the spot. And, as I said, quickly.
Havig s suspicions exploded in dismay. You can t mean by robbery!
No, no, no. Krasicki shook his head. Think. Listen. A raid on a peaceful city, massive enough to reap
a useful harvest, that would be dangerously conspicuous. Could get into the his-tory books, and that
could wreck our cover. Besides, it would be dangerous in itself, too. Our men would have small
numbers, not overly well supplied with firearms. They would not have powered vehicles. The Byzantine
army and police were usually large and well-disciplined. No, I don t propose madness.
What, then?
Taking advantage of chaos, in order to remove what would otherwise be stolen by merciless invaders
for no good pur-pose.
Havig stared.
In 1204, his superior went on, Constantinople was cap-tured by the armies of the Fourth Crusade.
They plundered it from end to end; what remained was a broken shell. He waved an arm. Why should
we not take a share? It s lost to the own-ers anyway. He peered at the other s face before adding:
And, to be sure, we arrange compensation, give them protec-tion from slaughter and rapine, help them
rebuild their lives.
Judas priest! Havig choked. A hijacking!
Having briefed himself in the Eyrie s large microtape library, having had a costume made and similar
details taken care of, he embarked.
An aircraft deposited him near the twenty-first-century ruins of Istanbul and took off again into the air as
quickly as he into the past. A lot of radioactivity lingered in these ashes. He hadn t yet revealed the fact
of his chronolog and must find his target by the tedious process of counting sun-traverses, adding an
estimate of days missed, making an initial emergence, and zeroing in by trial and error.
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Leonce had been furious at being left behind. But she lacked the knowledge to be useful here, except as
companion and con-soler. Indeed, she would have been a liability, her extreme for-eignness drawing
stares. Havig meant to pass for a Scandinavian on pilgrimage--Catholic, true, but less to be detested than
a Frenchman, Venetian, Aragonese, anyone from those western Mediterranean nations which pressed
wolfishly in on the dying Empire. As a Russian he would have been more welcome. But Russians were
common thereabouts, and their Orthodox faith made them well understood. He dared not risk a slip.
He didn t start in the year of the conquest. That would be too turbulent, and every outsider too suspect,
for the detailed study he must make. The Crusaders actually entered Constan-tinople in 1203, after a
naval siege, to install a puppet on its throne. They hung around to collect their pay before proceed-ing to
the Holy Land. The puppet found his coffers empty, and temporized. Friction between East Romans and
Franks swelled to terrifying proportions. In January 1204, Alexius, son-in-law of the deposed
Emperor, got together sufficient force to seize palace and crown. For three months he and his people
strove to drive the Crusaders off. Their hope that God would somehow come to their aid collapsed when
Alexius, less gal-lant than they, despaired and fled. The Crusaders marched back through opened
portals. They had worked themselves into hom-icidal self-righteousness about Greek perfidy, and the
horror began almost at once.
Havig chose spring, because it was a beautiful season, in 1195, because that was amply far downtime,
for his basic job of survey. He carried well-forged documents which got him past the city guards, and
gold pieces to exchange fornomismae. Al-ter finding a room in a good inn-nothing like the pigsty he d
have had to endure in the West-he started exploring.
His prior visit had been to halcyon 1050. The magnificence he now encountered, the liveliness and
cosmopolitan colorful-ness, were no less. However raddled her dominion, New Rome remained the
queen of Europe.
Havig saw her under the shadow.
The house and shop of Doukas Manasses, goldsmith, stood on a hill near the middle of the city.
Square-built neighbors elbowed it, all turning blind faces onto the steep, wide, well-paved and
well-swept street. But from its flat roof you had a superb view, from end to end of the vast, towered
walls which enclosed the city, and further: across a maze of thoroughfares, a countlessness of dweffings
and soaring church domes; along the grand avenue called the Mesé to flowering countryside past the
Gate of Charisius, on inward by columns which upbore statuary from the noblest days of Hellas,
monasteries and mu-seums and libraries which preserved works by men like Aes-chylus and women like
Sappho that later centuries would never read, through broad forums pulsing with life, to the Hippo-drome
and that sprawling splendid complex which was the Im-perial Palace. On a transverse axis, vision
reached from glittering blue across the Sea of Marmora to a mast-crowded Golden Horn and the rich
suburbs and smaragdine heights beyond.
Traffic rivered. The noise of wheels, hoofs, feet, talk, song, laughter, sobbing, cursing, praying blended
together into one ceaseless heartbeat. A breeze carried a richness of odors, sea, woodsmoke, food,
animals, humanity. Havig breathed deep.
Thank you, Kyrios Hauk, Doukas Manasses said. You are most courteous to praise this sight. His
manner implied mild surprise that a Frank would not sneer at everything Greek. To be sure, Hauk
Thomasson was not really a Frank or one of the allied English, he was from a boreal kingdom.
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Less courteous than you, Kyrios Manasses, to show me it, Havig replied.
They exchanged bows. The Byzantines were not basically a strict folk-besides their passionate religion
and passionate sense for beauty, they had as much bustling get-up-and-go, as much inborn gusto, as
Levantines in any era-but their upper classes set store by ceremonious politeness.
You expressed interest, Doukas said. He was a gray-bearded man with handsome features and
nearsighted eyes. His slight frame seemed lost in the usual dalmatic robe.
I merely remarked, Kyrios, that a shop which produced such elegance as does yours must be
surrounded by inspira-tion. You could case public buildings easily enough; but your way to learn what
private hands held what wealth was to go in, say you were looking for a gift to take home, and inspect a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
