The Byzantine Wager

Chapter 22 - The Hagia Sophia

Chapter 22

The Hagia Sophia

The Milion, navel of the Empire, was an architectural marvel. Another tetrapylon - four massive square marble pillars connected by beautifully decorated carved arches rising twelve meters to a domed vault.

Cyn spat in the dust at the base. "You called it 'The Golden Milestone.' Where's the gold?"

"Damned if I know, but everyone calls it that." As impressive as the Milion was, it was dwarfed by the buildings around it. To the right stood the massive walls of the Hippodrome with a small crowd of vendors already coming and going even though the races were not set to start for a few hours. Ahead of the Milion stood a large square with an impossibly tall column, covered not in gold, but beaten bronze. At the top was a statue of an emperor on horseback. Cyn could make out that the emperor held a globe in one hand while his other pointed to the east. To the left rose the basilica of Hagia Sophia - Holy Wisdom. The largest church - no, surely the largest building on Earth. The square was surrounded by colonnades and served as a forecourt to both the Great Palace and the Basilica. They made their way past the patriarch's palace towards the cool shady atrium of the Hagia Sophia. The great bronze doors were open and passing through, they entered.

Cyn's eyes were drawn upward toward the vaulted dome of the ceiling which seemed to float overhead, dim in the light diffusing through the redolent clouds given off by burning incense.

"The stone," Cyn said aloud. "Good Christ above, how does the stone not come crashing down upon us?" He figured, in his rough way of estimating things beyond his understanding, that the stone must weigh as much or more than the Margrave's keep, or say perhaps a fleet of ships. He knew that it was built by the hands of men, hundreds of them, over the course of years for certain, but it seemed as if only the hand of God alone kept the immense weight of the dome from crushing all who stood below. Mid-morning sunbeams streamed in from windows under the dome and caught tendrils of smoke dancing heavenward.

Pons glanced at Cyn. His jaw was indeed hanging slackly like a yokel. "Lord Conrad told me that it has come crashing down before. This is the third church on this spot. One fell. One burnt. Long ago. In the time of the saints."

"What keeps it up?" He felt uncomfortable, as if he should keep his head bowed under the tons of rock above.

"The columns."

Cyn's gaze followed the motes of dust and smoke down the smooth lengths of porphyry columns - one hundred four of them - spaced evenly to hold the vault of heaven. Around the base of the barrel dome he could make out the soot darkened faces of stern, long dead emperors and their empresses staring down, their likenesses picked out in blue mosaic tile. The smoke rose from candles and incense which adorned shrines standing at the base of each column. Icons of the Madonna and saints rested on many.

"There is a shrine for each malady which can afflict mankind," Pons explained. "Diseased kidneys. One for the lame. There is a column of the blind."

"Have they one for my ass? After riding across Greece, I should light a candle at that one."

An old man with a threadbare tunic and a twisted leg prostrated himself, his wooden crutch on the floor beside him. At another pillar a mother rocked a feverish squalling baby. Tears wet both of their faces.

Pons spotted a cleric in a fine cassock who carried himself with an air of authority. "Good Day, Father." He spoke in his best Greek as he smiled his most agreeable grin. After explaining that he was an envoy from the Marquis of Montferrat and needed to speak with the Patriarch himself, he slipped a few coins into the priest's palm, enough to be taken seriously. The priest hurried off to speak with a superior.

While he waited Pons lit a candle and knelt at an altar graced with an elaborate icon of the Holy Mother raising her right hand in benediction while holding a serious Christ child in her left. Cyn, seeing that they may have to wait awhile, shrugged his shoulders and knelt as well.

"Deus Gratia for seeing us through." After a month on the road without serious incident, the sentiment from both men was genuine.

"Mothers." Pons muttered looking at the Madonna's benevolent face. "We should make the request to bury Lord Renier on behalf of Lady Johanna. Might sound better if it came from his momma."

"I don't know why we are even bothering to ask. Why not simply find the fisherman, have him show us where poor Renier is buried, dig him up, and plant him again in a nice church yard? There must be a church which observes the Latin rite, somewhere outside of the walls perhaps? Why pass out coin to the priests?"

"Things are different here. Things happen slowly. And nothing at all happens without you spending some money."

"That doesn't sound different. That sounds the same as home."

"We are paying for information. How does the church sit with all that is going on these days? Huh? So we drop a few coins in the poor box and ask a few polite questions. Find out. Learn. Maybe make friends. We might be here for no small time. Useful people - priests. Useful places - churches. Sanctuary. A place to pray, to flee to, to hide, to recover. We need to stay right with the church."

"Priests? Useful?" Cyn shrugged. "You are older, more experienced, and you have been here before. I'm sure you know what you are doing."

"See. Right there. That is the smartest thing I have ever heard you say." Pons breathed in deeply enjoying the scent of incense. "I love this place. Holy Wisdom is getting even to you." They continued to wait.

Pons asked, "Do you think this Madonna resembles Lady Joanna?"

Cyn considered the icon of the holy virgin. The white tile on the mosaic had yellowed with age and the grime of years of grease from tallow candles. She wore a blue shroud and held a dour Christ child. Their halos seemed more orange than golden in the dim light. Pons always thought images of Mary resembled Lord William's wife whom he adored - not in any romantic way, but with a worship which brooked no slight.

If you started Pons talking about Lady Joanna, he could gush. A paragon of all that was good in the world - piety, culture, family. Pons knew of all the noble dukes, counts, and bishops who were members of her famous family. A dutiful wife? Had she not born her husband five bold sons and three beautiful daughters? Was Lady Joanna pious? Pons could tell you about the purity of her voice in hymn, name every convent she had endowed, vouch for every coin dropped in a church poor box. If Lady Joanna patronized a troubadour or joglar it was in no way scandalous, it was because the man was an Aesop or Orpheus reborn. Perhaps it was because those things - home, grace, beauty - were so rare in the mercenary's world, that Pons was her champion in all things. For her part Lady Joanna appreciated the years of service Pons had given her husband, and treated him with courtesy and politeness despite his no account birth. To receive respect from a lady of Joanna's stature won Pons' undying affection. He served Lord William from loyalty, but Lady Joanna he served from love. In Pons' eyes it was Lady Joanna, not her famous cousin, Elenor of Aquitaine, who was the greatest beauty of the age. Seeing the image of the Madonna, his thoughts went to her. This entire journey to Constantinople to bury Renier and possibly avenge him was being undertaken at Lord William's command, but in Pons' mind he was really doing it for Lady Joanna. Renier, her youngest, had been her favorite.