Traveller Probo
109. 11th Century Constantinople

Bishop Leto of the Roman delegation raised his arm to point accusingly as he cried, “For the Lord’s ways are his ways, not to be altered by the frailties of man.”

The Patriarch opened his mouth to respond angrily but Emperor Basil interrupted sternly, as if addressing a child. “Good Bishop Leto, we’re grateful, as always, to have the presence of the Bishops from old Rome at court but here is not the place to quibble of the finer points of God’s laws.”

The Roman Bishop raised his head in fury at the criticism but the Emperor would not be cowed. “We respect that you have travelled far and wish to offer the appropriate courtesies as befitting your embassage but matters of which you desire to speak are not for court.”

The Patriarch nodded and muttered, “Heretics,” and the Bishop looked across in naked fury. Brother Bartolomaeus promptly turned to whisper in his master’s ear. The representative of Rome glared at his aide before he reluctantly gave an almost imperceptible nod.

We have more important things to discuss,” cried the Patriarch, raising his booming voice to fill the courtyard, “for we have received a sign of favour from the Lord of Hosts himself. The great eagle, symbol of our Holy Emperor, delivered to us a holy cross from heaven. What more do we need? This is a sign of His love and His desire to end your heresy. That this should happen on your arrival should be apparent, even to you!” he added angrily as he looked to Bishop Leto’s delegation.

In all the confusion, Bishop Leto and the delegation of old Rome had followed the miraculous manifestation into the audience area and commented without permission. At their presence, the Emperor had merely rolled his eyes and would have had them thrown out, except for the sensitive nature of their embassy.

“Or,” replied the Bishop angrily, “It is a sign of Rome casting down the cross of unbelievers.”

Even the Emperor responded angrily at this. “Beware, Bishop Leto. Remember that the Church is under my stewardship as Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. I won’t have heretical language in the Radiant City, whether you are an honoured guest or not. Say anything like that again, and I’ll have you publicly flogged and sent back to your Pope in pieces.”

The priests from Rome hissed their dismay but realising that none in the audience chamber would give heed to any of their commands, wisely fell silent.

Professor Taylor and his men stood off to one side, gestured there by the Emperor himself. The atmosphere in the court was strained, as the events of the past moments were beyond the experience of those present. Representatives from the powerful ruling families gathered to closely scrutinise the Emperor’s reactions.

“I suggest that the interpretations to this auspicious event are the domain of the Church’s spiritual leader, the Patriarch,” Emperor Basil mused. “But know this! The Eagle is a sign of the People of Rumi and of the Lord’s Holy Emperor. In gifting of the Cross, this holy sign of God’s pleasure with his people can only be a sign of his approval, of his love.” He looked to the Patriarch, who nodded sagely. The Bishop from Rome made a noise as if he was being strangled.

“I will ponder on this and direct you as men of God to seek wisdom, so we can understand the event for what it is, a miracle,” the Emperor pronounced.

He nodded to the Patriarch and one of his entourage then gestured the officers carrying the UAV to follow. Others shepherded the Roman delegation, who followed reluctantly. Bishop Leto’s face flushed in rage.

One of the court officials gestured for Professor Taylor, the Travellers and their hosts also to vacate but the Emperor stopped them. “No, I want these to stay,” he ordered curtly.

He looked to the ribbon that still coiled around his boots.

“This is a gift of great import,” he mused aloud. “Your gift was given, then the holy cross makes itself manifest. To me this might mean your presence has special significance.” He looked at McFee a moment and frowned slightly, as if in thought. “Lord Taylor, I will treat your presence as a prelude to a formal embassage from your people. I encourage your people of Aengland to return and bring your wares to our great city, through the capable hands of Florian tou Christophorou of the textile workers guild and Leon of Hadrianopolis of the leather working guild. Both are known as friends of the court.”

Leon and Florian sucked in their breaths with a hiss of barely restrained excitement. Repeated endorsement from the Emperor himself would mean significant contracts and untold wealth and influence.

Professor Taylor bowed deeply, “It shall be done Basileus,” he responded, secretly relieved that their stressful time in court was over.

But the Emperor had not finished. “Until their return I extend my courtesy and hospitality to you as an esteemed visitor and representative of your people. I suggest that your hosts gift your companions with some of the finest wares from our great city. This will convince your people of the importance of trade and the supply of your wares. We can discuss more on their return. But until then, you will remain as my guest.”

The academic looked up in confusion. Did the Emperor aim to hold him as a hostage until a shipment of ribbon was delivered? What would that kind of interference do to their timeline? At his look, the Emperor continued with a smile. “Worry not, Lord Taylor, you are my guest and will be given every courtesy as befitting your rank. I suggest you keep your guard with you, so you won’t want for company,” he gestured to McFee.

Before the academic could reply, the Emperor nodded to one of his officials, who bowed deeply before they were led from the chamber. Professor Taylor looked back to Basil the Bulgar Slayer, not a man to offend. The Emperor watched McFee curiously as they passed through the great doors where more supplicants waited.

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