Chapter 361 - 255: The Empress of All Cities

The massive city of Constantinople occupied a triangular piece of land, flanked by the sea on two sides, its walls towering and majestic.

The eastern side of the city had another set of walls and was protected on its right by a body of water known as the Arm of St. George. A massive iron chain guarded the end of this waterway, preventing ships from sailing up the wide estuary to attack the walls.

Ships bustled back and forth across the Golden Horn Bay, and among them, Eric’s ten vessels seemed unremarkable. The Pisans steered their ships into the bay, skillfully docking at Pulau Sipilian Port. Those aboard disembarked impatiently, their eyes ceaselessly darting about.

Throngs of people were here, every one of them vibrant and eye-catching in their own way.

There were Moors, Arabs, Italians, Slavs, Ward People, Estonians, Bolarians, Krivichs, the loud and plainly dressed Sviyars, and even the taller Dregovich People and Polyanians from Kyiv. They wore dazzling colors and baggy trousers like Scaputi, carrying long curved sabers without crossguards, their wooden hilts carved with patterns.

There were shaved heads, heads with thick braids by one or both ears, heads with braids down the back, and every combination thereof.

There were clean-shaven faces, faces with long, thin beards trailing to a point, thick beards, braided beards, messy hair, meticulously styled hair, and hair woven with beads and silver rings.

The merchant ships and surrounding stalls were laden with all sorts of goods: jars of honey, seal and deer hides, beaver and fox furs, as well as large barrels of whetstones, feather pillows, and sacks of salt.

Caravans from the East, from Syria and lands even further east, brought spices, gemstones, satin, Damascus Steel, and fine horses.

Silver flowed in continuously, traded by the Volga Bulgars from mines farther east. Merchants from Italy brought wool, linen, stained glass, Herring, beer, salt, and even fine bone needles.

Merchants and travelers from all over conversed in a myriad of languages.

The Knights and Priests who had never been to Constantinople before were stunned by the prosperity before them. They had never seen so many people or heard so many languages in a single city.

Although the Pisans were used to such sights, they didn’t slow down in the slightest. They had rowed until the calluses on their hands split, wanting only to set foot on dry land, eat a hot meal, have a drink, and find a prostitute.

Moreover, their Marquis, Eric, had promised to cover their expenses in Constantinople, on the condition that they didn’t go overboard, or it would be deducted from their pay.

Eric left a group of men to take inventory of the cargo in the holds, dispose of the two warhorses that had died from the heat, and find a stable for the remaining warhorses.

The Knights, for their part, ordered their Attendants to remain on the ships and guard their property and luggage. They planned to find a brothel first to relieve some tension.

Just as they were about to leave the port, they were stopped by a port official, a "Comms" (Komes). He intended to collect an entry tax, but when Brinyos put on his purple Cloak, the man immediately backed away.

Brinyos led Eric and his party through the Eugene Gate and into the inner city of Constantinople.

The main thoroughfare was lined with magnificent buildings, with arcades, fountains, and statues everywhere. The shops on both sides of the road sold a rich array of goods, and merchants were hawking their wares.

The people coming and going on the streets wore magnificent Byzantine robes. The women were draped in silk and wore exquisite headdresses, while the men had daggers and jewel-encrusted scabbards hanging from their waists.

Of course, there were less beautiful sights as well.

At the other end of Constantinople’s fashionable spectrum was a collection of dull faces and begging hands.

They were the disabled, the lame, and the leprous, most of whom, if unlucky, would die in the bitter cold of Winter.

Eric saw the blackened scars of a great fire on the streets, a blaze instigated by opponents of the previous Emperor, Nikephoros III. Although the fire had been extinguished, no one knew who had fanned the flames.

This was a prosperous and beautiful city, but also a decadent and black-hearted one. Sewage flowed from the gutters, black as a crow, a reminder that this place was coiled upon itself like a knot of stone serpents. Though the sculptor’s skill was so great as to bring them to life, delighting any who saw them, cruelty still lurked in Miklagard. Real serpents in the shadows were always flicking their tongues, waiting for anyone’s moment of weakness.

Eric also saw pilgrims from the West, as well as some of the city’s vagrants, gathered together.

There was a sea of tattered tents, simple shelters, and horse hitching posts.

In the pilgrims’ camp, women were stirring grain and vegetables in pots, or eating thin flatbreads and goat cheese.

One woman held a newborn, a child conceived in a time of peace when its parents had a roof over their heads and daily work. If it survived the entire journey, it would be a lucky child indeed, born on the road to the Holy Sepulchre.

Other women were already showing, their children conceived on the road. Many pilgrims had sworn vows of chastity but succumbed to temptation, while others preferred not to swear any vows, sowing their wild seed in the face of death.

Soon, Eric and his party arrived at the Empire’s Blacherna Palace, part of which was still under construction.

Scaffolding surrounded parts of the walls, where laborers worked hard, hoisting cut stone blocks and buckets full of mortar up to the construction platforms.

The clang of chisels against stone, the creak of winches, and the shouts of workers created a constant clamor.

The main palace was complete, its facade featuring marble-adorned arches and patterns formed from different colored stones.

Brinyos had Eric and his party wait outside the Blacherna Palace, telling them that once everything was ready, the Emperor himself would come out to receive them.

The Knights had no time to wait. They had little interest in this Greek Emperor and wanted to enjoy themselves in the city.

Eric found a tavern to have a drink and cool off for a while, then decided to wander the streets around the Blacherna Palace, eventually stopping in front of an old man selling baskets.

"Old-timer, I’d like to ask you something. How are things in Constantinople lately?"

"Is that all you want to ask?" The old man looked at Eric, puzzled. "Don’t you have eyes? Can’t you see for yourself?"

"As a foreigner, I can’t get a clear picture right away."

"Fine, fine. Blessings are everywhere, prosperity abounds, and joy is all around," the old man said, his tone clearly perfunctory as he looked away and fiddled with his baskets.

"I don’t think that’s quite the case."

"So you do have eyes after all. You don’t believe what you see, so you have to make me say it, is that it?" The old man stopped what he was doing and glanced sideways at Eric.