Chapter 193: The No-laughing Order
When the group finally stepped into the grounds of the Grand Imperial Palace, the things Heraclius had taught them in class finally appeared in three-dimensional form.
Constantinople is likewise a city built on hills, also known as the City of Seven Hills, sharing the same nickname as ancient Rome once had.
When Emperor Constantine the Great chose this place as the site for his New Capital, did he gaze upon it and think of another ancient and great Great City?
He may have once vowed to build his New Rome more magnificent and splendid than the original Rome. And he did so, even though Constantinople has beggars and slums, but at least in places like the Hippodrome, the cathedral, and the Grand Imperial Palace, they are in no way inferior to the palaces built by the emperors of Ancient Rome over the generations.
This is a vast complex of buildings, several times larger than the adjacent Hippodrome.
The Emperor lives here, enjoys pleasures, and handles state affairs—past Roman emperors could walk the streets, in the barracks, and chat freely with the commoners in the baths, but today’s Roman emperor is surrounded by layers of eunuchs, making it hard for commoners to catch a glimpse of him, and even generals and subjects need layers of announcements.
The court today is as bustling and noisy as ever, but everyone’s face bears a subtle smile. Manuel I still refuses to admit that all he got from the campaign against Arslan II was utter failure.
He believes that, in any case, he brought the main force of this great army back to Constantinople intact, without causing too much loss to his subjects, but everyone has eyes, mouths, and ears. The nobles, generals, and governors who followed him back not only gained nothing but nearly died at the hands of the Turks they had always despised.
Though they are full of anger, it is now impossible to organize another expedition, at least for the next few years—their anger will only be directed at Manuel I.
When Alexios led the group into the great hall where the banquet was held, the gazes of some nobles were even more meaningful. Not every action of Manuel I can be called wrong, such as turning his eldest son into an illegitimate son and depriving him of his due power.
It can only be said that after this great defeat, if Alexios were still the Emperor’s eldest son with legitimate status and inheritance rights, his subjects would surely have swarmed forward long ago to strip the Emperor of his silk clothes, remove the purple-red sandals from his feet, and exile him to a monastery.
Unfortunately, Manuel I now has only a six-year-old son, and he is the son of a Frankish woman. After succession, his Frankish mother would certainly act as Regent, and the people of the Byzantine Empire despise her utterly.
Manuel I’s first wife was also a foreigner—Conrad III’s sister-in-law, equally dull and uninteresting. She regarded some behaviors of the Byzantine nobles as blasphemy and crime, constantly rebuking them, never realizing how dangerous it was for a lone woman to marry into such a distant and unfamiliar nation without knowing how to hide her edge.
Sure enough, after giving birth to one son and two daughters, she died. People say she died of illness, but who knows?
Though Manuel I appeared extremely angry and grief-stricken, there must have been some instigation from him—by then he had already arranged with Constance of Antioch to marry her daughter Mary.
The nobles of the court, with the Emperor’s tacit approval, did away with the first Queen, but the second Queen also failed to win their favor.
They all suspect whether this is a common trait of Frankish women, who think themselves pious and chaste, yet never consider that everything in the world cannot be judged solely by the books they have read or the teachings they have heard.
It can only be said that she can still endure it now only because she is one of the many bridges from the Byzantine Empire to Antioch. Until Antioch is fully annexed, she can still live that life she thinks is peaceful.
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The banquet is held in the Golden Banquet Hall.
What people see first, of course, is still Manuel I. The Emperor wears a heavy crown, almost as large as a whole stone cannonball, towering high on that aging head, its brilliance making the Emperor appear even more pale and frail.
By past customs, it is not suited to appear in such a lighthearted and pleasant occasion.
Everyone knows full well that this is Manuel I’s shield, not a crown. He is reminding people that he is still the master of the entire Byzantium, the monarch appointed by God.
But this silent proclamation is like the purple-red robe on his body—though thick and stiff, it is hollow inside.
However, when the Emperor holds the holy orb and scepter, wears purple-red leather sandals on his feet, and sits solemnly on that golden throne, all that is seen are figures prostrating on the ground.
No matter what they think, whether the officials in white robes with purple trim or the generals wearing lamellar armor, at this moment they still address him as “Basileus” and remain his slaves and tools.
This thought satisfies him. In this situation, the few who have risen from the table without kneeling stand out conspicuously.
“Are those the barbarians from Ayyarasa Road?”
After being permitted to rise, a friend of a deacon official whispered, this deacon official handles diplomatic affairs. He looked up: “Yes, that is the King of Ayyarasa Road, the Count of Edessa, the Count of Tripoli, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller.”
The layout of the Golden Banquet Hall completely follows the Roman architectural form. It is a huge rectangular hall with colonnades on the outside, one side fully open facing the sea.
In this great hall, diners need only look up to see the clear blue firmament, the surging sea, and the white sails drifting between heaven and earth. Whether at dawn, noon, dusk, or night, it presents various different beautiful scenes.
But today, people find it hard to appreciate the golden sunlight and the tides. Who are they? Everyone is asking the same question as the deacon official’s friend.
Manuel I’s position is, of course, the best. The original designer even extended a small hall with a round dome at the northernmost end of this building, which drew criticism from some priests because it too resembled the apse of a church.
Especially the place where the Emperor’s dining table is set—if this were in a church, it should hold the holy altar.
Undoubtedly, the designer’s—or rather Manuel I’s—intention was to place the earthly monarch alongside the heavenly Master, but using this relatively subtle metaphorical technique, making it hard for priests to openly criticize or obstruct.
But for the Emperor, this position is entirely what he deserves. He sits at the dining table, beside him his wife and son. Because the young prince is only six years old, he is still tightly held in the Empress’s arms.
Manuel I feels a trace of satisfaction over this. As long as the officials of the Byzantine Empire are not foolish enough to cheer for the rule of a Frankish woman, they will never easily overthrow him.
They are dissatisfied? No problem. Once the first batch of tax revenue from the provinces arrives, he will have a powerful weapon to persuade them.
On both sides of the domed small hall, there are nine large alcoves recessed inward. In a church, such alcoves are generally used to place holy images; now each is a dining room that can seat six people.
It easily evokes the small dining rooms Ancient Romans used to entertain relatives and friends. In the courtyard-style residences of Ancient Romans, there was generally a large dining room that could accommodate ten or even dozens of people.
But some residences also had small dining rooms, usually on one side of the master’s quarters, secluded, with only three dining couches—one for the master, two for guests. Even if two people could lie on one couch, it could only seat four at a time.
The tables between the dining couches were even small and exquisite. Slaves often had to repeatedly clear old dishes to make room for new ones—while the master and guests, amid repeated toasts, would settle deals or conspiracies.
And these nine alcove-style small dining rooms are only for those closest to Manuel I, either blood relatives or his most trusted ministers.
Previously, the dining room closest to Manuel I belonged to Alexios, but today he has stepped back, yielding the position to several unfamiliar Frankish knights, two young men among them especially noteworthy: one in a white silk fitted outer garment, the other in a black velvet fitted outer garment.
The only similarity is that both wear a deep purple sleeveless cloak. This is a gift from Manuel I; those who can wear this color can almost be called Caesar—the title second only to Manuel I in honor.
People soon learned that these two young men are Baldwin IV, King of Ayyarasa Road, and his close friend Count Caesar of Edessa. No one objects to the King of Ayyarasa Road receiving the purple robe reward, but Count Caesar received it because he saved the Emperor in the swamp.
“If he knew what a great mistake he had made, he would surely beat his chest in agony,” the deacon official’s friend said in an extremely faint voice, almost inaudible to others.
“Don’t talk nonsense, he’s not a Byzantine,” the deacon official glared at him. His friend indeed smiled and said no more, instead continuing to watch the two young men. This action is not abrupt; in fact, almost everyone present is observing them openly, cautiously, or covertly.
“This isn’t as good as that little thing you made,” Baldwin tried the dinner fork and said somewhat dissatisfied. He was of course referring to the chopsticks made from branches that Caesar had casually fashioned when he first came to serve him.
People at this time, especially those who believe in God, still consider eating with fingers a matter of course. Why else would God give you five fingers?
It’s just that commoners use five fingers to grab food, while nobles use three fingers, though equally getting greasy and dirty. When they pick up food with thumb, index, and middle fingers, they feel far more noble and elegant than commoners.
But just as they always see the people of the Byzantine Empire as heretics, the people of the Byzantine Empire also see them as a group of uncivilized barbarians.
They began using dinner forks and spoons over a hundred years ago, but the forks have only two prongs unlike the later three-pronged ones, and are smaller in size; the spoons are similarly so. This causes Christian knights accustomed to eating with fingers to fumble awkwardly with forks, unsure how to handle their relation to the food.
For example, Raymond beside them and the two Grand Masters simply abandoned the utensils. Anyway, this is flashy but impractical stuff invented by Byzantines—they say this while still eating with fingers.
In contrast, Caesar and Baldwin use both utensils very well.
Because of the chronic illness that never leaves Baldwin’s body, Caesar is very attentive to his personal hygiene. Though eating with fingers won’t worsen the condition, if done at every meal three times a day without frequent bathing and changing clothes, such habits will inevitably attract insects’ pursuit and bites, which destroy the skin’s outer barrier, causing swelling and ulceration—ordinary people heal quickly or can at worst seek priests, but Baldwin cannot.
Therefore, except at more formal banquets, in private when only he and Caesar are present, Baldwin also uses utensils, mostly spoons of course, and chopsticks provided by Caesar. Anyway, after the meal, such utensils can be snapped and tossed into the fireplace without anyone noticing.
But when using the dinner fork, though his right hand does not go numb like his left from time to time, it still cannot match Caesar’s dexterity. He looks enviously at Caesar using the fork to pick up slippery sweet-and-sour shrimp, scoop up rolling olives, and lift soft goat cheese whole into his mouth.
“How do you do it?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Lighter touch, take it slow, no rush—anyway, no one here will hurry us,” Caesar said. Before coming here, he had used chopsticks for decades and was long adept at controlling finger strength.
Though Baldwin had also used chopsticks with him for a few years, he still struggled with balance and force, not to mention that the heavy pure gold dinner fork is far clumsier than light wooden chopsticks.
