"My lord, do not scorn portents. You yourself have seen how on the boy's face signs have appeared that were surely not there when he was alive. Isaac Angelus may be a petty weakling, but he hates you. Others, smaller and weaker than he, have made attempts on the life of men great and courageous as you, if ever there have been such.... Give me your consent, and this very night I will go and capture Angelus and tear out his eyes with my own hands, then I will hang him from a column of his palace. The people will be told that you received a message from heaven. Better to be rid at once of someone who does not yet threaten you, than leave him alive so that he may threaten you one day. Let us strike first."
"You are trying to use me to satisfy some grudge of your own," the basileus said, "but it may be that in doing evil you may also be favoring good. Get rid of Isaac for me. I only regret..." and he gave Zosimos such a look that he shivered with fear, "for, with Isaac dead, we will never know if he really wanted to harm me, or if this monk has told the truth. But in the end he has aroused in me a just suspicion, and if you think the worst, you are always right. Stephen, we are obliged to show him our gratitude. See that he has what he may ask." He made a gesture to the two attendants and went out, leaving Zosimos to recover slowly from the terror that had petrified him beside his basin.
"In fact, Agiochristoforites did hate Isaac Angelus, and obviously had arranged with Zosimos to make him fall out of favor," Niketas said. "But serving his own rancor did not do his master good, because as you must know, he hastened the basileus's ruin."
"I know," Baudolino said, "but actually, on that evening it mattered little to me that I understand what was going on. It was enough for me to know that now I had Zosimos in my grasp."
As soon as the sound of the royal visitors' footsteps had died away, Zosimos heaved a great sigh. The experiment, after all, had succeeded. He rubbed his hands, with a little smile of satisfaction, drew the boy's head from the water and laid it where it had been before. Then he turned, to examine the crypt, and began laughing hysterically, raising his arms and shouting: "I have the basileus in my power! Now I won't be afraid even of the dead!"
No sooner had he spoken than our friends slowly came out into the light. Those who perform magic, it so happens, finally are persuaded that, even if they don't believe in the devil, the devil surely believes in them. Seeing a band of lemurs arising as if it were Judgment Day, Zosimos, scoundrel though he was, at that moment behaved with exemplary spontaneity. Without trying to conceal his feelings, he fainted.
He came to as the Poet was sprinkling him with some divinatory water. He opened his eyes and found himself confronted by a Baudolino fearsome to see, more than if he were returning from the other world. At that moment Zosimos realized that, worse than the flames of an uncertain Hell, the certain vengeance of his former victim awaited him.
"I did it to serve my master," he hastened to say, "and to do you, too, a service: I've spread your letter more than you could ever have—"
Baudolino said: "Zosimos, I don't want to sound mean, but if I were to obey the inspiration I receive from Our Lord, I would smash your ass. But since that would be hard work, as you see, I am restraining myself." And he gave him a slap with the back of his hand that made his head spin around twice.
"I am a man of the basileus. If you touch a single hair of my beard, I swear—"
The Poet seized him by the hair, pulled his face to the flames that were still flickering around the basin, and Zosimos's beard began to smoke.
"You are all mad," Zosimos said, trying to elude the grip of Abdul and Kyot, who had grabbed him and were twisting his arms behind his back. And Baudolino, with a slap on the nape, pushed him headlong, to extinguish the beard's fire in the basin, preventing him from raising his head until the wretch, no longer fearing the fire, began to fear the water, and the more he feared it, the more he swallowed.
"From the bubbles you've made," Baudolino said serenely, pulling him up by the hair, "I can predict that tonight you will die not with your beard but with your feet toasted."
"Baudolino," Zosimos sobbed, vomiting water, "Baudolino, we can still come to some agreement.... Let me cough, I beg you. I can't escape. What are you going to do, all of you against one lone man? Have you no pity? Listen, Baudolino, I know you don't want to take revenge for that moment of weakness on my part; you want to reach the land of that Prester John of yours, and I told you I have the very map to get you there. If you throw dust on the fire of the hearth it will go out."
"What does that mean, you bandit? Enough of your pronouncements!"
"It means that if you kill me, you'll never see the map. Often fish, playing in the water, leap out beyond the confines of their natural dwelling. I can enable you to go far. Let us make a pact, like two honest men. You let me go, and I will lead you to the place where the map of Cosmas the Indicopleustes is. My life for the kingdom of Prester John. Doesn't that seem a fair bargain to you?"
"I'd rather kill you," Baudolino said, "but I need you alive to get the map."
"And afterwards?"
"Afterwards we'll keep you well tied up and wrapped in a carpet until we find a reliable ship that will take us far from here, and only then will we unroll the carpet, because if we let you go at once you will immediately have every killer in the city on our heels."
"And you'll unroll it in the water..."
"Enough! We're not murderers. If I wanted to kill you later, I wouldn't be slapping you now. And—you see?—I do it for a good reason, personal satisfaction, since I don't plan to do anything worse." And he began calmly dealing out blows, first with one hand, then with the other, one blow swinging the head to the left, another swinging it to the right, twice with the palm hard, twice with tensed fingers, twice with the back of the hand, twice with the edge, twice with the fists, until Zosimos became purplish and Baudolino had almost dislocated his wrists. "Now it's beginning to hurt me," he said, "and I'll stop. Let's go see this map."
Kyot and Abdul dragged Zosimos by the armpits, for by now he could no longer stand on his own feet, and could barely point out the way with a trembling finger, as he murmured: "The monk who is despised and bears it is like a plant that is watered every day."
Baudolino said to the Poet: "Zosimos once taught me that anger more than any other passion upsets and troubles the soul, but sometimes helps it. When in fact we use it calmly against the wicked and sinners to save them or confound them, we give the soul sweetness, because we are proceeding directly towards the ends of justice." Rabbi Solomon commented: "As the Talmud says, there are punishments that cleanse all the iniquities of a man."
21. Baudolino and the sweets of Byzantium
The monastery of Katabates was in ruins, and everyone now considered it uninhabited, but at ground level some cells still existed, and the old library, now without books, had become a kind of refectory. Here Zosimos lived with two or three acolytes, and only God knew what their monastic rites were. When Baudolino and the others emerged from underground with their prisoner, the acolytes were sleeping, but, as was clear the following morning, they were sufficiently stupefied by their excesses that they did not represent a danger. The group decided it was best to sleep in the library. Zosimos had troubled dreams as he lay on the ground between Kyot and Abdul, who had now become his guardian angels.
In the morning all sat around a table, and Zosimos was invited to come to the point.
"The point is," Zosimos said, "that the map of Cosmas is in the Bucoleon palace, in a place known to me and where only I have access. We will go there late this evening."
"Zosimos," Baudolino said, "you are beating about the bush. First of all, explain to me clearly what this map says."
"Why, it's quite simple, isn't it?" Zosimos said, taking a parchment and a stylus. "I told you that every Christian who follows the true faith must agree to the fact that the world is made like the tabernacle of which the Scriptures speak. Now listen carefully to what I say: in the lower part of the tabernacle there was a table with twelv
e loaves of bread and twelve fruits, one for each month of the year; all around the table ran a plinth that depicted the Ocean, and around the plinth there was a frame one palm wide that depicted the land of the beyond, where to the east the Earthly Paradise is situated. The sky was represented by the vault, which rested entirely on the extremities of the earth, but between the vault and the base extended the veil of the firmament, beyond which lies the celestial world that only one day will we see face to face. In fact, as Isaiah said, God is he who is seated above the earth, whose inhabitants are as locusts. He who like a thin veil has unfurled the sky and spread it out like a tent. And the psalmist praises him who spreads out the sky like a pavilion. Then Moses placed, below the veil, south of the candelabrum that illuminated all the expanse of the earth, seven lamps to signify the seven days of the week and all the stars of the sky."
"But you are explaining to me how the tabernacle was made," Baudolino said, "not how the universe is made."
"But the universe is made like the tabernacle, and so if I explain to you what the tabernacle was like, I am explaining what the universe is like. Why can't you understand something so simple? Look..." And he made a drawing.
It showed the form of the universe, exactly like a temple, with its curving vault, whose upper part remained concealed from our eyes by the veil of the firmament. "Below the ecumen extends, that is, all the inhabited earth, which, however, is not flat, but rests on the Ocean, which surrounds it, and rises through an imperceptible and continuous slope towards the extreme north and towards the west, where a mountain stands, so high that its presence escapes our eye and its peak is lost in the clouds. The sun and the moon, moved by the angels—to whom we owe also rain, earthquake, and all other atmospheric phenomena—pass in the morning from east towards the south, in front of the mountain, and illuminate the world, and in the evening they reascend towards the west and disappear behind the mountain, giving us the impression of sunset. And so, while for us night is falling, on the other side of the mountain it is day, but that day is seen by no one, because the mountain on the other side is desert, and no one has ever been there."
"And with this drawing we're supposed to find the land of Prester John?" Baudolino asked. "See here, Zosimos, our agreement was your life for a good map, but if the map is no good, then the conditions change."
"Calm down. Considering that, to depict the tabernacle as it is, our art is incapable of showing everything that remains covered by its walls and by the mountain, Cosmas drew another map, which shows the earth as if we were looking down on it from above, flying in the firmament, as the angels see it. This map, which is kept in the Bucaleon, shows the position of the lands that we know, included within the frame of the Ocean, and beyond the Ocean, the lands inhabited by man before the Flood, where, after Noah, no one has ever set foot."
"Once again, Zosimos," Baudolino said, putting on a ferocious face, "if you think that by talking to us of things you won't let us see—"
"But I see these things, as if they were here before my eyes, and soon you will also see them."
With that haggard face, made all the more pathetic by the bruises, his eyes shining with things that only he could discern, Zosimos was convincing even to those who distrusted him. It was his strength, Baudolino explained to Niketas, and in this way he had hoodwinked him before, and was hoodwinking him now and would continue to do so for several more years. He was so convincing that he wanted even to clarify how it was possible, with the tabernacle of Cosmas, to explain eclipses also, but eclipses didn't interest Baudolino. What convinced him was that with the true map perhaps they could really set out in search of the Priest. "Very well," he said, "we'll wait till this evening."
Zosimos had one of his monks serve some cooked greens and fruit, and when the Poet asked if there was nothing else, he answered: "Frugal food, uniformly regulated, will quickly lead the monk to the harbor of his invulnerability." The Poet told him to go to the devil, then seeing that Zosimos ate with great gusto, he looked more closely into the dish of greens and discovered that the acolytes had concealed there, just for Zosimos, some nice chunks of fat lamb. Without a word, he exchanged plates.
So they were prepared to spend the day waiting when one of the acolytes entered with a stunned expression and reported what was happening. In the night, immediately after the ritual, Stephen Agiochristoforites, with a squad of armed men, went to the house of Isaac Angelus, near the Pribleptos monastery, the shrine of the Famous Virgin, and called for his enemy in a loud voice to come forth; or, rather, he shouted to his own men to break down the door, seize Isaac by the beard, and carry him out head down. Isaac then—though according to report he was hesitant and fearful—decided to risk all or nothing: he seized a horse in the courtyard and, sword drawn, scantily clad, a bit ridiculous with his two-colored cloak that barely reached his loins, suddenly rode out, catching his enemy by surprise. The Agiochristoforites didn't have time to draw his own weapon when Isaac, with a single blow of his sword, split his enemy's head in two. Then he turned to the now bicephalic Stephen's henchmen, slicing the ear off one of them, as the others ran away in fear.
Killing the emperor's trusted aide was an extreme act, and demanded an extreme remedy. Isaac, revealing a great sense of how the populace should be dealt with, dashed to Saint Sophia, demanding the asylum that tradition granted homicides, and loudly implored forgiveness for his own misdeed. He tore off what little clothing he had on as well as the hairs of his beard; he displayed his still-bloody sword, and, while he was asking for mercy, suggested he had acted in self-defense, reminding all of the crimes of the slain man.
"I don't like this story," Zosimos said, distraught because of the sudden death of his grim, dire protector. Less likable still would be the news that arrived subsequently, hour by hour. Isaac had been overtaken at Saint Sophia by illustrious figures including Johannes Doukas; Isaac continued to harangue the constantly swelling crowd; towards evening a great number of citizens had gathered around Isaac in the church to protect him though some were beginning to murmur that it was time to put an end to the tyrant.
Whether Isaac, as Zosimos's necromancy asserted, had long been preparing his coup, or whether he happily exploited a misstep by his enemies, it was clear that the throne of Andronicus was now tottering. It was equally clear that, in this situation, it would be madness to enter the royal palace, which could at any moment become a public shambles. All agreed that it was necessary to await the outcome of events at Katabates.
The next morning half the citizenry was out in the streets calling in loud voices for the imprisonment of Andronicus and the raising of Isaac to the imperial throne. The populace attacked the public prisons, liberating many innocent victims of the tyrant, men of illustrious name who immediately joined in the uprising. But by now it was not so much an uprising as a revolt, a revolution, a seizure of power. The citizens, in arms, ranged through the streets, some with sword and buckler, some with clubs or sticks. Some of them, including many imperial dignitaries, who had concluded that this was perhaps the right time to choose a new autocrat, lowered the crown of Constantine the Great, which hung over the main altar of the church, and crowned Isaac.
Swarming from the church in fighting mood, the crowd lay siege to the imperial palace; Andronicus put up a desperate resistance, firing arrows from the top of the highest tower, the so-called Kentenarion. But he had to give in to the now imperious fury of his subjects. It was said that he tore the crucifix from his chest, took off his purple sandals, stuck a pointed barbarian-style cap on his head, and proceeded, through the labyrinths of the Bucoleon to board his ship, taking with him his wife and the prostitute Maraptica, with whom he was madly in love. Isaac triumphantly entered the palace. The crowd overran the city, attacked the mint or, as it was called, the Golden Lavabos, entered the armories, and turned to sacking the palace churches, tearing ornaments from the holy images.
Now Zosimos, at every new rumor, trembled more and more, since it was already being said that, on
ce an accomplice of Andronicus was identified, he was put to the sword. On the other hand, Baudolino and his friends also considered it unwise to venture at this time into the corridors of the Bucoleon. And so, unable to do anything but eat and drink, our friends spent a few more days at Katabates.
Until it was learned that Isaac had moved from the Bucoleon to the Blachernae palace, at the far northern tip of the city. This perhaps made the Bucoleon less protected and (since there was nothing left to sack), fairly deserted. On that same day, Andronicus was captured on the shore of the Euxine and was brought before Isaac. The courtiers had kicked and beaten him, torn out his beard, knocked out his teeth, shaved his head; now they cut off his right hand and flung him into prison.
When news arrived that in the city joyful dancing and festivities had sprung up at every corner, Baudolino decided that in the confusion they could head for the Bucoleon. Zosimos pointed out that he might be recognized, and the friends told him not to worry. Arming themselves with every instrument they had at their disposal, they shaved his head and beard, while he wept, considering himself dishonored by the loss of those insignia of monastic venerability. In fact, hairless as an egg, Zosimos appeared totally without chin, his upper lip protruding, his ears pointed like a dog's, and, Baudolino observed, he looked more like Cichinisio, an idiot who roamed the streets of Alessandria shouting obscenities at the girls, than like the accursed ascetic he had so far passed himself off as. To adjust this deplorable effect, they sprinkled him with cosmetics, and at the end he seemed a freak, a character that in Lombardy children would have followed with taunts and a shower of rotten fruit, but in Constantinople it was an everyday sight, Baudolino said, like going around Alessandria dressed as a vendor of sirasso, or ricotta as it is also called.