Around him, all those whom he intended to punish were either so drunk or so intent on removing gems from every object holding any that they were unaware of what he was doing.
Doing it, he arrived at the two giants who were about to torture Niketas.
He looked at the wretched man pleading for mercy, let go of the prostitute’s hair, and, as she fell, now lamed, to the ground, said, in excellent Greek: «By all twelve of the Magi! Why, you are Master Niketas, minister of the basileus! What can I do for you?»
«Brother in Christ, whoever you may be,» Niketas cried, «free me from these Latin barbarians who want me dead, save my body and you will save my soul!» Of this exchange of Oriental vocalism, the two Latin pilgrims had understood little and they sought an explanation from Baudolino, who seemed one of their company, expressing themselves in Provençal. And in excellent Provençal, Baudolino shouted that this man was the prisoner of Count Baudoin of Flanders, at whose command he was seeking him, and per arcana imperii that two miserable sergeants like themselves would never understand.
The two were stunned for a moment, then decided that arguing would only be a waste of time when they could seek other treasures without any effort, and they went off towards the main altar.
Niketas did not bend to kiss the feet of his savior. He was already on the ground, and too distraught to behave with the dignity his rank required. «O my good lord, thank you for your aid. This means that not all Latins are wild beasts with faces distorted by hatred! Not even the Saracens acted this way when they reconquered Jerusalem, when Saladin was content with a handful of coins to guarantee the safety of the inhabitants.
How shameful for all Christendom, brothers against armed brothers, pilgrims who were to recover the Holy Sepulcher but have allowed themselves to be halted by greed and envy, and are destroying the Roman empire! O Constantinople, Constantinople! Mother of churches, princess of religion, guide of perfect opinions, nurse of all learning, now you have drunk from the hand of God the cup of fury, and burned in a fire far greater than that which burned the Pentapolis! What envious and implacable demons have poured down on you the intemperance of their intoxication, what mad and odious Suitors have lighted your nuptial torch?
O mother, once clad in gold and imperial purple, now befouled and haggard. And robbed of your children, like birds imprisoned in a cage, we cannot find the way to leave this city that was
ours, nor the strength to remain here, but instead, sealed within many errors, we roam like vagrant stars!»
«Master Niketas,» Baudolino said, «I have been told that you Greeks talk too much and about everything, but I didn’t believe it went this far. At the moment, the question is how to move our ass out of here. I can offer you safety in the Genoese quarter, but you have to tell me the fastest and most secure route to the Neorion, because this cross on my chest protects me but not you. The people here have all lost their reason; if they see me with a Greek prisoner they’ll think he has some value and they’ll take him away from me.»
«I know a good way, but it doesn’t follow the streets,» Niketas said, «and you’d have to leave your horse behind….»
«So be it,» Baudolino said, with an indifference that amazed Niketas, who did not yet know at what a cheap price Baudolino had acquired his charger.
Niketas, helped to his feet, took Baudolino by the hand and furtively approached the Sweating Column. He looked around, surveyed the vast temple; the pilgrims, seen in the distance, were moving like ants, bent on dilapidation, paying no attention to the two of them. At the column he knelt and thrust his fingers into a somewhat loose crevice in a slab of the pavement. «Help me,» he said to Baudolino. «If we both try, we may be able to do it.» And indeed after some effort the slab was raised, disclosing a dark opening. «There are some steps,» Niketas said.
«I’ll go first because I know where to set my feet. Then you close the stone over your head.»
«Then what do we do?»
«We climb down,» Niketas said. «Then we’ll find a niche, and in it are some torches and a flint.»
«What a fine city this Constantinople is, so full of surprises,» Baudolino remarked as he descended the winding stair. «Too bad these pigs will not leave a stone upon a stone.»
«These pigs?» Niketas asked. «But aren’t you one of them?»
«Me?» Baudolino was amazed. «Not me. If it’s this clothing you refer to, I borrowed it. When they entered the city I was already inside the walls. But —where are the torches?»
«Don’t worry. Just a few more steps. Who are you? What’s your name?» «Baudolino of Alessandria—not the city in Egypt, but the one they now call Caesarea, or maybe they don’t even call it that and it’s been burned down like Constantinople. I’m from up in the mountains, in the north, near Mediolanum. You know it?»
«I know about Mediolanum. Once its walls were destroyed by the king of the Alamans. Later our basileus gave them some money to help rebuild them.»
«Indeed, I was with the emperor of the Alamans before he died. You met him when he was crossing the Propontis, almost fifteen years ago.» «Frederick. Old Copper Beard. A great and most noble prince, clement and merciful. He would never have done what these…»
«When he conquered a city, he wasn’t so tenderhearted.»
Finally they were at the foot of the steps. Niketas found the torches, and the two men, holding them high above their heads, proceeded down a long passage, until Baudolino saw the very belly of Constantinople, where, almost directly beneath the greatest church in the world, another basilica extended, unseen, a forest of columns stretching infinitely into the darkness like so many trees of a lacustrine wood, rising from the waters. Basilica or abbatial church, completely upside down, because even the light, which gently licked capitals that faded into the shadows of the very high vaults, came not from rose windows or vitrages, but from the watery pavement, which reflected the moving flames of the visitors.
«The city is pierced by cisterns,» Niketas said. «The gardens of Constantinople are not a gift of nature but an effect of art. You see? Now the water comes only up to our knees because almost all of it has been used to put out the fires. If the conquerors destroy the aqueducts, then everyone will die of thirst. Usually you can’t move on foot here; you need a boat.» «Does this passage arrive at the port?»
«No, it stops well before; but I know other passages and stairs that connect it with other cisterns and other tunnels, so that even if we can’t reach the Neorion we can walk underground to the Prosphorion. However,» he added, in anguish, as if he were just remembering another errand, «I can’t come with you. I will show you the way, but then I have to turn back. I have to save my family, who are hiding in a little church behind Saint Irene. You know»—he seemed to be apologizing—»my palace was destroyed in the second fire, the one in August.»
«Master Niketas, you’re mad. First, you bring me down here, making me abandon my horse, when—even without you—I could have reached the Neorion through the streets. Second, you believe you can reach your family before being stopped by another pair of sergeants like those I found you with. Even if you succeeded, then what would you do? Sooner or later someone will root you out, and if you do collect your family and set off, where will you go?»
«I have friends in Selymbria,» Niketas said, puzzled.
«I don’t know where that is, but to reach it you first have to get out of the city. Listen to me: you’re no good to your family. On the other hand, where I will take you, we’ll find some friends, Genoese who decide which way the wind blows in this city. They’re used to dealing with Saracens, Jews, monks, the imperial guard, Persian merchants, and now with these Latin pilgrims. They’re smart people; you tell them where your family is and tomorrow they’ll bring them to where we are.
I don’t know how they’ll do it, but do it they will. They would do it in any case for me, since I’m an old friend, and for the love of God, but all the same they’re Genoese, and if you give them a little present, so much the better. Then we’ll stay there till things calm down. A sack normally doesn’t last more than a few days.
You can trust me, I’ve seen plenty of them. Afterwards, you can go to Selymbria or wherever you like.»
Deeply moved, Niketas thanked him. And as they resumed their way, he asked why Baudolino was in the city if he wasn’t a pilgrim.
«I arrived when the Latins had already landed on the opposite shore, with some other people … who are no longer with us. We came from very far away.»
«Why didn’t you leave the city? You would have had time.»
Baudolino hesitated before answering. «Because … because I had to stay here in order to
