Constantinople, early March 1440
The procession came up the slope of the university quarter a little before the third hour, and the new hall stood ahead of it in full sun, set between the law school and the library, with a portico of four columns throwing its shadows down the steps. Deacons walked first with the censers, then the Patriarch at his own pace, then the Emperor with the Empress on his arm, Thomas a pace behind, and after him the officials in their ranks. The day was bright and the wind had an edge to it, coming up off the Marmara in long pulls that carried the incense sideways over the crowd.
People stood four and five deep behind the line of household guard, and they had been cheering since the procession turned off the Mese. A man held a child up over the heads in front of him. The law students had been let out for the morning and stood in a block at the corner of their own building, craning past the guards' shoulders. Beyond the library the scaffolding of the great building climbed against the sky, the works silent for the day, one watchman visible on the second stage with his hands inside his coat.
Joseph came to the closed doors with a deacon at each elbow, set his stick against the base of a column, and took the censer himself. His voice was thin in the open air and the wind carried much of it away, but the deacons gave the responses in full, and near the front the crowd crossed themselves with the words. He censed the doors, the lintel, the steps. He handed back the censer, blessed the building, his hand shaking a little on the rise, and the deacons brought him down the steps and back through the officials, who closed behind him.
The wardens drew the doors open from within. A cord of wool ran across the opening at the height of a man's belt, tied to iron rings in the jambs.
Katarina took her hand from the Emperor's arm and crossed to the canopy at the right of the steps, where her women waited with two servants of the household. She turned there to face the doors. The crowd noise rose and settled again.
An officer of the chancery came forward along the front rank with a cushion held flat on both hands. A pair of shears lay on it, short in the blade and silvered. He came up the steps, knelt before the Emperor, and held the cushion level.
Constantine took them and weighed them once in his hand. Voices passed along the front row and stopped somewhere behind Notaras. He turned.
"Master Antonio," he said, and opened his free hand toward the cord.
Antonio came out of the row and up the steps. He made his half bow on the second step, and stopped at the Emperor's left, his eyes going from the shears to the wool. Constantine held the shears out between them, one handle free. Antonio took the handle. The open blades sat over the cord.
They cut together. The rope parted and the two ends swung down against the jambs. For a moment the crowd made no sound. Then a cantor's voice went up alone, and the choir came in under it, many years to Constantine, Emperor of the Romans, many years to Katarina the Empress, and the crowd took the acclamation and made it a roar that rolled down the slope. Under the canopy Katarina inclined her head. Antonio stood holding nothing, his hands not knowing where to go, until Constantine put the shears back on the cushion and the officer rose and withdrew down the steps, and then Antonio bowed again, to the crowd this time, which had not been asked of him, and the roar picked up a laugh inside it and carried on.
They went in. Thomas followed first with George at his shoulder, then Filelfo, Notaras, old Chortasmenos on a clerk's arm, and the rest by rank behind them.
The hall was one long room under a beamed ceiling, with benches in rows and light coming down from high windows on the south side. Two doors in the north wall stood open on smaller rooms. The plaster was new enough to smell. Servants moved along the walls with wine on brass trays, and the first cups were off the trays before the last of the officials had cleared the doors. The noise of the crowd outside came through the windows with the draught. Katarina had come in with her women and taken the south end of the room, under the windows, and the wives of the magnates were drawn up around her in a ring of their own.
Filelfo had stopped in front of Thomas near the doors and was praising the prince's coat, the cloth, the cut, the Italian hand of the tailor, loudly enough that men nearby turned to look at the coat too. Thomas turned a little so the light took the sleeve. Then Filelfo came to the Emperor's side, his cup still untouched.
"The cord was a good touch, Majesty," he said. "Simple, but it spoke well, the emperor and the builder on the same shears, and I will put it in the Kyrix with the cutting described in detail, so that the provinces have it right. The wine after is well judged too."A servant passed between them with a tray and he waited for the man to clear. "The outside I will not praise the same. It is better than the law school, which is a granary with doors on it. But a hall of medicine could have carried a better façade."
Antonio stood near enough to hear it, turned toward the open doors with his cup at his chest, the light from the doorway on his portico's inner face. He smiled, nearly a grin, and drank.
"The empire must be seen to prosper. I have not forgotten it," Constantine said. "But the grand façade goes on the great building. There is a treasury to manage, and today the ceremony did the work at the price of a length of wool." He turned the cup by its foot. "I am glad it pleased you, Filelfo. And I thank you for the rest. Be always this straight with me."
"I thank you, Majesty. It is a good thing to serve an emperor who asks his men to be straightforward. In Italy my mouth nearly cost me my life, twice."
Constantine smiled. Filelfo took a sip from his wine.
"And I am eager to begin what you proposed for the Kyrix. The Emperor's own words, set down in question and answer, for any man to read. Nothing of the kind has ever been done. Majesty, a hundred years from now men will read that leaf and hear you speak."
Antonio was still by the doors when Constantine came to him, one hand on the jamb where the iron ring was set, working the ring with his thumb as though testing the fastening. He let go of it and straightened.
"Majesty. I am sorry for the bow. The second one."
"The crowd liked it well enough. They laughed with you, not at you." Constantine turned so they both faced down the hall. "This hall is good work, and I am already looking forward to the next. The great building, and what comes after it. You will not sit idle in this city for many years."
Antonio looked down the hall at the benches and the shelves along the north wall. "This one is a hall," he said. "The next one you will see from the harbor."
"I expect nothing less than your best, master Antonio." Constantine left him there, and at the doors Antonio put his thumb on the iron ring again.
Chortasmenos had taken the end of the first bench for himself, his stick across his knees, and when Constantine came to him he set both hands on it to rise and was waved down.
"A house for physic," he said. "I did not think to live to see the city build one. Forty years I kept the Galen alive. Now any man who teaches here may read it. I am honored to have been of use, Majesty."
"The empire will not forget what you did in the lean years, master John. Every man who teaches in this hall stands in your debt. How goes the searching?"
"Slowly, Majesty, as such work goes." Chortasmenos settled back over the stick. "But I have had a letter from Patmos, from a monastery there. Their librarian is drawing up a list, and it promises well."
"Then I am curious to see it. Send the list to Theophilus when it comes, he will pay for what you recommend. "
Brother Damianos stood at the head of the room in his dark habit, two young physicians behind him, his hands tucked into his sleeves. Constantine went to him and the two young men stepped back and bowed low.
"Brother Damianos. The wards at Glarentza were the best-kept rooms in that town. Men said so who had no reason to flatter you." Constantine looked down the length of the hall, the benches, the shelves along the north wall. "I am trusting you to make these the same. Run it as you ran those."
"With God's help, Majesty."
"And hopefully with many capable graduates. I am counting on you for that. The hospital in the City will need physicians, the one at Thessaloniki more still, and there will be more after those."
Damianos bowed. When Constantine turned from him, Notaras was already there, cup in hand, and made his reverence smoothly for a man his size.
"A fine building, Majesty. A finer ceremony. The city has not seen its like in my lifetime." He straightened his rings with his thumb. "And I will say I look forward to your decisions in the Euxine Company's affairs. The directors meet within the month."
"I thank you, my lord. It came out well. Though the praise for the building is Antonio's." A servant angled toward them with a tray and Constantine let him fill the cup before he went on. "As for the Company, it sits very near my interest. Nearer than you or the directors may think, and you will have your answers soon." He lifted the cup. "But today we drink. The masons and the physicians take the praise today." He drank. "Tell me of your house, my lord."
"Well, Majesty, God be thanked."
"There is a new son, I am told."
"There is." Notaras's mouth moved before the rest of his face allowed it. "Jacob, we have named him. He is loud."
"A strong name. And loud is no fault. Mine did the same all winter, and slept through it after." Constantine touched him on the arm. "My congratulations to the lady your wife."
Across the room George had company by the first bench, two magnates of the city and one of the law masters, and was letting them do the talking. His own cup was still full. Constantine went down the room to them, past Damianos and the shelves, and the ring opened and bowed and closed again around him. The talk was of Florence, what the fathers there would settle and how soon. From there it went to the Euxine again, the convoy gathering for the spring, freight prices, and one of the magnates saying twice that Caffa asked too much. Constantine let the subject run, and George said nothing either. A servant came around with the wine. Outside, the crowd on the slope was breaking up, and the sound of it came thinner through the windows.
Author note:
So Constantine's about to give the first interview in history! Filelfo already sharpening his questions. Also that new son of Notaras? Historical Jacob had one of the wildest post-1453 stories out there. worth a google, that's all i'm saying.