Twelve days later…
Symeon entered Constantinople through the Gate of Saint Romanos. It was Good Friday, and all of Constantinople lay immersed in silence. Only the chanters from the churches could be heard. Some were even preparing, at that very moment, for the procession of the Epitaphios. The young squire knew that John Doukas, together with Nikolaos, as “guests” of the Emperor, would most likely be attending the service at that hour in the imperial Church of the Holy Apostles. The Emperor, after all, did not go to the magnificent Church of Hagia Sophia unless it was Christmas, Easter Sunday, or Theophany. Symeon spurred his horse on and signaled to his escort to follow him.
The truth was that he himself had not asked for an escort. He could have managed perfectly well on his own to reach the city. He knew his abilities; he would have remained safe. But the soldiers had insisted. They demanded answers, and in a military council of the officers it was decided that Symeon would have with him non-commissioned officers of the army, as representatives of the force stationed in Bulgaria. They did not merely want to learn news of their general. What they truly wanted to understand was whether they would need to march against Constantinople with full force, seize it, and kick Isaac off the throne. John Doukas, after all, would make a far better emperor. But yet another civil war would devastate what little remained of the once-glorious Roman Empire. After a long time, they were living in an era of relative stability—one that was bound not to last long.
They arrived outside the church. They tied their horses and headed toward the courtyard. The procession of the Epitaphios had ended, and the people were passing beneath it to receive the Lord’s blessing. Patiently, they waited their turn. From within the church, the imperial choir—made up of fifty chanters and about one hundred readers—was performing the hymn “Ton Ilion Krypsanta” with great beauty. Simeon seemed enthralled by the chant. At last, they entered the Church of the Holy Apostles, back at the end of the long queue of the worshippers. The interior was truly imposing. This church was a jewel for the rather rich, beautiful and astonishing city of Constantine the Great. He understood why the emperors of the Eastern Roman Empire wished to be buried beside this church. His attention was drawn to the figure of John Doukas, who stood next to the emperor. He appeared to be standing in an attitude of prayer, but in reality the Emperor had placed chains upon his hands. Symeon turned and looked at the men who were with him. He was certain that, had they not been within the sacred space of the church, Isaakios would have been dead within moments—even if that action had cost them their own lives. Such was the love the soldiers bore for their general.
The service ended half an hour later, and the people slowly began to leave. Last to emerge was the emperor, accompanied by his guard, with his valuable captive walking beside him. Symeon looked around, hoping to spot a friendly face. And he found one. With slow steps, Symeon approached Nikolaos, who was walking a short distance behind Doukas and the Emperor. As soon as Nikolaos saw him, he greeted him with a simple nod of the head.
“Is everything all right back at the front?” he asked the young squire.
“The men are in a safe shelter, a few miles north of the city of Adrianople,” Symeon replied.
There was a brief pause between them.
“You seem troubled,” Nikolaos remarked, noticing the questioning look on Symeon’s face.
“Before I departed…” the young man confessed, “…there was unrest among the men. They do not know what is happening with the Sebastokrator and with Isaakios. They fear that the absence of a capable general will give courage to Asen, who may attack us at any moment with renewed forces.”
He paused for a moment and sighed.
“The men are eager to defeat the enemy and return to their families,” he concluded.
Nikolaos nodded understandingly.
“I know what you mean. We are living in dark times. And at this moment, on the throne of New Rome, sits a deranged man. I do not know where all this will lead us…”
He looked ahead. John Doukas was walking with proud steps beside his Emperor, chains still fastened to his hands, while Isaakios was casting murderous glances at him, without the two exchanging a single word.
“Soon, the Emperor will give audience to me and Doukas… There I hope we have the answers we seek”.
[...]
The doors of the Great Throne Hall opened, and the soldiers almost shoved John inside together with Nikolaos. Isaakios was seated upon his throne, which he had deliberately raised higher, so as to remind his subjects who the most powerful man in the East truly was. Without losing their composure, the two accused men stood before their Emperor. Their faces showed neither hatred nor sorrow—only pride. A pride that had defined, for centuries, the Hellenized Romans of the Empire. Isaakios, however, regarded them with utter contempt. With a single glance, he signaled to one of his jurists to begin the interrogation.
“Sebastokrator John Doukas,” the jurist began in a formal tone, “…you stand before the Emperor today accused of high treason against the imperial crown!”
“But that cannot be possible!” Nikolaos protested. “Doukas has given his very blood for the emperor and for Constantinople! There is no evidence—”
The shaft of a guard’s spear knocked him to the ground. The Emperor stared at him with a gaze filled with malice.
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“You will learn to respect those who stand above you,” he growled.
John lifted Nikolaos from the floor and set him back on his feet. Then he turned his attention to the Emperor.
“We both know why you’ve brought me here, so spare me the formalities. I have never betrayed you, nor did I ever intend to. I am not to blame for your madness. So, tell me what you want from me.”
Isaakios laughed, cruelly.
“I ought to have you executed for your insolence toward my person. But unfortunately, you share my mother’s blood, and I cannot do so without staining the glorious name of the royal family!”
He rose, descended the wooden steps before his throne, and stopped directly in front of the accused.
“You want to know what will happen to you. Very well. First, I strip you of your command of the armies on the Bulgarian front”.
Nikolaos noticed that even the soldiers around them exchanged uneasy glances. Doukas’s ability on the battlefield was beyond dispute. If he were removed from command, morale would plummet, and who knew what the outcome of the campaign might be. Strangely enough, however, Doukas remained utterly unmoved.
“And who will be the one to replace me, nephew?” he asked.
The Emperor seemed troubled for a second, but soon he found once again his offensive look.
“With John Kantakouzenos,” he said, the tone of his voice completely formal.
A stifled laughter escaped Nikolaos’ lips.
“Is there a reason that your pet is laughing in the presence of his Emperor?”
Doukas cast a murderous, meaningful glance at Nikolaos. The young man immediately grew serious and stood upright.
“What our good Nicholas is probably thinking, dear Emperor of the Romans, is a thought that has crossed my own mind as well,” Doukas said in the same formal tone that Isaakios was mockingly using. “It concerns the weakness of this esteemed brother. As you know, Kantakouzenos is blind”.
Isaakios smiled and turned his back on them. As he ascended once more toward his throne, Nikolaos was certain he heard him say, “He may be blind, but he is not as dangerous as you.”
He got comfortable on his throne, looking bored. This whole procedure was really draining his energy.
“You, John Doukas, and the rest of the conspirators will be sent to Egypt. All but one. One man that I need here to execute a mission of extreme importance to me and the state. The rest of your trustees will go to Ephesus to receive the second part of your… challenge,” Isaakios was now smiling, seeing the confusion on their faces.
“And what will we do there? In Ephesus, I mean,” Nikolaos asked, full of questions.
“That’s something you will learn there. I already have informed the prefect of the city of your arrival”.
“Who will stay with you?” Doukas asked, his face showing traces of worry, although his best efforts to hide it.
“I am willing to stay here in Constantinople, sir,” Nikolaos offered.
Isaakios laughed again.
“No, my naive warrior. You are too dangerous to keep around. I will have the boy remain here. The one that followed you all the way here from Bulgaria”.
When he saw the surprise on Nikolaos’ face, he kept going, even more defiantly.
“Symeon is his name, isn’t it? Rest assured, no harm will come to him. Now if he manages to survive, is an entirely different story,” he said, teeth showing along with his smirk. “But don’t worry, Nikolaos. Unlike your master, you will leave Constantinople to go to Ephesus with a small regiment, as soon as possible. As I already said, you will receive your orders there”.
Nikolaos was boiling inside, his rage building up, but Doukas’ gaze forced him to hide his emotions and submit to the will of the one who was holding their lives in his hands.
“Release him from his chains!” the Emperor ordered.
Two soldiers from the Imperial Guard released Doukas from his shackles.
“Now, I think I made myself absolutely clear,” Isaakios said.
The two men looked at him with faces filled with hate but lowered their heads in obedience.
“Very good,” the Emperor clapped his hands, satisfied from the outcome of this audience. “Now get out of my sight!”
The two men bowed their heads one last time and turned to leave.
“Uncle!” Isaakios shouted at him,
John turned once more, with a questioning look on his face.
“If you come back to Constantinople…,” he said emphasizing every word, to show him the severity of his words, “…know that I will not hesitate to kill you!”
The old general just turned his back on him and kept walking.
“Sir, that’s just unfair!” Nikolaos erupted once they were out of earshot.
“I know,” he said dryly.
“So, what do we do now?”
They were now out of the palace and looked towards the City of Cities, who was never asleep. A soft breeze caressed the blonde hair of Nikolaos. Doukas let out a concerned sigh and looked towards the heavens, as if he was pleading for the Almighty God to aid him now and give him the strength he needed for the tribulations ahead. At last, he just shook his head, looking displeased from the way that recent events were unfolding.
“What else can we do?”
His lips formed a smile, but it was a bitter one.
“We shall do our Emperor’s will!”
Author's Note:
Epitaphios: A replica, in the shape of a canopy, of the Tomb of Christ, adorned with flowers. Every Good Friday evening, the Orthodox Christians take the Epitaphios and go around the streets of their city. They do that both to mourn Christ's death and entombment and to have their city blessed.
Ton Ilion Krypsanta: A hymn that is being chanted while the people have arrived to the Church after the procession of the Epitaphios around the city. It's content is speaking about Nikodemus asking the body of Christ from Pilate, refering to him as "foreigner", who is not of this world. As for it's title, in English it's translated to "The one who hid the sun".