Palombara changed the subject. "Why does the emperor wish to see us?"
"If I knew what he wanted, I would have told you," Vicenze snapped.
Palombara didn't think so, but it was not worth an argument.
Their audience with Emperor Michael Palaeologus was held in the Blachernae Palace. To Palombara, who had learned a little of its history, the glories of the past seemed to haunt the air like bright ghosts lost in the grayer present.
All the walls he passed had once been without blemish, inlaid with porphyry and alabaster, hung with icons. Every niche had had its statue or its bronze. Some of the greatest works of art in the world had stood here, marbles of Phidias and Praxiteles from the classical age before Christ.
He had seen the smoke stains of the crusader invasion in the city and was ashamed of it. Here he saw the scars of poverty also: the tapestries unmended, the mosaics with broken pieces, columns and pilasters chipped. For all their pretense in serving God, what barbarians of the heart the crusaders were. There were many kinds of unbelief.
They were conducted into the presence of the emperor in a magnificent hall with huge windows overlooking the Golden Horn. The view of the city far below was a vast panorama of roofs and towers, spires, masts of ships in the harbor, and clustered houses on the far shore.
The hall itself was marble-floored with porphyry columns that held up a ceiling ornately decorated with mosaic arches that flickered here and there with gold.
But all that was only a fleeting impression. As Palombara walked toward the emperor, he was startled by the inner vitality of the man. He was dark, with thick hair and a full beard. His clothes were silk, heavily embroidered and jeweled, as one would expect. He wore not only the customary tunic and dalmatica, but also a sort of collar that ended with something like a priest's breastplate at the front. This was crusted with gems and ringed around the edges with pearls and gold thread. He wore it as if he were accustomed to it and it were of no importance. Palombara remembered with a jolt that Michael was considered to be Equal of the Apostles. He was a brilliant soldier who had led his people through battle and exile and back to their own city. He had regained his empire by his own hand. They would be foolish to underestimate him.
The emperor gave Palombara and Vicenze all the appropriate formal greetings and invited them to be seated. The protocol for the signing of the agreement had already been arranged, there did not seem to be anything further to discuss, but if there were, it would be done with less senior officials.
"The princes and prelates of the Orthodox Church are aware of the choices facing us, and the necessities driving us," Michael said quietly, glancing from one to the other. "However, the cost to us is high, and not all are willing to pay."
"We are here to be of any assistance we may, Majesty." Vicenze felt compelled to fill the silence.
"I know." A faint smile played on Michael's lips. "And you, Bishop Palombara?" he asked softly. "Do you also offer your assistance to our cause? Or does Bishop Vicenze speak for both of you?"
Palombara felt the blood burn up his face. He must not give Michael leverage so quickly.
The emperor's black eyes reflected his laughter. He nodded. "Good. Then we wish for the same result, but for different reasons, and perhaps in different ways-I for the safety of my people, and perhaps for the survival of my city; you for your ambition. You do not want to return to Rome empty-handed. You will get no cardinal's hat. Not for failure."
Palombara winced. Michael was rather too much of a realist, but life had given him little chance to be anything else. The emperor chose union under Rome as the only chance for survival, not for any meeting of beliefs. He was letting them know that, in case they cherished any notions that they could reach him with a religious conversion. He was Orthodox to the bone, but he meant to survive.
"I understand, Majesty," Palombara answered. "We are faced with hard choices. We pick the best of them."
Vicenze bowed so slightly, it was barely discernible. "We will do what is right, Majesty. We understand that haste would be unfortunate."
Michael looked at him dubiously. "Very unfortunate," he agreed.