Whom should I approach to win their support? The Duke was out of the question. What about the Emperor’s uncle? Or the Secretary? The Chancellor? Or perhaps the other second-degree courtiers?
After the roll call, the ministers joined to recite the virtues of the Emperor, their voices rising high to the hall’s ceiling. Then the Emperor ordered the foreign messengers to enter. One by one, they stepped into the hall, identified their kingdoms, presented their tributes, and stated their requests. The Emperor received their gifts and granted their wishes. Then a group of fishermen entered. The Japanese, the court announcer declared. They asked the ruler’s permission to stay in the capital in order to study our culture, architecture, and even our clothes.
“Come here, Mei.” Daisy beckoned, standing near many chests that contained the foreign gifts offered to the Emperor. Near her, the other attendants leaned against pillars and dozed. We had risen at the third crow of the rooster and were all tired.
“What is it, Daisy?” I moved away from the screen.
“Look at this.” She held up a medallion and bit into it, denting the soft metal. “The messenger said it was made of real gold. See the man on this medallion? It’s their king. What’s the round bowl thing he’s wearing?”
What else would the king put on his head? “I think it’s a crown.”
“A crown? Looks more like a chamber pot.”
“Why would someone wear a chamber pot on his head?” It had to be a crown, even though it was unlike anything I had seen. I took the coin from her hand. It was inscribed with some squirmy letters like a child’s scribble. They did not have the straight edges or corners of our characters.
“I don’t understand. The king doesn’t have jewels on his crown, but the coin is made of real gold.” Daisy flipped another medallion in the air. “Do you think this kingdom has plenty of gold?”
“It’s possible.”
“It’s from Byzantium. Have you heard of it? Such a funny name. It sounds like a name for a pagoda. Where is the kingdom, do you think?”
A book in the library had mentioned that shallots often thrived wherever a gold mine lay, that wild onions grew near silver deposits, ginger, and copper. Wherever Byzantium was, it must have grown lots of shallots. But I had no desire to explain, because the announcer had just introduced the kingdom’s messenger. I returned to the screen and peeked out.
“The servant of our great Basileus, the King of Kings, Heraclius.” A man in a white robe stepped toward the throne. “Hail to Your Majesty, from our kingdom, Byzantium, the most ancient civilization of the world.”
He was accompanied by a man with long, grizzly hair and a thick, messy beard, who looked like a merchant and also served as a translator.
“Boast not, young man, boast not. No country is more ancient than mine. Byzantium, that’s how you call it?” The Emperor’s voice echoed in the hall. “It is young. Founded in the year 324? My country dates back to one thousand years ago.”
“The glory of Your Majesty has reached to the heart of our realm. That is why our Basileus sent me here,” the messenger said.
“What do you want? Trade, vassalage, or protection?”
“We are not here to seek vassalage, trade, or protection, Your Majesty.” The messenger bowed. “Our Basileus, the King of Kings, Heraclius, offers Your Majesty an opportunity to rule half of the world. Heraclius, our Basileus, rules the West, and Your Majesty, the East.”
I was intrigued. An offer of alliance? I pressed my eyes closer to the screen, trying to see the Emperor’s reaction.
He looked contemplative. “I heard Khusro II, from the Sassanian Empire, had launched a massive campaign to battle you Byzantines. Isn’t it so that your king lost the cities of Damascus, Jerusalem, and the city near a river, called Egypt?”
“That was twenty-five years ago.” The messenger’s voice was thick with an accent, but even so, I could hear the tinge of amusement in his tone. “Our Basileus crushed the Sassanids and recovered all the territories that Your Majesty is aware of. And by the grace of God, he returned the True Cross to the sacred land of Jerusalem.”
“Do not talk about God with me. War is man’s business, not God’s,” the Emperor bellowed.
The messenger coughed and spoke rapidly in a low voice. Gasps rose in the hall, and the ministers murmured, as if stunned by the message.
“So you say the Sassanian Emperor is no more?” The Emperor stood up.
“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”
“Who destroyed them?”
“That is why I’m here, Your Majesty.” The messenger handed a scroll to the Duke, who stood near the throne. He presented the scroll to the Emperor, who took it and unrolled it.
A map. I took a deep breath. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War had mentioned that with a map, an army could drive through the enemy’s territory as if it were their own backyard. I had never seen one before.
“The men on horses, the Kingdom of Circumcised Man,” the messenger said. “My Basileus dreamed they would conquer vast lands in the west and east, bound by one prophecy.”
“Who are they?”
“They are called the Arabs.”