At other times the prisoners spent days and days in idleness, because there was nothing to do; sometimes they were assigned to serve the eunuch who carried the green honey to the young men in chains, and with horror they saw those faces, devastated by the dream that consumed them. If not the dream, then a subtle listlessness devoured the prisoners, who whiled away the time constantly telling one another the vicissitudes they had shared. They recalled Paris, Alessandria, the lively markets, the serene stay among the Gymnosophists. They talked about the Priest's letter, and the Poet, more gloomy every day, seemed to repeat the deacon's words as if he had heard them: "The suspicion that consumes me is that the kingdom does not exist." Who spoke of it to us, in Pndapetzim? The eunuchs. To whom did the messengers, sent to the Priest, return? To them, to the eunuchs. Had those messengers really gone out? Did they really return? The deacon had never seen his father. Everything we learned, we learned from the eunuchs. Maybe it was all a plot of the eunuchs, who were mocking the deacon, and us, and White Huns existed...." Baudolino told him to remember their companions who had died in battle, but the Poet shook his head. Rather than remind himself that he had been defeated, he preferred to believe he had been the victim of a spell.
Then they went back to the death of Frederick, and each time they invented a new explanation to make that inexplicable death comprehensible. It had been Zosimos, that was clear. No, Zosimos had stolen the Grasal, but only afterwards: someone, hoping to gain possession of the Grasal, had acted beforehand. Ardzrouni? Who could know? One of their slain companions? What a ghastly thought. One of the survivors? But in such misfortune, Baudolino said, must we also suffer the torment of reciprocal suspicion?
"As long as we were traveling, excited by the search for the kingdom of the Priest, we were not seized by these doubts; each helped the other in the spirit of friendship. It was captivity that made us snarl; we couldn't look one another in the face, and for years we hated one another in turn. I lived withdrawn into myself. I thought of Hypatia, but I was unable to remember her face. I remembered only the joy she gave me; at night my restless hand might stray to the hair of my sex, and I dreamed of touching her fleece that wafted the scent of moss. I could arouse myself because, if our spirit was delirious, our body was gradually recovering from the effects of our peregrinations. Up there they did not feed us badly, we received abundant food twice a day. Perhaps this was the way that Aloadin, who never admitted us to the secrets of his green honey, kept us calm. In fact, we had regained strength but, despite the hard tasks we were forced to perform, we were growing fat. I looked at my prominent belly and said to myself: You're beautiful, Baudolino; are all men beautiful like you? Then I would laugh like an idiot."
The only moments of consolation were when Gavagai visited them. Their excellent friend had become Aloadin's jester, amusing him with his unpredictable movements, performing little services for him, flying through rooms and corridors to carry out his orders. He had learned the Saracen language, he enjoyed great liberty. He brought his friends some delicacies from the lord's kitchen, kept them informed about the events of the fortress, or the dogged struggles among the eunuchs to gain the favor of the master, or the murderous missions on which the young dreamers were dispatched.
One day he gave Baudolino some green honey, but just a little, he said, otherwise he would be reduced to the state of those bestial assassins. Baudolino took it, and enjoyed a night of love with Hypatia. But towards the end of the dream her features changed: she had agile legs, white and comely as those of the females of men, and a goat's head.
Gavagai informed them that their weapons and their knapsacks had been thrown into a closet, and he would be able to find them again if they were to attempt an escape. "Really, Gavagai, do you think we can escape one day?" Baudolino asked him. "I believes yes. I believes many good ways to escape. I only have to find best. But you become fat like eunuch, and if you fat, you run bad. You have to move body, like me, you put foot over head and you become light."
Foot over head, no. But Baudolino realized that the hope, even vain, of an escape would help him bear imprisonment without going mad, and so he prepared himself for the event, moving his arms, bending his knees dozens and dozens of times until he fell, exhausted, on his rotund belly. He urged his friends to do the same, and with the Poet he pretended to wrestle; sometimes they would spend an entire afternoon trying to throw each other to the floor. With the chain at their feet it wasn't easy, and they had lost the agility of bygone days. Not only because of prison. It was age. But it did them good.
The only one who had totally forgotten his body was Rabbi Solomon. He ate very little, so he was too weak for the various tasks, and his friends did his share. He had no scroll to read, no implement for writing. He spent hours repeating the name of the Lord, and every time it had a different sound. He had lost his remaining teeth, now he had only gums, left and right. He chomped his food and spoke with a hiss. He was convinced that the ten lost tribes could not have remained in a kingdom half made up of Nestorians, who could be tolerated, because like the Jews they believed that Mary, good woman though she was, could not have generated any god; but the other half were idolaters, who increased or diminished the number of divinities at will. No, he said, disconsolate, perhaps the ten tribes passed through the kingdom, but then resumed their wandering; we Jews are always seeking a promised land, provided it be elsewhere, and now who knows where they are, perhaps only a few steps from this place where I am ending my days, but I've given up all hope of finding them. Let us bear the trials that the Holy One, always blessed be his name, sends us. Job saw worse."
"He had lost his mind. You could see that. And Kyot and Boron also seemed mad to me, always disputing. Pondering the Grasal that they would find again—indeed, now they thought it would cause itself to be found by them—the more they talked of it, the more its virtues, already miraculous, became super-miraculous, and the more they dreamed of possessing it. The Poet kept repeating: Just let me get my hands on Zosimos, and I'll become master of the world. Forget Zosimos, I said: he didn't even reach Pndapetzim; maybe he was lost along the way, his skeleton is turning to dust in some dusty place, and his Grasal has been taken by nomad infidels who maybe use it to piss in. Be silent! Boron said to me, blanching."
"How were you able to free yourselves from that inferno?" Niketas asked.
"One day Gavagai came and told us he had found the way to escape. Poor Gavagai, he too had aged: I have never known the life span of a skiapod, but he no longer preceded himself like a lightning bolt. He arrived like thunder, a little late, and at the end of his run he was panting."
This was the plan: armed, we had to surprise the eunuch guarding the rocs, force him to fit them out as usual, but in such a way that the thongs, instead of being fastened to their packs, were tied to the belts of the fugitives. Then he was to give the birds the order to fly to Constantinople. Gavagai had spoken with the eunuch, and had learned that he often sent the rocs to that city, to an agent there who lived on a hill near Pera. Both Baudolino and Gavagai understood Saracen and could verify that the eunuch was giving the right command. Once they reached their destination, the birds would land on their own. "Why I not think of this before?" Gavagai asked himself, comically striking his head with his fists.
"Fine," Baudolino said, "but how can we fly with a chain on our leg?"
"I find file," Gavagai said.
At night Gavagai had found their weapons and packs, and had brought them to their sleeping quarters. Swords and daggers were rusted, but the friends spent nights cleaning them and sharpening them, rubbing them against the stones of the walls. They had the file. It wasn't anything special, and they had to spend weeks cutting into the rings that circled their ankles. They succeeded. Beneath the cracked rings they passed a cord, bound to the chain, and as they shambled around the castle, they appeared shackled as always. A close look would have revealed the deceit, but they had been there so many years that nobody paid any attention, and the cynocephali by
now considered them domestic animals.
One evening they learned that the next day they would have to remove some sacks of spoiled meat from the kitchen and take them to the birds. Gavagai alerted them: this was the opportunity they had been awaiting.
Next morning they went to collect the sacks. Acting as if they were doing this reluctantly, they passed through their quarters, slipped their weapons amid the meat. They arrived at the cages, where Gavagai was already present, amusing the eunuch keeper with his somersaults. The rest was easy. They opened the sacks, slipped out their daggers, put all six of them to the keeper's throat (Solomon looked at them as if what they were doing mattered nothing to him), and Baudolino explained to the eunuch what he was to do. It seemed there weren't enough harnesses, but the Poet hinted at cutting off the ears of the eunuch: he had already had more than enough cut off, and he declared himself ready to cooperate. Seven birds were prepared to bear the weight of seven men, or, rather, six men and a skiapod. "I want the strongest one," the Poet said, "because you"—and he turned to the eunuch—"unfortunately can't stay here or else you'll give the alarm, or shout at your beasts to come back. Another rope will be tied to my belt, and you'll dangle from that. So my bird must bear the weight of two people."
Baudolino translated, the eunuch declared himself happy to accompany his captors to the end of the world, but he asked what would then become of him. They assured him that once in Constantinople, he could go on his way. "And hurry up," the Poet ordered, "because the stink of this cage is unbearable."
But it took almost an hour to arrange everything properly. Each hung himself carefully from his own raptor, and to his belt the Poet fastened the strap that would bear the eunuch. The only one still not bound was Gavagai, who was watching from the corner of a corridor, making sure no one came to spoil things.
Someone did come. After a long time the guards were surprised to note that the prisoners, sent to feed the birds, had not returned. A group of cynocephali arrived at the end of the corridor, barking with concern. "Dog-heads coming!" Gavagai cried. "You leave right away!"
"Right away my foot," Baudolino cried. "Come, we'll have time to strap you up!"
It wasn't true, and Gavagai knew it. If he fled, the cynocephali would reach the cage before the eunuch could open the shutter and make the birds fly. He shouted to the others to open the cage and leave. In the sacks of meat he had also slipped his fistula. He seized it, along with the three remaining darts. "Skiapod die, but always true to most holy Magi," he said. He lay on the floor, raised his foot over his head, which he lowered as he put the fistula to his mouth, blew, and the leading cynocephalos fell dead. While the others were drawing back, Gavagai had time to fell two more of them; then he was left without darts. To restrain the attackers, he held the fistula as if he were still about to blow into it, but the deceit was short-lived. The monsters were upon him and ran him through with their swords.
Meanwhile the Poet had stuck his dagger a short distance into the chin of the eunuch, who, shedding his first blood, had realized what was being asked of him and, though made clumsy by his trappings, he managed to open the shutter. When he saw Gavagai die, the Poet shouted: "It's finished. Away! Away!" The eunuch gave a command to the rocs, who flung themselves into the air and rose in flight. The cynocephali were entering the cage at that moment, but their rush was arrested by the remaining birds, enraged by the confusion, who began pecking at the newcomers.
All six were in full flight. "Did he give the command for Constantinople?" the Poet asked Baudolino in a loud voice, and Baudolino nodded yes. "Then we don't need him anymore," the Poet said. With one slash of his dagger he severed the strap that bound the eunuch to him, and the eunuch plunged into the void. "Now we'll fly better," the Poet said. "Gavagai is avenged."
"And so we flew, Master Niketas, high above desolate plains marked only by the wounds of rivers dried up since time immemorial, cultivated fields, lakes, forests. We clung to the feet of the birds, because we feared the harnesses wouldn't support us. We flew for a time I cannot calculate, and the palms of our hands were bleeding. We saw flowing beneath us expanses of sand, lush fertile lands, meadows, and mountain peaks. We flew under the sun, but in the shadow of those long wings that beat the air above our heads. I don't know how long we flew, even at night, and at an altitude surely denied even to the angels. At a certain point, below us we saw, in a deserted plain, ten hosts—so it seemed to us—of people (or were they ants?) proceeding almost parallel towards God knows where. Rabbi Solomon began shouting that they were the ten lost tribes and he wanted to join them. He tried to make his bird descend, pulling on its feet, trying to direct its flight as with the ropes of a sail or the bar of a rudder, but the bird became enraged, freed itself from his grasp and tried to claw his head. Solomon! don't be an asshole, Boidi shouted at him. They're not your people; they's just ordinary nomads going they don't know where! Wasted breath. Seized by a mystical madness, Solomon grew so agitated that he freed himself from his harness, and fell, or, rather, flew, arms wide, through the heavens like an angel of the Almighty, may his name always be blessed, but an angel attracted by a promised land. We saw him grow smaller until his form was confused with those of the ants down below."
After more time had passed, the rocs, faithful to the order received, arrived within sight of Constantinople, its domes glowing in the sun. They landed where they were supposed to land, and our friends freed themselves from their bonds. One man, however, perhaps the sycophant of Aloadin, came towards them, amazed by this descent of too many messengers. The Poet smiled at him, gripped his sword, and gave a flat blow to the head. "Benedico te in nomine Aloadini," he said seraphically, while the man fell down like a sack. "Whoosh! Whoosh!" he then cried at the birds. They seemed to understand the tone of his voice, rose in flight, and disappeared on the horizon.
"We're home," Boidi said happily, though he was a thousand miles from his home.
"Let's hope our Genoese friends are still somewhere around," Baudolino said. "We'll hunt for them."
"You'll see, our Baptist's heads will still come in handy," the Poet said, who seemed suddenly rejuvenated. "We're back among Christians. We've lost Pndapetzim, but we can conquer Constantinople."
"He didn't know," Niketas commented with a sad smile, "that other Christians were already doing just that."
37. Baudolino enriches the treasures of Byzantium
"As soon as we tried to cross the Golden Horn and enter the city, we realized that we were in the strangest situation we had ever seen. It wasn't a besieged city, because the enemies, though their ships were lying offshore, were encamped at Pera, and many of them were strolling around the city. It wasn't a conquered city, because along with the invaders wearing the cross on their chests, soldiers of the emperor were seen in the city. In short, the crusaders were in Constantinople, but Constantinople wasn't theirs. And when we found my Genoese friends, who were the same ones you later lived with, not even they could explain clearly what had happened or what was about to happen."
"It was hard to understand also for us," Niketas said with a sigh of resignation. "And yet one day I will have to write the history of that period. After the sorry outcome of the expedition for the reconquest of Jerusalem attempted by your Frederick and the kings of France and England, more than ten years later the Latins had chosen to try again, under the leadership of great princes like Baudouin of Flanders and Boniface of Monferrato. But they needed a fleet, and they had one built by the Venetians. I've heard you speak scornfully of the greed of the Genoese, but, compared to the Venetians, the people of Genoa are generosity personified. The Latins got their ships, but they didn't have the money to pay for them, and Dandolo, the Venetian doge ( fate had decreed that he should also be blind, but among all the blind men in this story he was the only farsighted one), asked that, in payment of their debt, before going to the Holy Land, they help subdue Zara. The pilgrims agreed, and that was the first crime, because you don't put on the cross to then go and conquer a c
ity for the Venetians. Meanwhile, Alexius, brother of that Isaac Angelus who had deposed Andronicus to take over power, had had him blinded, exiled him to the coast, and proclaimed himself basileus."
"That much the Genoese told me at once. It was a confused story, because Isaac's brother had become Alexius III, but there was also an Alexius, son of Isaac, who had managed to flee, reaching Zara, now in Venetian hands, where he asked the Latin pilgrims to help him regain the throne of his father, promising, in return, assistance in the conquest of the Holy Land."
"It's easy to promise what you don't yet have. Alexius III, for that matter, should have realized that his empire was at risk. But, even if he still had his eyes, he was blinded by ignorance, and by the corruption surrounding him. Imagine: at a certain point he wanted to have more warships built, but the guardians of the imperial forests would not allow trees to be cut down. On the other hand, Michael Xiphlinus, general of the army, had already sold off sails and rigging, rudders and other parts of the existing ships, to fill his coffers. Meanwhile, at Zara the young Alexius was hailed as emperor by those peoples, and in June of the previous year, the Latins arrived opposite the city. One hundred ten galleys and seventy ships transporting a thousand men-at-arms and three thousand foot soldiers, with shields on the vessels' flanks and banners in the wind and standards on the foc's'les, paraded through the strait of Saint George, with trumpets blaring and drums rolling, and our men were on the walls to watch the spectacle. Only a few hurled stones, but more to make noise than to do harm. Only when the Latins tied up directly opposite Pera did that madman Alexius III send out the imperial army. But it, too, was only a parade; in Constantinople we lived in a kind of somnolence. Perhaps you know that the entrance to the Horn was defended by a great chain that joined one bank to the other, but our forces defended it poorly: the Latins broke the chain, entered the port, and disembarked the entire army before the imperial palace of the Blachernae. Our army came out from the walls, led by the emperor; from the ramparts the ladies watched the show and said that our men seemed angels, with their beautiful armor gleaming in the sun. They realized something was going wrong only when the emperor, instead of engaging in battle, went back into the city. They understood it even better a few days later, when the Venetians attacked the walls from the sea and some Latins managed to scale them and set fire to the nearest houses. My fellow citizens began to understand after this first fire. What did Alexius III do then? During the night he loaded ten thousand gold pieces on a ship and abandoned the city."