Upon reaching the wall, he turned and walked along the wide, busy street which ran the length of the western defences. Between the street and the wall, crude huts of cast-off wood and cloth had been erected by the poor-little more than lean-to dwellings to keep off the rain. Like so much within the capital, the Basileus saw in this circumstance a symbol of the empire, where the massive wall was the strong rule of imperial law and civilizing faith, and the mean hovels were the fragile lives of the citizens which leaned in pitiable dependence upon the empire's great strength for their ever-tenuous survival.

Now and then, a wretch would hobble from a hovel to beg, and Alexius always obliged, giving a coin and a blessing to any who asked. When he ran out of coins, he gave away his dates.

He came to a crossroads which formed a wide square before the massive Charisius Gate, last of the old gates. Later emperors had constructed further defences just beyond the Wall of Theodosius, but in this part of the city, the older walls towered above the newer, -forever proclaiming the glory that had been. Passing quickly through the entrances, he found himself in a quarter of smiths and artisans of innumerable variety, each practising his particular trade in a rough wooden stall behind which the craftsman lived in a few small rooms with his family. Judging strictly from the sound, every last smith was toiling away with utmost industry amidst the drifting smoke from their foundry fires. The clatter of hammer on metal, wood, and stone, the clamour of men shouting to one another for tools and materials, rose to a cacophony, not unlike that of battle.

Alexius liked the noise and commotion; he appreciated men who could make a living with the skill of their own two hands. He paused often to praise the finer examples of one craftsman or another, but did not allow himself to become involved in conversations which would, he knew, lead to bargaining for the wares he had just admired.

He pressed on to his destination, and came to the end of the Artisans' Quarter where he stopped for his first view of the pilgrim camp which lay on the other side of a wide expanse of waste ground part of an old salt marsh that had long since been drained. The low dark tents sprawled across the land like an untidy flood, stretching back and back into the distance, rising up to overflow the banks of the Golden Horn. The smoke of their cooking fires hung in a dull haze above, making it seem to Alexius as if he were gazing upon a range of diminutive dark mountains wrapped in dirty clouds. What is more, this strange mountain range seemed to spread out north and west as far as the eye could see. There were thousands of them… tens of thousands! And, according to the scouts and spies working back and forth along the coasts and roads of western borders, these were but the first of several groups on the move across the empire, and all of them were headed for the capital.

Alexius moved closer. At the outer perimeter of the camp, he could just make out the long lines of the horse pickets as a thin brown line snaking off into the heat haze. Indeed, even though he could not see the animals, he could smell them-even at this remove, the pungent aroma of horse manure was unmistakable. Closer, the stink would be almost suffocating. Nevertheless, the emperor steeled himself for a closer look and started across the waste land; he wanted to see these mad Romans in the flesh.

Not that he was a stranger to the sight: as a young man, his first battles as emperor had been fought against just these sorts of men. In fact, he had traded victories with the wily Robert Guiscard for several years before the stubborn king had at last given up the fight and died following a brief struggle with typhoid. With the old king's death, his sons had fallen to squabbling among themselves for supremacy, thus leaving the empire free to concentrate on the defence of its northern borders, as well as the new and growing threat posed by the latest Arab terror, the Seljuq Turks.

Now the Romans, as they styled themselves, were back-and the fact that this time they were here to help him win back the Holy Land did not cheer him as much as they might have expected. He had seen in Robert Guiscard the naked face of the West, and he had good reason to fear and despise it. For the welfare of the empire, however, he would not allow personal rancour to dictate his conduct towards the pilgrim lords. He would receive them; he would even welcome them, but he would not believe them, and he would never trust them.

As Alexius neared the first ranks of tents that formed the perimeter, he noticed a fair number of merchants had gathered to offer their goods to the pilgrims-everything from precious gems, and rolls of the brilliant silken cloth for which the weavers of Byzantium were justly famous, to cabbages, boiled eggs, and flat bread. Closer, he heard in the bickering tones of trade a somewhat strident note, and quickly discerned that the bargaining was not flowing with the usual harmony of purpose. Seeing several disgruntled merchants-their handcarts filled with unsold produce-leaving the proceedings, the emperor hailed one of the men and asked what ailed him.

'Agh!' The merchant rolled his eyes. 'By the Pure Light of Heaven, these Romans are worse than barbarians! They want everything but will not pay. There is no talking to them. I am finished.'

Before the emperor could reply, the man demanded, 'Do they think us fools, that we should give away our wares? Look at these melons!' He plucked a round ripe melon from the neatly-arranged stack. 'Did you ever see such beautiful melons? And these apricots! Here, try one. Did you ever taste such an apricot?'

No, the emperor said, he had certainly never tasted such a wonderful apricot.

'Of course not!' cried the merchant. 'I grow all this with my own two hands! Food fit for the Basileus himself! And what do they do? They blow their noses at me!' Taking up the handles of his cart once more, the man continued on his way. 'Theotokis is finished with them! Let them remember that when they are starving! Agh!'

Other merchants voiced similar complaints: the Romans had gold enough, but refused to part with it. They seemed to believe that, along with the grain and water the emperor provided, anything else they wanted should be given to them, too. For the merchants, that was bad enough; worse, however, was the Romans' inexplicable disdain. The abuse pouring out of the mouths of the visitors first embarrassed the emperor, then bewildered him. To a man, the Latin knights appeared to hold their Byzantine brothers in lowest contempt, reviling them, cursing them, even as they clamoured and cajoled for their goods.

'Pig! Over here!' they called, making sounds like hogs snuffling. 'Here, pig! You call this bread, pig? I would not give you a turd for it.'

Or, again: 'What! Think you I would touch this cloth after you've had your filthy hands all over it? Get it away from me, you shit-eating dog!'

This litany of crude abuse was repeated wherever the merchants clustered. And if it was worrying to the tradesmen, Alexius found it alarming. Encamped before him was a vast army of fighting men who did not recognize the simple unity of their common faith and brotherhood, who considered themselves superior to their eastern kinsmen, and moreover exempt from the obligations of ordinary human decency and goodwill.

What the produce merchant had said was true: these Romans were worse than barbarians. The benighted barbarian only wanted whatever valuables he might carry away. These men wanted the world-and, indeed, saw themselves ruling it. That notion, Alexius determined, would be soundly squelched at first opportunity. Yes, but it must be defeated subtly, quietly, and without overt antagonism.

He strolled along the perimeter of the immense camp, watching the knights and footmen. They were, almost without exception, big men: tall, long-limbed, heavy of shoulder, belly, and thigh, hard-handed and thick-muscled; when they walked, their heels struck the earth with solid purpose, their movements ponderous rather than lithe. Their skin was pale, without natural colour, resembling raw dough in both texture and consistency. Alexius entertained the notion that his slightest touch would leave a lingering impression on such pasty flesh.