Chapter 42
The letter appeared simple, a roll of parchment bound with a purple ribbon, yet everyone in this place knew what that purple ribbon meant.
It was the color of the empire, a color that could only be used by the Emperor himself and those granted direct honor by him.
In an instant, the silence that had merely been ordinary quiet turned into a suffocating stillness, a silence in which everyone held their breath, every eye fixed upon the parchment in Arya's hand.
Arya opened the letter with a slow, measured movement, allowing every soldier in the three layers to see the red wax seal bearing the imperial emblem still intact, proof that the document was authentic and had never been opened by anyone before.
He did not read it in haste, nor in a challenging tone, but in a calm yet clear voice, a voice that ensured every word was heard by all who stood in the front courtyard of the residence of Caesar Nikephoros Melissenos.
"By the authority granted by His Majesty Emperor Alexios I Komnenos, Autokrator of the Eastern Romans, who reigns by the will of God and the people of Constantinople," Arya's voice echoed in the warm morning air, "we, Nirma and Arya, are assigned to investigate the murder case that befell Étienne d'Arques, a thirty-four-year-old crusader whose body was found in a grievous condition in Kapeleion several hours ago. This warrant grants us full access to all territories of the Empire, the right to examine anyone connected to this case, and the authority to request testimony from all court officials without exception. And to anyone who dares to obstruct the course of this investigation, His Majesty the Emperor himself has promised the heaviest punishment, in accordance with the laws in force within the Eastern Roman Empire."
Hearing the sound of doors opening and seeing the shadows of servants beginning to move, the guard officer finally exhaled deeply, a breath that carried away all the tension that had weighed upon his shoulders in a single release.
He turned toward his troops, giving a small nod that was almost imperceptible, and within seconds the neat formation that had been blocking the path began to shift.
The Honor Guard moved to the left in a beautiful synchronized motion, their long kontaria raised upright in salute while also making way.
Nikephoros' Personal Guard shifted to the right in a looser but still vigilant pattern, their eyes continuing to monitor every movement of these foreign arrivals.
The servants and non-combat staff stepped back against the stone walls, clearing the widest path possible, though some still stared with curiosity they could not fully conceal.
The three layers of troops that had once seemed like an impenetrable wall had now split into two seas of men, forming a corridor leading directly to the main entrance of the residence, a path that would open only for those bearing a letter sealed with the imperial emblem and bound with a purple ribbon.
Nirma stepped forward without hesitation, her grayish-blue stola fluttering gently in the morning breeze, followed by Arya whose brown cloak nearly blended with the shadows on the stone floor, and behind them the soldiers of the City Prefect marched with steady steps, their eyes alert as they scanned every corner that might conceal danger.
A servant in a worn gray robe, the same elderly man who had earlier stood at the front holding a lantern, now approached with a slightly bowed posture as a sign of respect.
His weary yet sharp eyes alternated between Nirma and Arya before, without many words, he gestured toward the now wide-open main door.
"Caesar Nikephoros Melissenos has heard of your arrival," he said in a deep, middle-aged voice. "He is waiting in the Reception Hall. Please follow me."
He turned without waiting for a response and stepped into the residence with slow but certain strides, like someone who had performed this routine thousands of times and knew exactly where to walk, when to stop, and how to lead important guests through the labyrinthine corridors of a Byzantine noble's dwelling.
Nirma and Arya followed him without exchanging words, passing through a five-meter-tall carved teak door flanked on both sides by two Varangian guards holding large axes, moving through a long corridor with green marble floors reflecting the light of oil lamps along the walls, passing smaller chambers filled with ancient statues and porcelain vases from China brought along the Silk Road.
Behind them, the soldiers of the City Prefect followed with the same steady pace, their eyes never ceasing to move, their hands never straying far from the hilts of their swords.
When they finally arrived before a double door larger than the previous one, adorned with a carving of Christ Pantokrator at its center against a background of intricate geometric patterns, the old servant stopped and turned.
"You enter alone," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Only the two of you. Your soldiers wait here."
Nirma gave a slow nod, then turned to face the Prefect's soldiers who had loyally accompanied them since their first morning in Kapeleion.
Those faces now looked at her with a mixture of respect, exhaustion, and faint anxiety.
They knew that behind this door stood Caesar Nikephoros Melissenos, brother-in-law of Emperor Alexios I Komnenos, a man who had twice rebelled against the Emperor and still lived to tell the tale, a man whose ambition rivaled the Emperor's own yet who was forced to be content with the lesser title of Caesar.
They knew that the situation inside could turn bloody in an instant, that smiles and sweet words could become screams and the clash of blades without warning.
Yet they also knew that they had sworn to protect these two foreign investigators, that their duty was to escort them, that Manuel Botaneiates himself had sent them.
Nirma looked at them one by one, her single eye moving slowly from the leftmost face to the rightmost, as if ensuring each soldier received the same measure of attention.
Then, in the very same voice she had used at Mangana Palace several hours earlier, a voice gentle yet sharp like the tip of a dagger slipped between ribs, she began to speak.
"Listen, soldiers. The rules are the same as before. If something happens inside, if there is suddenly an attack, if there is an attempt to silence us before we obtain the truth, you are permitted to use force."
She paused briefly, allowing her words to sink in, allowing the soldiers to feel the weight of the responsibility she placed upon them.
"You may wound, you may incapacitate, you may do whatever is necessary to protect us and ensure this investigation proceeds smoothly. And if anyone is injured, if anyone dies, if there are legal consequences to be borne, Nirma and Arya will take responsibility. Not you. We will."
Arya beside her nodded slightly, reinforcing Nirma's statement, showing that they stood together in this decision, that neither of them would abandon the other in a difficult situation.
The double doors carved with Christ Pantokrator closed behind them with a heavy sound that echoed briefly through the vast chamber before being swallowed by silence.
Nirma and Arya stood for a moment, allowing their eyes to adjust to the different light within this Triclinium.
To be continued…