Chapter 63
Konstantinos Dalassenos listened to every word spoken by Nirma and Arya without changing his stance from the beginning, standing upright near the window beneath the blazing daylight.
When the young pair finally fell silent, waiting for his response, the man let out a long breath, not a breath of surrender but the breath of someone who had long wrestled with seas and storms, a breath that declared he had faced situations far more difficult than this and endured.
He stepped forward, approaching the table where the three pieces of evidence were laid out.
He bent slightly to observe the black soil inside the pouch, the glass with its oily stain, and the warehouse record still spread open.
Then he lifted his face and looked at Nirma with a gaze that could not be called angry nor fearful, but rather the gaze of someone prepared to explain, ready to straighten what he believed had gone astray.
"Lady Nirma, Sir Arya," he said in a deep and steady voice, like great waves moving across the open sea, unhurried yet powerful, "most of the clues you have gathered are correct.
I will not deny the facts you have found, for I am a soldier, and a true soldier never denies the truth before his eyes.
However, I ask that you allow me to clarify several matters that may have been overlooked in your investigation, certain points that feel misguided and require clarification before you draw conclusions too hastily."
He picked up the pouch of black soil, loosened its tie slightly, inhaled the scent of the still-damp earth, then fixed Nirma with a sharp look.
"The first piece of evidence, black soil mixed with volcanic sand from the western section of the Theodosian Harbor.
Yes, I have access and authority over some of the warehouses there.
Yes, I have held morning meetings in those warehouses on several occasions.
But you must understand that the Theodosian Harbor is not the exclusive domain of the Dalassenos family.
It is the main harbor of Constantinople, the imperial gateway where ships from all over the world dock.
Latin soldiers newly arrived from Italy, Venetian merchants carrying silk and spices, customs officials busy recording cargo, even palace agents disguised as ordinary traders, all of them enter and leave every day, every morning, without ever seeking permission from anyone.
This black soil, with the very same composition, can cling to the shoes of anyone who merely walks across the pier, anyone who stands too long waiting for a ship, anyone who slips while climbing wooden stairs made slick by moss."
He paused briefly, placing the pouch of soil back on the table, then continued in a slightly sharper yet still controlled tone.
"If fragments of harbor soil are enough to accuse an admiral of murder, then half the inhabitants of Constantinople deserve to be hanged upon the sea walls.
This evidence shows that the victim was indeed at the harbor before he died, that is an undeniable fact.
But it does not prove that he met me personally.
He could have met anyone there, an Italian merchant, a Venetian sailor, even a provocateur deliberately hired to create chaos."
Konstantinos then turned to the wine glass that still bore the oily stain along its rim.
He lifted it carefully and slowly rotated it beneath the daylight, revealing the faint imprint Arya had discovered.
"The second piece of evidence, a wine glass with an oily stain and the imprint of a sea-leather glove.
Yes, I have the habit of mixing a little olive oil into my wine, an old custom among Aegean sailors who believe the oil coats the throat and prevents seasickness.
Yes, I wear sea-leather gloves whenever I am on a ship or at the docks, because ropes can tear unaccustomed palms.
But you must underline this, the habit of mixing oil into wine is not my private secret.
It is a common practice among sailors and crewmen throughout the Aegean islands.
Thousands of sailors, hundreds of captains, dozens of naval officers do the same every day.
Sea-leather gloves are not mine alone either, all naval officers wear them, warehouse overseers who move heavy crates wear them as well, even some merchants who frequently go back and forth to the docks have begun adopting them to protect their hands."
He set the glass back upon the table and pointed toward the faint mark in question.
"And most importantly, Sir Arya himself stated that this is a faint imprint, not a direct fingerprint that can be matched with certainty.
A faint imprint from a glove cannot distinguish whether it belongs to my glove, to one of my officers, or to a foreign sailor who happened to stop by the kapeleion that morning."
His tone shifted into something calmer, deeper, like someone delivering wisdom forged from long experience.
"A habit is not a signature, Sir and Madam.
And a faint mark is not a confession.
If you hang a man based solely on habit and a faint imprint, you will hang the wrong man while the true murderer laughs in the shadows."
He drew a long breath and turned to the third piece of evidence, the warehouse record documenting the borrowing of a small amphora labeled the wood of life.
For the first time, his tone changed slightly, no longer defensive but more open, as though ready to admit something with an important qualification.
"The third piece of evidence, the Theodosian Harbor warehouse record of one small amphora labeled xylon tes zoes, creosote, pine resin.
Yes, I ordered that amphora.
Yes, it was taken by one of my men and has not yet been recorded as returned.
All of that is true, and I will not deny it."
He paused, looking from Nirma to Arya in turn, then continued in a lower, more personal tone.
"But you must understand, pine resin is a standard material for maintaining a ship's hull.
Every vessel preparing for a long voyage requires resin to seal cracks in the wood, to prevent seawater from seeping in, to ensure that the ship does not leak in the midst of a storm.
Resin is also used as a component in slow-burning signal fuel, flares lit at night to guide ships safely into harbor.
A fleet preparing to sail to Jerusalem, a fleet being readied to support the crusaders, indeed requires additional resin supplies.
I ordered that amphora for the fleet's needs, not for personal purposes, not to kill anyone."
He exhaled again and added in a meaningful tone, the tone of a man long accustomed to palace intrigues and fully aware of how such games are played.
"And there is one more matter you must consider, Sir and Madam.
A small amphora, no larger than an adult's arm, can easily be moved, borrowed, or even stolen without my knowledge.
The warehouses of the Theodosian Harbor are not fortresses guarded day and night.
Many people enter and leave at any hour.
If someone wished to cast my shadow upon a murder scene, if someone wished to direct suspicion toward the Dalassenos family, what could be easier than taking something recorded under my name and placing it at the appropriate location?
A small amphora, clearly labeled, neatly recorded in borrowing logs, is the perfect bait to ensnare an unwary admiral."
To be continued…