Tobias
Book One of The Triptych Chronicle
by
Prue Batten
by
Prue Batten
Byzantium stretches a weakening grip across Eastern Europe, trying in vain to hold onto all that has made it an empire. Tyrian purple, the unique dye that denotes its power, is held under close guard by the imperial house.
However a Jewish merchant from Venice has sourced an illegal supply and Tobias the dwarf minstrel and his twin brother, Tomas, begin a dangerous journey to retrieve the purple and deliver it into the merchant’s eager hands.
But is this supply as secret as they had hoped?
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Trade is cut throat, men are expendable, money is power and Constantinople provides the exotic backdrop during a time of scimitars and shadows.
This is Tobias – the story of a minstrel and a broken life…
Semi-finalist in 2016 M.m. Bennetts Award for Historical Fiction (UK)
'Authentic characters and a twisting plot move this tale to a gripping end.' Christian Cameron, author of The Chivalry Series
'Although the time and the place of the story is very different, there was something ... that reminded me of the great Patrick O'Brian. For historical fiction, there is really no greater praise.' Matthew Harffy - The Bernicia Chronicles.
‘A powerful tale of violence, treachery, and intrigue, set in the cut-throat world of medieval trade.’ Ann Swinfen, author of The Chronicles of Christoval Alvarez.
‘An atmospheric journey through the seedy underbelly of medieval Europe.’ SJA Turney, author of Marius’s Mules.
Excerpt from
Tobias (The Triptych Chronicle Book 1)
They stopped at the top of the stair. Behind them, the world opened out, tantalising in its vast opportunity. Promising so much, Toby thought. In some monastery chapel close by, men’s voices drifted on the air in a chant, just the one word – Alleluleia, a single voice and then choral responses in tonal rises and falls. Had he come to Constantinople for this? For Divine music and inspirational words? Or for excitement and lust?
But all he could think of as he turned back to the massive doors that made him feel like an ant was, No, I came to buy a lyra.
Dana walked through the south gates and along the narthex, avoiding the imperial gates. He followed like a child, skirting the omphalos, his eyes drifting up to the dome that hung weightless it seemed, above them. Light streamed in through the windows and to anyone who thought God didn’t exist, this sight above all others must change their minds. Toby crossed himself as he spun slowly in a circle, eyes fixed on that sight.
How in Heaven’s name had they created arches strong enough to hold the dome in place?
His eyes drifted further and what he had thought were smaller buildings, clustered around the skirt of the basilica, were in fact supportive smaller domes. It was a wonder of construction … coloured marbles that reminded him of Dana’s kerkis trees and golden mosaics, a richness that made one question if one was now in Heaven. He stared at the huge silver iconostasis in the distance, but then his glance caught on the most perfect icon – the Pantocrator’s face, placid, wise, all-knowing. He crossed himself again.
‘Tobias,’ hissed Dana. ‘Tobias, pay attention. I have found a priest who can help us…’ She grabbed Toby’s arm and yanked him behind her toward a tall man whose hair flowed luxuriantly and whose beard intermingled with his hair. On his head, a small cloth skoufos balanced precariously and he wore a plain but richly golden pectoral cross. ‘Tobias, this is Father Symeon. He has been within the Church all day and had an enquiry from a small person … did you not, Father?’
‘Indeed. He was … not unlike yourself,’ he nodded at Tobias, a hand reaching for the prayer rope at his wrist and fingering the knots.
He is afraid of me…
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