Men and women dressed in expensive gowns and robes lined the water’s edge. At the centre of the gathering was a tall and elegant figure, more simply dressed than the rest – in the manner of a soldier of Byzantium, in fact – but noticeable as a result. His hair was light brown and hung to his shoulders in long, loose curls that might have seemed feminine. He was handsome, however, with a broad chin and wide cheekbones. His mouth was wide, the lips thin but well shaped, his eyes a blue so dark they were almost purple. Suddenly catching sight of the flotilla’s commander aboard the foremost of the vessels, he raised one arm in greeting. ‘Giustiniani!’ he shouted. ‘Not a moment too soon! The sight of you pleases me more than could any other!’ The Genoan leapt up on to the gunwale of the ship, grabbed hold of one rung of a rope ladder leading to the rigging as he did so, and leaned as far out over the water as he could without tipping into the drink. ‘Where else would I be at such a time, your majesty?’ he replied.
