The death of an emporer

Through a blue translucent pane of glass could be observed the pink sun as it cast purple shadows across the straits of the Bosphorus.
The Ambassador gives a polite cough, Alexius merely turns, walking in the opposite direction, his silver buckled patent leather shoes clacking on the marble floor, the footsteps echoing in the great over head dome of Aiya Sophia. Simeon, the loyal advisor to the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire of the East, leads the Ambassador away.

 The Ambassador is distraught; he has been instructed by the Dodge of Venice to insure the compliance of the Emperor in the matter of the berthing of the fleet. He turns to Simeon.

 " When can we expect an answer."?  Simeon shrugs as he extends upraised palms. On the Asian shore a graceful galley has doused sail, the triple sails of the triangular striped lateen rig shaking as they spill wind, the single bank of oars grouped into three to a rowing bench gently making multiple minute white splashes in groups of three upon a darkening wine colored waters.

Trumpets cry shrilly, the fog begins to settle upon the small squadron ,the chill weak sunlight spreading a pattern of yellow light across a rising swell .The ambassador again attempts to find a comfortable position among the ship supplies and again fails. Great coils of rope under the bedding dig painfully into his back, above his head a smoking foul smelling lantern swings upon squeaking gimbals as the damp air permeates his bones. Giving up all pretence of sleep, he pulls aside the tent flap and strides out upon the deck. Crewmembers bend over the starboard bulwark  - staring into the mist. A faint splashing -something striking the water, the sound resolving into a large ship sporting twin banks of oar .The ship disappearing into the mist, the splashing becoming ever fainter as it subsides leaving an eerie silence and the opaque fog.

For a full five hours, they attempt to find the cove in which their ships are anchored. Cannon booms from the fleet guarding the approaches to the island of Chios as it challenges the unknown. With bow cannon, they give the requisite answer. A ship hove into view the graceful sweep of the sheer broken by the sharp peaks of steel helmets and cross bows.

In far away Venice, the Dodge unfurls a scroll. He studies the unfamiliar Greek characters for hidden meaning. The document stares back emitting a penumbra of: underlying menace, indifference, and good intentions? 

 "These Byzantine are tricky lot, the 'Bureau of Barbarians' a mysterious body adept at destabilizing the nations on its borders. They have plotted strange intrigues turning Russians against Patziaks who themselves had been set upon by Bulgers at the instigation of the Byzantine, the whole watched over by the Comens, who were themselves watched over by the Uzes." he muttered. He rolls up the scroll and inserts it into its tube with a slap, his partially hooded eyes staring into space.

A second Ambassador is sent, again no permission is granted regarding the anchoring of the Venetian fleet in the harbor of 'The Golden Horn ' above the city of Constantinople .The Venetians forced to remain at the island of Chios get sick .At first with only with a slight fever, then with a full fever and a wracking cough, and then with a fever, a wracking cough and death. On every hour there is dull splash as bundled bodies, buried at sea, hit the water .The fleet is forced to sail out of the harbor unable to stay in such a plague-infected place.