I’ve been working my way through Guy Gavriel Kay’s ouevre the past few years, and I’m shocked its taken me this long to get to the incredible duology that is Sailing to Sarantium and Lord of Emperors. I say duology but in truth they are two halves of a whole, which is dubbed the Sarantine Mosaic, and so I will review them together while avoiding spoilers as much as possible for both books. And I say shocked because I have a PhD in the political history of the fourth-century Roman Empire, i.e. just a few hundred years before the historical period that inspired this work. To someone in the modern world, that may seem a lot of time, but in truth there are more similarities than differences between the worlds of fourth-century and sixth-century Constantinople. Really, I don’t think its possible for a book to combine my fantasy and historical interests better than this one does. (If there is, I would love to find it!)
As usual, Kay follows someone on the periphery of power as his main character. The story largely follows the mosaicist Caius Crispinus–more colloquially known as Crispin–who answers a summons to go to Sarantium (i.e. Byzantium/Constantinople/Istanbul) to create mosiacs for the emperor. He is given a second task: to bring an offer of marriage from Gisel, the young and precariously-situated queen of the Antae (analogous to the Goths or Lombards) The first book largely follows Crispin’s journey on foot to Sarantium from his home in the west (i.e. Italy) and his introduction to the city and its most notable inhabitants. The second delves more into political intrigue, both past and present, and the threat of war with both the king of Bassania (i.e. Persia) to the east and with the Antae in the West. As usual, Kay brings in many other point-of-view characters to flesh out the world he has created: some of my favourites were the flashy charioteer Scortius and the eager assistant cook Kyros, although they were not necessarily at the heart of the plot. The introduction of the Bassanid doctor Rustem was a welcome addition in the second part, as he sees the world in a very different way than the others and yet becomes bound up in the affairs of the city.
I have loved Kay’s more historical fantasies, especially Lions of Al-Rassan, which was my introduction to his work. In its feel–and its impressive historicity–the Sarantine Mosaic is most akin to Lions. It, like so many other works of Kay’s, is a l0ve-letter to civilization: in this case, the early Byzantine period, specifically the reign of Emperor Justinian and Empress Theodora. The names are changed but the characters of Valerius II and his empress Alixana, at least, are unmistakably inspired by the most famous emperor and empress of the Byzantine era. There are other characters clearly inspired by historical figures, most notably the secretary Pertennius by the historian Procopius, whose characterization of Theodora is cruelly mirrored in Pertennius’ horrible fascination with Alixana’s past. But perhaps the most fascinating historical element brought to life in this novel is the city’s obsession with races and the intense rivalry between the racing factions, the Blues and the Greens (just as in the Byzantine world). I expected to find this boring, not being a sports person myself, and was shocked at how vividly Kay wove the faction fights and passions through the novels.
But, as is usual for Kay, it is culture that provides the heart of the story: in this case, it is mosaics. Crispin sees the world in color and wonders how he would recreate it; mosaics are a way to underline humanity and its faith in a higher power. Faith is, too, explored in tender depths in the duology–not only human belief but the trappings of belief. I don’t think you have to be Christian to appreciate the Jad of these books, the god who suffers for humanity in the darkness of each night. For that matter, you probably don’t need to be a historian to appreciate the levels of heresy the characters discuss over the course of this book and its sequel, from the forbidden worship of Jad’s son to the debate over religious images (both inspired by actual theological debates from the period).
Kay’s writing and focus points do somewhat force a distance between the reader and the characters and still somehow make everything more poignant. Nothing ever happens quite as I expect, and yet every event seems meaningful and inevitable. His women are always enigmatic, and there is not much magic to be seen (something I do not mind in the slightest).
It is perhaps unlikely that a fantasy can be such a successful exploration of a distinct historical period, but in this endeavor, Kay has been utterly successful. The Sarantine Mosaic somehow manages to encapsulate the Justinianic period and bring it fiercely to life in a way that might not have been possible by someone constrained more by historical fact. Kay does take liberties with the historical narrative–after all, he is not writing historical fiction–and in doing so crafts an elegant and poignant picture of love–the love between husband and wife, between humanity and god, between craftsman and craft, between father and child and vice versa, and so many other kinds of love besides.