《The Byzantine Wager》 Dedication and Acknowledgements Dedication This is for my mother, Bonnie, who was our school librarian while I was growing up. She taught me to love reading. I thought I should add a book to the shelves. Acknowledgements None of this would have been possible without Niketas Choniates (a law student in a lawless time) writing "O City of Byzantium" describing what he witnessed and heard in Constantinople. The other main chronicler of the period was Eustathios, Archbishop of Thessalonica. Other useful primary sources include William, Archbishop of Tyre (a guest at the wedding of the century) and Andronikos'' own aunt Anne Komnenos. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Professor (emeritus) John Melville-Jones of the University of Western Australia was kind enough to send me the text of a lecture he gave in 2010 at a symposium. That gave me a solid track to build on. https://aabs.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/melvillejonesandronicus.pdf Robin Pierson''s podcast - "The History of Byzantium" - is superb. https://thehistoryofbyzantium.com/ I am very grateful to the people at Byzantium 1200 for the amazing visuals they have created. https://www.byzantium1200.com/ The ''book cover'' art for this comes from from gencraft. I simply entered a single line of text from the second page¡­ and this is the picture it generated. Pretty close to how I imagined it. Dramatis Personae Dramatis Personae Italia Nobles Guilhelm - Margrave of Montferat Judith- his wife Conrad - Margrave Guilhelm¡¯s oldest surviving son, defender of Tyre in the 3rd Crusade Boniface - younger brother, head of the 4th Crusade Commoners *Pons - mercenary captain to Margrave Guilhelm *Cyn - sargent of crossbowmen to Conrad of Montferat *Marius - courier and cavalry scout to Margrave Guilhelm Constantinople Nobles You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Andronikos I Komnenos - (co)Eastern Roman Emperor Alexios II Konmenos - (co)Eastern Roman Emperor, son of Emperor Manuel, 2nd cousin of Andronikos I Maria of Antioch - mother of, and Empress regent to, Alexios II. Widow of Emperor Manuel, aka Xene (after becoming a nun) Anna of France - betrothed to Alexios II John Ducas - Sebastokrator Andronikos Ducas Angelos - Admiral of the Byzantine fleet, brother of John Euphrosyne Katamonitissa - his wife Alexios Angelos - their elder son Issac Angelos - their younger son Theodore Kantakouzenos - a wealthy young noble ^Helena - Andronikos'' first wife. Commoners *Brian the Saxon - A captain of the Verangian guard Maraptikee - Andronikos'' favorite concubine Stephen Hagiocharistophrites - Andronikos¡¯ cat¡¯s-paw Pterygeonites - bearer of the chalice of Mithridatium Skleros Seth - an astrologer *Nestor - a storyteller *Brother Daniel - a stylite *Alexander ¡°the Great¡± - charioteer for the Blue faction *Fat George - head of Constantinople¡¯s underworld *Pandarus - dealer in quality slaves / pimp Zinthzinphitees - hunchback / seller of luck and insults * fictional character ^ historical person whose actual name has been lost to history I welcome comments, questions, or criticisms. If you enjoy this story please pass it along to a friend. Prologue The Byzantine Wager Prologue ¡°Christos.¡± said Pons, ¡°It makes you wonder, no?¡± ¡°Dudn¡¯t what make you wonder?¡± Cyn replied. Cyn was sharpening Pons¡¯ new sword and he wasn¡¯t happy about the heat. ¡°Bollocks, it is hot out here.¡± ¡°This¡­ right here.¡± Pons shaded his eyes from the fierce sun and surveyed his surroundings. ¡°A dynasty¡­ ending right in front of our eyes.¡± Cyn looked out at the ¡°this¡± to which Pons was referring. The Hippodrome of Constantinople, which at noon on this scorching hot September day, was only starting to fill. There was not going to be any chariot racing in the stadium today and the populace knew it. It had been a restless couple of nights in the greatest city in Christendom. Rumor had been rife. Talk of swift riders bearing messages of warning, the elite Varangian guard being summoned to the palace in force, entire noble families disappearing overnight, murder and treason in the dark. Some said an invading army was less than a day¡¯s march from the city. Some said they had personally witnessed the Emperor himself, the Basileus, Augustus over all, shaved and humiliated on the back of a mangy camel, being pelted by dung, stones, and garbage, as he was paraded around the market. Some said there was already a new emperor. For two days this had gone on. Those who had the means were already on their way out of the capital until things had settled down. Today there was a trickle of people slowly gathering at the Hippodrome. It hadn¡¯t been announced, criers had not gone out to summon a crowd, but still somehow word got around as it always did: ¡°Something is happening at the Hippodrome.¡± ¡°Daniel saw soldiers leading a prisoner.¡± ¡°Perhaps there is going to be an execution.¡± Gradually a small crowd of the curious and bored, donning wide brimmed hats to shade themselves, had begun to file into the vast space of the chariot circuit. Some were in the stands, but many came right onto the track and made their dusty way around the stadium to where the imperial box, the kathisma, came into view. This was where Pons and Cyn were waiting with their captive. Cyn, the younger of the two, was a broad shouldered man in his late twenties. He sat on the stone railing of the box with his legs dangling over the seating below, looking out over the racetrack, as he carefully ran a whetstone along the edge of a sword. ¡°¡®Dynasty ending?¡¯ Some new rich family will be sleeping in the palace tonight, is that what you mean?¡± The sword, which was already keen, had a slight curve along the blade. ¡°Kinda looks like one of these Saracen¡¯s swords.¡± Cyn said idly, ¡°Only not so curvy. Not really a long sword, not really a scimitar.¡± ¡°Mind you, pay particular attention to the point.¡± Pons ordered. Pons was a small man in his, perhaps, late fifties - it was hard to tell his age. The grizzled veteran¡¯s face carried the look of many hard campaign seasons. ¡°Si, don¡¯t you worry,¡± Cyn replied. ¡°I¡¯ll get this shank good and sharp for ya.¡± It needed to be sharp. There was money riding on it. Pons was busy tying two stout lengths of rope around the ankles of the prisoner at his feet. The ropes were in turn attached to pulleys on the tops of two nearby columns. In a few moments they were going to hoist the man upside down and spread eagled into the air. ¡°Water,¡± the prisoner croaked, ¡°Please, for the love of Jesus, some water.¡± Cyn and Pons ignored him. They were getting good at ignoring him. He had been whining for three days - although, in all fairness, they had been three miserable days for him. Now it was nearing the end, and Cyn thought it was just as well. The poor fellow was not looking well at all. The captive, Andronikos, was sixty-seven years old, and three days ago he could have easily passed for fifty. His long forked beard and leonine mane of hair had been shaved off, or more accurately, hacked off, by a mob, and none too gently. Tufts continued to sprout from some parts of his pate alongside scabs starting to form over the scalp abrasions where the people doing the cutting had slipped or been jostled. Three days ago he had been Emperor of the Romans, the Equal of the Apostles, ruler of the greatest city on Earth. Today he was going to die publicly and horribly. Once he had been the most handsome and charming man in the empire, and had been able to seduce princesses (frequently his own relatives) from here to the Holy Land. Now one eye had been gouged from its socket and his face was raw and blistered from where a prostitute had scalded him with a pot of boiling water. Cyn had the distinct impression that the whore and Andronikos had some history. ¡°Water¡­ Aqua ¡­ I beg you¡­¡± Andronikos rasped again. ¡°Oh the poor thing, he is dying of thirst over here, Pons,¡± Cyn called out with feigned sincerity. ¡°Can I please get him a tiny drink of water?¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°No. Fuck him.¡± replied Pons. ¡°Sorry, I tried.¡± Cyn gave a sheepish shrug towards the emperor¡¯s one remaining eye. In fact Cyn was quite thirsty himself. Earlier he had been drinking some quality wine, to which he had helped himself, at the palace. It was wonderful stuff, but on a day this hot it was only serving to leave a dry sour taste in his mouth. ¡°I¡¯m thirsty too, Pons.¡± Cyn complained. He tried spitting on the whetstone again, but could hardly summon any saliva. ¡°Jesu, it is roasting out here,¡± Cyn thought again for the hundredth time. ¡°I honestly think this is the hottest day I¡¯ve ever seen in my life,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Reminds me of when I was on pilgrimage with Margrave Guilhem at the siege of Damascus. It was plenty hot then too, and the dust¡­ but I grant you today is hotter than Hell.¡± ¡°There has to be a fountain around here somewhere. Maybe I¡¯ll go and look.¡± ¡°Be patient,¡± Pons was having difficulty adjusting the lengths of the ropes on Andronikos¡¯ ankles. Perspiration kept dripping in his eyes. ¡°If his Imperial Highness Basilius Isaac would hurry up and get his arse here we could get this over with and be off to some cool cellar to drink away the afternoon. What is taking him so long?¡± The ¡°this¡± Pons was referring to now was the wager. He and an enormous Venetian, Marco Dandolo, were going to hang the former emperor upside down and run him through with their swords. Whomever¡¯s sword penetrated him the most deeply would win fifty gold hyperpyron as a prize from Isaac, the new Emperor. Pons had carefully chosen this particular sword earlier. He had made the short walk to the palace of the Bull and the Lion and spent a long moment in the armory of the Imperial bodyguards trying to select the exact right one. He tested the weight, balance, and steel of several before selecting the one Cyn was now sharpening. While Pons was choosing his blade, Cyn, with the help of the fisherman¡¯s son, had been rigging the pulleys to the tops of the columns which flanked the kasthima, the Imperial viewing box. Fortunately for Cyn, the fisherman¡¯s son could climb like a chipmunk, and as a result, he did all of the high work while Cyn handled the ropes. When the task was completed, they sent the fisherman¡¯s son off to find out what was keeping His Imperial Highness Basilius Isaac so long. ¡°When the boy comes back, we¡¯ll send him to get some water.¡± Cyn reached into his pocket and his hand closed around three hard candies each about the size of a walnut. They had been sitting in a bowl in the palace and he had scooped them up when he had looted the wine. He popped one of the cloudy yellow sweetmeats into his mouth. It tasted like a sugary lemon. He sucked on it and ran it back and forth around his teeth. Cyn¡¯s teeth were surprisingly good for a man of twenty-six. However, his judgment teeth had recently come in the back of his mouth, and they were causing him pain. Praying to Saint Appolonia to end his toothache was not helping, nor was the heat. The lemon drop wasn¡¯t quenching his thirst, but some saliva was forming. ¡°Does ¡®er want a sweetie?¡± Cyn said tauntingly to Andronikos. He held the candy in front of the Emperor¡¯s mouth. Androkikos lay in a heap. His breath on Cyn¡¯s hand came in ragged gasps. ¡°Cyn if you give that child-rapist a sweetmeat, I¡¯ll run the sword through you as well.¡± Pons looked at him sternly and pulled a knot tight in the rope. ¡°Damn heat. Damn teeth.¡± Cyn complained again. He looked Andronikos in the remaining eye, and then turned to Pons. ¡°I know why blessed St. Appolionia isn¡¯t listening to my prayers and ending this toothache. It¡¯s because we¡¯re doing murder. She ain¡¯t goin¡¯ to listen to the prayers of some man doin¡¯ murder, not when some honest soul with a toothache in Milan or London or somewhere is prayin¡¯ as well.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not murder.¡± Pons said. ¡°Well, I¡¯m pretty sure we¡¯re going to kill this bugger¡­ and we are not in a battle¡­ so that makes it murder, dudn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s an execution.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ right.¡± Cyn rubbed his jaw. ¡°Do executioners need to confess to a priest?¡± Pons paused. He was a mercenary captain and didn¡¯t concern himself with either law or theology. ¡°Dunno. Couldn¡¯t hurt. Never does any harm to go to confession.¡± ¡°Well then I think I will confess. Once I¡¯m shriven I bet St. Apollonia will hear my prayers and stop my jaw from aching. What kind of penance do you think I¡¯ll have to do for killing an emperor? More than a couple of rosaries I wager.¡± ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be a problem. You¡¯re not the one swinging the sword after all.¡± ¡°And why is that?¡± asked Cyn a bit petulantly. ¡°Why does Marco Dondalo get a chance at all the gold? He has only just arrived. I¡¯ve been stalking this cunis with you for years. How is it I am not allowed a stab?¡± ¡°Because this cunis took all Marco had - his family, his trading house, everything. What has he taken from you? It may be I stick him to the hilt and win the money, but even so - Dondalo will be grateful I gave him this chance. Forever. And not only him - his entire clan.¡± ¡°What do you need from the Venetians?¡± ¡°Nothing, but what is wrong with having a little gratitude in the saddle bags.¡± Cyn glanced at Andronikos again and for the first time noticed something black and round inside his left nostril. ¡°Aww, look. Someone in the mob shoved a goat turd up his nose. I tell you Pons, these people are cruel. The sooner we are gone from among these Greeks and back among decent Latins and Allemagnes, the better.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have thought you¡¯d be so keen on leaving this place. All you¡¯ve done since we got here three years ago is drink wine and bed doxies.¡± Cyn decided not to let the comment about his uselessness pass. ¡°I have provided a few useful contributions to this great plan.¡± He paused in thought. ¡°Let¡¯s see, I broke into a few places. I stood lookout while you did the same. Circumvented some rules in some games we had bets on. Shot crossbow bolts into a few soldiers. Looked after the horses almost all of the time.¡± Not having the patience to keep sucking, Cyn crunched the lemony candy between his teeth and tartness made him pucker. ¡°Has it been three whole years we¡¯ve been at this?¡± He paused to consider. ¡°I guess so. I suppose after we wrap this up we can head back to Montferatto. It¡¯ll be nice to go home again.¡± Chapter 1 - A Messenger Arrives Chapter 1 A Messenger Arrives Cyn could clearly recall the day it all had started. On a warm evening in late July, he and Pons stood on the field near the church of St. Evasius in the town of Montferrat giving some instructions to the new recruits on the use of the crossbow. Four men had arrived in town over the past few weeks, two cousins from Pisa, which lay a few days journey to the south and east, an Allemagne from across the Alps to the north, and a tall lad from the nearby town of Alba. People came from all over. Word spread the Margrave of Montferrat was always looking for men who knew how to fight. This was true enough; he kept a small army of men-at-arms and crossbowmen, which he hired out as mercenaries when he wasn¡¯t using their services himself. Two of his grown sons, both in their thirties, each commanded a score of heavy cavalry. Conrad and Boniface were not averse to taking up a cause for hire if a city or a noble came up with the right price. There were jobs to be had in Montferrat for sell-swords, but not any sinner who had done a murder somewhere and then ran, could show up and expect to find employment. They had to have some skills and they had to be able to follow orders. Which remained to be seen with this lot. The recruits were shooting at a coiled rope target which hung in front of a tightly packed hay bale standing up against the wall of the church some eighty paces away. They were competing both for accuracy and the speed of their reloads, but none of the men were impressing Cyn. Pons was standing idly by chewing on a blade of grass. As captain of the mercenaries, he liked to keep an eye on all aspects of the training. He was a great believer in practice - set soldiers apart from the rabble. Although the day was fine, he would have had them out here practicing in all sorts of conditions. He knew some captains who would only force their men to practice when the weather was agreeable. What was the point of that? ¡°Complete horseshit,¡± Pons thought. ¡°As if you could count on battles happening only on fair days.¡± No, the men of Montferrat drilled in the pissing rain. They slogged in full armor up muddy mountainous paths. They fired their crossbows with the wind in their faces, and the rising sun in their eyes. This particular practice had been going on for about an hour and none of the four were impressing him overly much either. Perhaps the Allemagne. ¡°No, you horse¡¯s ass, don¡¯t pull the string with your arms, push the stirrup with your legs.¡± Cyn snatched a crossbow from one of the Pisans and put his foot through the stirrup which was secured under the cross piece at the front. His fingers were so rough and calloused he didn¡¯t need to use a draw hook on the string. He effortlessly extended his leg and cocked it. He smoothly drew a bolt from the quiver which hung at his thigh, placed it in the groove, raised the crossbow to his eye, squeezed the release, and before the bolt had hit the center of the target, he had his foot in the stirrup again to repeat the process. He fired four bolts faster than the others could fire even one and they all struck in a grouping so tight the feathers of all four could have easily been covered by a child¡¯s hand. At eighty paces Cyn could not miss. ¡°You have a lot more strength in your legs than you do in your arms. Let your legs do the work.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The soldiers set to it again. The creaking of the crossbows as they were drawn back and the ¡®thwock¡¯ of the bolts as they struck the target mixed with the buzzing of bees in the field. Presently the rapid rhythm of a galloping horse could be heard. Pons turned his gaze and spied a lone rider pushing his horse hard, coming along the road which ran down past the forest of Selva Cornea which stood close by. The rider wore the red and white livery of the Margrave of Montferrat. The drumming of the horse¡¯s hooves became thunderous as it crossed the nearby bridge. As he drew closer, Pons could make out the long, lean, sunburned face. ¡°Is that our Marius?¡± Cyn ambled over, ¡°¡®Tis. He¡¯s been gone awhile. Can¡¯t even remember the last time I saw him.¡± ¡°He went to Jerusalem with Longsword. Been there since. That was five years ago or more.¡± ¡°Looks like he¡¯s in a hurry.¡± ¡°Flashy bastard,¡± Pons said. ¡°He was probably only going at a canter until the castle came into view, then he laid on the spurs to make himself look heroic.¡± That might have been true, thought Cyn. Marius did have a sort of flashy charm, but there was no doubt he was a most reliable messenger, a superb horseman, a multi-lingual minor diplomat, and a handy fellow with a blade as well. It was also true that by birth he was a bastard. The thin, stubble cheeked rider raised a hand in greeting to Pons and Cyn as he reined his small mare in. He was covered in dust from the road and his clothing was plastered to his body with sweat. The horse was not fully blown, but she certainly looked like she had been given a hard day¡¯s exercise. The muscles in her legs quivered while the men spoke. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in an age, Marius. Where are you coming in from, all hot and bedeviled?¡± Marius paused and looked both men in the eyes. ¡°Worrying news from the Holy City and terrible news from the Great City.¡± ¡°Uh oh, what sort of trouble has young Renier got himself into over there?¡± Pons asked. Marius cast his eyes down. ¡°All the trouble he could get into.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± asked Cyn. ¡°Really,¡± said Marius, ¡°I must see the Margrave immediately. Do you know where he is?¡± ¡°He was in the hall about an hour ago. I¡¯d start there.¡± Pons searched the messenger¡¯s face for any further clues, but Marius put his heels to the horse¡¯s flank and sped off up the riverbank towards the castle, dust following in his wake. ¡°What¡¯s that all about?¡± asked Cyn. Pons bent over to pick up a goose feather fletching which had fallen off one of the crossbow bolts and lay on the grass. ¡°That, Cyn my boy - unless I am very much mistaken - is our Lord Guilhem losing another son.¡± He twirled the gray feather in his rough hands as he followed Marius up the hill towards the hall. Chapter 2 - Worrying News From the Holy City Chapter 2 Worrying News From the Holy City Marius had felt horses fall out from under him before due to exhaustion, but for the last few miles he had felt sure the filly would make it. She had stumbled for a step or two, but after trotting her for a spell she appeared fine and they resumed their distance-eating gallop. Marius had slept for a few hours the night before at an abbey near Cremona after darkness fell, but he had been up again at first light. The Margrave was a benefactor of the monks so when it came time to exchange mounts he had his choice. This filly was all the brother who kept the stables had promised - small but of terrific endurance. Together they raced up the well traveled roads and tracks which followed the River Po as it flowed from the west and completed the final leg of what had been a long journey. The horse¡¯s hooves clattered a drum beat on the planks as they crossed the final bridge spanning the river. At the nearby church he spied some men training. Among them were the first familiar faces he had seen in a long time - Margrave Guilhem¡¯s master at arms, Pons, and Lord Conrad¡¯s sergeant of crossbowmen, Cyn. At long last - home to Monferrato. The thump-thump drum-beat thudding of horses'' hooves as he crossed the bridge ended his journey. The pealing of wedding bells had been the start. Clang clang. Clang clang. The church bells had rung in the Holy City of Jerusalem to announce the wedding of William Longsword¡¯s widow. The Princess Sybilla was getting married again. This was of huge importance to William Longsword¡¯s father, the Margrave. He needed to be informed - by Marius in person - as soon as possible - that William¡¯s son and Margrave Guilhem¡¯s grandson, the child Baldwin - heir to the Kingdom of Jerusalem - was in danger. This was the entire purpose and reason for Marius being so far from home. Watch after the child. Should any change in his fortune or circumstance arise - report back to me at once. For the nonce, use my name to secure a position with The King or Count Raymond. That had been his message of instruction - written on parchment and delivered to his hand via no less a personage than a bishop. It came from his liege and arrived after the baby had been born and after the child¡¯s father, the Longsword, had died. Marius had traveled to the Holy City in the entourage of William Longsword over six years earlier when he had set out on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The pilgrimage was not due to any overwhelming sense of piety on the Longsword¡¯s part, but rather it was at the invitation of Count Raymond of Tripoli. Raymond was the advisor and vassal of King Baldwin of Jerusalem, and Baldwin was looking for an heir. King Baldwin - the fourth of that name - was only fifteen years old but it was obvious he would never marry, or father children, or even live much longer for that matter. Sadly, Baldwin was afflicted with leprosy. Why had the Almighty Lord stricken down so pious a sovereign - King of the Holy City itself? Something was terribly wrong in the Holy Land. The Kingdom of Jerusalem was only a few generations old and it was troubled. The grandchildren and great grandchildren of the lords, who carved the kingdom out of the violence of the First Crusade, were bickering among themselves. They also bickered with lords and pilgrims more recently arrived from Europe. They bickered with the church in Rome and with the Byzantine Emperor. The Knights of the Temple bickered with the Knights of the Hospital. And everybody bickered with the Saracens. The putrification of the young king¡¯s body reflected the decay in his realm. He was obviously not long for this world. He did, however, have sisters - the eldest of whom, Sibylla, was being raised at a convent. Sybilla was fourteen and in need of a husband. Inevitably, when Baldwin went the way of all flesh and his soul ascended into Heaven, the crown would pass to her. The lucky man who was married to this girl would gain the crown matrimonial and become king. There were many nobles who aspired to the position, but with the Holy Land in an almost constant state of warfare, the next king would have to be someone quite remarkable. King Baldwin and his advisor Count Raymond put their heads together to discuss suitable bridegrooms. Many names came up: John Lackland, youngest son of the English King, was one. Another was Stephen of Sancerre, a French count. That worthy even came to Jerusalem on pilgrimage, but declined both bride and kingdom for reasons of his own. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. In all of their discussions, however, there was one name which they kept coming back to - William ¡°Longsword¡± of Montferrat. He was of impeccable family and fabulously well connected. His father was the wealthiest lord in northern Italy. He was cousin to the Holy Roman Emperor, cousin to the King of France, and kin to many other noble houses throughout Europe. He was a handsome man in the prime of his life, well educated, honorable, a skilled warrior, renowned in the jousting lists, and a commander of men. Fortunately, William had also managed to remain unmarried for thirty-three years. The drawback of being connected to most of the noble houses of Europe meant the daughters of those noble houses were also his blood relatives. It was quite difficult for him to find a bride of suitable birth who was not also a cousin in a prohibited degree of consanguinity. He had been in England unsuccessfully seeking a bride when word of Count Raymonds offer of betrothal reached him. Forced to choose between being King of Jerusalem or heading north to Scotland to seek an unrelated princess was no choice at all. William arrived in the Holy Land in 1176 and married King Baldwin the Leper¡¯s sister and became next in line for the throne of Jerusalem. But, like so many pilgrims who traveled from their homelands to Outremer, within a year he fell ill of a mal-aria, the bad air fever, and died, leaving Sybilla pregnant with their son. After his lord¡¯s death, Marius had lingered at court until the Margrave¡¯s letter arrived. When he had asked Count Raymond for an appointment, the King¡¯s savvy counselor had known at once what Margrave Guilhem¡¯s unsaid intent was. I want my man to keep an eye on the boy as he grows. Use him, but do not use him up. And was the role Marius had played for over five years. Loyal servant of house Montferrat. The Margrave¡¯s eyes and ears in the East - watching out for his grandson. Everyone knew of Maruis¡¯s affinity for horses and abilities as a messenger. He acted as a scout in times of conflict - proving of great value to Baldwin both before and during the battle of Montgisard. In times of peace his duty was to carry dispatches, serve in the King¡¯s stables as a trainer, and instruct the prince, also called Baldwin, in riding as he grew. The little prince was now five years old and heir to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but his mother¡¯s new marriage to Guy de Lusignan, a disreputable French bandit lord, meant his life was at risk. Should she give birth to a son¡­ perhaps Guy de Lusignan would prefer the child of his own loins to become heir rather than an unwanted stepchild. King Baldwin was gravely ill. Support for de Lusignan was growing. The chimes of their nuptials had barely stopped ringing in Marius¡¯ ears when he made his way out of the gates of Jerusalem towards the harbor at Azotus. The King had granted him a berth on the first ship which was leaving. The ship was heading to Constantinople bearing his new ambassador - which was good news for Marius. The Great City was roughly half the distance to Montferrat, and there he would find Renier - William Longsword¡¯s youngest brother. Renier had recently wedded the Byzantine Emperor¡¯s sister and was now fabulously wealthy and titled in his own right and would be able to speed Marius along his way. Of course, Marius would rather have been riding a horse over the land than a ship over the sea, but the land route would have taken longer. Risky as a sea journey always was due to pirates and storms, the land road was even more treacherous - crossed too many rivers, meandered through too many mountain ranges, and traversed the realms of too many lords of questionable integrity and even worse faith. Half of the journey led through the lands of the Turk. The sea route it would have to be - and the ¡°berth¡± was barely worthy of the name - a space on the planking to sleep beside the snoring rowers and no more. The ambassador and the captain shared the tiny aft cabin. Marius bunked on the deck next to the crew and the ambassador''s servants. Unlike the ambassador¡¯s entourage - who served only him, Marius would - due to boredom and his general good nature - help out on the Faith: filling in for an oarsman who needed to shit over the side, or plucking a chicken for the cook. The galley rowed north with the coast of Palestine eastward off the right bow for several days until they hooked westward around the island of Cyprus. Then the rocky coast of Anatolia with its hidden coves and inlets lay off the right bow to the north for stroke upon stroke of the oars. Days passed to the creaking of the oarlocks. In the mornings the rhythmic call and response songs of the rowers ferried them along while they had energy. In the heat of the afternoon the beating of the drum carried them when they fagged. Sometimes the lanteen sails would pick up a breeze to help them along, and provide a rest. Chapter 3 - Terrible News From the Great City Chapter 3 Terrible News From the Great City That all was amiss in Constantinople was clear long before Marius ever set foot on the dock. Two days earlier, as the Faith tacked out of the Hellespont narrows and entered into the much wider Propontis, they encountered a fleet of ships which looked as if they were about to attack. Most flew the Lion of Venice from their masts. Marius knew - to some degree or other - every language necessary to travel from the Holy Land to the shores of far off Brittany. Venice was a week''s leisurely ride from his home in Monferrato so he was chosen to speak. As the lead ship came close, Marius could see she meant trouble. She had a ram on her prow and archers with fire arrows lined the decks. It was late in the day and the north wind blew in the Venetian¡¯s favor. ¡°State your intentions, sirrah.¡± he cupped his mouth with his hands and shouted to the large bearded Venetian captain. ¡°This ship carries the ambassador of King Baldwin of Jerusalem to the court of Constantinople.¡± He could see a discussion on the far deck. Moments passed. Across the chop of the waves came a reply. ¡°We mean no trouble to Jerusalem, but we urge you to proceed no further. The Great City has gone mad. All the foreigners were slaughtered and we alone managed to flee.¡± ¡°Who attacked you?¡± ¡°Who rules the city?¡± ¡°Has there been a war declared?¡± The Venetians could supply no clear answers to these questions. After conferring with the captain, the ambassador decided to continue. The Venetians allowed them to go unmolested, but many sullen looks were cast their way from the people on the ships as they passed through the fleet which contained some forty ships. Although he had traveled far in his young life, Marius had never been to the greatest city of them all. On his way east with William Longsword they had not tarried and sailed directly from Venice to Tyre, bypassing Constantinople. That trip was happier. Marius had been twenty-one years old, his master was going to marry a princess and become King, the world was so full of promise. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. At the mouth of the Dardanelles strait the city of Kallipolis burned. Each stroke upon stroke of the oar now filled Marius with a desperate urgency and dread. Every village, town, and monastery on the north coast of the Sea of Marmara which they came to, and which the Venetian fleet had sailed passed, smoldered. Smoke mixed with the dawn mist was the first they knew of Constantinople. The fog evaporated as the morning passed, but the smoke remained. They saw the domes of the Great City¡¯s basilicas before they saw the sails of the Roman navy. As they neared the city none of the naval vessels approached and no boat was dispatched from the harbor master as was the custom. Strange. The Faith¡¯s captain proceeded north rounding the peninsula only to find the great chain leading to the Neorian Harbor by the Latin Quarter was raised. There was no access from the Bosphorous to the Golden Horn and so they had no choice but to row south again and put in at one of the other harbors. Normally they would put in at the naval docks, since they were carrying a diplomat, but no naval ship had given them permission to do so. Instead they docked in the commercial Eleutherion Harbor undirected. The ship¡¯s captain set off to find a harbor master, the ambassador set off to find a bureaucrat in charge of foreign affairs. Marius, not knowing what to do, elected to follow along with the ambassador. At the Grand Palace, no one appeared to be in charge. Of palace functionaries, there were plenty. Secretaries, notaries, quaestors, tribunes, praetors, and other magistrates came and went, but they seemed nervous and none were interested in the situation of the foreigners. Greek was one of the languages he was least familiar with, so Marius felt himself hampered. But from listening as closely as he could to conversations he was able to deduce the overseer of international diplomacy, the Logothete of the Dromus - the man to whom the ambassador should present himself - was dead. Just now. Publicly executed yesterday afternoon. The empress regent had been confined to her rooms in the palace, and her power hungry lover the Protosebastos had been killed. The boy emperor, fourteen year old Alexios, was now the ward of an uncle or cousin or some such of his late father. No one knew what had happened to Alexios¡¯ older sister Maria, or her husband Renier. With what money he had running low, Marius parted with as much as he could spare and hired a crier to shout for news. Which led him to a sailor. The sailor led him to the fisherman. The fisherman¡¯s son took him to where they had buried the body. Chapter 4 - The Wedding of the Century Chapter 4 The Wedding of the Century Pons made his way to the hall slowly. He already guessed the news which Marius brought to the Margrave and he did not want to intrude on the tears and grief. Pons had no kin of his own, but Margrave Guilhem and his wife Judith had a large family - three daughters and five sons - all grown and married. The girls had been married off to suitable lordly husbands. Gisela married the Marquis of Malaspina. Adelasia married the Marquis of Saluzzo. Grandchildren were coming along regularly. The oldest girl, Agnes, had been married to the Conte di Modigliana, but she had proven barren. The marriage was annulled - and with a generous endowment from her father - she had wedded the Lord Jesus and entered a convent. Of the sons, William Longsword had died of mal-aria, so only two, Conrad and Boniface, were at home in Montferrat. They would be with their father listening to Marius. Frederick, the fourth born son was also missing on that July evening. Young Frederick had always been a quiet, studious, and pious boy compared to his vigorous older brothers. He was as tall and as fair as his siblings, yet he always lagged behind them when they ran through the fields and around the town as children. When he was older he couldn¡¯t compete with his brothers in the practice yards. He was not inept, the lad was taught to fight well. As weapons master, Pons had seen to his martial education as he had to all the others, but Fredrik would never tilt in a tournament or lead men in battle. It simply was not in him. He preferred reading and music. He was thoughtful and devout. It had been obvious from an early age he would be given over to the church for a life of service to God. Having a large family was both a blessing and a curse for noble families. Only one son could inherit, the others had to find their own fortune in the world. The clergy was the logical place for younger sons of important families. As the son of a margrave, Frederick would rise quickly and steadily. Currently he was a priest, serving as secretary to the Bishop in Alba. It was expected he would eventually become a bishop himself one day, either in Alba or some other clerical see. The last son who was missing was Renier, the baby of the family. ¡°All the trouble he could get into.¡± Marius had been unable to look Pons in the eyes. Two years earlier, at the age of nineteen, Renier had been married to Maria Porphyrogenita - Maria Born to the Purple - the only daughter of the Byzantine Emperor Manuel Komnenos. Granted, at the age of twenty-eight Maria Born to the Purple was getting a bit long in the tooth for marriage, but as to status - Renier could not possibly hope to do better. At the time of her birth, Maria¡¯s mother - like all empresses - had been brought to a special room in the Palace of the Bull and Lion with walls, floor, columns, and pyramidal ceiling made of purple porphyry marble dusted with sand-like feldspar. Only those of the purest bloodline and highest dignity were born in the purple chamber. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Lord Guilhem and his wife Dame Judith had been bursting with pride. After the marriage, as a wedding present, Renier was given the title of Caesar and the city of Thessaloniki, the second greatest city in the empire, as his fief. Emperor Manuel, however, had a son as well as a daughter, so Renier did not stand to inherit a throne through marriage as his older brother William Longsword had once done. Still, he would be son-in-law to one emperor and brother-in-law to the next. Also to Renier¡¯s advantage was his bloodline - as a cousin of the Holy Roman Emperor in Germany, he could act as a diplomatic link between East and West if needed. The entire family had been in Constantinople for the wedding - a double ceremony - for on the same day the Emperor of Byzantium saw both his daughter wed and his son betrothed. The boy was named Alexios - hells, they were all named Alexios, even the Emperor¡¯s bastards were called Alexios - and he was all of twelve years old at the time. His fiancee was Agnes, adorable as a kitten, the nine year old daughter of the King of France. Renier and Maria¡¯s wedding ceremony had been held in the most sacred church of St. Mary of Blachernae. The very church where, two hundred fifty years earlier, St. Andrew the Holy Fool had seen the Mother of God descend through the dome to spread her protective veil over the congregation. Pons could recall how the icon of the Virgin smiled down on the guests. The image was the same one which had been carried in procession on the city ramparts to protect the city from besiegers. Avars, Persians, Arabs, Rus, Bulgars - over the centuries she had defended the city from all. On some Fridays a miracle would occur. The veil draped over the icon¡¯s face would slowly rise - inch by inch - over the course of the day - lifted by the hand of God, only to descend on its own when night fell. Pons had not had the chance to witness it himself, but he had been told by several it did indeed happen. The great basilica, splendid in marble and green jasper, was hard pressed to contain all the dignitaries. Every noble in the empire attended, as well as bishops, ambassadors, palace functionaries, and many Frankish courtiers. From nave to narthex the building was crowded with bureaucrats, aristocrats, merchant princes, court eunuchs, generals, and admirals. Foreign delegates from Venice, Pisa, Genoa, Hungary, Antioch, Cyprus, and cities around the Euxine Sea crowded in. Everyone wore their finest silks and velvets dyed every color of the rainbow. Jewels glittered on rings and necklaces. The reception filled the Hippodrome - it had to be held in the Hippodrome - there was simply no other space in the city large enough. Here were even more people - commoners from the city. Fresh rushes had been laid over the ground and tables by the score laden with food filled the entire race track. The hysplex, the starting gates which were adorned with a giant bronze statue of a charioteer, had been filled with hundreds of ovens where bread had been baked and sheep, pigs, oxen, and fowl by the thousands had been roasted. Barrels of wine had been rolled in and were broached at various points convenient to the diners. Fresh fish and oysters had been arriving by cart since the small hours of the morning from up and down the coast. Musicians played, acrobats tumbled, bright banners flapped in the breeze. Extravagance on a scale no living person had seen before. The Emperor took ill a few weeks after the wedding and died six months later. Young Alexios inherited the position with his mother, Emperor Manuel¡¯s second wife, Maria of Antioch as regent. Chapter 5 - The Mission Chapter 5 The Mission When Pons entered the hall the lord and his sons were at prayer. He removed the leather cap which covered his balding head and stood quietly in the doorway. When they were finished Conrad helped his father to his feet. At sixty-seven, Guilhem was still a formidable man in good health, but his joints ached. The old man¡¯s face glistened with tears. Boniface adjusted an icon of the Holy Virgin. His hand was sheltering four white wax candles which sat on top of a small shrine. A cool breeze had sprung up as dusk turned to dark. The hall was drafty. Marius had been praying with the others but he now retired to a seat near the window. ¡°Pons, please join us for a cup of wine.¡± Margrave Guilhem motioned to a jug on a nearby table with several cups. Boniface crossed the room and began pouring. ¡°We are going to drink to his memory, having just now prayed for his soul.¡± Pons nodded and accepted the wooden cup which was offered to him. ¡°What did Marius tell you?¡± Guilhem asked. ¡°Only that my Lord Renier was dead.¡± ¡°Did he tell you Renier was murdered? Did he tell you after my boy was slain his body was dumped in the sea to be cast upon the shore and eaten by crabs?¡± ¡°Cruel, my liege. Wicked and cruel.¡± Pons replied gravely. ¡°He lies in an unmarked grave on unconsecrated ground.¡± ¡°Treacherous Greeks, my liege.¡± Conrad was sitting by Marius at the window casement now. He idly fingered a rosary. ¡°Pons, we need you to travel to Constantinople and find out what Renier had gotten himself into.¡± At thirty-seven, Conrad was the Margrave¡¯s heir. He was of a slightly sturdier frame than his brother Boniface, but both of them were handsome men in their prime. They had inherited, like all of their siblings, their mother¡¯s Austrian blonde hair. Conrad wore a neatly trimmed beard which came in slightly more reddish than the yellow hair on his head. Boniface went clean shaven in the summer. ¡°With a handsome face like mine, why hide it?¡± he would say. Pons scratched the stubble on his own chin but said nothing. Even before Marius¡¯ arrival today the news from Byzantium for the past several months had not been good. A year ago there had been some sort of trouble between Renier¡¯s wife and her stepmother, the Emperor¡¯s widow. Pons turned to the tall herald. ¡°What do we know?¡± Marius gave a half shrug of his shoulders. ¡°It is complicated. Where to begin?¡± He paused while Boniface handed him a cup. ¡°After the Emperor died, his widow, Maria of Antioch, became a nun and changed her name to Xene.¡± Pons recalled hearing when the Emperor had fallen ill and realized his own time was short, he began to wear the habit of a monk and changed his name from Manuel to Mathew. When Renier had married Maria, they had insisted he change his name to Ioannes. Peculiar thing these Greeks did. Marius continued, ¡°She did not, however, behave like a nun. She almost immediately began to have an affair with the First Sebastos, Alexios.¡± Pons was not completely sure what a sebastos was. The Byzantines had a huge, complex, and highly stratified imperial court and bureaucracy. Every long bearded minister and palace functionary had some grand title - loved to give titles the Greeks did - which did little to explain what, if anything, the person actually did. Pons thought a sebastos was some sort of chamberlain. ¡°Was she not supposed to be acting as regent for Alexios, her son?¡± Boniface asked. ¡°Yes, she was, but she and her lover, Alexios the Protosebastos, set out to fleece the whole empire. Do you have a position at court? Would you like to keep it? Pay up. Have a government job of any sort? Baking bread for the army? Cutting planks for naval ships? Shoveling shit in the Imperial stables? Want to keep it? Pay up. Don¡¯t want to pay, or can¡¯t pay - no problem - out the door with you - we have friends who will pay. Lots of jobs went to people from Italia.¡± And the Latins, Pons knew, were despised by the Greeks. The Church of Rome had split with the Patriarch of Constantinople ages ago and each group saw the other as heretics. Emperor Manuel had some admiration for the Latins, however, and wanted stronger ties to the cities of Milan and Genoa and the Kingdom of Jerusalem. He encouraged trade. Foreign districts had long been established on the north side of the city where the Golden Horn met the Bosporus. Here foreigners were allowed to worship in their own churches, but this led to the Greeks becoming suspicious of Catholic influence. Foreigners were not subject to the same laws and taxes as the locals, so the Greeks resented them. The Italians were arrogant, rude, and behaved badly, so the Greeks were offended by them. The Italians were wealthy, so of course, the Greeks were jealous of them. Pons thought the Italians were wealthier because, unlike the Greeks, they actually made things people wanted and did an honest day¡¯s labor. Marius continued. ¡°The Greeks loathe her because she is a foreigner - a French speaking princess from Outremer. Then, before her husband is cold in the grave, she jumps into bed with another man, who, by the by, was her late husband¡¯s nephew. So, she was despised even more.¡± ¡°So what was Renier doing while all this was going on?¡± Pons asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Marius, ¡°But his wife, Maria Born-to-the-Purple, was up to no good.¡± ¡°What does ¡®up to no good¡¯ mean?¡± Conrad interjected. ¡°Well she hated her mother-in-law and her new lover. I heard within a few months of Manuel¡¯s death, the Protosebastos was strutting around the Blachernae palace like he was in charge of the whole empire. Any decisions had to come through him. Appointments to offices came through him. His ass was basically sitting on the throne, so early last year Maria Born-to the-Purple decided to do something about him. She must have convinced my Lord Renier to help her get rid of him. There were a lot of people who were angry and who felt Renier and his Maria would make better regents for the young Emperor than Alexios the Protosebastos and his Maria. They cooked up a plot to kill the Protosebastos. Unfortunately somebody talked.¡± ¡°Were they arrested?¡± Boniface asked. ¡°No, Maria and Renier gathered their supporters, including the Patriarch of Constantinople, and they sought sanctuary in the great basilica.¡± Marius continued, ¡°They barricaded it and turned it into an armed camp. They held it for a month, while both sides gathered forces. Then there was an almighty battle on the streets outside the basilica. My lord Renier gave a rousing speech to his men. I am told he fought like a lion. He had a good position with archers on the rooftops. They say the battle lasted all day, but the Protosebastos had too many soldiers and eventually they had to fall back to the great church itself.¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Surely they did not dare desecrate the Church of Holy Wisdom, by spilling blood and attacking the Patriarch?¡± Conrad said. ¡°No, they sent John Ducas and others to negotiate.¡± ¡°I remember him,¡± said Guilhem, ¡°A great nobleman, serious and just. Did Renier settle with him?¡± ¡°Yes they surrendered, were granted an amnesty, and returned to the palace. Things were quiet for a while, but neither of the Marias learned from the experience. The Empress and Protosebastos continued with their extortions, Renier¡¯s wife continued to plot against them to have herself made regent for her stepbrother.¡± ¡°Foolish girl,¡± muttered Boniface. ¡°Foolish, yes, but not a girl, and that¡¯s the problem,¡± Conrad said. ¡°She grew up believing when her father died, she would be empress and her husband would be emperor. Emperor Manuel had even fixed the succession on her. Then by a miracle, a baby boy is born. How many times was she engaged to be married before Renier came along? Three? Four? No¡­ she felt robbed of her chance to rule, and she had a knife to sharpen. No question.¡± ¡°I never should have let him get married to the Emperor¡¯s daughter.¡± Lord Guilhem cursed himself. ¡°She was too old for him, and he was too young and inexperienced to be able to deal with the plots these Greeks come up with.¡± ¡°I think you have spoken correctly, Lord.¡± Marius said quietly. ¡°Earlier this year she sent word to Andronicus Komnenos, asking him to help her get rid of the Empress and Protosebastos.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s Andronicus Komnenos?¡± Boniface asked. ¡°Oh you will remember Andronicus Komnenos.¡± Conrad prompted. ¡°Do you recall the day we were visiting at court in Constantinople shortly before the wedding and one of Emperor Manuel¡¯s cousins came in to make an official act of contrition? Wearing chains, covered in ash, weeping, banging his head on the floor, begging for forgiveness?¡± ¡°The one who was so monstrously tall?¡± ¡°Yes. Him.¡± ¡°I recall the whole scene with him on the floor and wailing, but can not remember what it was all about.¡± Conrad had spent more time in Constantinople, had better Greek, and knew more of the gossip. ¡°His father was the younger brother of Emperor Manuel¡¯s father. Andronikos and Manuel were about the same age and grew up together. I think they were best friends as children, but somewhere along the line Andronikos began to covet the purple for himself and he conspired against the Emperor. He was imprisoned a couple of times and managed to cleverly escape. Later, he was able to worm himself back into favor, only to fall out again after he seduced Maria of Antioch¡¯s sister, Phillipa. He also seduced a couple of his own nieces into incestuous affairs, including Theodora, the widow of Baldwin III who had been King of Jerusalem. Most recently he had tried to attack Trebizond. Of course, the Emperor remembered them horse racing and wrestling together as children and forgave him, but sent him into exile somewhere on the coast of the Black Sea.¡± Conrad paused to refill his wine cup. ¡°He is as slippery as an eel, cunning, power hungry, and dangerous.¡± ¡°Dear God.¡± Guilhem exclaimed. ¡°This was who Maria Porphyrogenita turned to for help? Was the woman mad?¡± ¡°Well¡­ inviting him in was like setting the fox among the chickens,¡± said Marius. ¡°Andronicus gathered an army, including quite a few Muslim mercenaries, crossed over to Constantinople and brought all Hell with him. After he arrived a mob rioted and attacked the Italian merchants. They killed everyone - women, children, the elderly - no one was safe. They especially targeted the priests and monks. I was told that the Pope¡¯s representative - Cardinal John - his head was cut off and they tied it to a dog¡¯s tail and chased it through the streets.¡± ¡°Christos,¡± exclaimed Boniface. All of the men crossed themselves. ¡°The mob looted all of the shops and warehouses and set the Latin quarter on fire.¡± Marius went on. ¡°Tens of thousands were massacred. Only about forty ships managed to escape.¡± The large hall grew quiet as the men thought about all they had heard. ¡°And Renier?¡± Pons asked. ¡°I arrived in the city a week after this had happened. The Latin section was all charred timbers and ash. I sought after Renier at the palace, no one knew anything. Few would speak to me and of those who did - most assumed he was dead - some thought he could have been arrested, but no one knew where he was being held. Nobody knew where his wife was either. They had both vanished. A crier eventually brought me to a fisherman who had found the body of a tall young blond man in his net. His local priest was terrified and wanted nothing to do with the body, so the fisherman buried him in the sand upon the shore of the Propontis south of the city. His son showed me the spot and we began to dig. It breaks my heart to say it, but it was him.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± Pons asked. ¡°Yes. He had the scar across his knuckles he took when you were teaching him swordsmanship.¡± Pons recalled an autumn day several years ago in the practice yard when he parried a youthful Renier¡¯s clumsy lunge and almost severed two of the boy''s fingers. ¡°There was no obvious death wound. I could not say how he died. As to how he came there: the fisherman said he had been wrapped in the complicated folds of an old style toga, and he guessed it acted like a sail - only underwater - with the currents and tides carrying the body as the wind does a ship. I told him to keep the toga - a valuable cloth with a purple stripe. He also gave me a ring he found with the body.¡± Marius produced a silver ring with a pale green stone. ¡°I gave it to Renier before the wedding,¡± said Conrad. ¡°For luck.¡± ¡°Forgive me my liege, but the Greek priests refused to have him interred in one of their cemeteries, and I had no money to bribe them. He still lies on the beach.¡± ¡°No Marius, you do not need forgiveness. You have served us well.¡± Guilhem said, his voice heavy ¡°Go now to the kitchen and have a meal. Ask one of the maids to prepare you a bath and wash the dust of the road off yourself. You have our thanks.¡± The tall herald rose, bowed, and left the four men alone in the darkening hall. The twilight had grown dim and the room was only lit now by the glow of the candles flickering on the shrine of the Madonna. The hall was silent. ¡°We need you to find out what happened.¡± Guilhem said to Pons. ¡°I will leave tomorrow. As soon as I get to Constantine¡®s City I will find this fisherman and see your son gets a proper church burial. Rest assured, my liege.¡± Pons said. ¡°I¡¯ll nose around, find out what happened, and then send you a message. After that¡­¡± ¡°After that, whosoever killed my brother goes to his own grave.¡± Conrad replied. ¡°Aye. I¡¯ll see to it. You understand this is not going to be easy. Young Lord Renier was Caesar. Whoever killed him¡­ well, that was someone who thought he¡¯d get away with it. Someone powerful.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure it was.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to be able to walk up beside ¡®em and slide a knife between their ribs. This is going to take some plannin¡¯ and a lot of time.¡± Margrave Guilhem nodded, ¡°Pons, you have always shown yourself to be resourceful. I know. And patient too. Take as much time as you need. I¡¯ll give you some money to get started. If you need more later, send word.¡± ¡°One more thing, my lord, might I take young Cyn along?¡± Pons asked. Cyn was one of Conrad¡¯s men-at-arms, so the question was directed at the older son. ¡°By all means,¡± Conrad replied, ¡°If he can be of use to you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not getting any younger. One day he might make a good captain for you, lord. He is not as ruthless an old bastard as I am - yet, but he is smart and the men like him. And I believe he loves your lordship most loyally.¡± ¡°Tell him as much as he needs to know. Send a message every now and then to keep us informed.¡± ¡°I will, my lord¡± ¡°And Pons,¡± Conrad set the rosary down on the window casement. ¡°I want their balls for this.¡± Pons nodded. He intended to take that literally. Chapter 6 - The Departure Chapter 6 The Departure Pons and Cyn left Montferrat early on the morning of July twenty-second in the year of Our Lord 1182. The feast of St. Mary Magdalene would be held later and they would miss it. Margrave Guilhem was there to see them off despite the early hour. His wife of almost fifty years, Judith, stood beside him. She had a basket of fresh crusty bread, hot from the ovens which she pressed on them for their journey. Conrad and Boniface, were holding the bridles of their horses, waiting for them to mount. Marius had provided Pons with advice for the road, and instructions on how to find the fisherman. Cyn and Pons climbed on to their saddles. Each man rode a horse and led another spare mount. They wore the livery of their lord, scarlet cloaks and white surcoats. Pons¡¯ was emblazoned with a cross in gold thread since he had been on crusade in his youth. There was little need for much in the way of supplies since they would be riding through Montferrat land, and then for several more days through the lands and cities of northern Italy, past estates of allied nobles and barons, many of them kinsmen or vassals of their lord, and most of whom Pons knew personally. Further along the route they would have to camp out in the open a few times, but in Italy they would be able to spend the night at inns, friendly castles, and monasteries, many of which had received donations from the Margrave of Montferrat. They had packed lightly: a small cooking pot, a frying pan, meal for pottage, a ham, bread, fresh grapes, apples and peaches, a small cask of wine, tin cups, blankets, a pouch of tools and nails for repairing horse shoes on the road, another pouch of tools with sharpening stones and oil for repairing and maintaining their armor and weapons. Cyn had two quivers with about forty bolts and two crossbows; a powerful crank lever type and a smaller one which he could reload quickly with a hook or his foot. He also had a sharp single edged dirk with a blade almost as long as his forearm. Strapped to the rump of his spare horse was a pavese shield so large it could be spiked in the ground to provide cover from which Cyn could crouch behind to reload. The pavese had an image of the Holy Virgin painted on it and he hoped the Madonna would protect him, or perhaps an enemy soldier would hold his fire rather than risk shooting the sacred image. Pons had a sword in a scabbard on the right side of his belt and a hand axe on the left. With the sword he was adequate, but the axe was balanced for throwing. If Pons could be said to have any sort of hobby - it was axe tossing. They didn¡¯t bother to wear their armor which consisted of chainmail over top of a leather tunic, iron grieves to protect their lower legs, and rounded helmets. This equipment was packed on their spare mounts. They would have no need of it for miles to come. The north of Italia was safe for the men of Montferrat. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Cyn was a bit confused about where they were off to and what they were going to be doing. Pons had come to him in the barracks the previous evening and told him the Margrave had a job for them to do. He was to make his good-byes evening and pack for a long trip, but pack lightly, whatever the hell that meant? They would be leaving for quite some time. He was a soldier and he followed orders. If he was told to jump on a horse at dawn and follow his captain, then jump and follow was what he would do. He knew, however, his Lord Conrad¡¯s brother had been lost far off in the great city and despite the cheery sun something was different about this morning. The lord, his lady, their sons - everyone looked so grave. The Margrave handed Pons a sizable bag of coins along with a note of promise to be drawn on his banker. Conrad gave Cyn a smaller coin purse, ¡°For expenses on the way.¡± Cyn thought the bag of silver he had been handed was worth a fortune. ¡°Expenses on the way to where?¡± he wondered, but merely nodded and took the bag. Then the Margrave was saying how grateful he was to both of them. They were wished good luck and for God to speed them on their journey. Chapter 7 -The First Wager Chapter 7 The First Wager They followed the river Po as it drifted to the east. The lands around Montferrat were rich and fertile. Green pastures filled with cattle, sheep, and horses covered the hills which rolled down to the valley and river. Bees hovered over the wildflowers returning to their hives hidden inside cleverly designed boxes. The boxes were tended by chandlers who lived with their families in small little wattle and daub huts. The bees provided honey which could be sold at the market and wax which could be made into high quality candles and sold to one of the many churches, the monastery of San Secondo di Terra Rossa, or the Benedictine abbey of Fruttuaria. The hive boxes and the chandlers¡¯ huts bordered orchards where pigs rooted for windfall. Beyond the orchards wheat farms and vineyards clustered around tidy villages which were filled with small industries. Leather was tanned and made into boots and gloves. Wool was carded, spun, and woven into cloth. Logs cut in the forests floated down the river to be pulled into shore by men with hooks. They were hauled off by burly sawyers to be sawed into planks. The timber was turned into wagons, barrels, furniture, and house frames. However, not all of the industry was for the quiet needs of the people. Some of the leather being tanned was turned into padded armor for infantry. Some of the wool would be made into a soldier¡¯s sagum - a cloak to be worn on campaign. Some of the timber would be turned on a lathe and made into spear shafts. All the peasants were allowed to keep geese which provided eggs and meat for their owners, but the long gray goose feathers were the Margrave¡¯s property. The best of these were carefully sewn on to quarrel shafts by fletchers who specialized in the art. Cyn came from a family of such craftsmen. His father was a fletcher and Cyn was as handy at the craft as any. Both of his uncles worked the wood which made crossbows, including the ones he carried. The March of Montferrat had a thriving cottage arms industry. A duke ruled a duchy and of course a count ruled a county, but Montferrat was a march and therefore was ruled by a margrave. In most realms, a march was a territory which was on the border with a neighboring kingdom and therefore it typically saw a lot of conflict. The word itself, ¡°march,¡± derived from Mars, the Roman god of war. Clever kings granted title of these contested areas to their most capable and trusted nobles, which was how the Aleramichi family, Margrave Guilhem¡¯s extended clan, had some two hundred years ago risen to prominence in the Piedmont region of northern Italy. Their lands bordered the Holy Roman Empire which lay to the north and the Italian city states to the other compass points. Margrave Guilhem was a vassal of Frederick Barbarosa, the Holy Roman Emperor. Barbarosa ruled Germany, but for almost thirty years he had been trying to extend his influence into Italy, sometimes through diplomacy, often through war. When the Margrave wasn¡¯t actually fighting for his lord, he was supplying the Emperor¡¯s armies with weapons, armor, horses, and food. In times of peace he also supplied the Italian cities - there was nothing wrong with their money. Both Conrad and Boniface kept a score of cavalry ready to hire out and make their own coin as well. As far as Margrave Guilhem was concerned, the long intermittent conflict was the best sort of war - not widespread and intense enough to disrupt trade, yet never secure enough for either side to stand down. As a result Montferrat flourished. Every barge poling its way down the river Po had to pay a percentage to the Margrave. Every wagonload of goods rolling through the hills of Montferrat on its way north or south was taxed. The money came in useful. The Lord of Montferrat had ambitions. He wanted his sons to cease being vassals. His goal was for one of his sons to become a king in his own right. Which was why William Longsword¡¯s marriage to the King of Jerusalem¡¯s sister had been so perfect. After William fell ill and died Renier¡¯s marriage to Maria Porphygenita had seemed promising. Now it had also ended with the death of one of Margrave Guilhem¡¯s sons. Conrad and Boniface were both married to suitable, but non-royal women. His only hope for further ennobling his family now lay with his five year old grandson in Jerusalem. Baldwin V was heir to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but would only be crowned if someone was able to look out for his interests. Lord Guilhem''s liege, the Western Emperor, was not at war with his neighbors, the Italian city states. Perhaps the shaky peace treaty signed five years earlier in Venice would hold sway. Pons was quite certain the Margrave would try to find an opportunity to travel to the Holy Land and see to his grandson¡¯s future. They were following a path along the side of a field full of placidly grazing milk cows when Cyn interrupted Pons¡¯ thoughts. ¡°So¡­ where are we going?¡± he tried to sound as if he didn¡¯t care where they were headed. Pons shooed away a horsefly which was buzzing near his eyes. ¡°Viqueria. We can spend the night at the red church. I know the priest. I¡¯m going to make a little stop on the way there. I have some personal business to settle before we leave for God alone knows how long.¡± Cyn frowned. ¡°Si. We can make the red church easily by nightfall, but then where?¡± God alone knows how long. What did that mean? ¡°Then we keep going east. We¡¯ll cross to the far bank of the river at Cremona, and then head to Venezia on the coast. I figure it will take about a week to get there. We¡¯ll set an easy pace, no hurry. Not really.¡± Cyn was delighted. Venice. He had heard about Venice, the canals, the cathedral, and most especially he had heard about the whores in Venice - and Lord Corrado had given him a bag of silver. For expenses. His face broke out into a huge grin. ¡°I am going to get a lovely room at an inn with one of those big beds. Remember the one the Archbishop of Mainz had? As big as his. And then I¡¯m gonna bring a girl upstairs with me. Maybe two.¡± ¡°No you won¡¯t.¡± Pons interrupted. ¡°That money has to stretch out for quite awhile. We¡¯ll have to sell the horses and find passage on a ship. Take a couple of days.¡± ¡°Eh, so ¡­ we¡¯re not going to Venezia?¡± Cyn¡¯s grin faded. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re going all right. But we¡¯re only going to be there for one or two nights. I know some people there I need to talk to. Get some news.¡± Pons reached back to his saddlebag. One of the kitchen girls had given him a bundle as he was leaving. It contained a meat pie and a couple of hard boiled eggs. Good girl. Pons thought he¡¯d save the pie for lunch and have the eggs now. ¡°Why, where are we going to go after we leave Venezia? ¡°Dyrrachium.¡± ¡°Dyrra-what? Where in all of Hell is that?¡± ¡°It is at the end of our boat ride. Durazzo. The Greeks call it Dyrrachium. It is the first imperial city we will come to.¡± ¡°The first?¡± ¡°Si. From Dyrrachim we will follow an old Roman road east across the mountains. There are some high passes, but it is summer so we should have no trouble. Eventually we will get to Thessaloniki on the opposite coast of Greece. Then we continue to follow the road along the coast all the way to Constantine¡¯s City.¡± Cyn looked dumbfounded, ¡°You mean we¡¯re going all the way to Constantinople. Christ Jesus. It must be a thousand miles from here.¡± ¡°I should think so.¡± Pons nodded. ¡°Crossing the north of Greece has to be seven, maybe eight hundred miles. Sometimes you can see these little stone markers. They tell you how far you have to go.¡± ¡°Do you have any idea how sore my arse is going to be?¡± Cyn was an infrequent and indifferent rider. His tailbone was already starting to feel tender and he was still in familiar land not far from home. ¡°It¡¯s gonna take forever to get there.¡± ¡°Nah. Not forever. Be there in a month.¡± Pons was trying to peel a hard boiled egg but he required both hands. The reins were slack and he was guiding his horse with his knees. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°So what¡¯s the reason for our going at all? I mean why send us? Lord Rainier is dead. Nothing can be done about it. What task are we to perform there?¡± Pons took a bite of the egg, chewed it carefully, and swallowed it. ¡°We are going to be grave exchanging.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that? Is it like grave digging¡¯?¡± Cyn asked. ¡°Naw¡­ you see, young Renier wasn¡¯t given a Christian burial. Some fisherman planted him on a sandy beach outside of the city. This will be our first job. We¡¯re to dig him up and see he gets a proper burial in a Latin church.¡± Pons put a finger into his mouth to fish out a fragment of eggshell which he flicked away. ¡°So¡­ why send me with you? Why not travel south to Alba first? Fredrick is a priest and can even perform the funeral rite. Why is he not coming?¡± ¡°Make him dig up his own dead brother? No. Things will be far too dangerous for him in Constantinople. Besides, a man of faith is not needed for what comes after.¡± ¡°What comes after?¡± ¡°After the grave is empty - then we¡¯re gonna put another body back into it.¡± Cyn digested this in silence for a moment. He stood in the stirrups, adjusted his ass and then sat again. ¡°Whose body are we going to put in the grave?¡± he finally asked. ¡°Well¡­ This brings us to our second job. We¡¯re going to put the man who killed our prince into that grave.¡± Cyn paused to think for a moment as well. ¡°Who then?¡± ¡°Dunno. But someone knows what happened. Someone will tell us.¡± ¡°Is that what the silver is for? In the bag he gave you? Bribes? To get men to talk?¡± Cyn guffawed. ¡°Save Lord Guilhem some money. You need someone to talk? I can get them to talk. No problem. You cut someone¡¯s nipple off and put it in their own mouth. Give ¡®em a few minutes to chew over what is going to happen to them if they don¡¯t start with some truth¡­ right quick. And that¡¯s just for starters. I ain¡¯t even asked ¡®em a single question yet.¡± ¡°Master torturer you are,¡± said Pons. ¡°We won¡¯t find out much if you go nipple slicing. No. These Greeks are a greedy lot - they won¡¯t do a thing for you. Wouldn¡¯t give you a dipperful of water if you had come walking out of the desert - unless you pay them for it. But¡­ they can all be bought.¡± ¡°So - the reason for the coin? To give to some sneaky Greek so he will tell us who killed Lord Renier. Be reasonable, we are going to Venice, surely we can spend some of the money on whores.¡± ¡°No. You are free, however, to get a tumble based on your own charm and looks.¡± Pons paused to glance at Cyn. ¡°If you can.¡± ¡°Oh ho. I reckon I can get the legs open on some girl before you, old man. Even without paying for it.¡± ¡°Doubt it.¡± Pons replied. Cyn snorted, ¡°Oh ho. You wanna bet?¡± The idea of Pons being able to attract a woman was laughable. Cyn was a fine looking man in his mid twenties. He had dark brown hair, a pleasing smile, and a healthy, broad shouldered physique. He was also quite proud of having a fetching smile featuring straight white teeth with no gaps. Pons on the other hand was a small wiry man well past his prime. His greasy hair, what was left of it, was almost always covered by a smelly leather cap with flaps which covered his severed right ear. He had lost the ear honestly enough in battle to a scimitar, or so he claimed. His wrinkled and weather beaten face seldom wore any expression other than a scowl, and the less said about his teeth the better. ¡°What bet? What you wanna bet about?¡± ¡°What bet?¡± Cyn said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what the bet is. I bet you I can get a woman before you?¡± ¡°¡®Get a woman?¡¯ What do you mean ¡®get a woman?¡¯¡± asked Pons. ¡°You know what I mean. Couple. Carnal, sinful knowledge. Fuck. And I¡¯m not talkin¡¯ about payin¡¯ for it. Nor forcing her either. It has to be on her say so. On charm and good looks as you say.¡± ¡°What you gonna bet with, Lover Boy?¡± ¡°How about a silver bezant?¡± ¡°Ha,¡± Pons laughed. ¡°I have a bag full, but you ain¡¯t got any. That is Lord Guilhem¡¯s coin in your bag, you may not go abettin¡¯ with it.¡± ¡°What do I have that you want? Besides youth and good looks?¡± Pons paused and rode a bit in silence as if pondering the question. What did Cyn have? ¡°How about labor? We have a long ride ahead of us. I say you must take care of the horses all the way to Constantinople. Feed and water them at the end of the day, saddle in the morning, unsaddle at night, set the pack horses, curry them all out at night, hobble, clean their frogs. For all horses all the way to Constantine¡¯s great city.¡± ¡°Truly, you have gone as mad as wood if you think a decrepit old fart like you is going to get laid afore me. I¡¯ll take your bet. I would love to have you as my groom. Each of us will care for our own horse and we¡¯ll split care of the pack horses¡­ until I get a skirt lifted, after which the job is all yours. I like it very much.¡± Cin toasted the bet with a swig of wine from a skin which my Lord Bonafachio had given to him before they left. He handed the skin to Pons. ¡°So¡­ on to Constantinople.¡± ¡°Si, but as of this moment, we are going to make a brief detour to stop at my mill.¡± ¡°Your mill. . ?¡± ¡°Si.¡± ¡°Since when have you owned a mill?¡± ¡°Oh, for many years now.¡± Pons reflected. ¡°Ser Guilhem bestowed it and all of its income on me for saving his life.¡± He added a little glumly, ¡°I do have to pay tax and tithe though.¡± ¡°When did you save his life?¡± ¡°Oh, ages ago. On the road to Damascus as it were. Or to be more accurate on the road back from Damascus.¡± ¡°And he gave you a mill?¡± ¡°Si.¡± ¡°But, you¡¯re not a miller.¡± ¡°No. I hire them. I¡¯ve had three since it came to me. One man, he worked for me for a long time, then he died. The next miller got his hand crushed, so he was no use. Now I¡¯ve got this young fellow. I only ride out this way every now and then to kick his ass and make sure he isn¡¯t robbing me too badly. It is a nice little bit of money for almost no work.¡± The water mill stood on the bank of an unnamed little stream near where the Tani flowed into the Po. Quite a tidy little mill Cyn thought as they rode past the sheds where threshed grain would be stored. It was an easy wagon ride from at least a dozen large farms and a village. ¡°Nice little bit of money indeed,¡± he muttered. They dismounted and Cyn tied the horses at a post while Pons went to the mill¡¯s door. The miller¡¯s wife, a fine looking dark haired woman, opened it and explained her husband was upstream checking his fishing lines, but she expected him back shortly. ¡°Not too worry Love, we can get started and he can wait.¡± Pons indicated Cyn should remain at the door then he took the miller¡¯s wife by the hand and led her inside to the loft. Cyn was dumbfounded. The bastard. The randy old goat had tricked him. He had known he was going to get laid before he even made the bet. Cyn hoped the miller would wander home, find the two of ¡®em at it and run the dirty bugger through with a pitchfork. And then the miller was coming back. A brawny yokel in his early twenties ambling along the path by the stream. He paused, seeing Cyn in his livery, and asked if Captain Pons was with him. Cyn pointed to the mill. A rhythmic banging noise came from within along with obvious moans. The miller sat down dejectedly on a bench outside the door. His shoulders slumped and Cyn thought he could see tears beginning to well in the man¡¯s eyes. Cyn said nothing and the noise continued from inside the mill growing to a crescendo. The miller put his head in his hands and began to sob. Cyn felt distinctly awkward. After Pons had finished in the loft with the miller¡¯s wife he came outside. He mounted his horse and looked down at the miller. ¡°I¡¯m off for the rest of this year. Maybe next harvest as well, who knows.¡± The miller brightened a bit at this news. ¡°Before you get any ideas about how you can cheat me while I am gone, know my Lord¡¯s steward will be looking in while I am gone. All the profits will go to him and then he will hold them for me until I return. If you cheat me of even one bushel of grain, I will know of it and you will answer to me when I return.¡± The miller kept his eyes down, tugged his forelock and mumbled, ¡°Yes, Capitini.¡± They were about a mile down the road before Cyn remarked on what a lustful sinner Pons was and how his soul would stand in sore jeopardy on the day of his judgment. Pons smiled and looked not the least bit worried. The travel was easy, even pleasant. They stayed in bed on rainy mornings rather than get drenched on the roads. In Cremona they lodged in a tavern owned by a retired soldier who had gone east on the ill fated Second Crusade to the Holy Land. Pons had been on the same campaign over thirty years ago. They were given a sausage, several jugs of wine, and the best room in the inn. They didn¡¯t have to pay for anything. Cyn was delighted. Traveling with Pons certainly had its upside. Cyn pulled Pons aside and explained since they didn¡¯t have to pay for the room or the wine¡­ couldn¡¯t that money then be spent on, perhaps a girl. After a few minutes of whining Pons gave in and consented to the expense, but only because he knew if he didn¡¯t, he¡¯d have to hear bitching about it all the way to Constantinople. The tavern owner even recommended a clean local girl. Pons sat up until late in the evening reminiscing with his old friend. The following day saw them both nursing hangovers and making few miles. Chapter 8 - Visitors Arrive at the Fondaccio of Carlo Romi Chapter 8 Visitors Arrive at the Fondaccio of Carlo Romi Carlo Romi was in his office trying to reconcile two tabulating slates. Both slates said he had an equal number of six foot long poles and iron spear tips to go on them. However, the reality, which he counted with his own eyes in his own warehouse, was there were at least a hundred more spear heads than he had shafts to put them on. Carlo Romi was a respectable merchant. He dealt in weapons: shields, armor, crossbows, spears, anything you might care to name he could probably get. His supply came from up the Po, in the pole turners¡¯ workshops and fletchers¡¯ cottages which dotted the villages and lanes of Montferrat. He sold to the Dodge of Venice, to mercenary companies, and to pilgrims heading to the Holy Land. He lived in Venice in a nice house a short stroll from the Rialto. His brother-in-law, a capable, but shy lad of about seventeen quietly opened the door to the office and slipped inside. Carlo and his wife had no children of their own, so he was introducing his wife¡¯s younger brother to the arms trade. ¡°Antonio, don¡¯t you knock?¡± Carlo asked him. ¡°I am sorry, please forgive me, but there is a man up front who says he wants to see you.¡± ¡°Well¡­ what of it?¡± Carlo was still looking out from under his bushy eyebrows at the tablets. What the hell was he going to do with all of these extra spear tips? Had some of the poles failed to arrive? ¡°He says his name is Pons. He says he is the Marquis of Montferrat¡¯s man.¡± Carlo Romi did not drop the slates, but he became rigid as if a chill of ice water raced down his spine. His bowels felt loose. ¡°He says his name is Pons¡­ and he is the Marquis of Montferrat¡¯s man? Are you sure? Bald? In his fifties? Missing half an ear?¡± Carlo Romi hissed in a low whisper. ¡°He wears a leather cap, so I couldn¡¯t see his pate or ear, but they wear the Margrave¡¯s livery.¡± ¡°They?¡± The young apprentice studied Carlo¡¯s face intently. Was the older man perspiring? ¡°Yes. There is a man-at-arms with him.¡± Carlo Romi¡¯s first thought was to wonder when he had last been shriven by a priest and whether or not he had committed any sins between then and now. Today was a Wednesday. He had gone to confession on Sunday. His conscience felt quite clear concerning his behavior over the intervening three days. His second thought was to wonder what he had done wrong to cause the Margrave to send soldiers - one of them his most vicious brute. Once again his conscience felt clear. The Margrave had the right to be the first to purchase any weapons produced, either for himself or his men, that was perfectly understandable. Romi was allowed to purchase any surplus - provided he did not sell to either the Margrave¡¯s enemies or to brigands. So far as he knew, Romi had done neither. He paid the Margrave a tariff. Lord, merchant, and craftsman all flourished. No, there must be some perfectly reasonable explanations for Margrave¡¯s master-at-arms to be at his warehouse. And here he was - keeping the man waiting. ¡°Well¡­ show him in, show him in.¡± he said to his brother-in-law. Romi had encountered Pons a handful of times when he had been in Montferrat meeting with the craftsmen who supplied his stock. He didn¡¯t know the old soldier well, but he knew the Margrave trusted him, andPons had saved his lord¡¯s life near Damascus. He had heard the man¡¯s birth was of no account, but Carlo certainly wasn¡¯t going to bring that up. Most people were afraid of him. He had heard several stories of Pons administering a beating to someone who had gotten out of line, or crossed him, or who had overused their mouth. If the Margrave had wanted someone punished, it would be Pons he would send. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. A few moments later, their heavy boots clomping on the wooden floor of the warehouse, Cyn and Pons entered his office. Carlo Romi noticed Pons looked much the same as he remembered him. Carlo crossed the room and clasped his hand in greeting. ¡°Good to see you Capitani Pons,¡± he smiled. Pons smiled back, and Carlo felt lighter. Perhaps all would be well. ¡°What brings you all the way to the Serenissima?¡± ¡°Well met Master Romi.¡± Pons replied. ¡°I wish I could say I was visiting to sample the pleasures of the city, but unfortunately I am merely passing through. Sergeant Cyn and I are seeking passage on ship. I was hoping you might be able to help. You know about all things in shipping, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Um¡­¡± Romi stuttered and tried not to let his relief show. Passing through. Thank the Lord. He began again. ¡°Well there is such a lot of shipping in and out of Venice these days I am sure only the harbor masters can keep it straight. But, if I am unable to answer your question, myself, I can send a lad out to find out. But please sit down, you must be tired from your journey. Antonio.¡± he raised his voice, ¡°Antonio, bring our guests some wine and bread.¡± Cyn and Pons made themselves comfortable as Carlo Romi¡¯s young brother-in-law brought forth a loaf with a dish of olive oil and a jug of wine with some cups. ¡°So, you need a ship. Only the two of you as passengers? Any cargo?¡± ¡°Just us,¡± Pons replied. ¡°Where are you going?¡± ¡°Constantinople.¡± Carlo Romi grunted, ¡°There are no ships going to Constantinople this season. All the Venetian merchants living there were massacred. All of the fondaccio and warehouses were burned to the ground.¡± He paused and regarded his visitors. ¡°You know this. Word must have reached Monferrato by now.¡± Pons nodded. Carlo Romi remembered something else. ¡°Ah yes, of course, the Margrave¡¯s son. Surely he was safe in the palace. Oddly there was no word of him. Has there been ill news?¡± ¡°Our Marius says he saw the body.¡± The merchant crossed himself. ¡°I am so sorry. Such a handsome young man. He will be in my prayers. His poor mother, he was her youngest, wasn¡¯t he? She must be heartsick. Oh those treacherous damned Greeks.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the treacherous damned Greeks I¡¯m going to sort out.¡± Pons said as he took a drink of wine. What a relief, Carlo Romi thought, I am not the one getting sorted out. Instead he asked, ¡°Where are you staying while you await passage?¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t decided yet. We¡¯ve only just arrived.¡± ¡°You mean I am the first person in Venice you have called on? I am honored. Please, you and your sergeant must be my guests. My house is but a short boat ride?¡± Romi heard himself saying it but didn¡¯t know why he did it. Why had he invited Margrave¡¯s ruffian to stay at his house? Why didn¡¯t he offer to put them up at an inn at his expense instead? He paused and let the question hang in the air for a moment. He was about to offer the inn as an option. When Pons spoke. ¡°Thank you, Ser Romi, you are too kind.¡± ¡°It is the least I can do to help Lord Guilhem at this trying time.¡± Carlo Romi gulped his cup of wine down. His wife and very devout mother-in-law were going to be displeased he would invite such rough men under their roof, retainers of the Margrave or not. He should have kept his mouth shut, or wished them good hunting and sent them on their way. It was the shock of having this man show up unannounced. ¡°Antonio.¡± he called, ¡°Send to cook and tell her to get some nice sized fish, and what?¡± He looked at Cyn and Pons. ¡°A haunch of lamb as well, I think.¡± The arms merchant need not have worried. Out of respect Cyn and Pons were on their best behavior. Pons explained under no circumstances was Cyn to go out whoring. Cyn would have preferred to stay at an inn, but this offer of accommodation was free and Pons was cheap. Carlo was happy to take charge of their horses which would eventually be loaded with goods and returned to the Margrave¡¯s stables on his next trip back to Montferrat. Over dinner, when Pons asked if there was any news from Constantinople, Carlo shrugged his shoulders. ¡°The man you want to talk to is Enrico Dandalo. He used to be the ambassador to Constantinople. He can¡¯t stand the Greeks now, but he knows how to deal with them. He is an old man - must be near eighty. In good health still, mind you. He is blind but his mind is as sharp as a falcon¡¯s talon. He will know the most about the situation of anyone. Some of his relatives were killed in the massacre. Others fled with only their lives. I might be able to arrange for you to meet him.¡± Pons indicated he would indeed like to meet the elderly, blind statesman. He also wanted to know about any ships sailing to any port in Greece, or failing that, any ship going as far as the port of Brundisium on the heel of Italy. Chapter 9 - Sailing (part way) to Byzantium Chapter 9 Sailing (part way) to Byzantium As it turned out they were in luck. Within two days Pons and Cyn were on a galley heading to Brundisium in the company of the blind ambassador himself. He offered them free passage as he was sympathetic to the Margrave¡¯s cause. They were rowing out of the lagoon and a sweet breeze out of the north-west was helping them along. Pons had volunteered Cyn to help pull an oar. ¡°Strong young buck like you wouldn¡¯t mind puttin¡¯ in an honest morning¡¯s work.¡± Pons announced aloud in front of crew and officers. Cyn scowled at Pons and muttered as he made his way down to the benches of oars to help the men at the sweeps. The men sang a cadence as they pulled. After a few minutes Cyn had caught on to the words and the rhythm and joined in. Pons stood in the aft of the ship with the ancient Enrico Dandalo and watched the Lido of Venice slide by the starboard side. Enrico Dandalo felt the wind on his face, and smelled the open sea. At the railing stood a young priest, the patriarch of Grado¡¯s secretary, along to provide ecclesiastical backing to Enrico Dondalo¡¯s embassy. Beside them at the tiller, stood the ship¡¯s captain, a gruff powerfully built man in his middle years. ¡°I admire your master Margrave Guilhem.¡± Dandalo said. ¡°He has ambitions, but fate has been unkind to him. He fights the Emperor Barbarossa¡¯s wars against Milan and Alessandria. Then, later, when there is peace, he is left to mend fences with hostile neighbors. His oldest son would have been King of Jerusalem if he hadn¡¯t died, may the Holy Father rest his soul. And now this¡­ another son¡­ dead before his time. God is testing the Margrave with hardship and travail. He is being tested like Job. I know of these things. The Greeks took my sight. They imprisoned me and beat my head until the light faded from my eyes forever. But God did not let me die. No, he has plans for me yet.¡± ¡°Revenge, Ser Dandalo, is not a Christian emotion.¡± Pons replied. ¡°No, but that is why we have men like you, and my cousin Marco here.¡± He indicated to the hulking helmsman. ¡°Marco has recently come from Constantinople.¡± Pons turned to the captain, ¡°I guess you¡¯re the man I want to talk to then. How did things stand in the city when you left?¡± Marco shrugged his shoulders. ¡°The last time I saw the city was three months ago. The Latin Quarter was burning. When rumors started going around Andronikos was moving on the city with a heathen army the mood in the city began to change. The Verangian guards were withdrawn to the palace, and the city watch, the Viglas¡­ disappeared. Then the Greeks swarmed in and started looting us. They have always hated us, so after a day or two¡­ when they saw there was no law around, they decided to take what we had. A mob assembled and started to ransack our warehouses. A group of us got together and fought back. We had them beat too. But then Andronikos entered the city unopposed and he turned his mercenaries loose on us. By then our warehouses and fondaccio were in flames, so I figured there was no point in staying. There was nothing worth fighting to save anymore. We had a running street battle down the Grand Colonnade to the Neorian Harbor. We barely had time to gather up what refugees we could. The great chain which blocked the entrance to the Bosporus was down, thanks be to Almighty God, and we were able to put to sea before anyone could try to raise it.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Marco paused to spit over the ship¡¯s railing before he continued, ¡°The few ships that made it out gathered by the Prince¡¯s Islands offshore from Constantinople. We waited to see if any others from the Genoese or Pisan merchants had escaped to join us. While we were waiting, some of us put ashore to sack the heretic monasteries on the islands and avenge ourselves. After we sailed back to our home ports, raiding along the coast as we went. God curse those faithless Greeks. I lost everything I owned, down to my last iron nail, because of those bastards.¡± ¡°Which is why I am sailing to Brundisium,¡± said Enrico. ¡°The Republic simply does not have enough men outfitted and ready to fight, nor do we have enough ships with oars in the water at this time. Venice was banned from trading in Constantinople - on Emperor Manuel¡¯s whim alone - for seven years. Three years ago we began trading again, only now we are quite wiped out by this massacre. None of the great trading families will see a profit this year. None. Nor the next year either most likely. We do more trade with Constantinople than all our other trade in Flanders, Germany, England, Alexandria, Spain¡­ everything combined. However, good King William of Sicily, has plenty of idle Norman knights. He has plenty of money. He is twenty-six years old and in need of a campaign. His father and his father¡¯s father fought wars against the Greeks. Perhaps God will work for us through him.¡± ¡°And while my uncle is in Brundisium. I¡¯ll skip across the sea and drop you two gentlemen off in Dyrrachium,¡± said Marco. ¡°Thank you again Ser Dondalo,¡± Pons tugged his leather cap. ¡°For your kindness in this hour of the house of Montferrat¡¯s trouble. I am sure if the Marquis were here he would be overcome.¡± ¡°Not at all, Captain Pons,¡± Enrico Dandalo¡¯s vacant eyes gleamed. ¡°I am only too happy to provide free passage to someone who is going to kill some Greeks.¡± Chapter 10 - The Journey East Chapter 10 The Journey East Marco Dandalo knew a horse trader in Dyrrachium who set Pons and Cyn up with a pair of sturdy horses and a couple of mules. Pons bought from the man to be polite to Marco even though he thought he could have gotten a better deal on his own with another trader in the market. Anyway, his Greek was rusty and he knew it would be a few weeks to get his tongue and ear back into shape. The big Venetian bade the two mercenaries farewell and they wished one another luck in their ventures. Before leaving Montferrat Marius had told Pons of the old Roman road, the Via Egnatia, which he had traversed - not too bad near the towns and cities, but once out into the middle of nowhere it turned to mud and horse shit in places. The first day they rode south and east, the road passing farms and cottages, churches, and orchards. Once during the morning they passed a stone which had a number carved into it. DCCXXXV. ¡°What is it?¡± Cyn asked. ¡°It¡¯s a milestone. There used to be one of these stones every mile all the way to Constantinople. But sometimes people take them. Keep your eyes open, you¡¯ll see more of them.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the writin¡¯ on it mean?¡± ¡°It means,¡± Pons grumbled, ¡°We¡¯ve got a long way to go?¡± They found an inn and a town at the end of their first day¡¯s journey. Dinner was fresh bread dipped in olive oil, roasted lamb, olives, baked onions, and honey pottage. One thing about Pons, thought Cyn, he does like to live well on the road. ¡°Eat up. The climb gets worse tomorrow.¡± The old capo tossed back his wine and broke another loaf of bread. He was right. The next day saw clouds, wind, and spitting rain. It was not a good day for travel. A stone bridge crossed the Genusus river but shortly after the road began to disappear for stretches. They slipped in mud and had to lead the horses where floods had washed out sections. They encountered few travelers in the morning and none in the afternoon save for a strange monk wearing mud spattered black robes. He carried an enormous wooden cross which Cyn guessed must have weighed almost as much as the man himself. The monk staggered along the cobbled road with his burden and Pons asked him, in several languages, how far the next hostel was, but the monk spoke no language that could be understood. The only word they could make out was ¡®Tirce.¡¯ But whether he meant the hostel lay three milestones or three hours of travel away, Cyn could not tell. Late afternoon wore on to evening and the road climbed the Candaviae mountains. They had not encountered any buildings, not even a shepherd¡¯s croft, for some while. Perhaps the monk had been invoking the Holy Trinity, Cyn thought. It was near nightfall when they finally arrived at a town with a ruined fort which stood at a crossroads. Pons¡¯ horse threw a shoe while they were drawing into the town and it was too dark and rainy to find it. They first banged on the door of a stable where an acne covered youth quartered the mules and horses. A smith assured them he would re-shoe the horse first thing in the morning after his forge was lit. They found a warm inn where a grubby child was sent to fetch a cobbler to see to Pons¡¯ boot, for both horse and rider needed mending. The tavern keeper¡¯s teenage daughter brought them wine, soup, and bread. The two men wrapped up in blankets and fell asleep on benches beside the fire. It was cloudy and threatened rain in the morning and Pons said he would be damned if he¡¯d travel out again this day. Shortly after making this pronouncement, however, the sun broke through. The innkeeper, a friendly sort, asked if Pons would like to go fishing with him at a nearby stream. Pons did. Taking a large skin of wine each, they set out. Cyn spent the day lazing about. In the morning he set up a few targets and taught some local kids how to shoot a crossbow. In the afternoon he managed to coax the tavern keeper¡¯s daughter into the hayrick. In the evening Pons and their host returned with a basket of brown trout. Dinner was excellent. The next day under fair skies they climbed to the beautiful clear waters of Lake Ohrid. The road led east along the shore past villages, fields, and monasteries. As evening fell they reached a city with formidable walls on the shore of the lake. They found an inn, ate well again, and went to bed early. Setting off again shortly after dawn, they made their way across the highlands. The weather remained clement and clear, and after a few days of rough country, they began to descend to rich pasture land. More travelers passed them, merchants and farmers, priests and post horses. From time to time they were forced to pause as flocks of sheep were driven along the road. They traveled eastward with the morning sun on their faces and the afternoon sun on their backs. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. One day, stopping for a rest late in the afternoon, they spotted a group of teenage boys. The youths had two fine horses harnessed to a rickety chariot and the oldest was about to run them through their paces. With a practiced flick of the reins wrapped around his wrists, he set the team to canter around on a dusty track which looked to have been trampled out to the traditional size. The driver flicked his reins again and the horses burst into a run, the chariot - bouncing and slewing over the ruts in the oval path. The youth, his legs braced, teeth clenched, and forearms straining, circled the long track twice. His friends whooped and cheered him on. As he went into a turn the chariot¡¯s right wheel dug into a soft patch and the car began to tip. In an instant the driver disentangled his hands from the reins and sprang clear. The chariot flipped onto its side and was dragged for a short distance before coming to rest. The driver lay on the track with his wind knocked out. His chums came running to check on his condition. Pons calmed the horses who appeared used to the treatment, while Cyn flipped the chariot onto its wheels again. The light wooden frame was bound with wicker and suffered no damage from the crash. The driver rose to his feet, brushed the dust off his clothes and hair. Cyn gave him a grin. ¡°That,¡± he said in his limited Greek, ¡°Looked like fun.¡± ¡°Not fun,¡± the youth replied. ¡°It is serious competition.¡± ¡°In a serious competition you would have wanted to move off the track a little faster. Before the next chariot runs you over.¡± Pons handed over the reins. The boy smiled and took them. He and his friends were the sons of workers on a great estate nearby. They were delighted to hear Pons and Cyn were traveling to Constantinople. ¡°One day soon Honor here will be pulling in the great Hippodrome.¡± The boy scratched the jaw of a powerful chestnut mare. ¡°My father is the stable master and he says our lord has sold her. She¡¯ll be off to glory soon, won¡¯t you girl? Perhaps my brother will race her, he drives for the Blues.¡± Pons was impressed. ¡°Your brother is a charioteer? In the capital? He must be good.¡± ¡°He is. He is the best. When you go to the races you must place a wager on him. He will make you much money.¡± ¡°What name does he race under?¡± Pons asked. ¡°Alexander the Great. Everyone knows him.¡± ¡°Alexander the Great. That is a big name to live up to.¡± ¡°He had to be called that. His name is Alexander and this place is called Pella. Alexander¡¯s city was once here.¡± ¡°Must have been a long time ago.¡± Cyn muttered as he glanced around the track. The only things he could see nearby were a few huts for the estate¡¯s peasants and a long abandoned wooden fort which he thought he could put his foot through if he gave it a good kick. The boys invited the two strangers back to their cottage on the estate. They assured them their mother and father would not mind. Indeed they were warmly welcomed. Cyn and the boys rubbed down the horses while Pons met their father, the estate¡¯s stablemaster. Cyn showed the boys his crossbows and when they were finished with the horses, they set off to a nearby pasture to shoot at rabbits while they awaited dinner. Pons and the stablemaster visited, chatting about the state of the world over a plate of olives and an amphora of wine. Presently the hunters returned with a nice brace of coney. One of the hares had been killed, the boys recounted, at extreme long distance - hundreds of paces, while in full flight, darting to and fro, trying to reach a thicket of brambles. The quarrel had fallen almost vertically and had severed the rodent¡¯s spine. Cyn looked outrageously pleased with himself, but admitted it was pure luck. Later that night they ate bread with oil and rabbit stew. When Cyn confessed in his broken Greek he had never watched a chariot race, the stablemaster and his sons explained all he should be looking for when he finally did attend. The next morning, as they were leaving, the stablemaster¡¯s wife asked them to seek out her son when they reached the capital and give him all their love. A teen-aged sister of the boys, who had stared shyly at Cyn all the previous evening, came forward. She gave Pons a braid of her hair pinned with a pretty comb she had whittled herself and asked if he would give it to her brother. They promised they would and set off with warm goodbyes. Long before they came down to the city of Thessaloniki they could smell the sea in the air again. They had crossed the Greek peninsula from the Adriatic to the Aegean. They spent one night at a prosperous inn, and on the following day made some inquiries regarding the Caesar Ionnes. Two years earlier, when Renier wed Maria Born-to-the-Purple, he had been granted Thessaloniki as a fief along with the title Caesar. The title was an honorific which, while still prestigious and befitted his new status as Emperor Manuel¡¯s son-in-law, did not include an Imperial office. The Byzantines also gave him a new name, calling him Ionnes in Greek, because Renier was too cumbersome and foreign sounding to their ears. Renier had never once visited the city he received as his wife¡¯s dowry and its governance was left to bureaucrats appointed by the Emperor. A few coins put into a few purses gained Pons and Cyn a meeting with the learned Archbishop, Eustathius. He told Pons new officials had recently arrived with instructions that henceforth all city revenue was to flow directly into Imperial coffers. No mention at all had come from the capital regarding the death of the Caesar Ionnes. He had simply ceased to exist and no one with any sense was asking questions as to how or why. At Thessaloniki they learned nothing. As the weather was fine, they wasted no time and resumed their journey along the Via Egnatia, which was much more well traveled leading on to the capital. Chapter 11 - Early One Morning in the Queen of Cities Chapter 11 Early One Morning in the Queen of Cities In his dream Andronikos Comnemnos was shitting himself with fear. The dream was so lucid he seemed to feel the warm stinking flow of diarrhea induced stool trickling down his thigh to his knees. Warm tears burned his eyes and trickled down his nose. He sniveled. His nose was clogged with snot. He could not help it. Andronikos was terrified. They were going to blind him. They were going to heat long iron needles in a forge until they glowed a bright orange. A giant of a man - the torturer¡¯s assistant - would stand behind Androniks and wrap his arms so tightly around his head it would be completely immovable, no matter how hard he thrashed. And he wouldn¡¯t be thrashing much, not after the guards had gotten through beating him with iron rods. He would barely have enough energy to pitifully endure the punishment. Using tongs to hold the searing needles, the torturer was going to pierce the balls of his eyes. Better to die. Better to die trying, blade in hand. But he was not going to go down fighting. Because his bowels had betrayed him. And hot tears of shame filled his eyes. And his knees had gone weak, collapsing him in the mud behind his cousin¡¯s tent. Andronikos, dagger in hand, had slipped out into the night to slit his cousin¡¯s throat. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. His cousin. The Emperor. Basilius. Manuel. Andronikos cried out as he awoke. His eyes flew open and his hand immediately checked to see if he had - in fact - shat himself. He was drenched in perspiration, but the couch he slept on was not soiled. The predawn light gave him enough light to see. Beside him on the bed lay one of his concubines. Had she heard him cry out? Would she spread rumors his sleep was troubled? What would his enemies make of that? But no, the girl slumbered on, unaware of her bedmate¡¯s restless dreams. His cry hadn¡¯t woken her. Or was she truly asleep? Was her perfect young breast gently rising and falling in natural repose? How tightly were her eyes closed? Was she feigning? Andronikos reached under the cushion and withdrew a dagger honed to extraordinary keenness which he kept there as a last line of protection. He held the blade to her delicate, vulnerable throat. The girl made no movement. With the blade below her jaw line, he studied her intently for a moment. No. Definitely sleeping, he decided. He then began to wonder how the lazy slut managed to sleep so soundly. What if his chamber had been violated? What if his enemies had attacked him in the night? What if - Christ-in-Heaven - his sacred person had been harmed? Would the worthless whore have slept through that too? He drew back the weapon to strike and rid himself of the disloyal slave, but in the end laziness stayed his hand. If he killed the girl, he would have to go directly to the baths to scrub the blood off. The same blood would soak the Egyptian cotton mattress on the sleeping couch and it would have to be dragged away. After five months in the palace he was starting to get used to that mattress. He slipped the knife back under the cushion, called for his body servants, and made his way over the dressing chamber to begin his day. Chapter 12 - The Blood Prophecy Chapter 12 The Blood Prophecy The two beautiful dark haired boys, Andronikos and Manuel, grew up together in the extended royal family which occupied the palace. As infants they had shared the same crib - shared the same wet-nurse¡¯s tit. Andronikos was scant weeks older than his first cousin Manuel. They toddled around the nursery together. They were both dressed up like little dolls in brocaded robes with ornate crowns of golden leaves as they took part in the Imperial processions from the palace to the basilica on Easter and saints¡¯ days. Manuel had four older sisters and three older brothers while Andronikos had two older sisters and one older brother, so both were the youngest in their families. They were princes of the blood - born to the purple - but far down the line of succession. They were raised to serve the family and the empire. Neither of them would ever rule, but they would have important functions at court, perhaps govern a province, or even command an army in the field should the need arise. Their early years consisted of their education. They were taught their prayers. They were taught the words of Homer, and swordsmanship, math, and how to ride and hunt. They practiced with shield and javelin on the sand of the Varangian guard¡¯s drill yard. They learned how to care for their weapons and armor and how to sew up a wound. Knowing they may be used as ambassadors or emissaries one day, they were taught the languages of all the surrounding lands. Manuel took to medicine, Andronikos to astronomy. Andronikos excelled Manuel in almost every endeavor their hands were set to. Stronger, bolder, taller - much taller - by the time he was twelve Andronikos was taller than his own father. Manuel lacked his cousin¡¯s physical bearing, but he was more intellectual, and pious. They grew up as best friends. Their grandfather, Alexios, had founded a dynasty and for almost forty years he outwitted crusaders and conspirators, fighting off invaders and revolts to pass the tenuous reigns of power to the hands of his eldest son John. John, thanks to strong support from his younger brother, Issac, and his best friend, John the Persian, ascended to the throne in the same year his son Manuel and nephew Andronikos were born. When the boys were growing up, learning their math and their catechism, the Emperor was frequently in the field with the army defending its borders against the Seljuq Turks, the Pechenegs, the Serbs, and the Hungarians. Assisting him in this was the commander-in-chief of the Byzantine Army, John Auxouch, the Megas Domestikos. John Auxouch was called John the Persian, because he had been a slave from the land of the Turks. As a child he had been captured near the city of Nicea by Frankish warriors who were traveling to the Holy Land. The boy was given, in an exchange of gifts, to the Emperor. For their part, the Franks were given money, horses, and supplies to encourage them to keep moving and not stop within the empire¡¯s borders. The Emperor Alexios gave the slave boy in turn to his eldest son as a companion. He was raised in the Imperial household, and the two Johns grew up to be closer than brothers. Since John the Emperor and John the Persian were off on campaign so often, most of the day to day running of the empire was left to the Emperor¡¯s actual brother, Issac, who remained at the capital. Issac was granted the title of Sebastokrator, which made him chief minister, but in the complicated hierarchy of the Imperial court, he was still inferior to the Megas Domestikos. He - the son of an Emperor - was required to make obeisance to one who had once been a slave. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. This was, to be sure, galling. However, it was not the favor shown to John the Persian which turned Issac against his brother. Issac knew, deep in his heart, the Emperor had made the correct choice by appointing John the Persian as head of the army. He was hearty and loyal. A fine commander - well loved by the men. Issac knew himself to be a creature of the palace. He enjoyed his luxuries and his comforts. He was a patron of the arts and a scholar of literature. The saddle and the camp tent were not for him. No, the thing which finally turned Issac against his brother was the Blood Prophecy; that and iota, the seventh letter of the Greek alphabet. The letter which began his own name. Perhaps it was boredom, or perhaps Issac¡¯s love for the poetry of Homer which began to awaken a desire in him, like the Greeks of old, to see beyond the world at hand. He began to read other things than his beloved Illiad. Scrolls and treatises on magic were examined - nothing maleficent or sinister - but still¡­ writings banned by Holy Mother Church. Late at night in his private apartments at the palace Issac and his wife hosted a party for some of Issac¡¯s closest supporters. The invited guests included several notables of the court and mingling among them were astrologers, diviners, a sorcerer of some note, and an apotropist learned in the Kabbalah and skilled in warding off curses and the evil eye. Palms were read, birthmarks examined, bones were tossed, everyone had a fine time. At some point during the evening Issac asked a soothsayer skilled in the Lekanomantic school of water scrying to tell him who would next sit on the throne. A copper basin etched with Egyptian glyphs was filled with holy water. To this were added a handful of dirt from a graveyard, the tip of a candle wick which had been burning before an altar of the Holy Virgin, twenty-four bone tiles each marked with a letter of the Greek alphabet, and a reed straw. Issac was instructed to blow through the straw until the marked tiles bobbed to the surface. The letters would answer his question. Drawing a great breath Issac began to blow a long steady stream of air which bubbled up through the graveyard mud in the bottom of the bowl, burbling and plopping, as the tiles bearing the letters alpha, iota, mu, and unmistakably alpha again were carried to the surface of the water. To the Lekanomancer the reading was obvious. AIMA was the Greek word for ¡°blood¡± and the letters indicated who in the current bloodline would rule. The first alpha clearly referred to Issac¡¯s father Alexios who began the dynasty. The iota indicated John, or Ionnes in Greek, the current emperor. No one could guess who the mu referred to. Andronikos, present at the party - although only a child - pointed out to the guests his best friend, the emperor¡¯s fourth son was Manuel. ¡°A mu to be sure,¡± noted one courtier. That Manuel would have to lose quite a few brothers before being hailed as Emperor remained unspoken. Issac, however, could not see past the iota. Iota for Ionnes. Yet iota was also for Issac. That night he began to conceive it was his destiny, not his brother¡¯s, to sit on the throne. It gnawed on him. John was short, ugly, and dark of skin. Pious it was true, but also boorish. And he had elevated John the Persian above his own family. Issac¡¯s coup against his brother, when it eventually came, was ill conceived, ill timed, and ill managed. He was forced to go into exile along with his two sons. His wife and daughters would of course remain protected and cared for. It would be over eight years before Andronikos would return to Constantinople, son of a disgraced and disloyal father. All of his teenage years were spent traveling from city to city as his father sought support. Issac felt if he could unite John¡¯s foreign enemies and secretly gather support in the capital, he would still be emperor one day. Chapter 13 - The Emperor Begins his Day Chapter 13 The Emperor Begins his Day Andronikos relieved his bladder and bowels behind a curtained alcove as his servants assembled in the dressing chamber. Six vestes, keepers of the imperial wardrobe, bore garments, a pair from each of the colleges of the cotton, the linen, and the silk. With them came the keeper of the purple slippers. To supervise was their superior, the vestetor. Also in attendance at his morning toilet were his barber, his freedman secretary, his strator (a page who hurried forth to remove the used chamber pot from the alcove), the bearer of the Chalice of Mithridatium, his astrologer, and two Varangian bodyguards. Andronikos strode nude to the center of the room and stood with his arms and legs akimbo. He nodded first to the barber. Carefully the servant began to pluck arrant hairs from his nose and ears with a tiny set of silver tweezers. The barber had to stand on a stool, because Andronikos Komnemnos was - by far - the tallest man of his age, towering a full head higher than any man he had ever encountered (save for a Nubian he once met at the court of the Sultan of Damascus, with whom he was of a height). With great delicacy and respect the barber continued on to more private areas before combing and oiling the luxurious mane of black hair, only slightly graying at the temples, despite the sixty-five winters which had besieged them. Finally, the barber oiled, perfumed, and trimmed the magnificent forked beard which set the standard for court fashion. It covered Andronikos¡¯ chest and reached down to his fit stomach. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. The Vestes of the Cotton came forward and began to robe him in a brilliant white dalmatica. Andronikos nodded to his secretary, the Keeper of the Imperial Inkstand. ¡°What needs to be seen to this morning?¡± ¡°Recently, in your wisdom and foresight you had asked for the state of the fleet to be looked into. I am afraid the news is not good. In addition to the fleet under Admiral Angelos¡¯ command, three ships are on escort duty in the Euxine Sea to Trebizond, two were on escort duty to Spania, but the convoy has not been seen in some time. Two ships are available, but they are not seaworthy in the strictest sense, nor are they adequately crewed. A further three ships have had their keels laid in the dry dock, but they cannot be completed due to a lack of wood.¡± ¡°Why is there no wood? Are the hills and mountains of our realm not full of trees?¡± ¡°Splendid full, Basilius, but there is no one to organize the hewing of the trees. The position of Logothete Sylvanus is empty.¡± The Logothete Sylvanus oversaw forests, hunting lodges, and fish ponds which lay on Imperial lands. The secretary did not need to add that since the treasury was almost completely empty, planks could not be purchased - any materials would have to come from the Emperor¡¯s own patrimonium. ¡°Logothete Sylvanus,¡± Andronikos sighed. The appointment would have to wait. Perhaps he would reward it to one of his flatterers and put them to work. Perhaps he would save the position for someone wealthy, execute them later for not having provided enough timber for the navy, and then confiscate their estate as well. Andronikos loved being the emperor. Except he wasn¡¯t. Not yet. Chapter 14 - The Fugitive Teenage Years Chapter 14 The Fugitive Teenage Years After the attempted coup failed Andronikos fled with his father and brother east across Asia Minor to the court of the Danishmendid Emir at Melitene. Only days before their arrival, Bohemund, the twenty-two year old Christian Prince of Antioch, had led a force into Armenian Cilicia. The Emir had ambushed and annihilated the inexperienced crusader force to a man. So indiscriminate had the slaughter been, even Prince Bohemund himself had been slain - despite the fact that he would have made a valuable hostage. Now Emir Gazi wanted to send Bohemund¡¯s head - along with a poem he had written - to his overlord the Abbasid Caliph as a gift. Unfortunately, the young man¡¯s head was starting to go¡­ off. Issac and his sons arrived to find the city in a jubilant mood after the victory. Melitene had only recently fallen to the Emir and, with hostile Greeks on his western border, having the Emperor¡¯s treasonous brother at hand could only be useful. Emir Gazi was no fool. My enemy¡¯s enemy is my friend. They were welcomed, but as what? Guests? Hostages? Prisoners? And if his father¡¯s position was uncertain, what role was there for his sons - Ionnes, the polite one, and Andronikos, the tall one? Andronikos¡¯ classical education did help, however, and he had been tutored in the local Arabic. He remembered reading how Alexander the Great had been preserved in honey after his death. Emir Gazi was glad to find a sweet and simple solution to his smelly head problem which he placed in a silver box and forwarded on to the Caliph in Baghdad. He was also happy to forward the Byzantine exiles on to anyone else who might join a coalition. Next stop was Trebizond, capital of a former Byzantine province on the southern coast of the Black Sea. It was formerly a Byzantine province because Constantine Gabras, the current ruler, was now styling himself as prince - not governor - and was no longer subjecting himself to Emperor John. In the rebel province Issac found ears which would listen. But Constantine Gabras - as an ally? Another traitor? The man¡¯s own brother had once been imprisoned for desecrating a church and stealing a nail from the Holy Cross. Next it was off to see the Lord of the Mountains, Prince Leo of Cilicia. Leo was sympathetic to Issac¡¯s situation. Having poisoned off a nephew, he knew what it was like to have to remove a relative to gain power for himself and get around the nonsense of primogeniture. He was also eager to attack Emperor John and gain territory in south Anatolia. To cement this alliance, Prince Leo married one of his daughters to Andronikos¡¯ older brother Ionnes the Polite. The match was a good one. The girl was a great-great-great granddaughter of none other than Bardas Phocas - the legendary Byzantine general. Her dowry included the city of Mamista - and would include - the city of Tarsus, which Leo hoped to soon capture. Communication with Issac¡¯s supporters in Constantinople was slow, irregular, and had to be secretive. Messages were spoken to a priestly intermediary who would relay them from Issac to his wife, Irene. They were always verbal messages mouth to ear only - never written. Issac knew that if intercepted the priestly courier could be forced to reveal what he knew, but Emperor John was godly and above mutilations or torture. Or so Issac hoped. Princess Irene kept in contact with sympathetic members of the extended Imperial family. From her Issac learned timing an attack would have to be crucial. Having the Emir of the Danishmendids, the rebel ¡°Prince¡± of Trebizond, and the Prince of Cilicia on his side was all well and good, but without the power of the Sultan of Rhum, Issac¡¯s coalition would be worthless - and he knew it. Sultan Masud received them warmly in the capital of Iconium. They were presented with gifts - a beautiful Quran with surpassing calligraphy for Issac, a fine Arabian stallion for Ionnes, and a hunting falcon for Andronikos. A manse was found for them to quarter in along with servants. Sultan Masud was also sympathetic. He too had experienced family problems. Fourteen years earlier he had deposed, blinded, and eventually murdered his older brother, Malik, to take his position. More of a mercy than a murder truly. The imbecile¡¯s campaign against the Byzantines hadn¡¯t made a dent - despite the fact that the enemy leader, Issac¡¯s father Alexios, had been aged and ill at the time. Malik was forced to conclude a humiliating peace giving a huge portion of his lands back to the Greeks. After Masud got rid of Malik the treaty was nullified, but all of the land was still in contention. The Sultan sought an advantage over John the Emperor and his general, John the Persian. If Sultan Masud thought Issac would provide that advantage, he was mistaken. Issac was the bookish one, not the soldier. Yet even Issac was strategist enough to know that the two Johns would have to be occupied outside of Constantinople if any coup had a hope of success. They would have to be on campaign - on the western border against the Serbs or Hungarians - or even a naval campaign against Venice or an attack on the island of Sicily would suffice. With either of them present in the city, Issac¡¯s supporters would never be able to gain any traction. But John the Emperor and John the Persian never marched to the west. Always to the east. Relentlessly capturing cities, they gained the reputation of ¡°wall breakers.¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Over time, Issac¡¯s coalition began to come apart. The city of Mamista was taken - another wall broken - and its income was lost to Ionnes the Polite. When Leo, the Lord of the Mountains, finally did strike back and take Tarsus, those incomes were not forthcoming as were promised. Everything of value in Cilicia was lost to them. Including their ally. The dowry contract broken, Leo¡¯s daughter was returned to him in disgrace. Desperate for another ally, Issac traveled alone to Jurusalem to seek the aid of King Faulk and Queen Melisende. Faulk held the crown matrimonial, through his wife, but they were of no accord. Faulk''s recent marriage to the Queen had not been popular with the second generation of crusader nobility living in Jerusalem, and his position was not secure. He was trying to hang on to his own throne, he had no resources to help Issac get one which he did not deserve. Despite the outlandish promises Issac made (which he could never hope to keep), it all came to naught. Feeling hope slipping, Andronikos'' father limped back to the Sultan of Rhum to wait for the time to be right. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. The manse they resided in at Iconium became like a prison. For years they eked out a humiliating existence - forced to live off the charity of the Sultan. What little news reached them was all bad, never good. Their allies in Trebizond vacillated. Harvests were poor. A campaign of any sort was simply out of the question this season. Next season looked to be poor as well. Also the Megas Doux, admiral of the Byzantine fleet, had one hundred fifty ships in the water. Constantine Gabras¡¯ fleet was laughable in comparison. Their ally, Emir Gazi, died. His son was not half the man his father was. Eventually good news did arrive - the Emperor had finally left off his conquest of Anatolia and returned to the capital. He was heading back to the west. Only it later turned out to be worse news - he returned to the capital in order to deal with Issac¡¯s supporters. Had they moved too soon? Been uncovered? Never come together at all? In any event the plot had fallen apart. Issac simply had no support. Why would anyone support him when his more legitimate brother was so successful in the field? To say nothing of John¡¯s piety, and dignity. He was faithful to his wife and had a brood of eight children - all grown, and even grandchildren coming now. The treasury was as full as at any time in living memory. Yes, John had overlooked members of the large Imperial family and appointed his father¡¯s old retainers and low born men like John the Persian to positions of authority. And yes, this had incensed many. Yet time had shown those men to be capable. The empire was well managed. He fought more wars of conquest than defense. In 1137 the two Johns completely conquered Cilicia. The Lion of the Mountains and all of his family - those who mattered anyway - were sent as captives back to Constantinople. Emperor John then turned south to Antioch. This city had been taken from the Muslims in a hellish siege some forty years earlier by the crusaders. Before the Seljuk Turks held it, the city had been the capital of an important Byzantine theme. The city and territory was supposed to have reverted to Byzantine control once the crusader prince holding it died. Supposed to. Should have. A small war was fought to decide the matter. Oaths were taken. However, when the crusader prince finally did die, Antioch remained a vassal state of the King of Jerusalem. Regents ruled for the prince¡¯s son until he came of age. When the prince¡¯s son came into his own he swore fealty not to Constantinople, but to Jerusalem. Not that it mattered, as he promptly got himself killed and had his foolish honey covered head sent off to Damascus, but he left behind as his heir a small daughter. Now at the age of eight she was married (through cunning and subterfuge - and against her mother¡¯s wishes) to the second son of a French duke. It was this man Emperor John came to visit. He brought the might of his army and camped outside the walls of Antioch. Raymond, the French nobleman with the child bride, submitted along with the nearby Counts of Edessa and Tripoli, trading King Faulk of Jerusalem as their liege lord for John of Constantinople. With Antioch, the greatest city of the eastern Mediterranean, as his suzerain - Emperor John was invincible. Deserted by all, Issac finally submitted. He humbly begged for forgiveness. For his part, John was more delighted to have his repentant brother back than he was to have gotten homage from all the lords of the Levant. Issac¡¯s capitulation came late in the year so they all returned happily to Constantinople. Nearing the age of twenty, Andronikos was happy to be reunited with his childhood friend Manuel. His defection to the east was not held against him. Manuel completely understood his childhood chum had been given no choice in the matter. Andronikos was his father¡¯s son - it was his most basic duty to follow and obey him. Plus he had only been on the cusp of manhood when the exile began. Say what you will about the father¡¯s behavior, the son¡¯s was beyond reproach. Yet Emperor John had a little test of loyalty for his brother¡¯s sons. He would go east again and renew his campaigns against the new Danishmendid Emir and the Sultan of Rhum. Joining him in the first campaign would be his nephew Ionnes the polite, later he would take Andronikos the tall. Seeing the young men turn against their former hosts would demonstrate their fealty. Chapter 15 - A Slow Moving Coup or How the Palace was Taken Chapter 15 A Slow Moving Coup or How the Palace was Taken The vestes of the cotton finished and humbly withdrew. Andronikos nodded and gave them leave to go. They had still to robe the other Emperor, Manuel¡¯s son - Alexios the second - now a week shy of his thirteenth birthday. How it irked. In fact, Andronikos was not even regent - that was still the boy¡¯s mother, Maria of Antioch - the bitch. Legally Andronkios had no official position, but as a first cousin to the previous emperor, he had as strong a claim to the purple as anyone, should anything untoward happen to the young emperor. Unfortunately, there were others. Manuel had left behind several bastards. Even though these men were born out of wedlock, their mothers were noble Greek ladies from families who stood high in the Byzantine court. To some members of the extensive aristocracy, a known imperial bastard held more appeal than a true born cousin of unsavory reputation. To be sure, Andronikos had an unsavory reputation. He had spent twelve years in prison after being caught skulking outside of the Emperor¡¯s tent with a naked blade. Many more years after in exile. His seductions of his own cousins and nieces were scandalous. Now, most recently, he had brought a mercenary army of Mohamadeen to the city who were still camped outside of the walls. True, Emperor Manuel himself had forgiven him. Andronikos had repented of his crimes, dressing himself in chains to be humbled before his cousin. He had confessed his sins and had been absolved. He was allowed to retire to Oienon on the Euxine Sea. And there he had stayed, in impotent isolation, but only for a time. Later that year Manuel died and his wife became regent for their son, the boy Emperor Alexios. Her widowhood mattered to her not one whit and she immediately threw herself lustfully into the bed of the Protosebastos. Together the hateful couple sought to dominate the twelve-year old Emperor. For his part, Alexios the Protosebastos wanted to marry the mother, use the boy as his puppet, eventually dispose of him, and usurp his position to become Emperor himself. Alexios¡¯ toadies and Latin nobodies were given Imperial contracts and the contents of the treasury began to flow to Latin businesses. The old noble families were swept aside by money hungry foreigners. The Empress regent, herself a foreigner, and her lover suppressed any opposition. Andronikos¡¯ two adult sons had been in Constantinople at the time. They spoke out and both were arrested. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Then a letter from Manuel¡¯s daughter, Maria Porphyrogenita, arrived. Andronikos could not recall the exact wording, but it was the most beautiful letter he had ever received in his life. Dearest Uncle Andronikos, you must help. My brother the Emperor is being manipulated and misused by the Empress Regent, Maria of Antioch. She has forsaken her vows of chastity and cavorts most licentiously with the Protosebastos. They conspire against my brother and seek to give his dominion away to their heretic Venetian cronies. Please you must come at once and set things to rights. There it was. His official excuse. Other letters from other notable families followed. All asking for his guidance and presence at this troubled time. He had gathered what forces he could, with what money he had available, and began moving west on the city. Slowly. He camped across the Hellespont east of the city. Archers and light spearmen - mercenaries from the Sultanate of Rhum and places even farther East - pitched tents. Far more tents than this bare thousand men would need. Any scouts counting from afar would come up with a frightful tally. Under the cover of darkness fishing boats were seized, bound together, and then disguised by quick working carpenters to appear - when seen across the vast distance of the sea - like a fleet had magically sprung up. Still he waited. Waited for the entirety of the province in which he sat, Bithynia, to come over to his side. Waited until General Branas of the eastern army joined him. Waited until Admiral Kontostephanos and the fleet did as well. General Lapardas, known as ¡°The Hawk'''' to his enemies, brought no soldiers but did offer his sword. As they crossed the Bosporus in the spring of 1182, the city rose up against the Venetian merchants. Andronikos had done nothing to quell the riots. Instead he told his mercenaries to join in the looting. When it was all over, he presented himself as an elder statesman - a kindly uncle, come to restore order. Chapter 16 - Tests of Loyalty Chapter 16 Tests of Loyalty In the spring of 1139 Ionnes the Polite accompanied his uncle, the Emperor Ionnes, on his campaign east against Melik Mehmed Gazi. Pushing deep into the inland region south of the Black Sea to the area which had once been the province of Pontus, they lay siege to the city of New Caesarea which had been lost to the Turk long ago. Androkios had not been present, but later he heard of his brother¡¯s conduct. At one point during the siege a Latin knight of some repute fighting in the service of Emperor John, had his horse slain out from underneath him. From his vantage point the Emperor could see the soldier¡¯s distress as he continued to fight on foot. He ordered his nephew Ionnes ¡®the polite¡¯ to dispatch his horse so the knight might remount. Ionnes¡¯ horse. His fine Arabian. The one which had been the gift from the Sultan of Rhum. Ionnes refused. The magnificent beast was his. Never. He would send a dispatch challenging the knight to duel for his horse, but a gift - even temporary - never. He told the Emperor as much. ¡°You are being judged,¡± John the Persian cautioned him. In a spitting rage Ionnes sent the stallion to the knight, then seeing his uncle¡¯s stern face, he mounted the nearest charger and bolted to the enemy line - defecting to the Danishmendid Emir and leaving his family, nation, and faith behind forever. To complete his betrayal Ionnes politely told his new host about his uncle¡¯s weakness, namely that the army had pushed so far into Pontus they were ill supplied and the baggage train was slow and stretched thin. Emperor Ionnes needed either a quick victory, or for Neocaesarea to surrender. Once the Emir knew the besiegers would starve before the besieged¡­ all he had to do was wait. The Byzantine army withdrew for the season, having accomplished nothing. Rain, flooding, and hail ruined the following campaign season, so it wasn¡¯t until the spring of 1141 before it was Andronikos¡¯ turn to show his loyalty. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The first campaign took him to the massive lake Caralis in the Isauria region to put down a rebellion. For generations Greek Christian communities living on fortified islets in the lake had been living peacefully surrounded by Turks. They maintained ties of friendship. They needed the Turks for trade. Constantinople was far away and did not buy their fish. Their only experience of the empire was corrupt officials and brutal tax farmers. Feeling secure on their islands they refused to either submit or leave. Both Manuel and Andronikos were tasked with commandeering fishing boats and light transports to be refitted and lashed together to act as floating platforms for siege engines. Andronikos was reminded of happier times growing up with his cousin. It felt good to be working together. One by one the little fortified islands were reduced. The army had begun moving on to the east again when disaster struck the Emperor from an unexpected source. Disease. But it was not John himself who was struck down, rather his eldest son and heir, Alexios - thirty-six years old - in the prime of his life - and co-emperor in his own right. A burning fever attacked with such intensity nothing could be done to cool him. His life was snuffed out in only three short days. His two younger brothers, Andronikos and Issacos were selected to escort the body on its return to Constantinople. No sooner had they reached the city when Andronikos, the elder of the brothers, was struck down himself by the same fever. In the space of a month the Emperor lost his two oldest sons. Yet John had to push on to the east. Returning to Constantinople would accomplish nothing and the entire question of Antioch¡¯s suzerainty - which he had thought settled four years earlier - was already needing a firm hand again. So back to Syria it was - accompanied by John the Persian, with his youngest son Manuel and tall nephew Andronikos among the officers. Arriving in autumn the army once again camped outside of the city walls. John, still grieving the loss of his sons, did not want another siege and more bloodshed. Nor did he want to listen to Raymond of Poitiers protestations or suffer through any empty homages and sycophantic veneration only to leave with more empty promises. His messengers made his intentions clear. John was going to winter nearby in Cilicia. In spring he would travel with his army to Jerusalem on pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulcher. There he would explain to King Fulk - in person - once and for all - who was monarch of Antioch. Count Raymond could delay, play for time, or even let the Antiochines vote in assembly and remove himself from the decision. It would not matter. In the new year he would have to submit or face slaughter. Chapter 17 - The Emperor’s Troubles Chapter 17 The Emperor¡¯s Troubles The Vestes of the Linen had begun to dress Andronikos in another richly embroidered dalmatica and he called for his eunuch Pterygeonites, the Bearer of the Chalice of Mithridatium, to step forward. Pterygeonites was one who knew full well that Andronikos was not a kindly uncle coming to restore order. The eunuch held a golden chalice up to Andronikos who took it and downed its contents at a swallow. He winced at the bitter taste, coughed, looked for a moment as if he might wretch, until finally his face settled into a long sour moue. Andronikos had been taking this particular antidote for a few years now. A specific against fifty-nine known poisons. This was after all, Constantinople, capital of the Roman Empire. Andronikos had studied enough history as a boy to know how many men in purple had died from poisoning. His eyes bored into the shaved head bowed before him as he handed back the chalice. When Andronikos had swept into power he had ordered Pterygeonites to administer fatal doses of poison to Maria Born-to-the-Purple, her husband the Caesar Ionnes, and the Protosebastos. He wanted to use him again. To kill her, but he dared not. He had to get rid of her. He could do nothing as long as she still breathed. The wretched woman. Maria of Antioch. The mother of the boy. The Empress Regent. It galled him to think she was still alive. With her son a minor, she was nominally - and legally - in charge of the Empire. The Latin bitch. He had to get rid of the scheming woman. But how? She could not be allowed to build up resentment amongst the aristocrats. Although General Branas remained loyal, Admiral Kontostephanos was already wavering. He had tried to have judges condemn her, even Andronikos¡¯ eldest son, also called Manuel in honor of his father¡¯s best friend (at the time), flatly refused to follow instructions and kill the viper. Executing her outright would be seen as an outrage. Even sacrilege. When Manuel had taken ill at the end of his life, both he and the Empress had taken holy orders. She was now a nun. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. A nun. The thought made Andronikos shudder. A bride of Christ. Whoring herself for the Protosebastos. And the Church would do nothing. Refused to have her tried in ecclesiastical court. Refused to even order her into exile at a convent in the mountains. Impossible. Patriarch Theodosius was no friend. In retrospect he was finding the Protosebastos had been killed off too quickly. Alive, the man could have been tortured into incriminating the Empress Regent. Andronikos wanted to have her sent to a convent at the ass-end of nowhere, but her will was such that out of the palace and into a convent in the city was as far from her son as she would budge. He waved Pterygeonites away. No¡­ when it came to Maria of Antioch¡¯s death, he wanted so badly to leave it to Steven. His poisoner had his uses to be sure, but if you wanted things to get messy, there was Steven. Steven had a real taste for killing and he needed to be unleashed from time to time. This way she would suffer. The Vestes of the Silk had finished draping him in purple and gold robes glittering with jewels sewn onto the fabric, decorative trim hemmed the long bell shaped sleeves. The Keeper of the Imperial Slippers came forth and placed Andronikos feet into the large soft boots made of felt, with slightly up-curling toes which he favored. The astrologer, Skleros Seth, then approached and set up an old copper basin etched with glyphs. He added the necessary components and the lettered tiles before offering up a reed straw. Andronikos bent at the waist and blew. Bubbles rose to the surface, but no tiles. He turned an annoyed glare on the astrologer who indicated he should try again. Andronikos drew in a great breath and exhaled again. One tile, an omicron, eventually rose to the surface for an instant. ¡°Trouble comes, my Lord,¡± Skleros Seth explained. ¡°Trouble comes?¡± Andronikos repeated, unimpressed. ¡°I am beset by troubles at every quarter.¡± ¡°Yes Lord, this trouble comes from the west.¡± ¡°Trouble from the west.¡± he scoffed. ¡°What sort of vague warning is this? Useless. In my father¡¯s day his astrologer would have been able to tell the very name of the man who meant him harm. Trouble from the west indeed.¡± Chapter 18 - Hunting Mishaps Chapter 18 Hunting Mishaps When the weather dawned clear and fair on an early April morning in 1143 a long anticipated hunt was decreed. Young Andronikos was tired of winter quarters in Cilicia as were all the other members of the court who had accompanied the Emperor on the campaign. Aah the hunt. What better way to shake off winter¡¯s mantle and enjoy a day out before the upcoming march? All were in high spirits. The twin peaks of the Crow¡¯s Nest mountains framed a wide forest covered ravine. Here the Emperor and most of his entourage would hunt for deer, antelope, and hopefully boar. Andronikos, however, wanted to take his bird out and let her stretch her wings. Manuel wanted to go after the bigger game, so the cousins were not fated to be together when the day ended. Andronikos did not go out alone for he found a fellow hawking enthusiast in young Theodore Dasiotes. The main hunting party pushed east and found their quarry. Emperor John came upon a solitary boar. An experienced hunter - John planted his spear and was ready for the sudden charge. His spearhead caught the beast in the torso and pushed through to the entrails. Unfortunately, the force of the thrust knocked the Emperor¡¯s hand back and overturned a quiver of arrows which hung at his side - poisoned arrows - used to bring down antelope. The head of one arrow cut him neatly between the third and fourth finger. Merely a scratch. Nothing to it. He pulled a piece of leather off the lacing of his shoe to act as a bandage. A few miles to the north Andronikos and Theodore Dasiotes were having an hunting misadventure of their own. A mounted party of Seljuks came upon them as they were having a picnic. The raiders encircled the Byzantine nobles and their attendants as they sat on a grassy hill and for a moment things appeared as if they would become violent. Andronikos, however calmly licked the juice of a pomegranate from his fingers, rose to his feet and opened his hands. He addressed the riders in their own language and congratulated them on their good luck. He assured them he and his company were nobles of great station and their lord would be overjoyed to have them as prisoners. With a smile he assured the hetman of the raiders his share of the ransom would make even his children rich. The absence of the two young men was not remarked upon at dinner that evening. The next day, with a heavy rain falling, their servants returned, but had trouble finding anyone of note to explain their masters¡¯ plight. The entire camp was astir. The Emperor¡¯s hand, indeed his whole arm, was swelling and festering. Manuel was tending to his father in his suite. Andronikos was forgotten. Physicians, disciples of the Asklepaidai, and army surgeons were consulted. Poultices were applied. When the swelling grew too great and the pain too much to endure, the wound was lanced. The infection spread as did the agony. Refusing amputation John set the excruciating pain aside and turned his mind to the succession. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. He had two sons remaining to him, Issacos, now thirty years old and in Constantinople (he had also escorted the body of his brother Alexios on its return to the capital, but unlike his brother Andronikos, had not fallen to the fever), and Manuel who would be twenty-six on his next birthday. Issacos was more cunning than clever and more cruel by nature than kind. Manuel was valiant. Ionnes could clearly recall one day, at the siege of Neocaesarea, Manuel had led a sortie which rallied the men and almost won them the field - John¡¯s heart had almost burst with pride to watch. Later in his private command tent, after praising his son before the troops for his courage, he personally took a willow switch to his bare thighs for his recklessness. Manuel was clever. He was even now helping the medics. Manuel was pious. The rain caused flooding in the camp. Shortly after his tent and deathbed had been moved to higher ground, John altered the succession and had John Auxouch and all the lords, officers, and nobles in attendance swear to honor his wishes. The iota became a mu. With his father¡¯s body still warm, Manuel dispatched John the Persian to Constantinople with orders to seize his brother and hold him. John also carried two letters both written in red ink and sealed in gold - tied with a silken thread dyed Tyrian purple. One letter promising the Patriarch and clergy of the Hagia Sophia two hundred pounds of silver per year for their support. The second promised two hundred pounds of gold per annum, but was only to be produced should the first fail to sway them. His father¡¯s man - now his, John the Persian, was flawless. Issacos was taken into custody and placed in confinement in a monastery. The church recognized Manuel. The second letter was not needed. Manuel had to return to the capital to be formally anointed, but the question of Antioch still remained. By tradition a monastery would have to be founded at the site of his father¡¯s death. Donatives had to be paid to the soldiers to ensure their loyalty. So much to do. When news finally reached Manuel that Andronikos was captured, rather than being relieved his cousin was unharmed, Manuel was irritated by his carelessness. Nor did he want his first contact with the Turk, as Emperor, to be a ransom payment. What a weak tone that would set for the beginning of his reign? No. Andronikos would have to wait. Manuel made his way back to Constantinople and was duly crowned by a newly appointed Patriarch. Andronikos, back in his old position of a hostage - treated as a guest - knew nothing of Manuel¡¯s succession. He could see, however, he was being held for an unduly long time and no ransom was forthcoming. Paranoia plagued his thoughts. Was he suspected of having turned traitor like his brother? No. The fact Theodore Dasiotes was taken along with him should ease anyone¡¯s mind. Theodore was the husband of one of Emperor John¡¯s granddaughters, so there would be no question of his loyalty. Yet weeks passed. Then months. When Andronikos and Theodore finally were released from Iconium, it was without ransom. Sultan Mesud, hoping for a fresh start with the new Emperor, broke off the siege of Prakana, which had been going on for some time, and freed the two noble captives as a show of good faith. From Manuel¡¯s perspective doing nothing had been the correct course - Andronikos¡¯ capture had resolved itself without costing the treasury a single obol. Seething with resentment, Andronikos saw things differently. Chapter 19 - The Emperor is Cheered up by his own Cleverness Chapter 19 The Emperor is Cheered up by his own Cleverness Irritated by the vague warning of western troubles Andronikos waved the astrologer away. He thought about summoning an oneiromancer, to interpret his dream, but then decided he didn¡¯t want to know the meaning of a dream in which he was shitting himself. He could already guess. The vestes of the silk were waiting to be dismissed as well. Fortunately robing the boy Emperor was a task which used considerably less cloth than Andronikos¡¯ frame. Alexios lived in the same wing of the Blachernae Palace, but his rooms were one level below. Most of his tutors and attendants had been replaced with people loyal to Andronikos - all the better to keep an eye on him. The boy¡¯s days consisted mainly of lessons and ceremonial and religious duties which Andronikos considered too trifling to be bothered with. Having him regularly seen hale and hearty by the clergy was all to the good. It helped quell rumors. Maria of Antioch had objected to allowing him to hunt, but Andronikos had insisted on it. A growing boy needs exercise and fresh air. Stray arrows, falls from horses, anything could happen on a hunt. Take the boy''s own grandfather as an example. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. His beard hid a smile that began to play at the corners of his mouth. An idea was forming. If the Empress Regent were removed, his own popularity would suffer, but if the boy got rid of her himself. Not an assassination - an execution. Some decisions Andronikos arrived at in a heartbeat, others he would dither about for weeks. ¡°I will need a document drawn up,¡± he said to the Keeper of the Imperial Inkstand. The bureaucrat stepped forward with his portable writing desk shaped like a dog. ¡°A death warrant. Begin with the basics, but the wording will have to be precise.¡± He had to move carefully. Planning was needed. If Alexios signed his own mother¡¯s execution order, how could Uncle Andronikos be held to blame? He could see no down side. He rarely could once he reached a decision. Chapter 20 - That Same Morning near the Golden Gate Chapter 20 That Same Morning Pons woke Cyn from his side of the bed before dawn even broke. They had spent the night at an inn near the city and he knew they were in for a busy day. They saddled their horses in the foggy prelight. It was still early morning when they came over a rise in the road and could look down to the sea. The first they could see of the city was the dome of the church of the Holy Apostles, on the top of the highest of the seven hills of this New Rome, there in the far distant background, rising out of the sea mist and looming over the walls. Madonna. What walls. Twelve meters high and five meters wide running ten kilometers, from the Sea of Marmara in the south to the waters of the Golden Horn in the north, cutting off the peninsula. A tower twenty meters tall rose every one hundred paces of its length. Made of finished limestone blocks - the wall almost gleamed. It ran straight as an arrow, to the north, dipping over the seventh hill before turning to the northeast. In front of the wall was another wall. This one was a mere seven meters tall, and in front of that was a moat eighteen meters wide. Every two kilometers the wall was punctured by a massive gate with a formidable bastion. Cyn was amazed. ¡°Close your mouth. You look like a yokel.¡± Pons advised. He remembered himself as a young man, younger than Cyn here now, first viewing these same walls and thought he had also probably looked as dumbfounded. In those days he had been merely a man-at-arms in the retinue of Lord Guilhem, who was accompanying his cousin, the German Kaiser, to the Holy Land. ¡°Can¡¯t be taken.¡± Cyn said succinctly. Throughout the journey, whenever they had traveled near a castle or walled town they would discuss various ways of breaching the defenses. Catapults or undermining the walls? The benefits of an attack with ladders as opposed to using a ram. How long would it take to capture a place by assault? By starving them out? Soldiers talk. ¡°Can¡¯t be done.¡± Cyn said again. ¡°Never in a hundred years. Look at those walls will you. A donkey could kick at them all day, every day, for an entire season and not knock it down.¡± He referred to the onager style catapult which, though easy to construct on campaign, kicked like a mule every time it fired a rock. ¡°And to defend. Christos, those towers. I could hit anything with a crossbow from up there, and they would have bugger all chance of shooting me. Nah. You¡¯d have to take it by sea.¡± Pons pointed. ¡°Have you noticed the sea wall?¡± Riding closer they could see the walls continued at a height of ten meters running northeast for eight kilometers along the coastline of the Sea of Marmara to the tip of the peninsula, near to where the basilica of Holy Wisdom and Imperial Palace dominated the landscape. There it met up with the northern seawall running along the Golden Horn which continued back to the west before vanishing from their view behind hills covered in buildings, sea mist, and the smoke of ten thousand fires. Constantinople. The largest city on Earth. Cyn insisted on seeing the golden milestone, the Milion. Throughout the long journey the milestones had been constant companions. Both men had looked forward to spotting them. Sometimes they were in plain sight, sometimes they were hiding in the grass which their horses would crop to reveal, others were prominently set into bridges. As the numbers counted down their trip Pons and Cyn cheered the loss of each D and C. It wouldn¡¯t be right, to Cyn¡¯s way of thinking, not to go all the way to the beginning. Pons did not mind. He remembered from his previous trips the Milion was right next to the Basilica of Holy Wisdom, the Imperial Palace, and the Hippodrome. Three of the first places he wanted to go to anyway. The via Egnatia entered the city at the Porta Aurea, the great Golden Gate, the land wall¡¯s largest and most imposing entrance. Made, not of limestone like the rest of the wall, but of white marble and capped with a golden statue of a chariot drawn by elephants. A line of carts trundled in through the main portal bringing everything needed to keep the hundreds of thousands of souls inside alive. Wagons loaded with jars of olives and oil, donkeys piled high with firewood, monks sitting on top of sacks of flour - their cart pulled by a yoke of bullocks. Foot traffic, such as the old women with baskets on their backs stuffed full of clucking chickens, the children leading goats, and farmers pushing barrows full of vegetables, all passed to a second smaller door to the left of the main portal. A third doorway to the right admitted traveling friars, messengers, officials traveling by covered litter, priests, and the like. It was to this gate they made their way. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. As they crossed the sturdy bridge which spanned the moat, Cyn could see it was not filled with water. Instead there was a grassy trench with stone walls two meters high running at the top along both sides of its length. ¡°Why do they let it go dry?¡± he asked. Pons shrugged. ¡°The moat used to be fed by an aqueduct and a system of pipes running from the river. The Romans built it long ago. Clever builders, the Romans. But this stuff is as old as sin. Nobody knows how to fix it when it breaks. So they think, ¡®We got no moat, but we got no invaders, either. So what do we need a moat for?¡¯ Pretty soon though, who¡¯s gonna come calling? Could be the Hun? Could be the Saracen? The Turk? And let¡¯s not forget yon King of Sicily our blind Venetian friend was off to see.¡± ¡°To see?¡± ¡°You know what I mean. Once an invader shows up the Greeks will be running around like a bride¡¯s sisters on her wedding day. ¡®Oh save us. Who can fix the moat?¡¯ Sometimes they get a monk to look at some old drawings and parchments. They think that is gonna solve their problems. There is a lot of that here. Something is broken. Don¡¯t know how to fix it. Not gonna learn how to fix it. Don¡¯t care if it ever gets fixed. I hope the old hot baths are still working.¡± They joined a short queue at the third door. One of the bored looking guards asked them to state their business in the city. Pons lied and said they were pilgrims who had come to see the Holy Relics before taking ship for Jerusalem. Thousands of pilgrims traveled to Constantinople every year, but since the massacre of the Latins a few months back, there had been none. The guard appeared surprised, but perhaps a pilgrim was a sign things were beginning to return to normal. Pons asked the guard to recommend a stable where the horses would be well tended to and where he wouldn¡¯t be swindled. Then he pressed a silver coin into the guard¡¯s hand. Both the guard and Cyn were shocked at this extravagant largess. ¡°Um¡­ Outside of the old golden gate, the monks of St. Andrew the Holy Fool. They can stable them for you.¡± ¡°Also, you see how my friend and I are dressed? If you see a messenger with a white surcoat and a scarlet cloak ask him if he is the Marquis of Montferrat¡¯s man. Let me hear you repeat the word. Mont-fer-at.¡± He remembered Greeks had trouble with Latin words. ¡°If he is, then send him to¡­ is the Golden Eel near the Forum of Constantine still in business?¡± The guard nodded. ¡°Good send him there. Then follow along yourself, there is a jug of wine and another coin for the man who does this thing for me.¡± He added in the language of Occitan for Cyn, ¡°I had a fine meal there last time I was in this city.¡± The guard nodded eagerly. Pons knew he would not connect the Marquis of Montferrat to the late Caesar Ionnes, for who could keep all these Frankish families with their outlandish names straight? They passed through the gate, but to Cyn¡¯s surprise, did not enter the city. Beyond the great land wall built by the Emperor Theodosius over seven hundred years before, were acres of estates, villas, and monasteries each with their own vineyards, fields, and pastures. Further up the wide road, a mile in the distance was, Christ-in-Heaven, another wall. This one, though was sadly crumbling, and had completely fallen in for stretches due to some earthquake in the distant past, but another magnificent gate had survived and towered above the avenue. Off to the left of the gate stood an orderly walled monastery. They entered and Pons negotiated a price with a long bearded monk while Cyn and a novitiate led the horses to the stables. Cyn surprised the young monk by taking the brush from his hand and rubbing the horses down and fetching their fodder himself. Taking satisfaction now the journey was finished in having finally paid off the wager. They passed through the old golden gate and entered the city proper. An arcade with shops selling every sort of good imaginable lined both sides of the long avenue. The traffic ebbed and flowed past street vendors offering tender chunks of mutton roasted on sticks over charcoal braziers. Merchants hawked bolts of felt, linen, cotton, and wool and scarves made of silk - all available in every color the dyer¡¯s art could create. A man with scabby skin and few teeth displayed belts of every length and girth. A hatchet-faced woman unwound lengths of rope from a large spool and measured it out against the official yardstick as her customer eyed her - closely counting with her as she went. A man with a cask of wine had set up two tables and four benches in the open air - restricting progress through his share of the boulevard. Four pretty little girls and their equally pretty mother had swept off a patch of the cobbles and spread out wild flowers they had spent the morning gathering. The mother sang a sweet song extolling lovers passing by to remember their sweethearts and buy a few blossoms. Rats rooted through piles of garbage and manure - both human and horse. A coppersmith mended a cooking pot, his hammer added to the din from a woman next to him who called out to passersby to buy the lye soap she was selling. Chapter 21 - A Light Lunch in the Forum of Arcadius Chapter 21 A Light Lunch in the Forum of Arcadius Nestor the Storyteller yawned and scratched his ass as he surveyed the crowd in the Forum of Arcadius. It was a lovely morning with a fresh breeze blowing in from the sea. He hawked and spat on the cobblestones and wondered how he was going to get enough wine to get himself drunk this evening. Constantinople was no place to grow old and Nestor was most certainly old. He had celebrated the resurrection of Christ at seventy-one Easters he could recall and there may have even been a few more which he had forgotten about. For many of those years Nestor had worked as a stevedore, loading and unloading ships at the Theodosian Harbor. Back then he had been known as Nestor the Gregarious, for he kept up a constant stream of conversation as he hauled baskets of grain, bales of cotton, iron ingots, wooden planks, bolts of cloth and all the rest of the goods which flowed into the markets, warehouses, and workshops of the city. He loved to chat with the foreign crews, conducting his own trade in stories and gossip, with dark Moors from Spain or red haired men from the land of the Rus. Eventually arthritis settled into his knees and wrists, and there was no employment for a withered porter who could no longer lift. His wife had died long ago and Nestor had managed to outlive all of his children. Destitute and alone he had been reduced to begging - competing for alms with the blind, the lame, the leprous, and the scrofulous. His mind was still sharp, however, and he could recall every wonderful story he had ever heard; tales of witches in the Allemagne forests, tales of love and shipwrecks, stories of strange beasts in far off lands, short quick jokes for those with little time to spare, longer legends of gods and heroes for those with time to linger. Nestor sold stories to keep himself alive. That and a little thievery. For not all of his stories had happy endings. From time to time, if for instance his audience was a single person, or even a particularly vulnerable couple, they would find themselves surrounded by street children. The grubby urchins would crowd close to listen to the old storyteller for free. At a secret signal from Nestor, the clubs and knives would come out and the listener would be robbed and beaten to within an inch of their lives by the swarming attack of a feral army of orphans. Nestor crushed a louse from the hair at the back of his head between his finger and thumb and noticed two men at the Portia Auria end of the forum making their way past a long row of fishmongers who bartered the morning¡¯s harvest from the Sea of Marmara to a crowd of monks purchasing for the pantries of their monasteries, stewards purchasing for the pantries of their mansions, and housewives purchasing for their families. These men wore red cloaks with white surcoats and Nestor could see one wore a cross emblazoned on the front of his. As they made their way through the scrum, the Mese - the grand avenue - opened up into a massive forum dominated by a column of green stone which towered fully fifty meters above the street. The mercenaries, for Nestor was sure that was what they were, spent a few coins on some meat pies and a couple of loaves of bread for their breakfast. He was certain they had money, probably quite a lot of it. There was something about the careful way each man carried the saddlebags which were slung over their shoulders. But whatever the pickings might be, it certainly looked like hard knocks to get at them. The older of the two, wore mail, and carried a sword and also had an axe tucked into his belt. The other, a brawny lunk with broad shoulders, trudged along with a pair of crossbows and a shield slung across his back, but he also wore a good sized dirk on his belt. They stopped and sat on some low steps which ran around the red granite base of the column. The larger man craned his neck and gazed up at it. The column was the color of an angry sea and every inch of the exterior was covered with bas relief carvings depicting scenes from a war which had taken place long ago. A small wooden door opened into the base of the column, and a narrow set of spiral stairs inside led up to a platform at the top where a man with disheveled hair and a grubby brown homespun robe sat with his feet dangling over the edge. The mercenary appeared to be pondering if sitting at the base of the column was a good idea in case the man at the top fell or even jumped, but seeing neither was likely to happen, he sat down and began to eat. Nestor, clutching his begging bowl, hobbled over. Pons tore his loaf in half and glared at him, ¡°Bugger off.¡± ¡°Sir, you mistake my intentions. I do not seek alms. I am a storyteller. Tales and poems both historical and fantastical. Perhaps I could entertain you and your companion as you enjoy your meal, and only if you like what you have heard, then I would humbly ask you to consider a few coins for my bowl.¡± ¡°He said, ¡®Beat it.¡¯ Grandad,¡± Cyn chimed in, and was about to aim a boot at the storyteller¡¯s ass, when Pons held up his hand. ¡°Tell me,¡± he asked, ¡°Do any baths in this city still have hot water?¡± ¡°Yes Domine, marvelously refreshing after a journey.¡± ¡°And what about the Hippodrome? Is there a race today?¡± ¡°Yes. You are in luck. There is a full slate of races and some executions as well. For ten copper tetarteron I can show you the Hippodrome, the baths, the basilica, everything.¡± ¡°Cyn, what was the name of the boy?¡± Pons asked. ¡°What boy?¡± ¡°The son who was the chariot racer. Remember back before Theselonika. You fancied the daughter. Said their boy raced for the Blues.¡± ¡°Alexander the Great.¡± ¡°Si, like the great general of old.¡± The storyteller was still droning on. ¡°Please Sirah, the city can be a dangerous place even to those such as yourselves - and by that I only mean capable men - who can take care of themselves. Eight copper tetarteron is not much to show two holy pilgrims the sights. Ask anyone.¡± ¡°Piss off. I¡¯m not some farmer with pig shit behind his ears. I¡¯ve been here before. I know my way around. Do you know if he is racing today? That would be fortuitous, no?¡± Cyn nodded his assent. ¡°If who is racing?¡± Nestor asked, confused. Pons sighed and began again. ¡°I¡¯m gonna ask you a question and if I like your answer I will give you a silver byzant.¡± He held up a coin. ¡°Is there a man racing for the Blues called Alexander the Great?¡± A look of bliss crossed Nestor¡¯s old face, ¡°Yes, Domine. He is in the last triple entry race of the afternoon.¡± Nestor, like everyone else in Constantinople, followed the races keenly. ¡°Ah ha. You hear that Cyn? It is fortuna. It is good luck. Let¡¯s wager on him.¡± ¡°But Domine, That may not be wise. This one who calls himself Alexander the Great, in truth he is not that great. Inexperienced and riding in third string. Wager on Atlas of the Blues or Faustinus of the Greens, either of them is sure to win, but a novice third string - never.¡± Nestor paused, ¡°Well¡­ it could happen, but you may as well wager on a bird shitting on someone¡¯s head. That also happens, but it is unlikely. Do not waste your money.¡± ¡°Birds shit on my head all the time.¡± A stentorian voice interrupted from on high. ¡°A bird shit on me only this morning. Sometimes it is the sea gulls, but not this morning. This morning it was a white dove. Like the one who brought the branch back to Father Noah. Perhaps the boy¡¯s time has come.¡± Pons and Cyn craned their necks upwards once again to look at the disheveled figure at the top of the column. He did not return their gaze, but rather looked out across the rooftops of the city to the clouds on the horizon. Cyn jerked his thumb upwards, ¡°Tell me Storyteller, what is his story?¡± ¡°Him? Oh he is Daniel. Holy Brother Daniel. The Stylite.¡± ¡°Stylite?¡± Neither Cyn nor Pons recognized the word. ¡°He is a monk, but instead of entering a monastery, he has chosen to be closer to God, so he lives on top of the column. Like a hermit in a cave, but here in the forum of the city, not in the countryside.¡± ¡°He lives up there? All of the time?¡± Pons asked. ¡°Yes Domine, all of the time. In weather both temperate and tempestuous.¡± ¡°All day? All night?¡± ¡°Yes Domine.¡± ¡°What does he do all day?¡± ¡°I am not sure. He prays. He says he talks to God. Sometimes he yells at sinners passing by and tells them to seek confession and repent.¡± Pons regarded the holy man for a moment. ¡°Brother Daniel,¡± he called up, ¡°What of this driver? This ¡®Alexander the Great¡¯ What do you think his chances are?¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Maybe he is due.¡± the monk said, fixing his gaze briefly on Pons before returning to stare out over the rooftops again. ¡°Maybe he is due?¡± Nestor scoffed. ¡°I tell you, Domine, this driver is merely competent. Brother Daniel cannot even see into the Hippodrome from where he stands and he has not left this column in at least two years. How would he know? He does not know the races.¡± ¡°Dove shit on him.¡± Pons stated matter-of-factly as if that settled the question. He handed one of his remaining meat pies to Cyn and motioned for him to take it to the monk. Cyn got to his feet and regarded the cramped twisting stairwell which ran up the inside drum of the column. He gave Pons a reproachful look, and contemplated whistling to get the monk¡¯s attention and tossing the pie up to him, but decided the old fool would probably only drop it. He sighed and dutifully wound his way up, struggling to get his broad shoulders through the tight confines. At the top of the column Brother Daniel sat in a small doorway which opened out to a tiny balcony fenced in with a low metal railing. Cyn handed the pie to the monk who thanked him, but he did not eat it. The monk said something else but his voice was rough and he mumbled so Cyn was not able to follow his Greek. He guessed the holy man was fasting and would save the pie for later. He was about to squeeze back down the spiral staircase when the monk jumped to his feet and looked over the railing. ¡°Fornacatrix!¡± he screamed and pointed an accusing finger down at a matron crossing the forum. ¡°Adulteress! Sinner!¡± Spittle flew from his mouth. The woman hid her face in her hands and ran from the righteous anger of holy brother Daniel. Hoots of scorn and derision erupted from the other people in the forum. Laughter followed her exit. ¡°You see,¡± said Pons after Cyn had made his way back down and resumed his seat, ¡°This monk knows things. The way that woman ran - she was clearly guilty. We must put money down on this charioteer.¡± They slung their saddlebags over their shoulders and made their way to the edge of the forum. Nestor still followed them insisting that if they were going shopping, he could direct them to the most honest merchants with the best prices and the largest selections. Had the distinguished visitors found lodgings? Nestor could help find a clean inn with excellent food for a reasonable price. Brothels with comely whores? Sites of historical interest? Cyn paused when he heard the word ¡°brothel.¡± It had been one of the first words he had learned in Greek. He was about to inquire further about the brothels, but Pons first asked, ¡°What do you mean ¡®sites of historical interest?¡¯¡± ¡°Almost every building and street corner in this great city has a story and I know them all. For instance, it was on this exact spot the Lord God of All struck down the heretic Bishop Arius of Alexandria causing his asshole to fall out.¡± Cyn was not sure he had understood the old man¡¯s Greek correctly. He had to pursue this. ¡°His asshole fell out?¡± ¡°Yes Serrah. His asshole fell out - along with his bowels, intestines, heart, lungs, liver, all a man contains. Right out onto the paving stones where you now stand.¡± ¡°Is it true?¡± Cyn asked. He was almost grinning with delight at the gruesome little tale. ¡°He shit out his vitals? Right here in the forum? Can such a thing happen?¡± ¡°Less talk, more marching,¡± Pons said. ¡°We have a lot to do today and I don¡¯t need to hear your stories old man, so now you can bugger off.¡± ¡°I would have liked to have seen that.¡± Cyn continued. ¡°Sir, you are a busy man, you can avail yourself of my services. I know this city like the back of my hand. I can take you to where you are going. I can carry messages.¡± Finally Pons held up a silver coin again and silenced the old storyteller. ¡°Look to me, I will give you this coin if you do something for me.¡± ¡°Sirrah, you still owe me a coin.¡± ¡°How do I owe you a coin?¡± ¡°You asked if Alexander the Great was racing today, and I told you he was. You said you would pay me a coin.¡± ¡°Yes, but anyone on the street could have told me that. No. Look to me. I will give you this coin if you do something for me.¡± ¡°Yes, Domine.¡± ¡°I want you to go to the Hippodrome this afternoon and save my companion and I two seats. Good ones. Somewhere near the finish line. Not too high up though. We have some business to attend to in the meantime, but we will meet you there later.¡± He handed the coin to the old beggar. ¡°If you do this for me, I will give you one more coin.¡± Nestor beamed, ¡°Of course. Of course. I will save the best seats for you Ser. You will see. If anyone tries to take your seat I shall strike them with my crutch. You will not be disappointed.¡± He took the offered coin and limped off as fast as he was able. Thankful to be alone again, the two mercenaries continued to make their way eastward along the grand avenue of the Mese, past stalls selling harnesses and housewares, and crossed the Forum of the Ox. As the foot traffic around them increased, Cyn began to feel apprehensive about cutpurses and pickpockets. On their journey the wealth they carried was wrapped up in bedrolls and blankets and distributed among the horses. Now, with all of it in the saddlebags slung over their shoulders, they almost clinked as they walked. On the road they had relied on their rough appearance to discourage would-be thieves - that and the horses - if waylaid they could always have attempted to flee. Here in this city, inside the walls, with the press of people on all sides, Cyn felt uneasy. He bristled at every person who came too close. A couple of beggars who had reached up to him imploringly had already received cuffs. ¡°Are we to carry the money with us at all times? Or are we to stash it? Where can we hide it where someone will not find it? There are people everywhere.¡± Cyn spoke the Occitan language with a strong Piedmont accent, should anyone overhear their conversation, they would not understand. ¡°We will give most of it to another for safekeeping.¡± ¡°If you do that will we ever see it again? These Greeks cannot be trusted.¡± ¡°True. However, the man to whom I would entrust it has no need for our little bag of silver. Heavens no. He has plenty of his own. Oh, he will get a taste of ours to be sure, and that is all right and proper. Wine money.¡± ¡°So this rich man will hold our silver safe for us? Who is he?¡± ¡°There are some people we need to talk to.¡± Pons explained. ¡°They may be able to give us some information. The Margrave met a lot of people when we were here for the wedding a couple of years ago. Some were kind and friendly. But they were kind and friendly when Lord Guilhem¡¯s son was marrying the Emperor¡¯s daughter. Now - maybe not so friendly. This rich man, his name is John Ducas. A powerful nobleman from a great house. He and Lord William became friends around the time of the wedding. We will find him, or someone who knows where to find him, at the Imperial Palace. Hopefully, he will remember my liege kindly and he will hold some of the silver for us. The rest is finally to be put to work.¡± Pons explained. ¡°Again you mean bribes.¡± ¡°Si. Nobody does nothing for nothing.¡± He glanced around them. Peddlers had set up their stalls under the massive brick archways which supported the Church of the Holy Myrrh Oil. Pons paused at one which sold coin purses of various sizes. He carefully selected several, including two which were distinctly feminine lady¡¯s purses. They were at a busy crossroads, but nearby were the ruins of a pagan temple. They ascended the marble steps. Magnificent porphyry column which bore statues depicting brothers embracing still supported the temple¡¯s porch. They passed through the entrance and quietly, behind the inner sanctum, in an out of the way apse at the temple¡¯s back wall, Pons began to divide the silver. Cyn stood nearby and kept watch. ¡°Where are we going now? The Imperial Palace?¡± ¡°No, first we are going to an inn. Let us drop off our equipment and get a bite of early lunch. Then to the Church of Holy Wisdom to thank God for delivering us safely. One of the people we should talk to is certainly the Patriarch. Our Marius said he supported Lord Renier and his wife Maria Porphyrogenita when they came into conflict with the Empress Regent and the First Chamberlain. He may still be sympathetic or he may have information.¡± Satisfied he had divided the coins into the purses and sacks correctly, Pons carefully tied each closed and placed them all back in his saddlebag, which he tightly strapped. He slung the saddlebag with the silver resting close to his heart. They stepped out of the shadows of the ancient temple back into the light of the street. An enormous church complex, larger even than the basilica Cyn had seen in Thessalonica, dominated the city¡¯s third hill to their left. They crossed the expanse of the Forum of the Bull. A tall column also dominated this space, but this one lacked a ragged stylite living at the top. The avenue opposite was even more congested than the one they had just shouldered their way through. The congestion was partly due to the presence of a female camel whose owner had made the unfortunate decision to bring her into the city while she was in season. A male camel with a fully aroused member was trying to mount the female. Cyn nudged Pons, pointed at the camel¡¯s cock, and sniggered. The camel drover was whipping the male in the face and a crowd of people pushed, either to get away from its hooves, or to get in closer to witness the rutting. Up ahead, next to a teeming crossroads, stood the Church of the Forty Martyrs. Here, traffic from the Grand Portico, which ran from the Golden Horn in the north and cut across the city between the second and third hills to the harbors of the Propontis in the south, met the Mese. Instead of an open forum to allow traffic to pass - as common sense would dictate - the intersection was instead dominated by a marble four sided arch with a steep pyramid for a roof. On the top of the pyramid was a weather vane in the shape of an angel. Foot traffic squeezed around this obstruction while wagon traffic labored through the muck and jostled for their turns passing under the arches. Once they were able to get past the tetrapylon the traffic on the Mese evened out again towards the Forum of Constantine. The tavern was called the Golden Eel, and true to its name, on a charcoal brazier out front two silvery eels were turning a lovely golden-brown. The smell was delicious. It was located on a side street near the Forum of Constantine. Pons took a long sniff. ¡°Do you smell that?¡± he asked. Cyn breathed in deeply through his nose. ¡°Shit, piss, grilled eel, and¡­ bread?¡± ¡°Si. Up this street is the bakers guild. No matter where you go. If you get lost you can smell your way back here.¡± ¡°What if my nose is stuffed up?¡± ¡°Just ask. Everybody knows this place. The artopoleia. You say it.¡± ¡°Art-o-po-lei-a.¡± Cyn enunciated dutifully. ¡°I liked this place last time I was here. I hope the same old couple runs the place. The old biddy was sweet. And cook. A treat. Oh, here she is now.¡± He switched to his atrocious Greek. ¡°Hello. Hello, Grandmother, remember me? Perhaps? It has been a long time. I have returned to Constantine¡¯s city for your cooking.¡± The woman remembered him and gave Pons a hug. Her husband ambled over to welcome them, entreating them to sit and be served. ¡°Not yet, oh maybe a cup of wine and a quick bite. However, we shall require a room. You have a loft at the back.¡± ¡°Oh Domine, that space is taken.¡± Pons handed the tavern keeper a silver byzant. ¡°See it becomes free. We will be back after the races, and we will be having a big meal. Bread, fish, oysters, much wine. A cask of wine at least. And garlic and onions. We may be staying for some time.¡± Chapter 22 - The Hagia Sophia Chapter 22 The Hagia Sophia The Milion, navel of the Empire, was an architectural marvel. Another tetrapylon - four massive square marble pillars connected by beautifully decorated carved arches rising twelve meters to a domed vault. Cyn spat in the dust at the base. ¡°You called it ¡®The Golden Milestone.¡¯ Where¡¯s the gold?¡± ¡°Damned if I know, but everyone calls it that.¡± As impressive as the Milion was, it was dwarfed by the buildings around it. To the right stood the massive walls of the Hippodrome with a small crowd of vendors already coming and going even though the races were not set to start for a few hours. Ahead of the Milion stood a large square with an impossibly tall column, covered not in gold, but beaten bronze. At the top was a statue of an emperor on horseback. Cyn could make out the emperor held a globe in one hand while his other pointed to the east. To the left rose the basilica of Hagia Sophia - Holy Wisdom. The largest church - no, surely the largest building on Earth. The square was surrounded by colonnades and served as a forecourt to both the Great Palace and the Basilica. They made their way past the patriarch¡¯s palace towards the cool shady atrium of the Hagia Sophia. The great bronze doors were open and passing through, they entered. Cyn¡¯s eyes were drawn upward toward the vaulted dome of the ceiling which appeared to float overhead, dim in the light diffusing through the redolent clouds given off by burning incense. ¡°The stone,¡± Cyn said aloud. ¡°Good Christ above, how does the stone not come crashing down upon us?¡± He figured, in his rough way of estimating things beyond his understanding, the stone must weigh as much or more than the Margrave¡¯s keep, or say perhaps a fleet of ships. He knew it was built by the hands of men, hundreds of them, over the course of years for certain, but it seemed as if only the hand of God alone kept the immense weight of the dome from crushing all who stood below. Mid-morning sunbeams streamed in from windows under the dome and caught tendrils of smoke dancing heavenward. Pons glanced at Cyn. His jaw was indeed hanging slackly like a yokel. ¡°Lord Conrad told me it has come crashing down before. This is the third church on this spot. One fell. One burnt. Long ago. In the time of the saints.¡± ¡°What keeps it up?¡± He felt uncomfortable, as if he should keep his head bowed under the tons of rock above. ¡°The columns.¡± Cyn¡¯s gaze followed the motes of dust and smoke down the smooth lengths of porphyry columns - one hundred four of them - spaced evenly to hold the vault of heaven. Around the base of the barrel dome he could make out the soot darkened faces of stern, long dead emperors and their empresses staring down, their likenesses picked out in blue mosaic tile. The smoke rose from candles and incense which adorned shrines standing at the base of each column. Icons of the Madonna and saints rested on many. ¡°There is a shrine for each malady which can afflict mankind,¡± Pons explained. ¡°Diseased kidneys. One for the lame. There is a column of the blind.¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Have they one for my ass? After riding across Greece, I should light a candle at that one.¡± An old man with a threadbare tunic and a twisted leg prostrated himself, his wooden crutch on the floor beside him. At another pillar a mother rocked a feverish squalling baby. Tears wet both of their faces. Pons spotted a cleric in a fine cassock who carried himself with an air of authority. ¡°Good Day, Father.¡± He spoke in his best Greek as he smiled his most agreeable grin. After explaining he was an envoy from the Marquis of Montferrat and needed to speak with the Patriarch himself, he slipped a few coins into the priest¡¯s palm, enough to be taken seriously. The priest hurried off to speak with a superior. While he waited Pons lit a candle and knelt at an altar graced with an elaborate icon of the Holy Mother raising her right hand in benediction while holding a serious Christ child in her left. Cyn, seeing they may have to wait awhile, shrugged his shoulders and knelt as well. ¡°Deus Gratia for seeing us through.¡± After a month on the road without serious incident, the sentiment from both men was genuine. ¡°Mothers.¡± Pons muttered looking at the Madonna¡¯s benevolent face. ¡°We should make the request to bury Lord Renier on behalf of Lady Johanna. Might sound better if it came from his momma.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know why we are even bothering to ask. Why not simply find the fisherman, have him show us where poor Renier is buried, dig him up, and plant him again in a nice church yard? There must be a church which observes the Latin rite, somewhere outside of the walls perhaps? Why pass out coin to the priests?¡± ¡°Things are different here. Things happen slowly. And nothing at all happens without you spending some money.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound different. That sounds the same as home.¡± ¡°We are paying for information. How does the church sit with all that is going on these days? Huh? So we drop a few coins in the poor box and ask a few polite questions. Find out. Learn. Maybe make friends. We might be here for no small time. Useful people - priests. Useful places - churches. Sanctuary. A place to pray, to flee to, to hide, to recover. We need to stay right with the church.¡± ¡°Priests? Useful?¡± Cyn shrugged. ¡°You are older, more experienced, and you have been here before. I¡¯m sure you know what you are doing.¡± ¡°See. Right there. That is the smartest thing I have ever heard you say.¡± Pons breathed in deeply enjoying the scent of incense. ¡°I love this place. Holy Wisdom is getting even to you.¡± They continued to wait. Pons asked, ¡°Do you think this Madonna resembles Lady Joanna?¡± Cyn considered the icon of the holy virgin. The white tile on the mosaic had yellowed with age and the grime of years of grease from tallow candles. She wore a blue shroud and held a dour Christ child. Their halos appeared more orange than golden in the dim light. Pons always thought images of Mary resembled Lord William¡¯s wife whom he adored - not in any romantic way, but with a worship which brooked no slight. If you started Pons talking about Lady Joanna, he could gush. A paragon of all that was good in the world - piety, culture, family. Pons knew of all the noble dukes, counts, and bishops who were members of her famous family. A dutiful wife? Had she not born her husband five bold sons and three beautiful daughters? Was Lady Joanna pious? Pons could tell you about the purity of her voice in hymn, name every convent she had endowed, vouch for every coin dropped in a church poor box. If Lady Joanna patronized a troubadour or joglar it was in no way scandalous, it was because the man was an Aesop or Orpheus reborn. Perhaps it was because those things - home, grace, beauty - were so rare in the mercenary¡¯s world, that Pons was her champion in all things. For her part Lady Joanna appreciated the years of service Pons had given her husband, and treated him with courtesy and politeness despite his no account birth. To receive respect from a lady of Joanna¡¯s stature won Pons¡¯ undying affection. He served Lord William from loyalty, but Lady Joanna he served from love. In Pons¡¯ eyes it was Lady Joanna, not her famous cousin, Elenor of Aquitaine, who was the greatest beauty of the age. Seeing the image of the Madonna, his thoughts went to her. This entire journey to Constantinople to bury Renier and possibly avenge him was being undertaken at Lord William¡¯s command, but in Pons¡¯ mind he was truly doing it for Lady Joanna. Renier, her youngest, had been her favorite. Chapter 23 - How Pons Got his Name Chapter 24 How Pons Got his Name He could not, try as he might, remember his mother. There was nothing there. A blank. Yet the word ¡®mother¡¯ gave him comfort. It made him feel warm. The smell of milk could make him feel the same way. Later - much later - when thinking back on her, he surmised she must have been a peasant girl. She may have been a respectable woman - or a low one. The year he turned three years of age saw a plague strike which drew no distinction between whores and housewives. As for ¡®father¡¯ - there was not even a warm feeling associated with that word. When he stopped to think about it, his earliest memory was of starving naked in the rain, his mud caked body shivering, covered in sores, scraggly hair crawling with lice - trying to steal slops from a trough before the pigs finished it all. A hungry pig wouldn¡¯t hesitate to take a bite out of a tiny child and his arms had the scars to show when he had been too slow. He also remembered the need to move quietly and stick to the shadows and underbrush. Most people threw stones at him. Others yelled at him to ¡®Go away!¡¯ They were terrified this feral child carried the Death. Cold and starving the child wandered. Stealing to eat, drinking from puddles, sleeping under wagons. Spring turned to summer. Worms and insects can provide a surprising amount of nourishment. For a few weeks he stole eggs from a prosperous farm. He had slowly made friends with the large dog who guarded the demesne. Eventually they drove him off with kicks. At some point in the autumn he approached a band of landless peasants. These poor souls made their living - such as it was - traveling from estate to estate. They followed the harvests, picking fruit in the summer, cutting wheat in the autumn, and starving the rest of the time. Many people in the countryside had died from the plague so their labor was needed, but they were not provided with a home. They were tolerated, but never welcome. Land was precious and not given up lightly. Traveling along with this band was a woman, a hair-lipped vagabond who sold curses and brewed love potions for female customers and sold herself to the males. She herself was tolerated but not welcomed among the wandering peasants, but she took a sort of pity on the boy and shared her meager portion with him. People came to her for cures, but it would be a kindness to refer to her as a wise woman, for in fact she knew little. The fortunes she told never came true, but she could set a bone when a man fell out of a tree picking fruit, and she could sew up a cut from a scythe. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. She put the foundling to work doing chores and gathering firewood. Some cold mornings she would dip him naked in marshy bogs in order to pick the leeches off of him. The woman was often cruel and frequently drunk. A tag-a-long child to an outcast whore attached to landless peasants. Rosa. He could clearly remember her name had been Rosa. What had he been to her? A pet? A slave? A son? And what name was his? The Easter after Rosa found him, the band of roving workers paused their plowing for Holy Sunday and crowded into a village church. They stood at the rear apart from the regular local congregation. It was a sour rainy day and many were simply glad to be dry and in shelter. Perhaps food would be provided. A priest came to the pulpit and began to recount the story of Christ¡¯s final days from the gospels. He spoke Latin - a language which none of the faithful before him could understand. He also had a lisp which made the ancient language particularly inscrutable. Every time he came to the name ¡®Pontius Pilot¡¯ he made a popping sound and spittle would fly. To the orphan child, the priest in his robes sputtering and garbling was hilariously funny. He pulled away from Rosa and began to dance up and down the church in mid-sermon mimicking the priest. ¡°Pontius Pilatus! Pontius Pilatus!¡± he called giggling and singing mindlessly. The entire service was disrupted with laughter until Rosa was able to take a hold of him. She pulled him to the back, and cuffed him until his happy whoops of ¡°Pontius Pilatus¡± changed to sobs. The name, however, stuck. The field hands who wended their way over the land began to refer to Rosa¡¯s waif as ¡°Pontius Pilatus¡± as a joke. They traveled from village to manor. They traveled from where water was called ¡®oh¡¯ to where it was called ¡®agwah.¡¯ He started to learn to talk. Speech had been knocked out of his mind during his months alone as had his own name. Over time ¡°Pontius¡± became shortened to ¡°Pons.¡± Over the years Pons learned ¡®akwah¡¯ was sometimes called ¡®vasser.¡¯ He watched and learned from the hedge witch: a bit about healing and wound tending, but more about using his wits to survive. Rosa was not a parent. Love, guidance, and care never came from her. He grew up tough and mean, fighting if he had to, but also using cunning. Chapter 24 - Friends in the Forecourt Chapter 24 Friends in the Forecourt When the priest returned, it was to tell them the Patriarch was out of the city, visiting a monastery across the Golden Horn at present. He was expected back late that evening or possibly on the morrow. Pons impressed upon the priest their desire to see his Holiness as soon as possible and received a promise that a church official would stop by the Golden Eel that evening to confirm their audience. As they made their way towards the exit, the choir on the left side of the church began to practice under the direction of their cantor. A somber harmonious chanting rose. ¡°Pretty,¡± Pons commented, ¡°Perhaps we should hire a choir for Rainier''s funeral. His mother would want that.¡± Past the atrium which shaded the west entrance of the basilica they returned to the public square of the Augustaion with the Golden Milestone and the tall column bearing the equestrian statue of the Emperor Justinian (although some said Constantine). ¡°Where to next?¡± Cyn asked, shielding his eyes as they readjusted to the bright morning light. It wanted perhaps an hour of noon by his reckoning. ¡°I would like to have a good wash and scrub off the road before we see the races. I am trying to remember where the nearest baths might be.¡± The Baths of Zeuxippus which stood to their left were of no use. It had been a hundred years or more since water had flowed into that building. Beyond ancient - it predated Christianity, having been named for Zeus, the old king of the pagan gods. These days one end of the building was a storehouse for the nearby Imperial Palace while the other end had been turned into cells where noble prisoners were sometimes held. Still everyone referred to the building as ¡°the Baths.¡± Pons pondered his options. Across from the Melion the street stretched past the entrance to the Hippodrome to the palace gate. He began walking. ¡°I have an idea. Suppose we walk up to the front door and say, ¡®Bon Dias. May we visit with the Caesar Ioanes. I am an old friend, and have known him since he was a baby. Used to be his master-at-arms. Taught him everything he knows.¡¯¡± ¡°Caesar Ioanes is dead. Our Marius saw his body.¡± ¡°Si. Then why no message to his family. Is that not what one does? Someone dies, you send a message to their kin, do you not?¡± ¡°They have not. Our Marius came across the body by chance.¡± ¡°Why so quiet then? Somebody is hiding it. Pretending it never happened. I think I know who, but I would like to hear with my own ears.¡± ¡°Yet if we announce ourselves at the gate will not your somebody know we are here sniffing around and asking questions?¡± ¡°They would find out about us eventually. It is a small town.¡± ¡°¡®Small town,¡¯¡± Cyn snorted. ¡°Didn''t you tell me this morning that this is the greatest city in the world?¡± ¡°Si.¡± The Great Palace was not where the emperor lived - that was the newer and more sumptuous Blachernae Palace in the city¡¯s north west, however the Great Palace was where the business of empire was truly conducted. Here was where the lowly waited to present their petitions. Where the high born, easily recognized by their voluminous robes, long beards, and the tall awkward miters on their heads, angled for political appointments. Where the eunuch bureaucrats took bribes and awarded contracts. The courtiers passing in and out of the gate were overseen by a guard detail of Verangians. It was Cyn¡¯s first glimpse of these elite guards, and he was impressed. He considered the size of the tall, powerfully built men charged with protecting the palaces and the person of the emperor. He had seen larger and stronger men, but not many. A plumed helm indicated the officer, a giant with an enormous double-headed pole-axe resting on his shoulder. He looked like he would be the equal of either Lord Conrad or Lord Boniface in a contest, and Lord William¡¯s sons were superbly trained, formidable men. With his rusty beard, the officer even resembled Lord Conrad. ¡°I know this fellow. He is one of the men I was hoping to find.¡± Pons caught the big man¡¯s eye and made a friendly half bow. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. A look of surprise crossed his face before the Verangian shook his head and grinned. ¡°Oh Ho. I do not believe my eyes. Captain Pons, you old wolf. Here is trouble from the west indeed. How fare you?¡± He nudged the subordinate soldier next to him. ¡°Mark you this man. He is the worst of the Latin bandits.¡± He strode over and clapped Pons on the shoulder. The old mercenary smiled with genuine affection. ¡°Brian the Saxon. Look at you. Standing here at the Chalke gate. Still talking gullible petitioners into giving you bribes? You could not give them access to the latrine. You look sober¡­ Is it a holy day?¡± The two men laughed. On his last visit - for the wedding - Pons, captain of the Margrave of Montferrat (father of the groom) and Brian, bodyguard of the Emperor Manuel (father of the bride) had spent many idle but agreeable hours together while attending to their masters. Brian was as close to a personal friend as Pons was likely to find in Constantinople. ¡°Allow me to introduce Sergeant Cyn, in service to Lord Conrad.¡± The tall guard nodded. ¡°What are you doing back in the capital?¡± ¡°My master has sent me to bring his son back home.¡± Pons replied, serious now. ¡°Oh? I see.¡± The smiling Verangian had also turned serious at these words. ¡°That will not be possible. How much do you know about what has happened?¡± ¡°My master¡¯s son, the Caesar John, he is dead?¡± ¡°He is¡­¡± Brian the Saxon paused and considered his words, ¡°¡­missing.¡± Pons nodded. ¡°If I told you his body was found four months ago by a fisherman and is buried on a beach north of the Diplokionion, would you be surprised?¡± ¡°Saddened, but no, not surprised. We should have a drink later and talk.¡± ¡°We are staying at the Golden Eel.¡± ¡°I must escort the Emperor from the Blachernae Palace to the races and back again.¡± ¡°The Emperor Alexios is attending the chariot races?¡± ¡°No. The Emperor Andronikos.¡± Seeing Pons¡¯ raised eyebrows he continued. ¡°The Emperor Alexios and the Emperor Andronikos rule together as co-emperors.¡± ¡°Co-emperors. How fortunate to have two. This way there is a spare should something happen to one.¡± ¡°As I say, we should talk later.¡± ¡°You would not happen to know if John Ducas is in the city?¡± ¡°John Ducas? Why I saw him a few moments ago.¡± Brian scanned the crowd in the forecourt. ¡°Sure - there he is.¡± He pointed to a small man in the blue skiadion hat and robes of a Sebastokrator. Pons was considering the best manner to approach, when the court official met his eye and held up a finger. ¡°Oh yes, I see you there. I know that face.¡± John Ducas began walking across the forecourt directly towards them. Behind him came a secretary and a page. John Ducas continued to point at Pons as he approached. ¡°You are¡­ What is your name? No, do not tell me¡­ do not tell me¡­ it will come to me. Lord William - from up the Po valley - you are his bully boy. The one with the ill favored name. What was it? It was not Judas or Cain was it?¡± ¡°Pontius, M¡¯ Lord.¡± supplied Pons. ¡°That is it. Pontius. Whatever possessed your mother to give you such a name?¡± ¡°I¡¯m told I named myself.¡± ¡°That I do not doubt. And so¡­ Seeing you, I also know why you are here. You are here about your lord¡¯s fair haired son? I am correct, no?¡± ¡°Si.¡± ¡°Sad¡­ sad. A terrible thing. Ah, but he was brave, your boy. What good he could have accomplished as the Emperor¡¯s strong right hand. It was his wife you see. She was his doom. And saddest of all, they have vanished. Gone. Not spoken of. As if they never existed. Ah, that I should have lived to see such troubled times as these. I wish I could give your master some comfort. I truly liked him and his family. I wish I could give you an explanation to take back to him. We should talk,¡± he gestured to the crowded courtyard, ¡°But obviously not here.¡± He wrinkled his nose. ¡°Ugh. You smell of horse. I am off to the baths myself. As I recall you also serve as your master¡¯s barber. Come along then. You can trim my beard for me and save me the price of an obol.¡± ¡°I would be glad to,¡± said Pons. ¡°However, I would ask¡­¡± He lifted the saddlebag off his shoulder and jingled the coins inside for John Ducas to hear. ¡°Perhaps, if my Lord has a strong box. Somewhere safe.¡± ¡°Ha ha. You should be paying for the baths.¡± John Ducas hefted the bags himself for a moment to check their weight and unashamedly took a peek inside. ¡°That is enough for¡­ for something. Yes. Very well.¡± He motioned for his secretary to take the saddlebag. ¡°Run this along to the house by the Kontoskalion Gate. Watch while they count it and bring the receipt along to the baths and give it to this fellow.¡± He indicated Pons. ¡°Captain,¡± John Ducas now addressed Brian the Saxon. ¡°I will need two of your men to escort my servant.¡± John Ducas, who had no authority to ask anything of the Varangian Guard, did not pause to see if his instructions were followed. They were. ¡°And who is this one?¡± John Doucas indicated Cyn. ¡°He smells of horse too. He must be with you.¡± ¡°Sergeant Cyn, a crossbow-man in service to my Lord Conrad.¡± ¡°Crossbow-man. Humph. Has not your Pope spoken against this weapon and those who wield it?¡± ¡°We have not heard.¡± ¡°So, Lord William sends you two, and enough coin¡­ for something. Yes, let us go and have a wash and talk.¡± Chapter 25 - The Baths Chapter 25 The Baths Steam rose from the surface of the water as Pons and Cyn gingerly lowered themselves into the hot water of a caldarium pool heated by a hypocaust under the floor. They simultaneously uttered an ¡®Aaah¡¯ of contentment, the water reaching up to their chins, as they settled back to enjoy their soak. John Ducas, cautious of the slippery tile, was helped by an attendant slave. Margrave Guilhem and John Ducas had become friends because they were similar in some ways. In the weeks leading up to Ranier¡¯s wedding to Maria Porphyrogenita, the Margrave, as father of the groom, was expected to serve attendance on Emperor Manuel. The Emperor had an army of bureaucrats and servants to see to his every want. Serving attendance on a man who was already well served involved a lot of standing around and waiting. Of course, Margrave Guilhem was afforded every courtesy and respect. He was invited to enjoy any of the sumptuous dishes the palace kitchens prepared for the Emperor. At church services he was asked if the choir could perform any hymns he liked. During the odd rare spare moment he and the Emperor even conversed about politics or theology. For the Margrave it was all quite polite, and dull, and in Greek. The boys of the younger generation Conrad, Boniface, and Renier were spared much of the standing about. They had impressed the Greeks on the training field with their horsemanship and prowess. Dame Joanna and the girls spent their days serving the Empress in her court in much the same way - crafting at the loom or attending mass. John Doucas was one of the bureaucrats who was also in attendance. He and the Margrave would find time to chat. Both were down-to-earth men who looked to know more about how the world around them worked. They were men who acted and achieved results, their talents were wasted idling in attendance. They were interested in the common man and his works. They were agriculturalists and could wax on at length about planting depths, drainage, and animal husbandry. Despite their blue blood they both pumped the bellows, hammered the steel, and shod their own horses. ¡°My master wants to know what happened. He wants to know how his son died. He wants to know who was responsible.¡± John Ducas nodded and gazed at his fingernails for a moment before replying. ¡°In truth I am not even certain he is dead. No one has seen him, nor his wife since March. It is now September. They have simply disappeared. Now the Empress Dowager is also gone - although I am told she is being held in close confinement at the convent of St. Theodosia - no one is certain.¡± The attendant offered sea sponges. The two soldiers began to scrub a month of sweat, and dust off their skins. ¡°Oh he is dead,¡± Pons asserted. ¡°A fisherman pulled his body out of the sea and buried him on a beach. One of our men dug him up to be sure.¡± ¡°That I have lived to see such days.¡± A slave applied olive oil before beginning to massage the elderly statesman¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You could say his wife, Maria Born-to-the-Purple, killed him - and herself - the day she wrote to Andronikos asking for his help against Maria of Antioch and her lover.¡± ¡°Be careful of what you ask for.¡± ¡°True. Andronikos arrived on the far shore of the Bosporus with an army of Muslim mercenaries. Admiral Angelos, my own brother, went over to his faction and ferried his men across. When they arrived - I know you are a soldier and have been on many campaigns, but the violence and bloodshed they unleashed in the Latin quarter¡­ you cannot imagine. I did not see it for myself. I was in prison on the orders of the Protosebastos Alexios at the time. The grown sons of our current co-emperor were also in cells - one in the very cell where he had been conceived - I¡¯m sure you know the tale. They were down the passage from where I was held. However, I was freed shortly after the Massacre of the Latins. Thousands butchered. Tens of thousands. A month later I passed through and some of the warehouses and fondaccio smoldered still. Take a walk over there tomorrow. You can see the ruins. At the Blachernae Palace the slaughter was not carried out with swords and fire but with garrotes and poison.¡± John Ducas waved the slave away, but took the strigil and used its dull curved blade to scrape the oil off his skin himself. He glanced about to be sure they were alone and lowered his voice to a whisper. ¡°I tell you, that we, all Romans, noble and commoner alike, live in terror. His army is still camped idle outside of the city by the Gate of Adrianople. He has surrounded himself with the most loathsome creatures you can imagine; pimps, whores, murderers, mad-men. Citizens are dragged from their homes in the middle of the night - never to be seen again - old men, women, children. Every week men, some of them from the most distinguished of families, are executed between the races at the Hippodrome.¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. He continued, ¡°It may be I myself only exist because I was a prisoner in the same dungeon as his sons. When they were freed I also was freed almost as an afterthought. Because of the spacing of the cells we could not see one another, but we could converse and our servants could pass items. I came to know them, and they came to know me. There are a lot of hours to pass in a prison. Perhaps they said something favorable about me to their father. Somehow I have retained my position.¡± John Ducas glanced about again to see if any of the other bathers were listening. A trio of boys had entered and their noisy play as they splashed in the warm water covered low conversation. ¡°In truth I tell you I believe Alexios, our boy emperor, is being held as a prisoner. When his uncle¡¯s grip on power tightens - his life will not be worth a clipped obol.¡± Pons scrubbed his nether regions. ¡°If things are so bad, surely there must be some good people in this city who are organizing against him.¡± ¡°Of course, I am not involved in any resistance. My position is complicated. My family has much to lose. As I said my brother is his Admiral. Currently. It is not that I am in favor of Andronikos, but in opposing him¡­ timing is so important. If one raises banners and beats drums too soon - it may be no men will gather around those flags, or too few, or the beating drum may not summon them quickly enough.¡± Pons understood. Timing is important. John Ducas went on. ¡°There are some families - with money - and with land in Anatolia. Cities could be fortified. Mercenaries could be hired. When and where will they take a stand? How prepared are they? More importantly, how strong is their resolve? I cannot say.¡± One of the boys playing in the warm water of the tepidarium pool had accidentally splashed water in Cyn¡¯s eyes. Cyn chose to become enraged. He grabbed the offender, a lad of about eleven, and thrust his head under the water and held him there. ¡°Perhaps you could put me in touch with these men. I might prove useful to them.¡± Pons ventured. ¡°Brave as you are, and no doubt your intentions do you credit, but you are a mercenary captain without mercenaries.¡± Pons gave a shrug - as if to say, ¡°Soldiers - not a problem - one can always find soldiers.¡± ¡°In any event I would think they would welcome you. Do you remember Theodore Kantakouzenos? He used to follow your Caesar Ionnes around like a favorite dog.¡± Pons could clearly recall a dark teen with a case of hero worship for the blonde Renier. ¡°He convinced Ionnes to teach him the western style of riding with the heavy horses and the lance couched just so. Paid a fortune for a trained destrier, the special saddle, trappings, armor - all in the western style. Not that his family are unable to afford it. He has gone over to the opposition - if for no other reason than the love he bore for your master¡¯s son. His brother died recently, and he is now the head of his house, but he is too young. Not yet twenty. The other families will not rally to one of his age - even if he is capable. He is not what one would call a leader - more the heart of the cause rather than its head.¡± Cyn continued to hold the boy under water despite his struggles to rise. His friends tried to intervene. One received a fist to the nose. A sharp swift head butt sent the other reeling. Blood began to cloud the water of the tepid pool. ¡°Where is Theodore Kantakouzenos now?¡± ¡°Not in the city, else he would certainly have been executed. No, he has been absent all summer, on his estates in Anatolia gathering supplies and forces, perhaps? He would probably want to hire you - even without soldiers - if only to help train his own men.¡± ¡°Does he have allies? Or any chance of success for that matter?¡± ¡°If Andronikos¡¯ cruelties continue, he will gain more allies.¡± Pons shrugged. ¡°It is too late in the season for a campaign this year.¡± ¡°Yes, a hard winter in the capital could see many people considering their options in the spring. By the by, I think your sergeant is about to murder that boy,¡± John Ducas said mildly. The boy¡¯s kicks and struggles had almost completely stopped. ¡°Cyn,¡± Pons growled, ¡°Quit messing about.¡± Cyn wretched the youth up and tossed him to his wide-eyed bleeding friends. They held him as he coughed, gasped, and vomited water. Cyn exited the tepid pool and waded back into the hot one. ¡°They started it.¡± Chapter 26 - The Second Wager Chapter 26 The Second Wager It was customary for the charioteers and their attendants to parade from their stables, which were located underneath the tiered seating of the long northwest side of the Hippodrome, to the forecourt of the Great Palace and on into the hysplex, the gates where the races began. This gave the betting public a chance to examine the fitness of horses, cars, and drivers. A man bearing a placard recording each team¡¯s victory record walked beside the nose of each trace horse. Cyn was impressed by the quality of horseflesh which passed by - tall blacks, powerful chestnuts - bred for speed and endurance. Ribbons of either blue or green were braided into their manes and tails. For the parade each horse wore a headdress of olive leaves. Their polished hooves clipped along. Dogs barked and children ran alongside singing rhyming cheers for the teams which their fathers supported, or rhyming heckles for the opposing faction. Pons pushed his way to the fore and shouted to the nearest driver, ¡°Which one of you is called Alexander the Great?¡± The driver pointed with his thumb to the last of the eighteen chariots in the procession. There were only to be three races today with six chariots racing in each - three teams of horses pulling for the Greens and three for the Blues. Long gone were the glory days of the hippodrome when eight or ten chariots at a time raced in each of the dozen heats held between midmorning and sundown. The final charioteer was a youth in his late teens, small but broad across the shoulders with powerful forearms and calves. No placard bearer walked by his leftmost horse. Pons asked if he was Alexander from Pella, but Cyn could already see the man¡¯s resemblance to his younger brothers. ¡°Yes I am. Why do you ask?¡± Pons was walking alongside the car and had to look up at Alexander. ¡°We passed through Pella not ten days ago and enjoyed your parent¡¯s hospitality. Your sister¡­ What was the sister¡¯s name again?¡± ¡°Anna.¡± Cyn supplied. ¡°Anna, yes, she gave us this good luck charm to give to you.¡± Pons handed him the plait of hair and comb. ¡°Truly? From Anna? You have seen my family? How are they?¡± ¡°Very well. They pray for you and wish you every success. Anna wanted me to give you a kiss, but I am not going to.¡± The charioteer carefully pinned the comb to his tunic. Pons noted the way he effortlessly managed his team of horses among the crowd using one hand. ¡°Thank you, Sirrah.¡± The charioteer beamed. The chariots made their way to massive starting gates which were capped with a magnificent bronze statue of a quadriga chariot pulled by four horses. Pons and Cyn made their way past vendors with sausages and skewers of meat roasting over portable charcoal braziers, but paused where a barrel of wine had been broached. For the price of an obol they dipped a fair sized cup in and drank. ¡°Did you see the way his face lit up when I gave him his sister¡¯s favor?¡± Pons commented. ¡°His heart is in it. We bet on this boy and we bet heavily.¡± ¡°You could lose Lord Guilhem¡¯s coin.¡± Cyn warned. ¡°Did you not see his smile? Did not the holy hermit on the column this morning say, ¡®He is due¡¯? What other signs do we need? We have arrived safely. We have met friends who remember us. This is a lucky day. Even if I lose - I have set aside enough silver with Senator Doucas to pay for Lord Rainier''s funeral. No - this boy will win.¡± Outside of the main pedestrian entrance stood several small stalls - some selling woven palm frond umbrellas, some with gamblers shouting for trade: ¡°Place your bets. Parasinoi or Venetoi? Who do you like? Place your bets.¡± ¡°How many shipwrecks are we going to have in the final race? Bets on Blues - bets on Greens.¡± ¡°You Sirrah. With the pretty lady on your arm -yes, you. You are already the luckiest man at the hippodrome today. Why not show her how fortune smiles? You have to make a bet. Otherwise you are just watching horses trot in a circle. You must have something to cheer for.¡± ¡°Who do you like to win? Odds given. Who wants to bet? Look to the chart on the wall behind me. Pick your race, pick your team. Today could be your lucky day.¡± Pons stopped. ¡°I wanna make a bet.¡± ¡°Step into the shade under the awning. You see we have a list of all the chariots both synoris and tetra-hypos,¡± the professional gambler invited. ¡°Do I have to bet by team or can I bet by driver?¡± ¡°Either. Both. If you say which driver you like out of the six cars pulling - and he wins - why the increase on your wager is tremendous.¡± The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Pons raised his voice so all the stall holders hawking nearby could hear. ¡°Give me Alexander the Great of the Venetoi. He has drawn the outside spot in the final race, no? What number of chance will you give me on the probability?¡± With a flourish the gambler hung a bronze disk with a hole in it from a nail on the Hippodrome¡¯s exterior wall behind him. The nail was in the slot indicating third race - sixth team which was clearly marked onto the wall with chalk. ¡°How much would you care to bet, sirrah?¡± ¡°First, what number do you give against this driver?¡± The gambler smiled. He was not sure what to make of Pons, a Latin to be sure from his accent. He was certain he had never seen the man before. Some western bumpkin who was seeing the races in the city for the first time? ¡°Three. I give you the lucky number three. Each coin you wager will come back to you threefold.¡± ¡°Ha. My charioteer has to beat five other cars to win. The number should be five.¡± ¡°True, but two of those cars are on his own team. They are Blues, as he is. They do not mean him harm. He has three opponents¡¯ cars to beat. The number is three.¡± ¡°His teammates mean him no harm, but they will not let him pull ahead for kindness. They race to win themselves. You have seen more races than I. How often does the outside car avoid all the shipwrecks, hold position on the spina, and cross the white sand first? Almost never, yes? Has this Alexander ever crossed first? No. Yet, that is what I wager. Let the number be four.¡± The gambler considered it - an outside team with a first season driver. The old man might not be the yokel he had first assumed him to be - he looked so cocksure. ¡°Four is not lucky. Let us say seven pay back for two coins wagered. Seven is lucky even if against two.¡± ¡°Agreed.¡± Then Pons reached into his coin bag and pulled out a handful of gold hyperpyron which he had been saving and slapped them on the counting table. The gambler was staggered. Such an amount. How much? He counted. Thirty coins would require a payback of one hundred five - in gold. Impossible. If the unthinkable happened, he would fall indebted to his financial backer, who would be obliged to cover it. But - gold coins - and he was throwing them away on a stupid wager. Who was this fellow? Had he robbed his master and lost his mind? The man¡¯s loud voice and confidence had started to gather watchers. The other nearby professional gamblers were still calling for bets, but they had their eyebrows up and were lending an ear. The gambler, unsure of himself, glanced about. ¡°Half. I could cover half. If you have come by it honestly. I mean no offense, but obols and bronze coins we see aplenty, silver - yes, even an electrum aspron from time to time, but this¡­¡± he spread his hands. ¡°You must understand a bet is not like buying a horse. At the end of a horse trade one man has a horse, the other coin. At the end of a wager one man has coin, the other nothing.¡± ¡°I see what you are about. This coin is mine to spend as I see fit. Should my chosen chariot tip or even come in second place you will have won and the coin is yours. Even in Italia we know how a wager works. Will you still be here - with my winnings - when I come out to collect?¡± ¡°Kosmas pays. My reputation is beyond reproach. Ask anyone.¡± ¡°Any of these other gamblers you spend all day with? Are those the ones to ask? I remember your face. I trust my memory more than I trust them.¡± He took back fifteen gold coins from the table and took the bronze disk matching the one nailed to the wall. They made their way to the public entrance next to the starting gates by the Zeuxippus Baths and began climbing stairs up to the seating. Emerging at the top of the seating they had a fine view of the entire course. Cyn had been to tournaments and had seen first hand how jousts, melees, and archery competitions could draw crowds, but the scale of the Hippodrome, like everything else in this city, amazed him. Tiered seating around the U-shaped length of the track could have easily accommodated a hundred thousand people, but scarcely a fifth of that number were currently scattered about the space. Most of the spectators were clustered along the rail near the track and at either end of the spina - a stone barrier some four hundred meters long which ran down the center of the track and around which the chariots would race. At each end of the spina the chariots would have to make a sharp, one hundred eighty degree turn and it was here the ¡°shipwrecks¡± - as chariot crashes were called in the common slang - were most likely to occur. The chariots would race alongside some of the finest sculptures ever created which decorated the length of the spina. Cyn could see a bronze she-wolf with human babies suckling which was similar to one he had seen once in old Rome. There were several marble heroes from the old myths, on one plinth an emperor held a sword in his hand, and on another a different emperor from a different age held a scroll. Gleaming cauldrons mounted on tripods flanked an ornate serpentine column made of bronze, the metal came from broken weapons, armor, and the beaks of defeated Persian warships which had been melted down. The seventeen centuries which had passed since its casting had oxidized the metal to a deep green hue. The color was perfect for this column which was shaped to appear as three intertwining snakes, heads rearing for the sky, with fountains of water springing from each of their mouths to fall into a circular tiled pool at the base. Near the north end of the spina - past the statues of a sphinx, and several legendary charioteers along with their horses - stood an impressive pink granite obelisk carved with Egyptian picture writing so old it beggared belief. It sat on a marble base carved with bas-relief images, which Cyn was too far away to make out, and rose twenty five meters into the air. Towards the southern end of the spina was another, even taller, obelisk - gleaming and golden capped with the orb of the world. As they made their way along the tiered seating, they found Nestor the storyteller had laid claim to a spot with a good viewing position. Not allowing the opportunity of a crowd to pass by, he had taken advantage of the extra space he had created to spread his cloak. On top of that he had set his bowl to hopefully catch a tossed coin. He regaled those within earshot with a fable about a fox who had lost his tail. He wrapped up his story when he saw the Italian mercenaries approach. Nestor used his walking stick to shoo some children away from the spot he had saved. ¡°Look Sirrah, look. What a fine spot I have kept. So close to the track we shall surely be covered in dust.¡± Pons was pleased to see they were also near the kasthima - the private viewing box of the Imperial party. He wanted a good look at this new Emperor. He handed over the promised coin with a flourish and the storyteller beamed. Before the attention of Nestor¡¯s audience was diverted back to their own conversations, Pons spoke loudly. ¡°I have coin to wager on the final race,¡± he announced to the nearby crowd. Chapter 27 - The Catspaw Wants Scratch Chapter 27 The Catspaw Wants Scratch Stephen Hagiochristophorites was a member of the Emperor¡¯s entourage, but he was not yet of sufficient station to be permitted to watch the races from the excellent vantage point of the kasthima. Nor was he amongst the lesser minions who orbited the Basilius - the secretaries and government ministers - for he stood apart from them like a vulture among peacocks. Black hair, black clothing, black mood - a brooding presence among the brightly colored robes of office and outlandish headdresses worn by the court. However, unlike a vulture with its hooked beak, Stephen Hagiochristophorites¡¯ nose was completely absent, having been cut off years ago as a punishment. Twin holes between his mouth and eyes had turned his face prematurely into a skull. He was a figure of death hovering around the court. A parvenu who spoke with contempt, acted with impunity, and made everyone uncomfortable. Everyone except for the Emperor - in whose favor he was held high. For when the emperor needed daggers in the dark, it was Stephen Hagiochristophorites who wielded the blade. Currently the only post which Stephen officially held was the military position of epitou stratou - which truly meant he had been responsible for setting up camp for the army of mercenary archers who had been such a large part of their force when Andronikos had entered the city in March. It was a job for which he had neither experience nor interest, and the pay was, in his opinion, abysmal. In any event the archers had not needed a supervisor to oversee their camp and Stephen had been busy helping Andronikos secure his position after his arrival. There were some political opponents who could not be executed like those who were about to die between the races here today. They were simply too powerful or had too many family connections. In these cases Andronikos would mention to Stephen someone had to go. He would quietly speak to him alone, often a simple sentence - something like, ¡°Gregory Xiphilinos needs to visit Jesus.¡± Then a few days later Stephen would slit the man¡¯s throat in a public latrine. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Stephen assumed the estate of the dead-man in question would be confiscated by the Emperor, but¡­ he did not know for sure if that was the case. The bureaucracy was so tedious and none of them would tell him in any event. If the estates went to the imperial coffers, no funds had trickled down to him for these favors. Whenever he ever brought it up in his - all too brief - moments with the Emperor he got a sympathetic smile, and a reminder to be patient - had not the Emperor himself been in prison and living on the charity of strangers without an obol for years? ¡°God¡¯s reward for loyalty was at hand, but the treasury had to be set to rights - for the Empire.¡± Until then Stephen had to survive on the laughable honorarium of an epi tou stratou - the empty title did not even grant him access to the kasthima. Forced to stand in the common area ringing the track, he leaned on a pillar, and picked his teeth with a whittled bone. Serving the Emperor involved a great deal of waiting. At least there was shade here. Down below among the mass of attendees he could hear some oafish country bumpkin with atrocious Greek calling for bets at the top of his lungs. Inside. Amongst the seating. Uncouth foreigners. To be sure gentlemen would bet in the stands - amongst friends. They would not, however, yell like a fisherman¡¯s wife hawking the day''s catch. There was din enough with food vendors - even a toymaker had set up a table and was trying to sell carved wooden chariots and horses to those able to afford them for their children. Stephen felt like telling the hick to take his noisy betting outside, but the fellow looked troublesome and he had with him a thuggish companion. The wager which this fresh-off-the-boat yokel was calling for was every bit as ludacris as he was - betting even money the sixth team in the final race would place first. Some people nearby had taken up and gambled against him. An old man with a walking stick was to hold the coin as escrow. As always Stephen was short of coin. Chapter 28 - The Emperor Attends an Afternoon at the Races Chapter 28 The Emperor Attends an Afternoon at the Races Andronikos, (co)Emperor of the Romans was dripping with perspiration by the time he climbed the stairs and entered the Kasthima. The viewing box was not large, so with him came a few selected guests, a minimum of servants, and the Verangian guard receded to a pair of veterans who remained by the stairway door. His concubine took a white cotton cloth and standing on her tiptoes reached up to dab the salty drops off of his forehead. Together they walked to the ornately carved railing. Glancing about the vast racking circuit Andronikos could see the crowds were sparse again today. Why could the common folk not come out? Why could they not see he loved them and would have held magnificent spectacles for them, if only the treasury could have borne it? The Imperial purse simply did not have the wealth for great races. He had tried to keep the executions interesting - something beyond the usual hangings and beheadings. He had told his new master of the games to aim for something grand to emphasize the moral message while keeping things entertaining. Hot and humid with heavy clouds to the north and east. The crowd¡¯s greeting was unenthusiastic and as he boredly waved back a desultory response. To the right of the kasthima he spied the unmistakable skull-like face of Stephen Hagiocharistophrites lounging by a column. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Ah Stephen. He had wanted to talk to Stephen about the boy¡¯s mother. The paperwork was all signed now. Shuffled in among other letters and official documents, Alexios had not even noticed he had signed his own mother¡¯s death warrant - an official looking parchment in a stack of parchment waiting for a signature in red ink and an official seal. Alexios was fourteen and full of energy. He did not want to sit in hot cotton, linen, and silk robes listening to mass after mass and reading endless legal documents. Andronikos remembered being young. He wanted to be done quickly and go play polo with the other (suitable) young nobles. Too easy. No need to threaten, no need to cajole. Of course, she could not be executed here at the Hippodrome, even though she richly deserved it - deserved it more than the wretched tools of hers which were going to be sent off today between the races. Even with an order of execution signed by (co)Emperor Alexios himself, getting rid of the dowager Empress Regent would have to be less public and more discreet. As much as Andronikos wanted to be there himself - to watch her suffer - after all she had done to dishonor poor Manuels memory, it was important he be seen as impartial and deliberate, not hot-tempered and vengeful. He would have Stephen quietly carry out the deed. Then he would have Stephen tell him about it. At length. Just as Stephen had talked to him in the dark long ago about the other crime. Chapter 29 - Once Upon Time in a Dungeon Chapter 29 Once Upon Time in a Dungeon The relationship between Stephen and Andronikos had an unusual beginning. Twenty-four years earlier they had met and spoken at length for several weeks without ever having once set eyes on one another. They were able to talk, but because of the placement of their prison cells they could not see one another. Andronikos had been in his chamber for several years. It was larger than the one Stephen was tossed into, further along the corridor, and at least had fresh air coming in from a thin skylight. The window was hardly more than an arrow slit, set high - very high - in the wall - too narrow for anyone to get through - and ironbound by bars from without in any event. Emperor Manuel knew how tall and strong his cousin was and had ordered the vaulted tower cell secured specifically to contain him. Stephen¡¯s lightless cell in the baked brick tower of the Anemas dungeon was closer to the stairs, but on the day the guards tossed him in Andronikos guessed the new prisoner was not going to be there for long. He was a temporary resident - only passing through - on his way to a public flogging and nasal amputation. Stephen was terrified and wept openly. When Andronikos asked (out of boredom, not concern), ¡°What is it you have been accused of?¡± Stephen could not stop talking: about the injustice of it all, about the cruelty of Emperor Manuel, about the perfidy of the court. He found sympathetic ears and a reciprocal tongue in his fellow prisoner. They were both at low points in their lives. Andronikos was nearly out of his mind with boredom and glad of a chance to talk to anyone. From his fellow prisoner Andronikos learned the Hagiochristophorites family (the name meant ¡°Bringer of Christ¡±) originally hailed from Lycia where they held minor magistracies. Stephen¡¯s father was a tax farmer. He would buy a contract from the treasury to gather the expected taxes for the province - in effect covering the taxes for the province up front - and then later recovering his outlay by collecting monies and goods from the citizens. His profit came from any extra he could gather, through fines, intimidation, bribes, or extortion. To help him in this end he had five stout and brutish sons. Stephen was the second son, but being the most clever, he was sent to the queen of cities for further training in finance and to enhance the family¡¯s fortunes by gaining a position in the bureaucracy. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Andronikos surmised from Stephan¡¯s drawn out sobbing story the transition to the capital had not gone well. Like a chariot horse who owned fame in the provinces but was not fast enough to meet up to expectation at the Hippodrome - Stephen was not clever enough to stand out. At mathematics he was hopeless - could barely remember by rote even the most common of the psalms, and of social graces he had none. He was not perceptive enough to see that although he was the son of a feared and respected man in Lycia - the sense of dread and deferment did not extend to Constantinople. He felt excluded from the future which his father had promised to him and to which he was entitled. Stephen decided the court would be forced to accept him and take him seriously if he had a noble bride. Listening in his cell Andronikos understood, of course, no family of noble blood would marry a daughter to - who? A Hagiochristophorites? From where in Anatolia? A man holding which position? None? Stephen told of how he managed to get himself invited to a fete at the home of Leon Oxeites only to get so drunk he forgot the difference between seduction and rape, but not so forgetful he was unable to recount the details to his fellow prisoner - late at night in the dark - when the right questions were asked. Andronikos would have him describe the act over and over in detail on many nights thereafter. Also, as Stephen¡¯s reasoning went, with a child growing in some noblewoman¡¯s belly, a wedding would be assured. Andronikos shook his head at the man¡¯s folly. This was why the court was staffed by eunuchs and chariot horses were gelded. Commiserating with the new prisoner Andronikos said he could understand how problems of the heart could bring a man to grief. He himself was imprisoned on the whim of Emperor Manuel simply for being in love with a woman and having her love him back. That and treason. He was also in prison for plotting against Manuel¡¯s life. Chapter 30 - The Lesser Races Chapter 30 The Lesser Races To a smattering of applause the new (co)Emperor entered the kasthima. Pons thought he cut a dignified figure in his imperial garb accompanied by a lovely young lady and flanked by his bodyguards. Cyn wondered if he was standing on something so tall did he appear compared to the lithe beauty at his side. Brian the Saxon was a tall man, but Emperor Andronikos towered over him. Following behind crowded other sycophants. The Emperor smiled at the crowd, waved his hand imperiously in benediction, and slowly turned to view the entire arena. Pons noticed the Emperor¡¯s gaze fell on a dark clad fellow lacking a nose standing at a column near the kasthima a few rows up from where they sat. The Emperor motioned to a page and whispered a few words. The page departed. Now the Emperor had arrived, the races could begin. The first two heats of the day were between the two-horse style biriga or synoris chariots. These teams of horses and drivers were of lower quality and less senior rank. Two-horse chariot racing was less dangerous than the four horse style as there were fewer horses to control, less entanglements, and not as many shipwrecks. Lack of mayhem made it less exciting and less popular than the quadriga or tetra-hypos style. Much less expensive to stage, they were the proving ground where both animals and drivers trained. Six teams of biriga chariots took their places at the carceres. As the charioteers settled their teams into position, the young lady in the kasthima stepped forward to the railing and held out a white kerchief. With the wind steady from the east it blew like a tiny banner in her hand. When she released the kerchief the breeze took it across the track and spina. The chariots bolted and the crowd roared their horses on. ¡°That woman is expensively beautiful.¡± Cyn said, but neither Pons nor Nestor heard him. Having paused taking bets for the running of the race, both of the older men cheered out. For whom Cyn was not sure. Blues? Were they cheering for Blues in all the races? Sure. Why not? The race was seven circuits counterclockwise around the spina in length. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Tight in the corner you. Go venetoi.¡± Cyn cheered to the lead blue chariot. A spirited contest followed with four teams repeatedly changing position seeking the lead while two others fought for last place. An exciting race was all well and good but it was the collisions and dying horses the crowd truly wanted to see. That did not happen in the opening race. After a blue team won, Pons, Nestor, and Cyn smacked palms. Nestor and Pons repeated their offer to the crowd and a few more came up to bet with them. Cyn watched as some jugglers moved out to perform on the track - tossing three balls back and forth in loops of increasing distance and height. Behind them a middle aged man naked, shaking, and covered in black tar was brought out to the middle of the racing circuit driven at spearpoint by guardsmen. Beside the condemned man, workers jogged as they brought out a wooden pole, straw for kindling, and faggots of sticks. The pole was placed into a hole set into the track near the spina opposite the kasthima. In this way the emperor and his party could get a good view of the execution while the prevailing wind wafted the smoke away. A fourth ball had been added to the juggler''s act without Cyn noticing its introduction. The prisoner¡¯s name was read out along with his charges by a magistrate, but Cyn only caught a word or two. Once the prisoner was secured, the juggler''s balls were replaced one by one with torches which an assistant lit and tossed into the act. For several minutes the jugglers played with the torches in complex patterns, throwing them back and forth and up and down, before they were thrown one by one into the straw. Once the prisoner was set ablaze, the screaming began. It was hard to find betters among the stands with all of that going on but Pons tried. ¡°Even money. Alexander of the Blues in the final race.¡± Pons was about to directly address the noseless man who still stood in the shade by a pillar, but now the Emperor¡¯s page was speaking to him. After a moment they left the stands together. When the executed prisoner¡¯s screaming and thrashing stopped another group of biriga chariots began to fill the carceres for the start of the second race. Again from the railing the courtesan - for Cyn was sure this voluptuous creature was no proper noblewoman - released a white kerchief. It wafted lazily across the track and landed on the pyre at the dead man¡¯s feet as the teams bolted forward in an even line. Not liking the smoke, however, the horses began to pull away from the spina as they passed the burning traitor. On the far wall a shipwreck occurred. Two teams became entangled and one chariot flipped. Not a bad spill - the charioteer was unhurt and was able to quickly right his light wicker car and resume, although in last place. The crowd cheered his spirit. The other teams continued to turn round the spina without incident, but the horses veered wide again - frightened by the burning man they had to race beside. Dust rose from their passing and the second turn was obscured. All teams made it around, for when the dust cleared they were pulling and jostling for position on the farside of the track with the trailing chariot just now making the turn. The remainder of the race saw two Blue chariots pull to the fore, one in the lead and the other blocking the Green challengers. The race finished for the Blues. Chapter 31 - A Discrete Task Chapter 31 A Discrete Task The walk from the spectator stands to the kasthima required Stephen to follow the page out of the hippodrome by one of the portals near the carceres. Stephen followed the page out into the fore-plaza only to immediately turn to the right by the Baths of Zexipus and re-enter the Imperial palace by a small side door guarded by a Verangian. Passing by bureaucratic offices they arrived at the octagon courtyard behind the kasthima. The page led him up the stairs and the final pair of Varangians let him enter. The Emperor was at the railing urging the Greens on to victory. His voice was booming and overwhelming. The same stentorian baritone which had been his introduction in the Anemas dungeon a quarter of a century ago when they first told their woeful histories to one another. The Blue charioteers saluted the kasthima as they made their victory lap, horses snorting as they cooled, but still proudly stepping high in a dignified prance - they knew they had won. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Basileus, you asked to speak to Stephen Hagiocharistophrites,¡± the page announced. Andronikos turned and graced Stephen with a warm smile. The other dignitaries in the box scowled. Andronikos pretended not to notice the missing nose - the macabre visage. Stephen was needed. Stephen received a smile and more importantly Stephan received Andronikos¡¯ personal attention. Andronikos relinquished his place at the railing to his young lady companion, murmuring a word to the master of the games to proceed with the execution without him. He and Stephen stepped back for a little chat. ¡°I have need of your services. Tonight¡­ if you are free.¡± So polite, as if Stephen was not waiting, day in and day out, for instruction. ¡°What would you have of me, Basileus?¡± ¡°I need a person - dangerous to the Empire - executed. This is someone special, Stephen, and I want you to take care of it personally.¡± An execution, but out of the public eye. Someone important then. ¡°Tell me the name of this man and he will be a corpse before dawn.¡± ¡°Not a man - a woman, and not any woman - a nun. Take some men with you. Have them clean out the convent so you can have it all to yourself. Take your time Stephen, and make her suffer. Only be sure to strip her of her habit. I will not have her sinner¡¯s blood on the cloth. Then come to me after, no matter what the hour, and tell me everything. The look on her face, her last words. Everything. While the memory is still fresh.¡± Chapter 32 - The Emperor’s Favorite Chapter 32 The Emperor¡¯s Favorite Standing by the railing of the kasthima overlooking the racetrack, Maraptikee felt a nervous dread again. She had risen far for a young woman who had been born in poverty and sold as a slave by her own parents. Now here she was on this beautiful day in the company of the Emperor, dropping the mappa to start the races. Was she blessed? As the Basileus¡¯ favorite she was certainly envied by all of Pandarus¡¯ other girls. It seemed like a happy dream. Everything she could ever have hoped for. Seemed. It was not true. None of it. It was not even a beautiful day anymore. The sky was becoming heavy and clouding over. The races were rather sad, and now they had given way to another execution. It looked to Maraptikee as if the next wretch was to be fed to a pack of dogs right before her eyes. Not a dream. What had the condemned done to displease the Emperor? Something truly evil or something trivial? This morning the Emperor had slid a dagger from under a pillow and placed it to her throat. She had pretended to be asleep. Forcing herself to breathe regularly and slowly despite wanting to scream, wanting to run. Did he suspect her of something? Or did he simply want to watch her die? Breathing in, and out - trusting in her beauty and appearance of innocence to protect her. This morning it seemed to have been enough. When he withdrew the blade she continued softly inhaling and exhaling and had even drifted off to troubled sleep again. Maraptikee had only been introduced to the Emperor a few months ago. Scant days after Andronikos entered the city and the Latin Quarter burned, Maraptikee¡¯s owner Pandarus had been summoned to the palace and was told to bring half a dozen of his loveliest and most cultured girls. Pandarus was relieved by this news. As Constantinople¡¯s leading slave merchant for the well-to-do in search of quality household slaves, business had been uncertain for the past few days. The massacre of his best paying clientele - the Latin merchants - had shocked and horrified him. His business faced financial ruin. Pandarus¡¯ inventory of slaves was not full of captured barbarians to be turned into field hands or sent to the mines to be worked to death. His merchandise was of a finer stock - educated Greeks and foreigners who had sold themselves to become slaves in a wealthy household as stewards, accountants, tutors, or even physicians. Destitute, stranded, or captured sailors for whom no ransom would be paid had been another constantly profitable branch. A navigator was worth a small fortune. One of his most profitable lines was in acquiring beautiful children from impoverished families and having them trained to be courtesans in dance, the erotic arts, music, and polite conversation. With the wealthiest customers in the city now dead or fled he was uncertain of his future. Under pious Emperor Manuel no treasury money had ever come his way. The summons from Andronikos had him dreaming of an Imperial appointment. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Marapitkee and her younger sister Eyrienee were sixth and seventh daughters from one such impoverished family. Their father, a farmer from near what had once been Sparta, had been unable to seed a son on his wife. Barely able to dower the two oldest girls and completely unable to provide for the rest, he had not hesitated when one of Pandarus¡¯ agents had approached him to buy one of the comely children. Only the tears of her mother had prevented him from selling more than two girls. She could hardly remember her father now. Only his constant bellowing, ¡°Be quiet. Damn you all.¡± - directed at the many women in his life. Eyrienee and Maraptikee comforted one another and cried for their mother as they were taken away. The agent told them not to be sad. They were off to be married to strong handsome young men. And rich. So rich they would have servants to hold their silver. Arriving at Pandarus¡¯ stable in Constantinople had shown that to be a lie. With the agent rewarded for his keen eye, the girls were sent for instruction and grooming. Clean, beautiful, taught to recite Greek poetry perfectly, and speak pleasantly in conversation as well, educated in music, singing, dancing, and the sensual arts. Rented for the evening, month, or party. Alone or in groups. Maraptikee and the other girls followed Pandarus to the residential palace in the city¡¯s north east. Pandarus had made sure to include voluptuous Zoe with her curly dark hair and curvy hips and ample bust, and even a pale skinned yellow haired Frankish slave from far to the north for variety. Ushered past the gate guards they had been shown by an official to an enclosed courtyard. Pandarus was instructed to display the slaves and the Emperor would be by shortly to make his selections. ¡°Selections.¡± The official used the plural. Pandarus¡¯ hopes continued to rise. Quickly organizing the courtesans: Who was to stand where? In what pose? Was there time to create a theme? The muses perhaps, brought out for the Emperor''s entertainment? Pandarus did the best he could to display his merchandise. Smiles. Smile with your eyes also. Show some bosom. Awesome in size and impressive in garb, Andronikos swept in trailed by attendants, petitioners, toadies, and guards. Seeing the lovely women arranged about the courtyard he held up his hand. Everyone stopped. He dismissively waved his hand and the followers melted away. A smile played under his mustache. His eyes narrowed, scanning all. When they were more alone, Andronikos stepped forward and nodded to Pandarus. ¡°I am told you were the man to talk to about bed warmers.¡± ¡°Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty, I am honored that my reputation has reached your ears. With such short notice I hope the limited stock I have on hand will be pleasing.¡± ¡°We will see. The love of my life is forbidden to me by that oaf in the Hagia Sophia and languishes alone in Onnion. But that does not mean I also have to languish alone. You and I are both men. I have traveled, you have traveled. We know the world. I am a busy man. I have responsibilities and am getting more each day. I do not need a problematic woman. I need a quiet, sweet, and docile one. No temper tantrums. No smashed dishes.¡± ¡°Rest assured all of my companions exist only to comfort, never to vex. All are lovely as you can see, all have special skills to sooth a man''s mind and body. Mary sings like a nightingale, and only coos with delight. Ariadne¡¯s fingers can massage the aches from your shoulders and thighs, and other muscles. Meraptikee plays the flute so softly it is as if she has harnessed the air we breathe to soothe your soul - then she plays your flute as well. She has a twin sister, so peaceful and quiet she does not even speak.¡± He indicated Eyrienee. In no time at all an arrangement was made. Not a sale, but a lease - of all six and on such terms. Chapter 33 - The Crowd Howls for Blood Chapter 33 The Crowd Howls for Blood Glancing at the kasthima, Pons saw the imperial party were applauding. Once they were finished, the nose-less man in black was ushered forward and spoke in close conference with the Emperor. While they spoke the next execution was prepared on the track. Another man, this one permitted the final dignity of a loin cloth, was led forward as his name and charges were read by the cryer. Cyn¡¯s Greek was not sufficient for him to piece together if the man was a traitor or simply a criminal. Six handlers came forward each with a ferocious snarling dog pulling on a leash and surrounded the condemned man. The cryer shouted ¡°Treacherous dog, be food for the dogs you lie with.¡± or word to that effect, and the dogs were released. The dogs should have raced forward and ripped the man to shreds. That was why their owners had been hired by the master of the games. That is what they had been starved to do. This was, however, their first time visiting the Hippodrome and the noise of the crowd, the smell of horses, and most especially the smell of roasting man were putting them off task. Growling, they circled their quarry, snapping at the air. The handlers motioned towards the condemned and whistled. One bitch squatted and pissed on the track. Another one, a male, raised his hind leg and did the same on the statue of a hero on the spina. The crowd howled. Spearmen came on to the track to prod the dogs towards the prisoner. Hair bristled on their backs as they snarled. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Blood.¡± said Cyn. ¡°They need to smell fresh blood. Then they will attack.¡± ¡°Aima.¡± Nestor called. The crowd took up the chant. * * * Andronikos gave Stephen leave to depart and make his preparations. As he turned back to the railing the crowd was beginning to chant for blood. Fear instantly seized him. It was over. They were howling for his blood. His face became ashen. For a moment he stumbled. His concubine came to him and took his hand. ¡°Dear one, are you well?¡± she asked. The chanting from the crowd continued. AIMA. AIMA. The officials in the kasthima were not concerned by this, so Andronikos stepped to the railing to see for himself the mess the execution had become. ¡°I was speaking at the back. What has been happening here?¡± ¡°The dogs won¡¯t attack. The people think they would if they smelled fresh blood.¡± ¡°They are probably correct.¡± Over the noise of the mob Andronikos bellowed to a guardsman to hamstring the prisoner. The guard threw his javelin and neatly pierced the condemned man¡¯s calf below the knee. To the delight of the crowd the scent of fresh blood did the trick as the dogs moved in to finish off their immobilized prey. Once the man¡¯s screams and twitchings ended the pack was allowed to feed for a moment before being prodded off the track for the starting of the final race. Chapter 34 - The Third Wager Chapter 34 The Third Wager Back in the stands again, Stephen saw the old man holding the coin for the gambling yokel was establishing a fair pile. He decided to place a wager. Guessing the amount which would clean him out, he wagered fifty silver at even odds. Nestor the storyteller held out his hand for the coin only to be met with Stephen Hagiochristophrites disdainful glare. ¡°You are sure to lose and I do not trust the look of either of you. When he loses - and he will - this whole crowd will be on you to collect. I will hold my end and will be keeping a sharp eye to make sure my payment will be the first out of your hands.¡± Pons nodded his agreement. Stephen returned to the shade of the column. ¡°Keep an eye on that one there.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Cyn had been looking at the crowd, the marvels of the stadium, and at the beauty in the kasthima. He had not been paying too much attention to Pons¡¯ wagering. ¡°Which one?¡± ¡°The shifty one in black without a nose. He wagered fifty against me but did not put up. He thinks he is someone special.¡± ¡°Why did you bet with him he has no nose? He is a criminal. Sure it was cut off as a punishment.¡± ¡°I have no ear, but I am not a criminal.¡± ¡°You are probably the worst criminal in this entire city.¡± Cyn knew if Pons had any weakness at all, it was agitation about his missing ear and how others might see him, so he hastened to add, ¡°Of course your wound was received honorably in defense of your Lord, whereas that man is certainly a sinner. On that we can agree. If he tries to run out without paying? You want me to shake it out of him?¡± ¡°No, simply keep an eye on him. I saw him speak with the Emperor Andronikos. They know one another.¡± ¡°So?¡± ¡°If Andronikos is behind Renier¡¯s death - that shady criminal looks to be the sort to have done the deed.¡± Chapter 35 - The Final Heat of the Day Chapter 35 The Final Heat of the Day For the third time Mariapitkee dropped the mappa to begin the race. A counter weight dropped and the gates of the carceres sprang open. All other eyes turned to the six teams of horses which surged forward to the ¡°He-Ya!¡± cries of their charioteers. Only she watched the cloth drift to the right for a moment on the wind before dropping directly into the hand of a handsome broad shouldered young man. He had not been watching the start of the race either. He had been watching her. Their eyes met. He winked. Mariaptkee blushed. Was that old man behind him a servant with a handful of silver? Pulling her eyes off him Marapatkee looked back to the race to see the six teams thundering down the track - hooves pounding, evenly matched. Then from the outside position a blue charioteer recklessly cut off his neighbor. Only the green driver reining to nearly a standstill prevented a collision. Rounding the spina for the first time the same blue chariot cut sharply again, neatly avoiding his teammate, to tuck in behind the second green team. As they raced past the kasthima the blue horses¡¯ forelegs pumped the air dangerously close to the green chariot¡¯s wheels. The breath from their noses blew hot on the green charioteer¡¯s back. Fearful of being trampled from behind, the green charioteer¡¯s whip cracked over and over urging his team to the front, but with each snap the blue chariot followed, closing the already narrow gap. How they managed the next turn was a marvel which left the crowd roaring and the first dolphin fell. * * * Cyn coughed - even with the track wet from the blood of the dog¡¯s meal, twenty-four charging horses churned up a plume of dust. On the opposite side of the spina now flickering between the statues and plinths he could not tell which chariot was in the lead. ¡°Run venetoi! Go Alexander!¡± Rounding the spina at the far end of the track Alexander the Great prepared to strike again. Blocked by his own teammate on his left who was aligned with the innermost prasonoi team and the prasonoi chariot to his fore, he had no choice but to swerve wide. Throwing his weight to the left and tightening the reins on that side, he simultaneously loosened the reins on his right arm and spun one hundred eighty degrees on one wheel. Then smoothly shifting his weight on the wicker running board he landed his airborne wheel back on the sand with barely a tremor only a cubit back from his competitor and with a clear outside run along the main stretch ahead of him. Now his own whip cracked and his team surged ahead and visibly gained on the nearest flagging green team. Pons and Cyn jumped and cheered along with the crowd. Between them Nestor had transferred the coins safely into Pons¡¯ cap. He too was caught up in the excitement. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. * * * Another plume of dust and sand obscured the next turn from the lower seating, but from higher up in the stands Stephen Hagiocharistophrites saw the moment when the blue charioteer once again madly cut off the green team. This time, an outside horse reared, veered, and sent its wicker chariot cartwheeling end-over-end as the wooden hitch fragmented. The three other horses on the team went down in a heap of flashing hooves. The prasonoi driver also went cartwheeling through the air whirling in brief synchronicity with his car - flying over the injured horses, only to be jerked to a bone breaking stop by the reins lashed to his wrists. Driver, horses, and crowd all screamed for the first big shipwreck of the day. Alexander the Great avoided it all by the grace of the Almighty, and even gained a length. Stephen glowered. Three teams now vied for the lead - a green team on the inside and two blue cars on the outside. The damned outside team was gaining. Gaining. Rounding the far turn of the spina dead even - despite the advantage of circumference. The outside blue ground on for another length. Stephen hissed at the green team. Nags. Worthless nags. Where did they come by such farm horses? ¡°Run. May your horses pull you to hell if you fail.¡± * * * At the kasthima railing even Andronikos¡¯ attention was swept up in the race. Finally a spirited one. A supporter of the greens, he had been distracted by his conversion with Stephen, so he had not wagered with the notables sharing the box on this - the main heat. Probably just as well seeing how things were going on the track. Still he thundered out his encouragement to his team. The green team in the fore was losing the lead but maintaining inner position on the spina, until another wicked turn - more of a one wheel pivot truly - saw the outside blue charioteer come dangerously close to clipping the green driver with his raised wheel as he spun. The green driver veered to the outside only to run headlong into the entangled horses from the green team which was shipwrecked on the previous circuit. Catapulted over his car, the driver flew into a melee of flailing hooves and rearing equines. Breathtaking. Cheers all around. Ah well, even though it was a loss, the race was well run and its effect on the crowd helped brighten Andronikos¡¯ mood. Chapter 36 - Debts Unpaid Chapter 36 Debts Unpaid The final lap was a foregone conclusion. As the final dolphin fell Pons and Cyn hugged each other with Nestor in the middle.Together they shouted their delight. Even the last blue chariot managed to pull ahead of the final surviving green car to take third place for a clean venetoi sweep. The chariots trotted a final circuit to allow their teams to cool down, picking their way around stretcher bearers coming out to tend to the injured charioteers, and attendants to clear the wrecked cars, and see which of the horses could be salvaged. Cyn looked to the stands, but the noseless man was nowhere to be seen. Not bothering to watch the blue charioteer¡¯s final circuit - a victory lap come early - Stephen had slipped out to gather some ruffians, get to a nunnery, and enjoy his busy evening. On the track hands were being shaken and backs slapped among the charioteers, leafy crowns were handed out and the competitors and team officials drew lots for position in the next races. Tomorrow looked to be unlikely as the low rolling thunder and the occasional speckle of rain promised the track would be in no condition for a race. Hands came at Nestor from the crowd to try and snatch Pon''s cap where the coins were stashed. Shouldering, butting, shoving - Cyn struck one fellow who tried to grab at Nestor with such force the man went flying down several levels of stone seating to land in a groaning heap. This gave the others pause. Hands were retracted. Pons and Cyn walked with swaggers facing down glares from men who had lost at betting. They returned to the main entrance where a bleak Kosmas waited at his stall beseeching other bet makers for aid. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°You have something for me?¡± ¡°Please, a moment.¡± Kosmas looked imploringly at his associates. ¡°I have this disk,¡± Pons began again smiling politely, ¡°which matches the one on the wall behind you and it tells me the fifteen gold coins I wagered at two down for seven back means you owe me fifty-two whole pieces and a clipped one.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°You mentioned gold coins are rarely seen in quantity. I understand, so I will accept silver at the going rate. I will step under your awning for it is about to rain. Go. Speak with your comrades, make what arrangements you must.¡± After much discussion, cursing, promising, threatening, and other verbal interaction which Cyn was not able to follow, it fell out the Greek betmaker and his cohorts were not able to make up the entire sum. They were short - not by much in the scope of the entire wager - five golden hyperpyron. Still a small fortune. What was to be done? Pons offered trade. ¡°Have you a slave? A wagon and a mule perhaps?¡± Downcast eyes. ¡°Kosmas pays, yet Kosmas cannot pay. What are we to do? You do understand a bet is not like buying a horse. At the end of a horse trade one man has a horse, the other coin. At the end of a wager one man has coin, the other nothing. And now you have five gold coins less than nothing.¡± The wind picked up. The rain was starting in earnest. A flash of lightning lit up the southern sky. Kosmas was dazzled by the light, but Pons leaned in closer to him. ¡°I am willing to be reasonable. I will meet you here on the next race day. At this stall. You will pay me my five gold coins, or you will grant me as much credit on any wager I make.¡± The terrific boom of thunder rolled, punctuating his words. ¡°That is - if you are still a gambler - by profession - after tonight.¡± With that the matter seemed to conclude, as far as Cyn could see. Seemed. Chapter 37 - A Brief Tavern Brawl Chapter 37 A Brief Tavern Brawl Trying as best as possible to keep out of the wind and the rain Cyn followed Nestor with Pons beside him. Together they left the Hippodrome behind them and dodged to the left at the Melion and followed the mese half a kilometer west to the forum of Constantine. It was impossible for Cyn not to notice the men following - no doubt sent out by the bet-makers. Beyond the forum to the north they tucked into the Golden Eel. Greeting their hosts with cheery smiles, and tossing them an entire hyperpyron, Pons moved to a long table at the back of the common room. ¡°Landlady to fetch a jar of wine and fry up eels on a trestle of flat bread,¡± he called. Switching to the language of Oc he said to Cyn ¡°Fetch your arbalest, have it loaded, and get ready for trouble. We were followed.¡± ¡°I counted four.¡± ¡°As did I.¡± When Cyn returned to the common room he pretended to be taking a rock out of his boot while he cranked his arbalest under the table, cocked it, slipped a bolt into the notch and fitted the shaft to the groove. Placing it on the table, he then draped his wet cloak on top of it to dry. At that moment four men ducked under the entrance awning. They briefly scoured the room and fixed their eyes upon them. Stares turned to glares. Considering Nestor to be of no account, and knowing the Latins had wealth, glares turned to sneers. The landlady began forward with a jug of wine for the table, but the largest of the men stopped her, took the jug from her hand, and helped himself to a draught. He then handed the jug to the other men to share. Sneers turned to insults. They spoke of how Latins had pig shit between their toes even when their boots were on. And that Latins were going to burn in Hell for their heresies. A bald one spoke quickly, loudly, and at length. Cyn couldn¡¯t follow the Greek but he understood the man disliked Franks and Hungarians as well. Pons had drawn his dirk and, studiously ignoring the insults, began to clean his fingernails with the tip of the blade. Daring them. The largest of the group, a barrel-chested brute with a knot of curly hair, became more agitated than the others. He pointed his finger at Pons and continued with a loud mouth. He asked his friends, ¡°Did we not force the Latins out in March? And here we are, summer not even over, and they are crawling back into the city and taking our coin. Well, by Christos, if they are going to return, then they will bloody well have to pay tribute. They don¡¯t have a walled quarter of the city to hide behind now, do they? Hey you, little man, what are you doing here in our city anyway?¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Yeah, what are you doing here?¡± his comrades echoed. Pons leaned back from his grooming. ¡°I¡¯m here to fuck your mother.¡± ¡°Well,¡± thought Cyn, ¡°that ought to get things moving.¡± He clasped the cloak on the table, ready to fling it aside and shoot. The three men made hooting noises to urge on their large friend. ¡°Kick his teeth out, Andros.¡± one shouted. Andros glared at Pons and slowly sauntered over to their table at the back of the tavern. The other patrons picked up their drinks and edged over to the walls to keep out of the way of what was certain to come. Andros kept his eyes on the dirk which the old mercenary held nonchalantly in his hand. The attack, when it came, was so fast even Cyn, who was expecting it, was completely surprised. The barrel-chested man had been moving towards Pons¡¯ side, and had been about to spit some insult, when Pons¡¯ foot shot out and kicked the wooden bench which stood beside the table. The bench hit the Greek below his knees and he lost his balance. At that same instant Pons¡¯ right hand shot up, tangled itself in the man¡¯s curly hair, and smashed his forehead on to the edge of the table. A solid ¡®thunk¡¯ reverberated in the room. The big man dropped, Cyn thought, like a turd from a tall horse¡¯s ass. Pons let the inert body drop to the floor. He returned to cleaning his nails. The three others by the door were stunned. Calmly Pons said, ¡°One of you fellows go and get your boss.¡± He prodded the big man on the floor with the toe of his boot. ¡°Obviously this fellow is not him.¡± Cyn pulled his cloak off the table to reveal the crossbow. They could see the broad headed quarrel sitting in the groove. They glared but held their ground. ¡°Go get Fat George,¡± the bald man near the entrance ordered the youngest of his companions. The fellow darted off. The bald man and his remaining friend, a pock-faced man with a beard, continued to stare at Pons and Cyn. On the floor Andros was groaning as he began to regain consciousness. Pons reached down and grabbed the burly man by the tunic. He was still groggy from the blow to the head. Pons sat him on the bench and waved for a bowl of wine. ¡°That is truly gonna leave a lump,¡± he commiserated. ¡°Good thing you didn¡¯t break the skin or it would bleed like a sonofabitch.¡± The man crossed his arms on the table and slumped his head forward, wavering in and out of awareness. The host''s wife brought the wine and he took a drink, coughed a bit, and lay his head gently on the table. ¡°Poor fellow,¡± commented Cyn. ¡°Put your head between your knees. Sometimes that helps.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all right, he¡¯s a tough one. He can take a shot or two, can¡¯t ya?¡± The man smiled shyly at them. After what appeared to be careful deliberation he slowly and mumbled, ¡°Thanks for the wine. Who are you? I don¡¯t like eels so much. I like roasted chicken.¡± He hung his head low waiting for his vision to steady. ¡°Jesus Pons, you have rung his bell so hard he is ready for dinner.¡± Chapter 38 - George’s Dinner is Ruined Chapter 38 George¡¯s Dinner is Ruined Fat George was not happy. Not happy at all. He sat at a table on a cushioned chair. Immediately in front of him on the table were two wax tablets marked with the day¡¯s takings from the bet makers. Pushed back farther on a board lay the remains of his dinner, the bones of a goose and the shells of several crabs. Dinner had been fine. Dinner was not the problem. The problem was the numbers on the tablets in front of him. Where was all of his money? George did not support either the Greens or the Blues. The Greens and Blues supported him. George had several bet makers in his employment, and no matter which chariot team was up, he enjoyed a steady and comfortable profit. Gambling was one of his more secure forms of income, and George had his pudgy fingers in many pies - pimping, extortion, smuggling, fencing, theft. Only poor weather and poor attendance caused a drop in a day¡¯s earnings at the Hippodrome. Today the weather had been fine until the evening rain. Attendance was poor, but it had been poor for months. The marks on the tablets were telling him one of his bet makers had lost so heavily the others had been forced to band together to cover his losses - paying with George¡¯s money - and still short. The furrowing of the brow in the lumpy face gave warning of his mood to his steward as the man quietly stepped in to whisper the bet makers waited outside. ¡°Waiting with excuses,¡± George scowled. It was not a pretty sight and looked like a snarl. Unlike a snarling bear or wolf with sharp white fangs, George¡¯s visible teeth were rotted black stumps on inflamed gums in a reeking mouth. ¡°Send them in.¡± The steward returned a few moments later with a file of men all with downcast eyes caps in their hands. ¡°You do not have my money, do you? And you want me to do what? Cover your shortfall like the generous Christian I am? Is that it?¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. No response was forthcoming. ¡°Why did you even bother coming here with your cocks in your hands? So I could see your sad faces? Which one of you assholes lost my coin?¡± One shuffled forward. ¡°Domine you must understand¡­ the wager was foolish.¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve seen the tablets.¡± ¡°No, please Domine. Not foolish for me - foolish for the Latin.¡± ¡°What Latin?¡± ¡°The man who made the wager, Domine.¡± George rose his bulk. ¡°This whole loss,¡± he said smacking the man across the face with one of the wax tablets, ¡°Is from one wager? With a Latin?¡± Kosmas flinched, but endured the blow. His nose bled. ¡°Nai Domine, he wagered all on an outside chariot. Gold Domine. An old¡­ nobody. He wanted to wager more. Much more. I would only accept half. And after the race I could do nothing but pay. Many regular gamblers saw and talked of the wager. Some followed him to the seats and continued to bet with him. I offered seven for two. In the stands he offered even. What would you have done?¡± ¡°I would have smelled something. Who is he?¡± said George. The file of bet makers shrugged their shoulders and looked at their shoes. Fat George began again, ¡°I want to understand why I have no money today. A man, from Italia -you never see him before - walked up to you and wagered - gold - on only one chariot, an outside car, in only one race? And you know nothing?¡± ¡°They were Latins.¡± Kosmas ventured again. ¡°They?¡± ¡°There were two of them. An older gruff one who made the bet and a younger burly one.¡± ¡°And you have no idea who they were or where they have gone?¡± A cough came from the file of side betters. ¡°Domine, I sent Andros Deletes and his cousins to follow them.¡± ¡°Andros Deletes has the mind of an ox, and his cousins are dumber still, but at least that is something. You have slightly more sense than the rest. We may recover something yet.¡± It was at this point the steward came discreetly in again, caught his master¡¯s eye and quietly conveyed to him that one of the Deletes clan was without - something about his cousin Andros being ¡°taken out.¡± Chapter 39 - A Celebration Dinner Chapter 39 A Celebration Dinner Brian the Saxon slogged through the wind and rain as he escorted the Emperor¡¯s litter back to the Blachernae Palace in the city northwest. No sooner had he entered the gates when the deluge gave out to a spattering again. Having given and received the correct password for the changing of the guard, he retired for the evening. Still in armor, which he wore like a second skin, and with his long axe slung over his shoulder he made an imposing figure as he ambled his way back along the city¡¯s second great mese. Traffic - even muleteers - moved out of his way. To his left the aqueduct of Valens ran from the Church of the Apostles on the fourth hill to feed the sculpted fountains of Great Nymphaeum on the third hill. After merging on to the Great Mese it had grown dark and by the time he had walked the entire way back to the Forum of Constantine, he was in need of the promised drink - or several. Ducking inside the candle lit tavern Brian found Pons with a party of men occupying the largest table. Pons sat at the far end, beside him on his left was his sergeant beside whom was a rough looking fellow with a bruise forming on the middle of his forehead and a dazed look about him. Next to him sat what appeared to be a crippled elderly beggar. To Pons¡¯ right sat John Ducas, who nodded hello. Beside the bureaucrat on the bench rested his tall mitre of office. Next to the peaked headdress sat a priest - one of the fellows in the Patriarch¡¯s circle - Brian had seen him from time to time but could not recall his name. Seeing Brian, Pons¡¯ smiled and waved him over. ¡°Sit¡± he called and motioned to the seat beside himself, indicating to the low men to shuffle along. ¡°Wine?¡± Pons offered. ¡°Fill the bowl.¡± ¡°Lean your axe up against the wall. The eel is fantastic here.¡± ¡°I know. I was the one who recommended this place to you. The wedding. Back when everything was happy. Before the Basileus became ill, and everything started to go to Hell.¡± ¡°Ahhh. Remember when¡­¡± * * * If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Nestor the storyteller, left seatless, picked up his crutch and shuffled back from the table. At the beginning of the evening poor Nestor had anticipated a nice dinner paid for by his winning patrons, followed by a ¡®gracia¡¯ for his services. A nice tip. Once Fat George¡¯s name was mentioned he simply hoped to get some money, anything, before the Latins were killed. But then the table began filling up with people far beyond what he thought was his employer¡¯s station. The first to arrive was a nobleman in blue robes which denoted his high status. His miter of office was so tall he was forced to carry it as he entered and set it on the bench beside himself. Wine of the first quality was poured in a cup for the newcomer, and he fell into conversation with the Latin who called himself Pons. An appetizer of olives, oil, and fresh bread was served. Next a senior priest in fine robes entered and asked to speak to Captini Pons. He was invited to join the meal. Beggar, prince, or priest, no one in Constantinople ever turned down the offer of a free meal. Eel and oysters were served. More wine was poured. A child was sent to a nearby vendor to get groggy Andros a chicken. Someone called for lamb, and another child was sent scurrying. Now one of the emperor¡¯s bodyguards had arrived. Again wine was poured. More eel, more oysters. ¡°Where are they hiding the doxies?¡± the crossbowman queried. Quiet for once, Nestor cocked an ear to the conversation, and tried to pass unnoticed. * * * Whilst Pons turned his attention to the noble to his right and began to confer, Cyn leaned in to speak with the soldier beside him. ¡°Forgive me, Capitini Pons introduced us this morning, but today I have met so many people, I can not remember your name.¡± ¡°I am called Brian.¡± ¡°Si, Brian the Saxon. Why are you called Brian the Saxon? You are a Varangian, no? Why not Brian the Verangian?¡± ¡°My grandfather was a Saxon. He left when the Normans invaded and sought his fortune in the east. He sold his sword, or to be more correct, traded it for one of these axes. He became bodyguard to the old Emperor Alexios. My father was captain of the guard under Emperor John, and I served under Manuel and now his son Alexios. All of the Varangians, or their fathers, are from outside the Empire. Some are Rus. Some from the lands of the Dane.¡± ¡°Have you been to Saxon lands?¡± ¡°Oh no, never. The farthest north and west I have ever been is to Bulgar lands. To the east I have been to the lands of the heathen. You?¡± ¡°Up and down Italia. I won the prize for archery at a tourney in the land of the Franks. Far to the west. Do you know what that is - a tourney? Do you have them?¡± ¡°With the lancers and the melee? I have seen - in the Hippodrome- when the knights came through on pilgrimage they displayed their prowess. What a sight.¡± Chapter 40 - God Gets His End of the Action Chapter 40 God Gets His End of the Action Fat George fumed as he ambled his bulk along the mese to the Forum of Constantine. Behind him was Kosmas, and three of the other bet makers all armed with cudgels. Beside him walked the Deletes cousin, a stout fellow in his late adolescence holding a torch to light their way. George himself retrieved an antique Roman gladius style short sword from a chest. No belt could readily be found long enough to go around him so he held the weapon sheathed. He had no intention of using it in combat though. George knew his fighting days were behind him, but once the two Latins were beaten into submission, he felt he might take a slice or two off of them before getting his coin back. Assuming they were still at their meal, and assuming they were still being watched by the two remaining Deletes men. With them that would bring his numbers up to a formidable eight against two. Let the foreigners beat those odds. George wheezed as he plodded through the forum. The mumbling torch bearer was filling him in on the situation they were likely to face as they walked. ¡°Also one has a hu-huge crossbow.¡± George stepped in a puddle of rain water and glowered. ¡°Say again.¡± ¡°Th-they had a big cr-crossbow on the table,¡± the young man stuttered. ¡°You could have mentioned that earlier. Right. Kosmas you take the front. If someone goes down tonight let it be you, you sniveling shit.¡± The two members of the Deletes clan were still at the entrance of the Golden Eel. ¡°They in there? Eating and drinking my money away?¡± George barked. ¡°Fall in.¡± ¡°Domine they are not alone,¡± the bald one said. ¡°What do you mean? Who¡¯s with them?¡± The bald man motioned for George to see for himself. A waft of smoke from the fish grilling on the charcoal braziers near the entrance obscured his vision as he peered into the candle lit common room. ¡°The Quality, that''s who. And a priest from the basilica. And an Imperial guard in the bargain.¡± When the smoke drifted past he saw the bald man was correct. At the far end of a crowded table sat a man with a leather cap who was waving in their direction as if to make a cheery greeting. He motioned for them to enter, calling, ¡°Look who is here. It is Kosmas. Has Kosmas come to pay?¡± Stolen story; please report. Pons stood and smiled. ¡°Father, your Eminence, may I introduce Kosmas. Earlier Kosmas and I had a wager on one of the races, and my team won. Forgive me, I know Father to give in to such vice is sinful, but I felt so lucky, and a holy brother advised me to do so. Unfortunately Kosmas was a little short, but he has with him someone who is a little fat, so now no doubt he has come to settle. Honest fellow that he is. No?¡± George said not a word. Kosmas looked like he would rather be at the bottom of the Bosphorus. Pons motioned the gamblers and the Deletes clan forward. ¡°Here you lot. Gather up Andros and take him home to his missus. Mind the knock on his head. That¡¯ll free us up a seat at the table for George. It is George isn¡¯t it? You lads can go. Your betters will come to an arrangement.¡± In near silence and with a minimum of fuss he was obeyed. George heaved in and sat on the vacant seat. The wooden bench groaned under the combined weight of the Varangian, Cyn, and himself. Kosmas was left to stand at the back with Nestor and his crutch. The storyteller nodded at him and gave a shy shrug. The priest sensing the tension made moves as if to leave. ¡°Perhaps I should get going as well. Thank you most graciously for the repast. So delicious. I had almost forgotten the reason for my stopping, namely to relay this message: The Patriarch will not be returning to the city until late tomorrow evening. He is across the Propontis visiting a monastery and will not sail until late. Perhaps the day following, after morning mass, he could meet with you.¡± ¡°Please Father, tarry a moment. I have an idea to benefit the church. I cleaned unfortunate Kosmas out, but now Father I transfer his debt of five gold pieces to the church as my tithe for the wealth which God¡¯s Grace has provided. Five gold pieces is one part in ten of what luck has provided. That is right and proper for a tithe. George can discharge the debt the next time he goes to the basilica.¡± ¡°I attend mass at St Euphemia¡¯s,¡± the words snarled out of George¡¯s mouth around the flesh of silver lamprey, to which he had helped himself, and his own rotting teeth. ¡°Father, I am sure an arrangement can be made with the prelate of the church of St. Euphemia. No? Good then it is settled. How fortunate, now George does not have to go hunting all over the city to pay me back.¡± The priest mulled over this or a moment before he proffered his hand to shake in a bargain. And there George was - thrust into a debt with the church. With a magistrate, looking fit to burst with laughter, witnessing the whole thing. Kosmas would never be dead enough. He finished his wine, belched, and stood. The sheathed gladius was still in his left hand and he longed to plunge it into everyone at the table, but summoning his dignity he nodded, shook the priest¡¯s hand with his right, and bid the table a good evening. Kosmas followed at a distance, as George plodded home, but he could feel the rage coming off of him. ¡°I should cut your throat right now and leave your body here in Constantine¡¯s forum next to the column. Why don¡¯t I do that? You have cost me all the day''s take of the wager stalls. I should cut your cock off and feed it to the pigs. Plus a debt of five gold coins now owing the church and witnessed by the Emperor¡¯s cousin for all I know. Why would you risk coin - MY coin with such men? Maybe an impaling with a long greased pole up your arse. You can be replaced by next race day and the other bet makers will take better heed from your unfortunate example.¡± It was a long walk home for Kosmas. Chapter 41 - Later That Evening Chapter 41 Later That Evening At the Golden Eel the candles had burned low and only Pons remained at the table with his two drunken guests. Cyn had gone with the old storyteller to find a girl. All the other customers had drifted off and only the proprietor and his wife remained ¡°There was a man, dressed in black, lacking a nose, who spoke with the Emperor. Who is he?¡± Pons asked. John Doucas leaned back from the table and crossed his arms over his chest and belched. He gestured to Brian. ¡°You are with the Emperor all day. You must know his name when he is summoned. What are your opinions regarding the fellow?¡± ¡°You will not catch me spreading court gossip so easily. I defer to your eminence¡¯s judgment.¡± Sighing and leaning forward again John Doucas said, ¡°To answer your question: his name is Stephen Hagiocharistophrites - which means bringer of Christ, although one courtier, who fancies himself a wit, recently referred to him as Stephen HagioAntiCharistophrites - bringer of the Anti-Christ. The sobriquet has stuck and we will no doubt shortly see the man who coined the nickname dead in an alley or mauled by a bear between the races.¡± He looked to Brian. ¡°Varangian - your task is to protect the Emperor Alexios, and this Stephen Hagiocharistophrites is exactly the sort of vile, loathsome cretin you are to protect him from.¡± Looking to Pons he added, ¡°I have no idea how he tacked himself on to Emperor Andronikos or why he is trusted, but if you want my opinion, as to who killed your master''s valiant young son¡­ seek no further.¡± Brian held up a finger, finished his bowl of wine and poured another brimming one before saying. ¡°Greatest respect eminence, but I don¡¯t think he did. Kill your Renier, I mean. The Caesar was formidable - that noseless sneak would not have stood a chance against him in a fight. I wager he was poisoned. On the same night as his wife, Maria Porphoregenita was poisoned. And I wager a eunuch - the one who brings Emperor Andronikos his cupful of tonic each morning - is the one who did it. All was confusion for three days.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. John Ducas belched again and nodded to Brian. ¡°Do not finish that bowl. I need you able to stand and escort me to my home safely carrying all of this old highwayman¡¯s loot. I don¡¯t want you pissing up against some wall when his enemies come for me. In the city only a single day and he has half a dozen men armed with cudgels out for his blood. He is a Latin alright. I can see why the Margrave of Montferrat has faith in him.¡± * * * Prudently Cyn set out into the streets with enough coin for an extravagant romp, but not so much that if he were to lose it or his purse were cut, he would feel too poorly. ¡°Quality beds. The prettiest girls.¡± Nestor said he knew just the place, but the city was immense and it took forever to get there, at the limping pace the storyteller set. Cyn tried getting him to sing. Loudly. ¡°Please sirrah, it is not the custom to be so noisy at night. Those men from earlier may come back, or others with even worse intentions. Please lower your voice.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Shhhh.¡± Finally, off a lesser messe up a bit from a forum which Cyn had passed through earlier in the day (or had he? Everything looked different in the dark) they came to a door in a wall. Nestor¡¯s banging opened the door long enough for a quick up and down inspection by the major-domo of the establishment. The door was shut on them after a contemptuous ¡°Fuck off.¡± Follow up knocking and a display of silver eventually allowed admittance. Four sleepy girls were roused for Cyn¡¯s perusal. Now this was what he had been talking about. Despite the lateness of the hour and the lack of a prior appointment - beauties each one. Buxom and curvy or svelte and lithe. Raven haired or strawberry blonde. Fair skin and freckled or dusky and smooth. Pink nipples, brown nipples. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose¡­ If you¡¯ve any to spare¡­ It has been such a long time¡­¡± Nestor looked hopeful. ¡°You had free dinner and wine after the races. That is enough fun for one day Pops.¡± Cyn gave him a couple of silver coins. ¡°Wait here and take me back to my friend in the morning.¡± He gave a couple more coins to the curviest of the girls. ¡°Tell her to give your old legs a rub.¡± Drunk and horny he went off with a quiet girl who closely resembled the beauty from the Emperor¡¯s box at the races. Chapter 42 - Meanwhile, At the Palace Chapter 42 Meanwhile, At the Palace It was the darkest part of the night. The guard at the gate of the Blachernae Palace had known this as the hour of the wolf as a youth in his homeland of Rus. All was still and cool after the previous evening¡¯s thunder shower with a light fog in from the sea. Even the insects and gulls were at rest. A knock at the gate was muffled in the mist. The guard slid back the viewing slit set in the heavy wooden door at Varangian height to look down on the face of a skull - cloaked and hooded in black. ¡°I am expected.¡± The guard grunted and withdrew the bolt to allow the portal to open and the shadowy figure to enter. ¡°My orders were to send you directly to his personal chambers. I take it, you know the way?¡± Stephen swept on, walking past the guard and into the courtyard, without deigning to reply. He strode past the fountains, statues, and topiary without so much as glancing at the red brick building to his right - the dungeon where he and Andronikos had met and shared stories years earlier. The Varangians at the entrance to the palace building proper, and those at the entrance to the Emperor¡¯s sleeping chamber, followed the same orders as their brother at the gate and allowed him to pass. The last two foreign soldiers refused to even look Stephen in the eyes. This made him smile as he knocked at the final door. Dangerous warriors made disquiet. Having a skull-like face had its advantages. Hearing a sleepy, ¡°Come,¡± he lifted the latch and stepped in. The chamber beyond was cool and dark. The only light was a soft silvery glimmer of moonlight fighting its way through the mist to to glisten off the polished marble pillars which flanked the door to the terrace. On the sleeping couch Stephen could see two figures under a coverlet, the curve of a shapely leg bare. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Basileus it is I, Stephen. You told me to come no matter the hour.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes. Do come closer.¡± To his bed mate he said, ¡°Wake up, Sweetling.¡± ¡°Make him go away. I am sleepy. It is not morning yet.¡± A soft murmur. ¡°No. Stephen has a story to tell, and his story is so exciting it can not wait until dawn. It is best told in the dark. Is that not so, Stephen?¡± Stephen was not a storyteller of Nestor¡¯s quality, but he knew his audience and so he skipped the preamble. Of no interest were the finer details of how Stephen had whistled up half a score of disreputable thugs: criminals, young provincials seeking advancement in the capital by whatever means necessary - as he had once been himself, discontented men from the watch and regular army. The evening¡¯s work would see if they had what it took to continue soldiering on in the new reign. Although it was exciting in its own way, Stephen did not tell the Emperor how he and his cadre barged into the convent, baring the doors behind themselves to prevent escape. During the rampage the holy sisters fled with shrieks and wails or cowered with sobs and prayers. The Mother Superior sensing what was about to ensue, grabbed a crozier from beside the altar and tried futilely to bar the intruders'' progress towards the Empress Regent¡¯s apartments. She was struck aside. Andronikos did not need details of the setting, how the apartments were sumptuously decorated, despite Maria having only occupied them a few days earlier. Xene. Not Maria. Foreigner. Proudly calling herself what she was. When she had taken her vows as a nun she had also taken on that new name. Whatever she was calling herself these days, Stephen decided the furnishings were too luxurious to befit a bride of Christ. Humility was needed. Nor did the Emperor need a description of the main character. He knew her and despised her. The woman herself, even in her last hour, had the boldness of State which had been bred into her and nurtured since she was an infant, to demand: ¡°Who dares approach me in such a manner?¡± Then seeing the death¡¯s head visage stalking sowards her, she spat. ¡°I should have known he would not stoop to violate a holy sanctuary. Of course the old coward sends his most loathsome, boot-licking, henchman to do murder in the night. My son will see the justice of this.¡± ¡°Oh, It is not a murder. It is an execution. I have with me your death warrant.¡± Stephen produced the rolled document with a flourish and a sinister smile. ¡° Please read it. Be sure to check the seal and signature.¡± Skipping to the heart of the narrative, Stephen began to whisper his story. Chapter 43 - Mariapitkee Wakes Up Chapter 43 Mariapitkee Wakes Up In the dark Mariapitkee was roused from her sleep by whispering, voices talking. Andronikos and someone else? ¡°Tell me her words. And her voice? How did she hold herself?¡± The Emperor asked. ¡°First she stormed on about how the Lords of Outremer would not stand for this.¡± ¡°Alas the Lords of Outremer were all in Outremer tonight.¡± The voice in the shadows sneered. ¡°Will they send an army or a fleet do you think?¡± ¡°Ha. A leaking cog and an old monk to collect her bones more like.¡± More low laughter. ¡°When she saw her own son¡¯s signature, in ink as red as blood¡­ Basileus, you should have seen her face. Magnificent. She became as white as the face of the moon. And tears.¡± Chortles and chuckles. Mariapitkee, still groggy, nestling against the Emperor¡¯s long body, hoped the annoying intruder would be berated and dismissed. She could not make out who was whispering in the darkness near the arched doorway. What was he talking about? ¡°As to her last words, Basileus, I am not certain. She was begging, and praying, and it took so long. It was difficult to make out what she was trying to say. I strangled her with her robe¡¯s silk sash¡± The words hissed from the shadows. Mariapitkee jolted to sudden alertness. ¡°A silk robe? Was she not in a nun¡¯s habit?¡± ¡°No, she was wearing her expensive feathers. Until I stripped them off of her.¡± A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°And once she was disrobed? Was her form as beautiful as her face suggested? I took her sister Phillipa¡¯s maidenhood twenty years ago. She was exquisite.¡± The Emperor lifted the coverlet off and ran his fingers across the nape of Mariapitkee¡¯s neck to her shoulder. Naked and chilled she shivered. Gooseflesh pricked her thighs. Against her will, her nipples hardened. ¡°Was she as comely nude as the statue of Hera in the Forum of Constantine, or like unto one of the Muses carved into the Nymphaeum fountains? This question seemed to confuse the whisperer in the darkness for he paused. ¡°She was womanly and buxom¡­¡± ¡°Stephen, you rough fellow. And then what did you do?¡± Mariapitkee¡¯s wrists were grasped tightly and forcefully. A skull-like face leaned out from the shadows. She stifled a scream. ¡°Did you make the deceitful harlot pay for her sins and treachery?¡± The Emperor forced himself between her legs. ¡°I wound the cord around her neck and pulled .¡± The Emperor¡¯s hands were around her throat squeezing. She struggled to move but her hands were pinned above her head. The skull smiled and whispered on, telling of how the Emperor Alexios¡¯ mother was violated as he strangled her to the point of death. Mariapitkee saw bright lights at the corner of her vision. A rushing sound filled her ears. Her back arched. The light brightened and expanded to fill her vision despite the darkness of the chamber. ¡°Then I would relax the cord a bit¡­¡± Gasping. Air rushed back into her lungs. The room returned to her senses, moonlight on the marble, the horrible man from the kasthima this afternoon held her wrists like a vice. The Emperor¡¯s terrible thrusting weight. She wanted to scream, but could only cough and sob. ¡°And once I got tired of listening to her beg for her life, I would pull on the cord some more to shut her up.¡± The sinister susurration continued. The choking resumed. Again the bright light, the rushing in her ears, and the room receded once more. When Mariapitkee came back to her senses the evil minion had withdrawn and the Emperor was in an antechamber relieving himself. She was curled into a bruised, bleeding ball. She sobbed silently. It was the Empress Regent who was dead. Not her. Not this time. When The Emperor returned from pissing he cupped Mariapitkee¡¯s chin and wiped away a tear. ¡°Look. I have bruised your throat, haven¡¯t I? Poor girl. I am afraid I was too caught up in Stephen¡¯s story. Return to your master and come back to us when you are perfectly lovely to look at once more. Have one or two of the other girls sent to replace you. Your sister perhaps.¡± Chapter 44 - At the Break of a New Day Chapter 44 At the Break of a New Day Other great love stories of the so-called Middle Ages feature forbidden love between monks and nuns, jousts for m¡¯lady¡¯s hand, or princesses freed from ransom. The greatest romance of them all began inauspiciously as rosy fingered dawn was reaching over the Queen of Cities. Abused, ravaged, weeping, stumbling in a daze, and terrified unto death, Mariapitkee made her way alone from the Blachernae Palace back to Pandarus¡¯ slave market near the Forum of Theodosius. Despair filled her. It was as if she was cast into the ocean far from shore without even so much as a piece of flotsam to cling to. Tired, hung over, spent, and lost (where were they?) - Cyn made his way out of the ¡°finest house of pleasure in the city¡± - or so Nestor had told him - which the light of day revealed to be a furnished building attached to a specialty slave market near the Forum of Theodosius. Fatigue filled him and he felt like flotsam floating in the ocean. When Mariapitkee saw the handsome young fellow from yesterday¡¯s races emerge from the brothel, it was she who felt a flush of shame. The crossbowman could see the beauty from the kasthima (the actual actual girl - not the quiet one who looked so much alike whom he had woken next to) was distraught and had been weeping. She could not disguise the bruising on her throat. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. She could speak no Latin, and he could hardly speak any Greek, but he had acquired enough of the language, and his mother had instilled enough politeness in him, to inquire as to a person''s health. She shyly said she was well. He handed her a cloth to wipe away her tears. ¡°Nestor, ask her¡­¡± Cyn did not know what to ask her. The girl exchanged a whirl of words with the old storyteller. One of the other things Cyn knew in Greek was how to inquire as to a person¡¯s name. He interrupted the conversation to ask. He had never encountered the name before, but it was the most beautiful word he had ever heard. Mary-a-pit-key. She lowered her eyes and entered the building. ¡°What did she say?¡± Cyn asked Nestor. ¡°She wanted to know who you were?¡± ¡®What did you say?¡± ¡°To be honest, I do not know who you are. I told her you were a lord from the west.¡± ¡°I like the sound of that.¡± * * * Upstairs, Mariapitkee slunk into an empty room and curled up on a bed. Later, Eyrienee entered, sat next to her, and put hand on her shoulder to console her. Mariapitkee was grateful for her attempt at comfort. She cried anew knowing it was too awful to speak about what had happened. She did not know how to warn her sister of the peril she would face in the palace. For her part Eyrienee remained silent as always. They lay down together close on the small bed. Mariapitkee stroked Eyrienee¡¯s long black hair, and hummed softly, her sobs interrupted by quiet hiccups. Eyrienee was sleepy having been up with a late customer. At least he had been handsome and clean - if stumbling drunk. It was only later that Mariapitkee realized the cloth she was drying her tears with was the mappa she had dropped at the races. Chapter 45 - Grave Diggin’ Chapter 45 Grave Diggin¡¯ Pons had put off the unsavory task for as long as possible, both by dawdling on the journey to Constantinople, and by dragging his feet once he had gotten to the city. On the morning after the race he woke up hungover, muscles stiff, laying on a pallet in an alcove at the top of a ladder at the back of the Eel. Cyn snored beside him, having stumbled in after dawn. All of their kit was piled about them. A sufficient sleeping arrangement for one night, but this would need fixing. Down the ladder and in the common room Pons found the owner cleaning grills and his wife gutting the catch of the day which had already been fetched in. Nestor waited on a bench with two loaves from the nearby bakery and a happy-to-see-you smile on his face. ¡°Good morning,¡± Pons greeted everyone. ¡°Momma, last night¡¯s meal - the best ever I ate.¡± He clapped his hand on the proprietor¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Poppa, I enjoyed the wine very much, perhaps too much. This sleeping cubicle at the back will not suffice for the long term, however.¡± With Nestor¡¯s help translating when needed, he then gave instructions to have a large room added to the top of the building - a loft suite of sorts - for Cyn and himself. Two beds and a seating area. And get rid of the ladder - stairs instead. Also two windows - one in front and one in back for air. Open mouthed, the proprietor took a handful of coins. ¡°Today would be better than tomorrow.¡± Then over his shoulder, ¡°Cyn get up, builders are coming. We will get to the baths and you will feel better. Perhaps we will stop and get some new clothing first, no point in bathing if we are going to climb into the same stinky garments again afterwards. Nestor will run our old things back here to Mother for washing, while we go back to that monastery and sell the horses. No need to stable them since we are staying.¡± Cyn descended the ladder and entered the common room - his head hung low. ¡°Is bathing going to become a habit now?¡± * * * The following morning was given over to meeting with the Patriarch of the Hagia Sophia. Not the whole morning. Barely three minutes of it. Cyn was afforded his first view of young Emperor Alexios the Second at the basilica. Heavily robed in multiple layers of cloth, the adolescent sweated and picked his nose during the long, long, long mass. Later the boy broke down in the most undignified tears after the Patriarch informed him of his mother¡¯s death the previous day. Cyn and Pons were far back in the line to speak with the head of the Eastern Church, but Cyn found the boy''s weeping was loud and unmanly. Awkwardly the line shuffled along as the sobbing Emperor was led back to the palace. What would it take, the mercenary wondered, to take this entire city? Seize it - from the gilding on the highest church spire to the treasure in the oldest tomb in the lowest crypt. Pons handed over the lady''s purse he had purchased, saying Dame Judith wished her son would be interred with the correct rites. In truth there was no need to seek the permission of anyone to provide a proper Christian burial for a body found on a beach, however there could be no harm in keeping the Alamarici family of Montferatto in the prayers of the Patriarch. Perhaps higher in his prayers than the new co-emperor. Palace and church were not in accord. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The morning after an excursion to the north side of the Golden Horn was undertaken. In order to get there Pons and Cyn had to cross through the ruins of the former Latin Quarter. Of actual smoldering which John Ducas had spoken of, they could see none, although there was plenty of ash and burnt timbers. Soot and cinders crunched under their boots. No attempt to rebuild or even clear rubble was underway. Nestor explained that some souls, ashamed at what their fellow citizens had done, had arranged for a clean up of the (looted) bodies. The old storyteller met them every morning having attached himself in a tour guide cum translator capacity - taking on additional duties as a construction foreman providing input to the builders on the upstairs loft. Pons was happy to have someone new to natter with. Nestor¡¯s sluggish pace irritated Cyn, but he had no idea how to get anywhere on his own, and barely enough Greek to ask for directions (if anyone would speak to a Latin), so he needed the fellow. A hired boat took them the short distance across the water to Galatia and a quick walk brought them to St. Paul¡¯s by the Tower. The Catholic church had been spared from the horrors which had happened to the south. In the months since the massacre the clergy had tried to assist the surviving refugees escape to the land of the Bulgars to the north west. Burials for the dead had been in mass graves on hastily consecrated ground. Now with their entire congregation fled or dead the priests were as poor as the mice in their own church. Grateful for the chance to conduct a funeral with pomp and get paid for it they offered a place for interment. * * * The morning after visiting the church in Galatia dawned clear and breezy. No more putting it off. With Nestor¡¯s help, and following the directions provided by Marius, they found the fisherman already in from the sea mending his nets. Cyn pulled a cart with a coffin and some spades which were transferred to the cramped fishing boat. Nestor trundled the cart back to the city. The coffin, Pons, Cyn, and the fisherman¡¯s son, a boy of about twelve, put out and sailed south. Gulls circled overhead and the saltwater spray from the azure water of the Bosphorus was refreshing. Not far - had there been no cliffs or vegetation they could have easily walked - to the small deserted stretch of beach. The rolling surf brought the skiff in gently. Walking sluggishly they stepped over browning seaweed - sand dragging at their feet - to where a cross stuck in the sand formed by two sticks tied together. A few ¡®shunks¡¯ of the shovels later, under about a meter of sand they came to the ribcage of their master¡¯s son. ¡°Sad end for poor Renier. Did you know him well?¡± Pons asked. ¡°Not really. He was a few years younger than me. Of course, I would see him about. He was always polite to me, but no, I can not say I knew him. You?¡± ¡°He was Dame Judith¡¯s baby. Long after the rest. Her favorite. In truth I do not think she wanted him to come to this foreign court.¡± ¡°Lord Conrad was concerned as well.¡± ¡°Foreboding? It is easy to say so now - after the worst has happened.¡± ¡°He does not smell as bad as I thought he would.¡± ¡°No. I think the crabs got to him. We certainly did not need a full coffin. Look how small he is. I will take it back and get an ossuary instead.¡± ¡°You will take a loss.¡± ¡°A nice ossuary then.¡± The bones were more yellow than ivory with red blonde hair - like his brothers - on what remained of the skin on the skull and jaw bone. As they lifted the skeleton from the grave, Cyn thought with the viscera nibbled away it resembled a puppet he had seen once at a fair dancing on strings. Gristle, sinew, and tendon kept the body intact, but with some folding - maybe pulling the thighs free from the hip - Renier would fit in an ossuary. He weighed far less than his simple coffin. All back on board, Pons instructed the fisherman''s son to take them north to the Galatia docks. Chapter 46 - A Fellow Mourner Chapter 46 A Fellow Mourner On the following afternoon the funeral was held. The church of St. Paul¡¯s by the Tower was not a large domed edifice with soaring columns like some in the city proper. It was stone, close, and simple. Pons had spent enough coin for what he thought was sufficient incense, not realizing how much cheaper it was in the east than Montferrat. As a result a cloyingly perfumed miasma was pouring out of the censors and thuribles. The choir which had been brought in at reasonable expense from a nearby Orthodox church were choking, coughing, and gagging, through some of the sonorous Latin hymns which were universally known. The red eyed priest, a Genoan, sneezed throughout the prayers. Pons and Cyn were not the only mourners. A dashing olive skinned man, about twenty years old, stood quietly near the open door. A servant with a palm frond stood nearby gently wafting the plumes of scented smoke away. The well dressed youth did not perform the steps of the ritual service and remained silent. After the ossuary was carried into the crypt, Pons stepped outside onto the portico to speak to the handsome young man. ¡°I did not expect anyone else to be here. Thank you for coming. This must be some risk for you.¡± ¡°There is a chance I could be apprehended. However, word would get out. ¡®Why was Theodore Kantakouzenos taken - in a church? Whose funeral was he attending?¡¯ Then they would be reminded afresh of the murders of the Emperor¡¯s sister and brother-in-law. The risk is worth it. He was my best friend in all the world. He did not deserve to be cast into the sea. I thank you, sirrah, for bringing him to rest.¡± The raven haired man gestured to his servant who produced a purse. Smooth, thought Pons. From the somber yet stylish funeral attire, to the careful way he pronounced his name. Not at all boastful, but clearly ¡®Kan-ta-koo-zee-nos¡¯, politely for the benefit of the foreign ear. Not checking to see if the purse contained substantial coin or a mere gratia, Pons indicated for the servant to put it in the nearby poor box. Let him make of that what he will. The young noble nodded at the pleasantry. ¡°His mother would be pleased to know you were here for him in the end.¡± ¡°I could not defend him.¡± ¡°From poison? Even the charm his brother gave him for his wedding did not help. A ring set with a peridot gem to protect him.¡± ¡°Peridots provide protection from nightmares. Garnets are proof against poison. His brother bought the wrong gift.¡± ¡°Still and all, your friend and my Lord¡¯s son¡­ lies behind us in this church with God.¡± Pons made the sign of the cross in the Catholic manor, as did Theodore in the way of the Orthodox Church. Theodore kissed the gold cross which hung at his neck. ¡°The question is: ¡®What comes next?¡¯ Our mutual friend mentioned you are not happy with the current state of affairs in the Empire.¡± ¡°Emperor Alexios must be protected from this monster.¡± ¡°My master would agree.¡± ¡°Andronikos Komnenos must be thrown down.¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Also agreed. The palace is across the water. We can be there within the hour. I am not sure of the new Emperor¡¯s sense of honor, but I do not think he would feel obliged to respond to a challenge. I am told you are valiant (John Ducas had not said that), I am an experienced soldier (true enough), and Cyn here is keen for vengeance (Cyn was not following the conversation, but was eying the poor box to determine how to discreetly get the coins later). However, I doubt the three of us could overcome a phalanx of Imperial guards.¡± ¡°We must take to the field. Our friend says you have coin, but no army.¡± Pons indicated Cyn with his thumb. ¡°We have one another.¡± ¡°That is a very small army.¡± The youth smiled at the banter. ¡°You were Caesar Ionnes¡¯ master at arms?¡± ¡°Hardly. His father was his master at arms and he had four older brothers with which to practice. All I did was teach him some dirty fighting tricks for on the ground should he become unhorsed.¡± ¡°You could train the men I am levying on my estates.¡± ¡°Your own retired veterans will do a better job than I.¡± ¡°I do not suppose you have brought any dragon''s teeth from the west to plant?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± The mythological reference slid past Pons. ¡°We need an army of mercenaries.¡± ¡°Andronikos found one. There it sits.¡± Pons pointed to the west of the palace. ¡°You can see the smoke of their campfires from here. How does he pay them? Our friend says Maria of Antioch and Alexios the Protosebastos left the treasury empty. Full as it has ever been when Emperor Manuel died¡­ yet today nothing.¡± ¡°Andronikos pays them with promises.¡± ¡°We have coin - and they are mercenaries. See. I found you an army. They do not even need to march. Already in place. We negotiate with the leader, hire the force, bringing with us wagons loaded with ladders. Everybody puts on armor. We scale the palace wall and it can be ours by dawn - if we act quickly.¡± The young noble looked at Pons. ¡°Christos! Bribe this heathen army and storm the palace? You jest.¡± Nothing on Pons¡¯ face indicated he was making a joke. ¡°No,¡± Theodore shook his head. ¡°An army of the unfaithful costs both coin and reputation. This army - camped right outside of the city - drains away Andronikos¡¯ support and helps win other noble families to our side.¡± Smooth and clever. Angry but not rash. ¡°Besides,¡± Theodore continued, ¡°Emperor Alexios could be injured in such an attack.¡± ¡°Emperor Alexios could be fed poisonous mushrooms in his soup tomorrow.¡± The young man was ready to cry out in frustration as he looked to the nearby palace with its walls. ¡°The Empress Regent is dead.¡± ¡°We have heard.¡± ¡°Her sister Agnes is married to King Bela of Hungary. She will force him to act.¡± ¡°Good, that is one ally.¡± Pons gestured due south beyond the sea wall to the ruined Latin quarter. ¡°The Venetians will not let this stand. Already they seek to bring the Norman King of Sicily to bear. Should Andronikos take to the field against either the Hungarians or Normans that could leave the back door to Constantinople open.¡± ¡°As I say, we must gather the great families, and take to the field. There are Turkopoles, Christians in Anatolia with mounted lancers who raid against the Sultan. Would you accompany an emissary to see if they would join forces with us?¡± ¡°I could. Where should I rally them? And when? It is September. There will be no campaign this year. Nothing will happen until this coming spring or even the following one? In war nothing happens quickly - until the moment when everything happens quickly indeed.¡± ¡°And Emperor Alexios?¡± Pons sighed. ¡°The boy is an honored hostage. He will be safe until his uncle is more secure, or until he shows any sign of independence.¡± ¡°And then?¡± ¡°And then his life will not be worth a clipped obol.¡± Chapter 47 - Churches and Races Chapter 47 Of Churches and Races After Renier¡¯s funeral Cyn found the days passed with little happening. The upstairs loft was completed and they settled in for a long stay. For places of worship, Pons and Cyn had their choice. Pons preferred Forty Martyrs Church. It was close by the Eel and the priests and congregation had a soldierly bent. Also the church was getting cleaned up and new art added. He would have preferred St. John¡¯s of the Hospital in the Latin Quarter, but it had been sacked along with the rest. To the mercenaries a church was a church. Pons had to remind Cyn to cross himself in the Eastern style. They could not understand the liturgy, be it Latin or Greek. Cyn had no preference and would spend hours wandering the streets in awe of the stone work, the grandeur, the opulence of it all. Overall he liked the music better here. If he had nothing better to do he would enter a church should a choir be practicing. No one minded if he stood quite-like and respectful. Sometimes Nestor would accompany him - running on about how such and such an emperor built the church. Cyn would snort, ¡°Truly? Constantine the what¡¯s his number? Did he build it? Or was it a guild of masons?¡± Church doors were open - never barred. Meager alms were distributed to the destitute. In each one Cyn noticed the lovely decorations. Golden candelabra in the Church of Christ Pantocrator, reliquaries inlaid with pearls in the Church of Christ Euergetes, the silver incense thurible in the Church of St. Mokios, the icons of the saints and Holy Family decorated with lapis lazuli, jasper, and amber in every church everywhere. Such wealth. Attending the Hippodrome occupied part of most afternoons. The first time they returned, Pons made a point of greeting Kosmas at the betting stands on the way in - inquiring if he and George had found time to make it to church yet. Cyn sniggered at the scowls from Kosmas and the other betters. In the stands Pons chose to sit opposite the kasthima, rather than adjacent to it. Cyn wanted to see the girl again, but she was not present. A buxom one was there instead - still pretty, but no Mariapitkee. Also in attendance this time was young Emperor Alexios along with Andronikos and some other gray beards. There was no sign of the slit-nose swindler who had run out on the bet. Nestor came accompanied by a friend and gaggle of urchins who were there to pick pickets and see the show. His first trip to the races with Pons and Cyn had produced three silver byzants, the best meal of his life, a head reeling with wine, and a rub with olive oil on his sore leg from a beauty less than half his age. He was their man for life. Pons shooed the brats away from their seats down to the railing by scattering some copper coins for them to chase. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Nestor¡¯s friend was a witty hunchback with a clubfoot. If Nestor was the elder statesman of Constantinople¡¯s beggars, Zinthziphitees was the emperor. That name again? Zinth - ziff - it - eeze? Madonna bless you did you sneeze? ¡°Zinth.¡± Pons said. ¡°We shall call you ¡®Zinth.¡¯¡± Cyn found Zinth spoke too quickly and wanted to charge them to rub his back for luck. As far as Cyn could tell this was how the man made his living. For an obol Zinth would let a gambler rub his back for luck, and he would also provide a witty rhyme, insult, or heckle for them to use on the opposing team, a mother-in-law, or whomever was irritating them. Cyn could not follow the Greek jests, but they brought laughter from the crowd. There were no executions on that day. With the junior Emperor so recently bereaved, it was felt executions might be upsetting. Instead more soft hearted and gentle entertainment was arranged. After the first race, tumblers took to the track somersaulting and cartwheeling. Tall wooden poles were quickly erected with a rope tightly strung between the tops. An acrobat scaled one pole and began to dance on the rope high in the air. Horses with smooth gaits trotted around the oval of the track while nimble contortionists did flips, headstands, and graceful balancing acts on their backs. A lion on a leash was led out. It gave a mighty roar before prostrating himself before the Emperors in the kasthima. The King of Beasts paying homage. Before the final race fifty brown hares in green collars and decorated with dyed ribbons were released from a hutch at the carceres end of the track, while at the same time fifty blue festooned white rabbits which had been trundled to the far end of the spina were released from their hutch. To the delight of the children in the crowd, Nestor¡¯s horde among them, the bunnies began to explore among the statuary. To the knowing amusement of the fathers in the stands five sleek hunting hounds, one brown, one black, one gray, one spotted, and one mostly white, were then walked in a slow snarling circle around the track. Bets were shouted: Which dog would get the most? Which group would last longest? (Green hares obviously, but Cyn could find no nearby Blue supporter who would make a bet against him.) When the hounds were released, not one of them even paused to bark, everyone in the crowd, however, shrieked in unison - albeit for different reasons. Just as well no one had taken his bet (though Cyn felt sure he would have won), since with no one to referee the ensuing mayhem, each dog¡¯s kill count was left to the opinion of each better. When the spotted hound and the brown hound ripped a rabbit in half, fists began to fly in the stands as to which one should be awarded the credit. As the melee spread Cyn added a few kicks and punches to the havoc for fun. Nestor¡¯s kids dried their tears and entered the fray to snatch purses from the distracted crowd. Yes, Cyn could come to the circuses everyday and enjoy himself. There was even chariot racing. As they were leaving Pons pressed a silver bezant into Zilth¡¯s hand. ¡°Do you know of Stephen HagioAnticharistophrites, Emperor Andronikos¡¯s henchman?¡± ¡°The noseless one?¡± ¡°The same. Can you make me a smart little rhyme about him?¡± ¡°For certes.¡± ¡°Take your time. Think about it. I want something pithy.¡± Chapter 48 - Axe Practice Chapter 48 Axe Practice Weeks passed. From time to time they would meet John Ducas at the baths. He and Pons would discretely gossip while Pons trimmed the elder statesman¡¯s beard and shaved his cheeks. He had little of serious importance to report. From time to time Brian the Saxon would pop by the Golden Eel. He and Pons would discretely gossip over wine and a meal. He let little of any real value slip. In their room over the Eel, Pons and Cyn lounged on a boring and rainy afternoon. Cyn sat on his bed with his back to the wall darning the cuffs of his tunic. From time to time a hand axe thrown by Pons would lazily spin end-over-end to unerringly land with a ¡®Thwock¡¯ in the center of a target - a few inches cleanly sawed off the end of a large log about a meter in circumference - which hung on one wall. Pons paced back and forth pulling his axe out of the wood and returning to stand at the far wall to throw it again. A single drip was coming through the tile roof and a cup had been set on the floor to catch the water. As more of a challenge, Pons was starting to time his throws to hit the falling drop on the way to the target. ¡°We need someone close to Emperor Andronikos who can secretly tell us of his plans so we can seek for an advantage.¡± Drip -Thwock. The center of the target was becoming pulpy from so many hits. ¡°A spy you mean?¡± ¡°Si,¡± Pons replied, pacing the room. ¡°Exactly.¡± ¡°John Ducas is friendly and knows everybody.¡± ¡°John Ducas¡¯ best friend is John Ducas. He is helping us, if he is helping us, only to keep a foot in both army camps. He sent word to young Theodore Kantakouzenos about Renier¡¯s funeral so we would meet. He wants to stir the soup pot without it seeming like he is doing anything. For all I know he could be seeking to lead us into a trap to increase his own standing with Emperor Andronikos, or for some other reason of his own. He will sit in the middle and not make any decision until he is absolutely certain which side will gain victory. Then he will try to turn the situation to his own advantage.¡± Drip -Thwock. ¡°He is friendly, though. Maybe why he is still alive.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°What about Brian the Saxon?¡± Pons crossed the room and retrieved his axe. ¡°Brian will meet us for some wine and tell a rumor or two, but he knows we are up to no good. He thinks he can protect Emperor Alexios until he comes of age to rule on his own. He cannot. Once the boy is dead he will have to be Andronikos¡¯ man, but he will not be happy about it - and he will only be doing it for coin, not for honor. If a suitable alternative to Andronikos could be found¡­ I like the boy from the funeral - noble of blood, but also noble of nature.¡± Drip - Thwock. Left handed this time - the hand axe still flipped true to the target center. ¡°Too young - did you see his thin little mustache?¡± ¡°Hair grows. Any barber will tell you that. People grow. A young emperor will hopefully mean a long reign. People are looking forward to peaceful times with Alexios. If he is gone they will not be happy with a mad, power hungry, old man. At that point Brian the Saxon may be bought - but it would mean buying the entire Verangian guard and there are hundreds of them. They cannot be fought. They must be bribed, and even then they would only fall in behind a man who had support of both nobility and church.¡± Drip - Thwock. ¡°Andronikos has cupbearers who taste his food and magicians who protect him from the evil eye and warn him of the dangers the future holds.¡± ¡°What about the Emperor¡¯s concubine, Mariapitkee?¡± Drip - Thwock. Pons did not ask,¡°Who?¡± with his voice, merely with his raised eyebrows. ¡°The pretty one we saw on the first day.¡± Cyn supplied. ¡°Did Brian tell you about her?¡± ¡°No, the first night we arrived after the race, you said I could go to a good brothel. I saw her there.¡± ¡°At the brothel?¡± Pons withdrew the axe from the end of the log slowly. ¡°I was on my way out and she was on her way in. She looked like the Emperor had been rough with her and she was crying. Nestor knows the place. He can help us find it.¡± Drip - Thwock. Chapter 49 - Skullduggery Chapter 49 Skullduggery A chilly night in October with a mist rising from the Bosphorus to drift over the Queen of Cities, saw Pons and Cyn pick their way through the foggy streets and still alleys to the Forum of Theodosius. Both were armed, Pons with a pair of hand axes on his belt by his hips, Cyn with a dirk on his belt, his smaller crossbow slung across his shoulder with a half dozen bolts in a quiver strapped to his thigh. They were cloaked, arms concealed, incognito. All dark. No moon. The southern, more sparse half of Pandarus¡¯ emporium was given over to offices on the upper floors and temporary slave quarters on the lower ones. Here captive sailors awaiting ships to crew, and a few others were housed. After the April massacre Pandarus lost his best customers and had managed to avoid financial ruin by selling the families of some of those same customers - the ones who had remained hidden and avoided the initial bloodshed, only to reemerge and be captured - to Arab slavers. Those women, and children had once been held here, but the pens were now empty. All silent. Doors locked. The northern, more highly decorated part of the emporium was well built and brightly lit with red shaded lanterns. A rap on the door. A bolt drawn back. Yellow light from the warm interior mixed with the rosy haze. A bearded face peered out. ¡°Oh it is you. Bring the money?¡± ¡°Do you have the girl I want?¡± For the past several days Pons had made inquiries with the majordomo at Pandarus¡¯ Emporium. Any courtesan who shared the Emperor¡¯s bed would have made a valuable source of information, but something made Pons want to insist on the girl which Cyn fancied. Initially the girl in question - the Emperor¡¯s current favorite - was unavailable at any price. Perseverance revealed she was ill, or recovering, or off on her ¡®monthly rotation.¡¯ Persistence cracked the ¡®unavailable at any price¡¯ stance. Other things were learned. She was renowned for her ¡®flute playing.¡¯ She also had a sister, possibly a twin, who was also a pleasure slave. And that girl was mute. ¡°Oh no, her tongue has not been cut out. She still has her tongue. Ha ha. The things she can do with her tongue. Think of it, two identical beauties.¡± For a price. Once it was assured only the one girl was needed, and her nether regions were to be left as the private hunting preserve of the Emperor, negotiations began in earnest. Of particular interest was the girl¡¯s musical ability. Could she be available - simply to play the flute? Since her place in the ¡®monthly rotation¡¯ was unimportant, a concert would be possible after all. If Pons felt guilty about the outing, he did not show it. His motives for the evening were pure - recruit a spy to abet murder; rather than base - sex with a prostitute. For a man in his fifties he was not knowledgeable about women, much less their thoughts and feelings. Perhaps Cyn¡¯s presence would help. He was young and handsome. The courtesan was young and beautiful. Yet if she should balk, Pons would have to silence her and they would simply walk out the door. Poor thing. She had to agree - on the spot. Or else. She could not be allowed to tell the Emperor Latins were in the city conspiring against him. Cyn, with the certainty of youth, had probably not considered the consequences of the girl making a negative decision. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Pons showed the majordomo a purse. The Majordomo looked at Cyn up and down. ¡°Oh, I know young Sir. He was here - drunk and loud several weeks ago with a cripple who could not keep his mouth shut either. Our girls had him quiet and the cripple stepping lively when they left though. The concert is for him then is it?¡± Pons nodded. If the girl balked, the majordomo would also need to meet St. Peter as they left. The ground floor had a draped parlor where half a dozen pleasure slaves, four pretty girls and two pretty boys, lounged. ¡°Up the stairs to your right.¡± * * * Mariapitkee¡¯s respite was coming to an end. There had been no vacation. A bed slave is still a slave and though she was unfit for the Emperor¡¯s company due to the bruising on her throat - that injury was healing. The master¡¯s steward had no trouble finding ways to keep her busy. There was always water to be fetched from the public fountains, clothing to be washed and hung out to dry, chickens to be plucked, and a thousand outer chores which needed to be done in order to make ¡®Panderus¡¯ House of Pleasure and Specialty Slave Emporium¡¯ thrive. However, Pandarus¡¯ business was not thriving, it was limping along. The generous lease of his finest stock to the palace, initially so lucrative, was now - half a year on - less so. The flow of money in had dwindled, the flow of courtesans out was expected to continue. Or else. Was the merchandise being harmed? Smiles - tough it out. Pandarus had, like all citizens, been to the races and had seen the lessons being taught between the heats. He kept his mouth shut and made no complaints. Mariapitkee kept to herself and constantly worried about how her sister was getting on in the palace. Eyrienee could cause no offense by misspeaking, but Mariapitkee felt silence held no safety. The final fading of bruising on her throat coincided with her monthly respite. She was looking forward to her final sleep, alone, before having to return to the palace. She had settled down for the evening when the steward knocked at ¡®her¡¯ door. The door led to the sparse room, little more than a large cupboard in the sunny half of Pandarus Emporium, which she shared with her sister, as well as Zoe, Maria, Eugenia, and any of the other girls who happened to be ¡®off rotation.¡¯ At least she was afforded that much dignity - a knock. ¡°Bring your flutes, you are wanted.¡± Desprited and dejected, she followed the steward and made her way to the second floor of the brothel to one of the more opulent rooms. ¡°Top shelf only with this one. Try and coax some extra coin out of him. The boss will make it worth your while.¡± The door opened, and there he was. The young Latin noble who had caught the mappa. Strong, broad shouldered, solid. A smile lit up her face. He had come for her. The door closed behind her. Only then did she realize another person was in the room. An older man, he smiled pleasantly enough, but he felt sinister. The man motioned for her to sit. She did. He offered her a cup of wine. She took it. The handsome lord sat beside her, took the flutes out of her hand and set them aside. He looked into her eyes. ¡°We will not be needing those. We are not here for the sweet music.¡± The man who gave her the wine spoke. The calloused hand of the gentleman tenderly held hers. ¡°We would like to talk. We would like to help you. Perhaps you could help us.¡± Chapter 50 - Screams in the Night Chapter 50 Screams in the Night Emperor Andronikos was having a terrible sleep, though it had started out well. The day had been cold and wet, but his favorite had returned as lovely as ever. She had a curl added to her hair and appeared ready for an evening of pleasure. Turning in early, from what had been an irritating day trying to right the ship of state, he ordered braziers to be lit and sandalwood to be burned. That took the chill off the evening. Now a nice private orgy. Two girls massaged him with warmed, scented oil - one working the muscles of his shoulders and back - the other buttocks, legs and feet. Mariapitkee played a haunting and restful air on her paired aulos pipes. So soothing. Afterwards, she played his flute. Andronikos drifted off into slumber warmly nestled among his concubines. He woke in the dark of the night, roused by a distant shrieking. Horrid screams. Sound carried far in the cold still air drifting from the Animas dungeon. ¡°Boy.¡± Andonikos called for his strator. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. The lad roused himself from his alcove in the antechamber. ¡°Find out who is making that racket and have them silenced. I do not care if they have to be throttled and we are left with nothing to watch between the races tomorrow.¡± What was the world coming to? He, himself, had been imprisoned in the Animas dungeon for years. Had he ever kept the palace awake with his wailing? Egad no. And God alone knew Andronikos had every reason to wail to heaven at his unjust treatment. How many years in that red brick tower? Did Andronikos, even once, scream in the night disrupting the sleep of the Basileus Manuel? No. And if Andronikos had yelled (certainly he - of all the men in the Empire - was loud enough to be heard clearly from the cell of the Anemas tower) even one time, forgone his dignity and howled, would Manuel have executed him? Would he have had him blinded and exiled to an island monastery? No. Not Manuel. If Andronikos had simply asked - just once - for forgiveness and pleaded for clemency on a cold clear night, he would have received it. Manuel¡¯s fucking ¡®forgiveness.¡¯Always Manuel¡¯s forgiveness. Andronikos had tried to be as quiet as possible when he was in the dungeon, especially late at night when he was scratching at the grate. What was this prisoner screaming for? Andronikos tried to listen. ¡°Please.¡± The word was loud and clear, but ¡®please¡¯ do what? ¡°Mercy.¡± Yes. God on high grants mercy. ¡°Aaaaaagh.¡± Finally all was silent. Better. Much better. Slumber came again. Chapter 51 - Once Upon a time in a Dungeon II Chapter 51 Once Upon a time in a Dungeon II Twenty years earlier it had been Stephen and Andronikos imprisoned in the Anemas dungeon. Stories were told in the dark between the doors of the prison cells. The wretch in the next cell told the sad story of his plight, and wept at the injustice of his upcoming punishment. In his cell Andronikos told boastful stories where he was always the hero. ¡°When I finally returned to Constanitinople with my fellow captive, Theodore Dasiotes - the fellow who was captured with me on our hunting trip - it would have been, let me think¡­ in the spring of 1144. Was I angry? Sure, I was angry. How could I not have been? I was held hostage for the entire year in which Manuel became Emperor. The whole year. For no reason. Simply to save his dignity and his purse. Of course, by the time Sultan Masud released us - all the top positions in the army, in the navy, in the palace - everything was taken by those who had been on hand when he became Basileus. Ha. Stepped over his elder brother to become Basileus.¡± Andronikos paused as he paced his cell and assumed the classical rhetorical pose for the stabbing cut of his last remark. His listener in the next cell could not see him, but it was nice simply to have a listener. The boredom was excruciating, so it was enjoyable to be able to recount his youthful travels and adventures to someone. Usually Andronikos had only himself to talk to, so now with an audience (of sorts), he walked through the paces as if he were Cicero arguing in front of the Senate. The silence from the cell near the stairs left him to conclude the other prisoner had either fallen asleep or was too absorbed in his own problems to pay attention. No matter. He crossed his own cell and lifted the book of prayer from where it sat on his writing desk. From the binding he removed a long, thin, iron nail which he had hidden there. Earlier he had asked his wife to bring him the nail when she came to see him on her almost daily visit. A dutiful woman, she had done so without question. Their visits, on opposite sides of the barred door, were not supervised, so it was simple and indeed permitted to pass any object. As befit his station Andronikos had candles, a brazier for cold nights, quills, ink, and parchment for his correspondence. He had his father¡¯s copy of Homer, as well as a book of prayer, and other things to read. Servants came into his cell to empty his chamber pots and to clean and barber him daily. His viands came as leftovers from the emperor''s own kitchen. Andronikos moved to the middle of his cell, dropped to his knees, and using the nail, began to pry along the side of a metal grate set into the brick floor of his cell. The grate covered a drainage passage which ran under the cell. He did this simply to while away the endless hours. There was nothing else to do except talk to the unseen man in the cell along the passage - Stephen¡­ whatever his long name was. ¡°Sultan Masud''s initial peaceful overtures were but a ruse. He launched an attack on our major fortified staging area in Bithynia. Do you know Malagnia? The closest one to Constantinople itself?¡± ¡°Never visited,¡± came the reply. Aah, so he is still awake. ¡°We responded quickly and in force.¡± Andronikos continued both with his scratching on the floor and his story. ¡°Once we reinforced Malagnia, we pushed on to the walls of Iconium itself. Sultan Masud was so fearful of capture he retreated, but he left Iconium behind with a brave - and polite - defender.¡± Andronikos paused in his scratching and sat back on his haunches. ¡°My own brother. I saw him on the walls and we spoke briefly at a distance. We didn¡¯t have the siege engines or supplies needed to take the city. I am glad of that. I would have hated to kill my own brother. Still his forces harassed us as Manuel marched the army back towards Antioch again.¡± There was a tiny crevice starting to form between the brick and the floor grate. Could he get the tip of the nail under the metal grate? Perhaps he could pry the grate up. Was there something in his cell he could use as a fulcrum? Could he lay his chair on the floor and use the leg. He tried. Awkward. The chair leg was too thick. What would be better? Ah yes. A spool. His wife had dropped one on a visit while she sat darning his stockings while they chatted. Where was it? Andronikos stood up and began to rummage among his desk. Ah. There. ¡°Where was I? Ah yes. I was held high in the friendship of the Basileus. We were like brothers. Once I personally drew steel to defend him - from his own brother. Do they talk about that at the palace? I doubt it, but it is true. Over dinner one night an argument flared up about how to proceed. As you know, when Manuel took the throne his older brother, Issac was still very much alive. What Manuel should have done was blinded him so he would never again be a contender and shuffled him off to a quiet monastery somewhere to live out his days. He did not. Instead he took the ass on campaign with us.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The spool was working as a fulcrum. The grate was starting to rise. Andronikos exerted every bit of pressure he could muster on the fingertips of one hand as he raised the metal further - hair¡¯s breadth by hair¡¯s breadth, while quickly giving the nail better purchase with the other. ¡°We were all sitting around in the command tent on campaign against the Turks, when John the Persian had the audacity to challenge Manuel¡¯s military judgment - said he was not fit to bridle his father¡¯s horse. Can you imagine? Born a slave and saying this to the Basileus. When I say John the Persian of course I mean John Auxox. Did you know the fellow - John Auxox?¡± ¡°Never met.¡± ¡°He was ennobled. Egad. Of course he is dead now, but his son married my cousin Maria. My cousin - the Emperor, made him a general and he is commanding an army in the field right now while I sit here in this cell. My wife says Maria is due to calf out another half-slave brat any day now. What is the world coming to?¡± The grate raised enough for Andronikos to get his fingers under it and lift. ¡°Where was I? Oh yes. The argument in the campaign tent. Was John the Persian drunk? Sure he was drunk. We had all been at the wine pretty good. We were all in our twenties - not that old general of course. Still Manuel was gracious and patient to endure these scornful words. Out of respect to his late father¡¯s best friend he did not order the man¡¯s head off. I think he would have let the old man sleep it off and apologize in private the next day. End of the matter. Only at this point his brother Issac opened his stupid mouth and wholeheartedly agreed with John the Persian. I drew my sword and challenged Issac to back his word with his blade, but the coward relented. Do they tell that story about me in the palace anymore?¡± (In the palace the story differed. In that version of events, the Emperor himself drew his blade and deflected the lunge which Issac had aimed at Andronikos¡¯ heart.) The grate came free and Andronikos moved it out of the way. ¡°No. They probably do not. No doubt they all chuckle about what they call my attempt to murder Emperor Manuel. Fools. Stay-at-home soft mamma¡¯s-boy tit-suckers. How many have ever been on campaign?¡± He peered into the drainage channel. It dropped off into the darkness. How wide was it? Was it big enough? Could he fit? He returned to his desk to get a candle, but continued talking. ¡°On campaign, is where you can discover a man¡¯s mettle. On my first solo command I was given charge of over ten thousand men to bring the surviving sons of Leo, the Lion of the Mountains, to heel. They were looking to break Cilicia away from the empire just like their father had done. A number of nobles from western Armenia who supported alliance with Constantinople accompanied me on the campaign along with their own levees of troops.¡± The aperture in the floor was large enough. He could fit. Andronikos dangled his legs in the hole. ¡°They assured me infighting among the Lion Cubs had caused a rift. Their spy said one cub was holed up alone in the city of Mamistra. Thoros. The Lion Cub¡¯s name was Thoros. I knew him. We were of an age. My brother had once been married to his sister or half sister. I cannot recall her name. He divorced her or annulled the marriage after crafty old King Leo cheated him out of the girl¡¯s dowry. Thoros offered a truce, but my allies urged me to reject it and lay siege.¡± (Had they urged that?) ¡°Not a long siege mind you. We were betrayed.¡± (Had they been?) ¡°Still, I rescued a princess from an attacking army.¡± To be sure Andronikos did rescue a princess. He did not describe the moment. He was savoring it in his memory. The low fellow in the next cell would not have appreciated the majesty: The white charger with black bridle, reins, and saddle adorned with silver work; Andronikos, clad in black suede - trimmed with tiny pearls - from his boots, to his gauntlets, to his collar - with a helm, crested by a plumage of snowy swan¡¯s feathers. He swept the royal, nubile, young woman up and set her on the saddle before him. He then laid on the spurs, his black cloak streamed, scant seconds ahead of a hail of arrows which fell short in the mud. The mud was the result of rain which had provided cover for the Lion Cubs'' midnight surprise attack on Andronikos¡¯ camp. The arrows came from archers of the Lion Cubs who had grown claws, fangs, and hunted together as a pride. They were not divided. Andronikos let his ill-informed Armenian allies die, buying him the time to stylishly outfit himself (and his mount) and bolt with the princess. In the next cell Stephen Hagiocharistophrities worried about his own fate. How long before they severed his nose? A week? A month? Andronikos¡¯ self serving story only dimly entered his consciousness, but even he was brought to awareness by the obvious dissonance in the tale. He interjected two questions. ¡°Who was the princess? And why was she in need of rescue on a rainy night in a siege camp?¡± Silence was his only reply. Stephen lost interest and drifted off into fretful sleep. He was awoken the next morning by the sound of smashing crockery. The servant assigned to the dungeons had dropped Prince Andronikos¡¯ breakfast tray. They boy ran shrieking up the stairs. ¡°What is going on? Something is happening.¡± Stephen hissed to Andronikos. Silence. After a moment guards clattered in. Exclamations of surprise. The servant was sent to fetch the Papias, overseer of the entire palace. Despite the door still locked, Andronikos had vanished overnight from his cell. Chapter 52 - Down the Drain Chapter 52 Down the Drain The coverlet was wrapped too tightly around him. The combined weight of his three pleasure girls, as they snuggled close for warmth in the nippy predawn made Andronikos feel confined. One lay on his arm. No longer as strong as he once had been, his elbow and shoulder were beginning to hurt from the way in which she lay. Similarly, another girl laying on his legs was causing a prickling sensation in his toes from the loss of regular blood flow. Uncomfortable in body, his dreams carried him back to that claustrophobic and nightmarish place. * * * If Andronikos had thought he could escape by slithering out of the dungeon through a drainage pipe in the floor of his prison cell, he was mistaken. He was one of the largest men in the empire. As he slid down the square brick lined aperture, skin scraped off his hips and shoulders. His feet hit the bottom leaving the top of his head exposed at about eyeball level even with the floor. That was all, he could go no farther. Except. Hold on. He could - barely - drop to his knees and fit his feet into the drainage pipe which ran horizontally. Oh shit. What was that dampness? Was he kneeling in¡­ shit? And now he was stuck - completely wedged in, hardly able to breathe. The man from the next cell spoke. ¡°Who was the princess? And why was she in need of rescue on a rainy night in a siege camp?¡± Running out of breath, with his fingertips on the rim of the drainage hole above his head, he heaved and regained his footing. No way out. Andronikos was about to shriek in his frustration, but instead he hesitated and became completely silent. An idea was forming. He let the low fellow¡¯s question go unanswered. Not a way out. But¡­ perhaps¡­ a palace to hide. Shhhh. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. A trick, an illusion, a magician''s disappearing act. Quietly, by the flickering candlelight his large fingers began to weave an enchantment using the thin thread from the spool his wife had dropped - material component of his invisibility spell. When he judged the time to be right, Andronikos placed the chair next to the hole, and sank back down into it again. He lowered the metal grate back into its original position above his head. He tugged the thread which was carefully knotted around the chair¡¯s leg pulling it until it sat directly on top of the grate. A gentle tug at the other end of the thread and the knot came free. Patience. He heard the servant¡¯s footsteps, breaking crockery, the exclamation and running retreat. The rapist in the nearby cell hissed something. It was working. Guards arrived. ¡°How in Hell?¡± Keys jangled. The lock turned. The door opened. How he wished he could see their faces. Again, ¡°How in Hell?¡± ¡°That was locked? Just now?¡± ¡°Of course you saw me unlock it.¡± ¡°And the key, was it on your belt all night?¡± ¡°All night, on my life.¡± ¡°It may well be - ¡®on your life.¡¯ Do you have any idea how much trouble we are in? Go Boy. Summon the head Papias.¡± He could hear the guards'' clunky footsteps above. One rummaged in his bedding as if he were to be found there, the other sat on the chair directly above his head, cursing and fretting. Andronikos wanted to laugh, but continued to breathe through his nose - rhythmically and quietly - concentrating on putting the cramping in his legs and pain in his knees aside. Time passed. What was happening? A sea gull squawked. Church bells rang the call to morning prayer. Eventually the summoned official arrived. ¡°Why are you here? Is it the day for Prince Andronikos to visit the baths? Why are you not guarding him?¡± ¡°The boy found his cell empty.¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°What do you mean? Speak clearly.¡± ¡°The noble one has absconded in the night.¡± From his limited view through the grate into the dimly lit cell, Andronikos could see the castelan - Basil (or Demetrios?) - one of the Patreneros clan - throw his hat of office on the cell floor in rage. ¡°How?!¡± He stomped on the mitre. Andronikos suppressed his urge to laugh again. ¡°If I put my finger up I could tickle his foot,¡± he thought. The Papias turned to the nearby cell. ¡°You, what is your name? Who is this?¡± He asked of both the prisoner and the guards simultaneously. The guards could not remember who he was, so after a brief pause the prisoner supplied ¡°Stephen¡­¡± (something - Andronikos could not hear him clearly). ¡°What has happened to the man in this cell?¡± ¡°I do not know, Domine. I heard nothing. I saw nothing.¡± ¡°The man in the cell next to you escapes and you hear nothing? The only way out is past you to the stairs. You saw nothing?¡± ¡°I saw nothing. It is very dark in here at night.¡± ¡°Dark? At night? Guards take this man to the rack. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. But he will say something. Once he is broken.¡± ¡°Please, please, I beseech you. I am as surprised and dumbfounded as can be? I have no idea what has happened to the noble one. All was quiet. We spoke for a time and then I fell asleep. I will swear on any icon. I know nothing.¡± ¡°And what did you speak of? Did he tell you of his plans?¡± ¡°No Domine, he told me of times past. His youth.¡± ¡°Explain how he is not in his cell.¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± Stephen blubbered. ¡° It is as if the hand of the Lord pulled him to heaven if he was innocent or the hand of the Foul One pulled him to Hell for his guilt. I do not know! Please, you must believe me.¡± ¡°Enough. You will be dealt with later.¡± The master of the palace spoke to one of the guards, ¡°You, fetch your captain. Why is he not here already? Go.¡± To the other, ¡°The Basileus must be told. Seek for him, hopefully he has not left the palace grounds yet this morning. When you find him, whisper directly in his ear. Go.¡± The Papias collapsed in the chair, bent over and hung his head between his knees and let out a frustrated, ¡°Aaaargh!¡± He picked his miter off the floor and brushed the footprint his slipper had left on it. Andronikos closed his eyes lest a reflective glint give him away. His face was less than a meter below the metal covering. His arms above his head ached from the confinement and the awkward position. He felt woozy. He breathed slowly and quietly - in through the nose, and out softly through the mouth. ¡°I see you back there.¡± Not a breath, eyes clenched. ¡°You boy. You are servant in the prisons, Yes¡­? Come closer and speak up, I cannot hear you,¡± the Piapas commanded. Thank God. The Papias had stopped looking downwards. ¡°Yes, Dominus.¡± The boy¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°Did Prince Andronikos say anything to you? Anything at all? You have nothing to fear, no harm will come to you.¡± ¡°No, Dominus.¡± ¡°And this door, when was it last unlocked?¡± A pause. ¡°Two mornings ago, when the most noble one was escorted to the baths.¡± ¡°And afterwards? The door, was it locked?¡± A pause. ¡°I assisted the barber. I am sure the guard secured it when we left the cell.¡± ¡°On your soul?¡± ¡°On my soul.¡± ¡°Fine. Good. Up off your knees. Go fetch the Master of the Inkstand. Tell him I command him to come. Here take this signet ring. Should anyone stop you - show it and tell the person that stops you I will have them flayed. Once you have found the Kanikleios, round up as many kitchen and stable boys as you can and bring them here. We will need messengers to run dispatches to the gatekeepers and the harbormasters in order to seal the city.¡± Time passed with more agony. He could no longer feel his fingers. He was suffocating, it was so hard to breathe. The captain of the guard entered moments before Emperor Manuel (or did Manuel arrive first followed by the captain of the guard). Andronikos was fading in and out of awareness. Statements of outrage and disbelief. What is to be done? He could not have gone far? Someone must have helped him? The Papias related what the boy said, and what the neighboring prisoner claimed he did not see. The Master of the Inkstand arrived. Were they going to write the dispatches to the harbormasters one by one in the cell above him? Sure enough - page after page written, sealed, signed. His shoulders. His back. His knees. He stifled his wimpers of pain. So exhausted. He had been awake all night. Why was everyone standing about in the cell, when it was clear he was not in it? Please God why would they not simply go out - leaving the cell door unlocked behind them? Just before he lost consciousness there was some discussion of keys. The gaoler had one set and the Papias kept another in his desk which he had brought with him when summoned. Both keys were present and accounted for. The Papias kept a key in his desk. Just after he blacked out the order was given for possible accomplices to be brought in for questioning. Chapter 53 - The Princess in a Siege Camp Chapter 53 The Princess in a Siege Camp Helena had married Andronikos at the age of eighteen. She was a princess of the Bulgars. The alliance needed strengthening, weddings were always nice, and Emperor Manuel felt Andronikos should receive some reward for his time as a guest of the Sultan. Of course, Helena was not the name she had been given as a child, but the Byzantines could not pronounce whatever that had been, and so she was given a good Greek name. Helena - like the beauty of the Iliad. Escorted on her journey to Constantinople by ferocious bearded guards and effeminate eunuchs, the poor girl was afraid of who she would have to marry once she arrived at the capital. However, once there, she was presented with her bride-groom - Apollo. Masculine, handsome, magnificent - Andronikos towered like the statue of the Sun God in the harbor of Rhodes must have once done. She fell, heart and soul, for the Greek prince. Exactly nine months after their elaborate wedding their honeymoon baby arrived. Andronikos named the child Manuel in honor of his cousin. They were such good friends in those days and left to campaign against the Sultan in the spring. A second baby, a girl named Maria, was born shortly after Emperor Manuel held his own long put off wedding (the dowry with the German Emperor¡¯s sister had been agreed upon when he was fourth son of an emperor, but once he was suddenly emperor in his own right, the terms obviously had to be haggled over, negotiated, and bartered upon at length before being adjusted). Emperor Manuel¡¯s bride, renamed Irene, was not not a beauty, but was extremely pious - and a cold fish. No child was forthcoming. The pond began to sour. Before long the Emperor began to cast his eye. He did not have to cast far before he caught sight of a pretty little fish right in the palace. Her name was Theodora, second daughter of his elder brother, the one who had died of disease after escorting his other brother¡¯s body home for burial. Poor child. So lovely and growing up without a father to love her. If eyebrows were raised at court when Manuel granted courtesies and dignities to his niece equal to his own wife, they rose further when rumors grew of the girl attending the Emperor alone, into the wee small hours of the morning, in his private apartments. Helena¡¯s marriage to Andronikos was happy and fruitful. Still every bit as enamored as the day she met him, Helena strove to please him as a dutiful, loving wife and mother. However, this did not stop Andronikos from casting his eyes about as well. He did not have to cast very far before he too found another pretty little fish in the palace fountain. Theodora¡¯s younger sister, Evdokia. Poor child. So lovely and also growing up without a father to love her. She had flowered earlier than her elder sister and was married to a nice young nobleman who promptly caught the summer sickness and died leaving her a very young widow. Doubly poor child in need of comfort. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Once discovered Andronikos joked to the court he was only following in the mold of the Emperor by taking one of the lovely sisters as mistress. No one was amused. After all, Manuel was bedding his own niece, while Andronikos was merely bedding his second cousin. Which was worse? Still no laughter. Andronikos failed to understand that Manuel was Basileus - infallible, above reproach, equal with the apostles, whereas he was not. This would not end with raised eyebrows. The girl''s brothers and the rest of the family were outraged. Challenges to duel were issued. In an effort to calm things down and prevent outright murder, Manuel decided to give Andronikos command of an army and sent him away on campaign to Cilicia, with a group of Armenian barons who had been lobbying for ages to recapture the lost territory and put down the last of Leo - the Lion of the Mountain¡¯s - litter of cubs. Andronikos managed to get the better of everyone by smuggling the petite and obliging princess out of the palace in his luggage and onto the baggage train. Once on the march she emerged and entered the command tent to warm the camp cot of her lonely soldier far from home. Which is exactly what Evdokia was doing when the horns sounded alarm on that rainy night during the siege of Mamistra. * * * The Varangians came for Helena just after midday. A fierce insistent thud, pounding at the door. ¡°Open in the name of the Emperor!¡± She had been at the loom in the atrium of the villa near the Blachernae palace where she was permitted to reside following her husband¡¯s arrest. Although Andronikos was treacherous and his moral behavior was deplorable, his family was above reproach. Helena was granted servants and an allowance. Her son Manuel, now aged thirteen, would rise through the ranks of the army or bureaucracy as befitted his talents. A dowry was provided for her daughter Maria, aged eleven. She gestured for her steward to open the door to the street. As soon as he did, a phalanx of tall soldiers bearing double headed axes over their shoulders marched into the atrium. She was so startled she could not even utter a word. ¡°You men,¡± the commander gestured to his soldiers, ¡°Search this place from top to bottom. If he is here and he does not come quietly - do what you have to do.¡± He turned his attention to the domina. ¡°Lady, your husband has escaped confinement. If he is in the house tell me now. It will go easier on him.¡± Helena was dumbfounded. Andronikos had escaped? How? Seeing the confusion on her face, the captain continued. ¡°In any event I am ordered to take you directly into custody. Have your servants prepare for your needs. The children will remain.¡± Helena clutched a table. Her knees felt weak. The room began to spin. Chapter 54 - Betrayal or Another Siege Camp on Another Rainy Night Chapter 54 Betrayal or Another Siege Camp on Another Rainy Night Andronikos, his white stallion, and Princess Evdokia fled east from the arrows of Thoros the Cilician to Antioch. From there he was recalled to Constantinople where he was immediately dispatched again to act as governor or Doux of Belgrade. Manuel was already on campaign in the west against rebellious Serbs. With the Emperor away there was no one to prevent him from taking his mistress along - openly this time. The happy couple and their caravan had only gotten as far as Thrace before Evdokia¡¯s brothers, and a brother-in-law, caught up with them. Those previously issued challenges to duel were still outstanding and were now being enforced. Boldly they shouted for Andronikos to come forth, stand, and bare steel. Fortunately the caravan master had set up a proper camp for the night. In his tent well back from the picket posts, the sentries¡¯ cries of, ¡°Who goes there?¡± and the replies, had given Andronikos ample time to dress and arm himself. He kissed Evdokia, drew his blade, cut through the canvas at the rear of the tent with two slashes and slipped out. Evdokia went out the front to delay her brothers. Andronikos slunk to where the horses were tied and chose what he thought was a fast one. Riding bareback he sped away into the dark knowing once he assumed his command he would be untouchable. As soon as he was military governor their challenges would be moot. To attack him would be treason. Arriving in Belgrade he realized this was not a serious posting. It was an insult. A muddy track leading to a muddy fortress town on a muddy hill overlooking a bend where two muddy rivers joined. The fortifications might once have been something to look at, but now they were in a dilapidated state. He was being punished. He was sent here to freeze on this hill watching for an attack from ¡®the Huns¡¯ which would never come. A man with his talents should be Megas Domestikos - commander in chief of the armies, Megas Droungarios - fleet admiral, or Proto Sebastos - head of the bureaucracy, at the very least. Why, someone with his talents should be¡­ Emperor. He was in this frame of mind when King Geza of Hungary sent envoys bearing gifts. King Geza did not care which twit born in a room with purple columns ruled in Constantinople. Geza was funding the Serbian revolt which Manuel was currently quelling. He also backed Roger, the powerful Norman King of Sicily, as he carved a good sized slipper off of the boot which was Italy. A nice Byzantine civil war between bickering cousins was to be encouraged. The gifts did much, the compliments did more. Over as lavish a dinner as could be mustered, the envoys reminded Andronikos that Emperor Manuel could fall off his horse, be carried off by disease like his brothers, scratch himself on a poisoned arrow like his father, or most likely of all - be slain in combat. In battle Manuel led from the front not from the command tent on a hill in the rear. So brave, but so dangerous. What then? What would happen if the Emperor were to die? Manuel had no son, no heir. But Andronikos did. Andronikos¡¯ coup against his cousin fell apart before it even started. It should have begun with Andronikos turning Belgrade over to Geza, and having his own forces (with the right amount of coin) hail him as Emperor. Together Andronikos and Geza united would take Manuel from the rear as he fought the Serbs. Instead, on the night before the coup was to begin - a cold and misty night with fog rising from the Danube River - a rider appeared at the gates of Belgrade. He ordered Doux Andronikos Komnenos to present himself. The guard captain could tell by the man¡¯s bearing, garb, and the quality of his mount and its trapping, this was not a person to take lightly. He did have the presence of mind to ask who was calling at this late hour. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The name Ionnes Kantakouzenos meant nothing to the captain of the guard, but it made Andronikos smile. Here was the offended brother-in-law, husband of darling Evdokia¡¯s eldest sister Maria. Here alone - without the brothers. Andronikos would not need to slip out the back of a tent this time. The man had no authority here, and if Andronikos recalled correctly Ionnes Kantakouzenos was one handed, having been wounded in a battle. Should it come to a duel¡­ a duel it would be. Andronikos, magnificent in his magnificence, went down to the gatehouse to see what the wayfarer wanted. Lodgings for the night? A warm fire, perhaps? Arriving, he discovered an entire cohort of Varangians had emerged from the fog and taken the gatehouse once the captain had left. His own forces were disarmed. Seized and taken into custody he was charged with treason. Ionnes Kantakouzenos, Imperial decree in half-a-hand (two fingers missing, not the whole hand - rumor always exaggerated), was now Doux and would take immediate command. The Verangians were to remain to strengthen the local forces should Geza try anything - except for a guard of ten men, on mounts, who would escort a chained and walking Andrnikos to the Emperor''s camp to await his pleasure. Someone had talked. Someone always talks. After days of walking, chained to a stake at night, he arrived at the siege camp outside the hill town of - where in the hell was he? Andronikos had no idea. Ushered into an adequately appointed tent he was then chained to a heavy iron ball. There he was left completely alone. For days. Andronikos could carry the ball, barely - and shuffle from one side of the tent to the other, or he could drag it slowly. Meals, simple soldier¡¯s rations, were brought to him by silent servants. Time dragged slowly. There was nothing to do in a siege camp, surely Manuel had time to come by and chastise him, yet nothing but silent indifference. On a rainy night he held one link of the chain a finger¡¯s breadth above the flame of a candle, heating it until it was white hot. Then, biceps flexed, veins straining on his forehead, he pulled. He was not just one of the largest men in the Empire, he was also one of the strongest. Patiently repeating the heating and pulling process he wore the metal and stretched the link thin. Once it broke he was free of the iron weight. Working a tent peg free, he lay down, and rolled out the back into lashing rain and mud. Andronikos lay there letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The camp was laid out in the format of every Roman army camp. He got to his feet knowing where to go. The pelting downpour had forced every soldier to seek whatever shelter they could find. The ¡®streets¡¯ of the camp were deserted. Tent after tent receded into the darkness in each direction. At an intersection he paused to listen. Arguing and listless complaining in one tent, softly recited prayers in another. A third held groaning and a fourth snoring. The sleeping soldier held the promise of equipment. Andronikos crept to the tent flap, quietly felt inside and found boots - far too small, and a dagger. Perfect. On towards the command tent. He would end it tonight and after killing Manuel be hailed by the cowering generals as Emperor. Better to die trying, blade in hand. Only. In the trench behind the Emperor¡¯s tent his bowels betrayed him. Instead of slashing through the back of the tent - and his cousin''s throat, he collapsed as his intestines spasmed. He tried to stifle a groan, but could not stifle the almighty gastric release which tore forth along with the warm gush of diarrhea. He slipped in the mud completely befouling himself and making an almighty splash. He was captured by Varangians before he could even regain his footing. The barbarian guardsmen laughed and joked in their guttural language. They shoved and prodded him forward. They grimaced, waved their hands in front of their faces, and made farting sounds. Thrown forward, he fell on the rugs of Manuel¡¯s tent, brightly lit by oil lamps and candles. His cousin stood there. ¡°My stomach¡­ I went out to find a latrine and relieve myself.¡± ¡°There is dysentery in the camp. Smells like you did not make it in time.¡± One of the Varangians tossed the dagger they had seized near Manuel¡¯s feet. ¡°Have a swift rider sent to our capital. A guest room in the Anemas dungeon is to be prepared with a locked door and barred window. My cousin Andronikos will be bound again - by master smiths this time - for his transportation.¡± It was the lowest point of his life. At that point. He could do worse. He could suffocate in a drainage pipe under the dungeon. The laughter from the guards at his sides faded. No, not at his sides. He was surrounded by bricks. From above, beyond the grate. No, not men¡¯s rough laughter - a woman weeping. Chapter 55 - Once Upon a Time in a Dungeon III Chapter 55 Once upon a Time in a Dungeon III After being questioned and threatened with torture, Stephen Hagiocharistophrites tried to make himself small and unnoticeable in the corner. People - guards, a chamberlain with a portable writing desk, the Emperor, children even - kept wandering down the stairs past the iron bars to view the empty cell. Stephen longed to call out to the Basileus to plead for mercy, but he knew now was not the time. The Emperor was sure to be in a furious mood. Eventually the cramped confines were overcrowded and everyone was ordered out to be about their assigned tasks. How had Andronikos done it? One moment he was there. Then he was not there. Was this a miracle? Was it magic? The day passed slowly. They forgot to feed him. Footsteps on the stairs roused him from a doze and a noblewoman was escorted into the newly vacated cell. Stephen pressed up against the bars to try and see her as she walked by. One guard locked her in, the other rapped Stephen¡¯s knuckles with the hilt of his sword. ¡°Speak so much as a word to the Domina and we will have your tongue as well as your nose, scum.¡± Stephen retreated to his corner again. Servants came to see to the lady¡¯s comfort. Eventually she was left alone. Her racking sobs filled the prison as darkness fell. ¡°Andronikos my love, where are you?¡± Then, in the gloom, the moaning of a ghost began. An unearthly groan of agony - the sound of a soul in hell, rising up from the underworld - pleading for release. * * * Not pins and needles, in his muscles and joints, but lances and scythes. Hours positioned on his knees unconscious in the stressful confines of the drain had not killed Andronikos. Awareness and agony returned. A woman wailed his name. The voice was familiar. Crying in pain he lurched upward with all his energy. The woman¡¯s cries turned to shrieks of terror. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Helena?¡± he cried out, or tried, the name came out in a croaking, moaning rasp. He pushed the grating free of the drain. ¡°Is that you? Help me. Pull me out.¡± * * * In stunned disbelief Stephen listened as Helena and Andronikos reunited. With tears and kisses she drew him forth. Gently she cleaned him. Tenderly she massaged his sore body. They spoke softly, cried, laughed, and made love. Before dawn came a hissed whisper. ¡°Stephen, I know you have listened.¡± ¡°Noble one, I know not what to say?¡± ¡°Good. You will say nothing, ever, to anyone. This will be our little secret. I trust you Stephen, for I know you would never betray me. We are friends. A lesser man would try to turn this secret knowledge to his advantage. I would denounce such a lesser man as a liar who knew my whereabouts all along and lied to the Papias when directly asked. Should, by some miracle of clemency, this lesser man be spared from the law, he and his entire family would not be spared from me and my agents. You Stephen are not a lesser man. Be silent, endure what must come, be patient, and I will shower reward upon you.¡± For four days the ruse continued. Andronikos popped down his hole at the first sound of approach by servant or guard. Helena sat in the chair on top of the grate, sewing. Complaining of the dankness, she demanded fresh linens and bed clothes be brought. The city¡¯s gates and harbors could not remain closed indefinitely. Andronikos knew that Helena would, over the course of time, be released. She was innocent and was Empress Irene¡¯s only real friend. During the years in prison the Empress had given birth to two daughters, Maria and Anna. Little Anna had come down with the winter cough. Helena had nursed their own daughter through the sickness. Manuel gave in to his wife¡¯s entreaties. Clearly blameless, Helena was brought forth and returned to her villa, then to help tend the ill princess. When all was dark Andronikos crept out of the drain, through the door which had been left unlocked, past the snoring dupe in the cell by the stairs. Up out. Using bed linen torn to strips and knotted into a rope, he slipped from shadow to shadow over the battlements, and off into the night. He was captured in Tarsus nine hundred miles away several weeks later. He had been trying to get to Antioch. Being one of the largest men in the empire made him easily identifiable and the arrest dispatches had a four day head start. When he was returned to the prison both Stephen and his nose were gone. Exactly nine months after his attempted escape his second son, Ionnes ¡®the prison conceived,¡¯ was born. Chapter 56 - Drop Dead Gorgeous Goes to the Dead Drop Chapter 56 Drop Dead Gorgeous Goes to the Dead Drop Mariapitkee woke with a thump when she fell off the raised cushion which served as the Emperor¡¯s bed and onto her bum on the floor. The Emperor''s fretful sleep ended as he roared to wakefulness thrashing about as if escaping the confines of a wrestler''s hold, scattering his concubines. The dawn was just breaking. ¡°What the? Where am I?¡± ¡°You are in your chambers, your majesty, all is well.¡± Maraipitkee picked herself off the floor and took the Emperor¡¯s hand and forearm to help him sit up. ¡°Helena, I had the strangest dream. I¡­¡± A shudder passed over him. A tear glimmered at his eye. For a moment he looked so old. ¡°Ahhh Sweetling, you are not Helena are you? Helena is long past. I can not pleasure you as I did her when arose from that Hades. No, not after your delightful flute playing last night. I have aged. I need the flesh of that small crocodilian creature to stir my loins. Then I can delight you morning and night.¡± Mariapitkee lowered her eyes and chastely kissed him on the cheek. ¡°You girls,¡± he said to the other concubines, ¡°Off with you. Tell the keeper of the inkstand to enter at once.¡± To Mariapitkee again, ¡°My legs and shoulders ache, massage me while I dictate some orders and dispatches before the activities of the day chase the thoughts from my mind. I had such a vivid dream.¡± Andronikos flopped face down on the mattress. With tenderness yet strength Mariapitkee began to knead his thighs and calves. The chamberlain entered and set up his writing desk with its dog shaped stand, lay forth parchment, arranged inks, a quill, and fine sand, before a slight clearing of the throat to indicate he was prepared. ¡°First, any surviving children or grandchildren of John ¡®the Persian¡¯ Auxox need to be arrested, condemned and executed,¡± Andronikos began. ¡°Second, find out whatever has become of Demetrios (or was it Basil?) Patreneros, the former Papias here at the Blachernae Palace. He was not a bad sort and was competent, even though he allowed me to escape. Twice. It was not his fault he was forced to match wits with me armed only with brick walls, iron bars, and a cohort of Verangian guards. Competent men are needed. Perhaps invite him, or his brother, or both, for dinner. A position can be offered. If he accepts, fine. If he balks - arrested, condemned, executed.¡± Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Trying to be unnoticed, like a fly on the balcony balustrade or a bodyguard in the doorway, Mariapitkee continued to massage the Emperor¡¯s arms and shoulders. She listened for the things the Latin lord¡¯s servant had asked her to pay particular attention to, the movement of armies and fleets were of special interest. Nothing like that was being spoken of this morning. She hoped possible court appointments, lists of people to be killed, rumors, and trivia would be helpful. Once the Emperor waved her away she made her way out of the sleeping chamber and past the line of waiting attendants. Although she and the other concubines were slaves and at the Emperor''s beck and call, they had freedom of movement in both the palace and in the city. In the afternoon she would accompany him to the races, but for the morning she was left to her own devices. Returning to the quarters she shared at the palace with the other concubines she found both already back in bed trying to sleep as late as possible. She wanted to visit her sister Eyrienee at the house of Pandarus. On the way she would make her regular report. Walking out of the palace and past the appreciative eyes of the barbarians guarding the gate, she made her way down the city¡¯s second great boulevard. Stepping off the mese she wandered through side streets, and ducked down byways, and alleys. She paused a few times to look back to see if she was followed. No one. As time passed her spying, which had at first thrilled her, was now starting to fall into a routine. At the first meeting her lord¡¯s servant (she still did not know their names) said they needed her to gather information to protect Emperor Alexios and cast off Emperor Andronikos. She threw herself into the young lord¡¯s arms and into the role. The thought that she could do something to stop the monster gave her hope for herself and her sister. Mariapitkee held the lord¡¯s calloused but gentle hand as his servant, who had fair use of Greek, explained what they wanted her to discover and how they would communicate. While at the palace she was to report everything she overheard or saw to a child who would be begging every morning by the fountains in the Forum of Arcadius. To speak to them directly would be suspicious. The Latin servant impressed upon her that she should trust no one. Everyone was always watching everyone else at the court. They would only meet when she was sent out of the palace during her monthly cycle. Once Andronikos was dead, her master, Pandarus, would be paid out for both herself and her sister, and they would be free. As always Mariapitkee found Maria and her little sister Anna singing for coins to the people waiting to fill their amphorae and buckets at the fountain. The girls smiled to see her and ran to her arms. Mariapitkee sat on the railing which ran around the fountain. Maria sat with her back to her and Mariapitkee began to braid the older girl¡¯s hair as Anna looked on. Mariapikee whispered her secrets. Maria had the best memory of all of Nestor''s urchins. Chapter 57 - Another Lunch in the Forum of Arcadius Chapter 57 Another Lunch in the Forum of Arcadius Brother Daniel knelt on the small balcony at the top of the sea green column in the center of the Forum of Arcadius. His prayers and contemplation of the will of God on High were interrupted by whistles and catcalls from young men in the market below as a stunning beauty entered the forum and made her way to the fountains. This was not the first time that Brother Daniel had pulled his gaze and thoughts from the Divine to the same earthly young woman who now sat plaiting the hair of a child into a ponytail. The child he had seen before, she was of the streets, but the erotic wonton was not. Daniel did not chastise her from on high as was his custom. For one thing people by the fountains tended to ignore his sermonizing. Noise from the splashing water, probably. Also he could not bring himself to do so. She might hear, flee, and not return. Then he would never see her again. On the steps surrounding the pedestal at the base of the great column Mariapitkee was also being watched by three other old men. They were not like the young bucks who called out for a smile as she sauntered past the vendors and hawkers. Everyone watched her, the young men obviously, but also envious and contemptuous glares from the womenfolk came her way. She paid them no heed. If she noticed Pons among the old men by the column all, she gave no indication. ¡°Heh heh, look at that one will ya. What I could do with her.¡± ¡°Zinth, you could not find a willing whore at the cheapest brothel by the docks if you had a fistfull of golden hyperpyron.¡± ¡°Oh ho, very witty, Domine.¡± Nestor always felt it best to compliment the Latin mercenary whenever possible. Everyone likes a little flattery and it is free. ¡°Does not rhyme,¡± said Zinthzinphitees. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°How is my insult coming along? You have had my silver for long enough.¡± Pons asked. ¡°It would help if I knew the context in which you intended to use it. At the races? On the street?¡± ¡°It will not be over dinner. Something which is sure to get a duel started. ¡®Was your nose cut off for your sins, or did it snap off because it was so far up Andronikos¡¯ ass?¡¯ Something like that. Only with a rhyme as you say.¡± Over at the fountain, with hugs and kisses, the beauty and the children parted. ¡°Here, make yourself useful,¡± Pons counted out a small handful of copper tetarteron coins to the hunchback. ¡°Get a basketful of those meat pies over yonder, and we will have a bite while we sit here.¡± The courtesan returned from the direction she came, the children made their way over to the column. Pons always left Cyn behind on his daily outings to observe the information exchange. There was no need for them to rush into each other''s arms and give the game up. The promise of romance was working as a powerful motivator. Perhaps he would suggest at the next monthly meeting that ¡®Lord Cyn¡¯ (somehow she had gotten into her head that Cyn was a man of some standing - Pons went along with it) would request her hand in marriage to be his lady wife in the west. Pons followed along with the orphans girls sing song recitation of the information, some useful - some less so. All of it was helping him develop a picture in his mind of Emperor Andronikos¡¯ movements, habits, and thoughts. The bones of his first wife were to be disinterred from the Monastery of Angurion and reburied at the church at the Church of Forty Martyrs which was currently being restored. Was this an opportunity? Could the Emperor be vulnerable outside of his regular routine? He and Cyn would scout the site of the church for an advantage. As the child recited the names of those to be added to the death list, Pons held up a finger to interrupt her. ¡°Did you say ¡®Kan-ta-koo-zee-nos?¡¯¡± ¡°Yes. Ioannes Kantakouzenos and his sons,¡± the waif replied with certainty. ¡°¡®Blinded at the least,¡¯ she said.¡± Zinth returned with the pies. Pons passed them out - his largess. One to the cripple, one to the malformed, one each to the orphan children, and a final one for the small girl to carry up the staircase inside the column for the stylite. Up on high Brother Daniel accepted his lunch, watched, and only kept council with the Almighty. Not a Chapter Hello I would like to thank all of my valued readers who have made it this far in the story. One of my reasons for posting serially was to ¡®force¡¯ myself to keep to a deadline (of sorts). My goal is to write about 1000 words every 10 days or so - 3 chapters / month¡­ give or take¡­ kinda sorta¡­ assuming life doesn''t have other plans. (I have a full time job, so this is a side passion.) Another reason for posting was to try to gain some feedback (free editing, you mean?). So far Void_Crafter was kind enough to post a glowing review (within hours of my initial posting), which I am sure has brought a few readers here. (He was also kind enough to advise me to reformat and turn 7 long chapters into 44 more digestible portions. This alone has also helped bring more readers.) I would welcome any other reviews. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. If you don¡¯t feel like leaving a review please leave a comment. What did you like? Where were you bored? Are there any confusing parts which had you scratching your head? Grammar mistakes? Now that Ridley Scott has finished ¡°Napoleon¡± and awards season is almost over, who should we cast? (Meryl Streep in a cameo as Lady Johanna in Chapter 6 obviously). Would historical notes (perhaps as footnotes) distract or be interesting? I know you are out there. I post a new chapter and when I come back from walking the dog 16 people have read it (or 8 people read it and liked it so much they read it twice - I can¡¯t tell from the website¡¯s diagnostics - either way I am delighted that you have taken an interest). I hope you enjoy the next chapter. -Bruce Chapter 58 - A Close Shave Chapter 58 A Close Shave Pons frothed up lye soap into a lather and dabbed it on the cheeks and neck of the Sabastocrator. John Ducas was seated with his back to Pons on a stone bench. His feet dangled into the warm water of the baths. Steam rose obscuring the other bathers. Pons stropped his shaving blade. He preferred copper as he found it easier to sharpen. ¡°Our dashing young friend had best not come around the capital again. If Emperor Andronikos did not notice him before¡­ he does now.¡± ¡°Oh Theodore is long gone to his home province. His endeavor gathers pace, however. An actual leader has agreed to join forces to help protect Emperor Alexios. It seems that there are a few right minded nobles left after all. General Lepardis called ¡®The Hawk¡¯ has an eye keen enough to see Andronikos for who he really is. The sons of Admiral Angelos are actively recruiting on their estates as we speak.¡± If the Greek noble had any qualms about leaving his throat exposed to the Latin¡¯s razor, he gave no indication. Pons scraped the whiskers from under the old diplomat¡¯s chin. John Ducas had to use both of his hands to keep his voluminous beard out of the way of the complicated procedure of hands, arms, and blade. Both men were as naked as the day they were born. Pons was still lean and trim. Nude, it was clear he was not simply missing an ear, he had older scars. John Ducas, two decades older, was saggy and flabby, with varicose veins, and a neck so wattled under his beard it was all Pons could do not to slice the fellow. ¡°This spring, is it?¡± ¡°If you were to find yourself in the city of Nicea by April, I am sure that you will find a welcome and someone will find a use for you.¡± ¡°What are the chances?¡± You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°I am staying here.¡± ¡°That says a lot. Perhaps I should stay as well.¡± ¡°Oh, do not misread my intention. I wish nothing but the best for ¡®the Hawk,¡¯ Admiral Angelos, and the young fellow who is trying to grow a mustache. I am strongly in favor of Emperor Alexios having a long stable rule, free from the influence of that scoundrel. However, someone will have to run things here in the capital while that scoundrel is in the field trying to crush you. Look at my fat gut. I cannot even sit on a horse these days without bleeding from hemorrhoids. What use would I be in a battle? Also, my son is a dolt. He could not general the kitchen servants in a porridge fight.¡± Pons carefully scraped the senator''s Adams apple. ¡°You might as well try fighting,¡± John Ducas continued. ¡°You and your friend with his deadly invention could help. What a horrible thing. To kill someone a hundred paces away simply by moving your finger. Ghastly.¡± ¡°Not so terrible if it kills Andronikos?¡± ¡°It will not work. His robes are like armor. Your boy¡¯s crossbow bolt may hit him, but it will not cut through the silk. It may hurt him, unhorse him, puncture and leave a scar even, but it will not kill him. Any army surgeon could simply tug at the silk to pop the arrowhead out of the wound. Margrave Guilhelm said you are a barber surgeon. Have you heard of that trick?¡± ¡°There is very little silk worn in the west.¡± ¡°Have you felt silk with your fingers? No? My outer robes are made of silk as well. You have my leave to touch them while I dress later, there is nothing like it. Angels must garb in it.¡± ¡°Very kind.¡± ¡°Go fight. Join young Kantakouzenos. It is not as though you are doing anything here in the city.¡± ¡°Will Andronikos strike before or after he has his wife¡¯s bones reburied?¡± ¡°Helena? Aaah. What a lovely lady. So devoted. So sad. I did not know this.¡± ¡°Moving her to Forty Martyrs.¡± Pons cleaned his blade and moved to shave to the magistrate¡¯s cheeks. I know something you did not know, and now you know that I am someone to be reckoned with. ¡°Nicaea? I have never been. Is it nice?¡± Chapter 59 - Barber Surgeon Chapter 59 Barber Surgeon At some point in his early adolescent years Pons and Rosa the witch woman parted company. Not with acrimony, nor with concern. She could not bind this wild child to her will and he would not suffer her rule. Striking out into the world on his own he had only the possessions on his person which he had acquired over his lifetime - the clothing on his back, a hand axe, a couple of fine bone combs, a good sharp knife which he had stolen, and spring scissors (similar to shears used for fleecing sheep - save the blades were daintier). He honed the edges keenly and set up as a barber and began to solicit for customers outside of a barracks. At first no one would trust a teen barber, but he persisted by offering discounts for multiple customers, and almost daring the soldiers into it. He was able to scratch together a living. Over time he made himself a fixture about the barracks and acted as a sort of servant. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The men-at-arms came to look at him as a useful mascot. Shut up in winter quarters, or when whores and wine were unavailable or unaffordable; the next best thing was dice and course talk of campaigns fought, ambushes sprung, and sieges laid. Pons listened as he combed the lice out of hair. ¡°What is the best way to kill an enemy?¡± he would ask. Each soldier had an opinion, they all loved to brag, and to show you how. Pons learned as he shaved. Watching Rosa had been useful to him. He could also lance a boil, pare away a callous, and remove a splinter as well as an arrow. He knew a bit about which plants and poultices to have handy, was not squeamish at all about stitching up a gash from a blade. He was handy, ruthless, swift, and precise at tooth extraction. He was not a - sniff your bile and look at the color of your piss in a vial - sort of barber and he never said he was. As for the humors: yellow bile was what you puked, phlegm was what you coughed up and spit out, blood was blood, but black bile? No one could really explain black bile to him. Pons would have been laughable to a classical physic, but - after a battle, unless you had a proper army surgeon on hand¡­ Pons was the fellow you wanted. Chapter 60 - At the Gates of Nicea Chapter 60 At the Gates of Nicea ¡°We¡¯re in deep shit now,¡± Pons paused to spit over the side of the parapet. ¡°They are bringing up a battering ram. How is that pot of oil coming along?¡± he called down. Behind and below a copper cauldron was being heated. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re in for some close work.¡± Cyn handed some crossbow bolts to the men on the wall beside him. He opened a compartment on the bottom of his quiver and pulled out a small clay jar. He inserted two fingers in the jar and scooped out a sticky brownish goo. He smeared some on his forearm and handed the jar to one of the others. ¡°Smear some of this on the shafts of the bolt.¡± Cyn demonstrated using the tarry substance. The man beside him sniffed the pot. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Pine tree resin. Where I come from we use it to hold the bolt into place on the groove of the crossbow when we shoot downwards at the foot of the wall. We don''t put pine tree resin in the damned wine for ¡®flavor.¡¯ Mind you apply it smoothly - don¡¯t get any on the feathers - then set them aside until we need them.¡± His Greek was getting better, but it was useful to have the items handy - ¡®bolt,¡¯ ¡®groove,¡¯ and ¡®feather¡¯ - to point to as he spoke. The men were on the top of a round tower which flanked a small gatehouse on the western wall of the city of Nicaea. Cyn handed his arbalest to the soldier on his right. ¡°Do you know how to use the crank to load this?¡± He mimed. The man nodded. ¡°Good. I shoot it. I hand it to you. You crank like a sonofabitch. You set a bolt in nice and tight. Then you hand it back to me.¡± He turned to a dirty kid in rough homespun clothes, perhaps twelve years of age, who had climbed the wall to watch. ¡°Make yourself useful, you little shit. As soon as this man gets it cocked, you hand him the next bolt.¡± He placed another quiver at the kid¡¯s feet. Cyn looked over the parapet. The battering ram had rolled closer. It was made of a massive tree trunk placed in a sling of thick ropes - probably scrounged from the rigging on a ship. One end of the ram had been capped with an iron glob which resembled¡­ a phallus? The wooden framework was covered with planks over which water soaked hides had been stretched to dampen the effects of flaming missiles. A team of oxen had been hitched to the ram and were pulling it. Behind the ram came a squad of about a dozen heavily armored men. They wore helmets and breastplates and each one had a twelve foot long spear in one hand and carried a large square shield on the other. Cyn noticed something else. There was something on the top of the ram. He stopped preparing his crossbow. ¡°What the hell is that?¡± he asked, but Pons had stepped aside to shout to the nearby tower to Issac and Alexios Angelos, the leaders of the rebellion. Cyn focused his gaze. Was someone tied to the top? The person was naked, that much was clear. As the ram trundled closer Cyn could hear screaming and could make out gray hair, breasts, and a thick patch of hair between the legs. It was a woman of middle years. ¡°Hey Pons, you must see this.¡± he called. Pons looked back to the ram. ¡°Oh shit. The bastards have tied a prisoner onto the ram, They must hope we won¡¯t dump oil on it and kill her.¡± ¡°Yeah, well it looks like it is tough luck for poor her,¡± the burly crossbowman replied. ¡°Have you noticed what is shaping up behind the ram?¡± The enemy continued to spill out of the camp and formed ranks. A second company of soldiers. Cyn tried to count them. Twenty, forty, no even more, they kept coming. Over their shoulders they carried long double bladed axes. Verangians. Pons assessed the situation at a glance. ¡°If that lot gets inside the gate we¡¯re done for. There is no way our troops can hold out against them. Any one of them would probably be the deadliest man I have ever faced.¡± The Angelos brothers had been standing with some of the other notables on the flanking tower - also assessing the situation. They had stopped talking and were also staring at the ram. Issac¡¯s face had gone pale and his jaw hung slack. ¡°Mamma.¡± The word half way between a cry and a moan. Cyn and Pons exchanged a glance. ¡°Aaw pig shit,¡± Pons muttered. He then turned and hollered down the stairs to the men at the gatehouse. ¡°Get me some rope up here - a good stout length of it - right quick.¡± Pons continued to survey the battlefield. A couple of dozen mercenary Arab archers with curved bows and quivers full of long arrows scrambled forward in a loose skirmish formation to provide cover for the men on the ram and make sure the defenders kept their heads down. The bulk of the army were not going to get off their soft asses if they didn¡¯t have to. They were hanging about, finishing lunch and watching from the shade. If the ram managed to force the gate, the Emperor¡¯s bodyguard would certainly be able to rush in and hold it until the rest could scramble forward. ¡°Demetrios,¡± Pons bellowed again, ¡°Get oil up here. However hot it is¡­ is gonna have to be hot enough. Move it.¡± ¡°No.¡± Issac Angelos shrieked. ¡°My mother is on that ram. She will be burned. I forbid it.¡± ¡°Everything is gonna be alright,¡± Pons called soothingly to the nobleman on the opposite tower. ¡°Sergeant Cyn is gonna shoot every one of those sons of bitches pushin¡¯ the ram and I¡¯m gonna go over the wall and fetch your momma. You make sure those men down there open the gate when I tell them to. And mind, they might have to close it behind us again right quick, so be ready for it. Then dump the oil on whoever is left.¡± The sight of someone, anyone, taking charge calmed the brothers. Pons went over to Cyn and together they peered over the wall at the advancing men. The Imperial forces hadn¡¯t yet thought to send men with raised shields up front to protect the oxen who were pulling. Cyn fired his arbalest at one. The quarrel hit the beast directly on the nose where a ring was lodged between its nostrils. It went wild from the pain and began to thrash in its harness. For a moment it looked as if the ram would be overturned, but a quick thinking soldier cut the wounded animal free. The same soldier cut the other ox free as well and eight men moved up to push. They did not look like battle ready warriors, more like condemned criminals or deserters given a choice between this or execution. ¡°No,¡± Pons spoke his thought out loud, ¡°This is a sortie meant to terrify the Angelos brothers and send a message. It is a feint, but it could still work.¡± Cyn reloaded his arbalest himself. It was the only weapon which would work at this extreme range. He was pleased to note the men pushing the ram had slung their shields over their backs to grip the ram and they had handed their spears to others behind them. Cyn saw a nice target. A soldier was straining to turn the ram¡¯s wheel over the ruts in the road. There was an unprotected spot when his head bent down exposing his shoulder, between the helmet and the top of the breastplate. The boy he drafted handed him a quarrel with a sharp narrow point. Not liking the fletching he motioned for another which he took, notched it to the string, and set it in the crossbow¡¯s wooden groove. Keenly he aimed straight along the shaft of the quarrel. Not enough wind to worry about. He squeezed the lever. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. The bolt caught the soldier as he was leaning forward to push with all his might. Smashing his collarbone the tip settled in his lungs. As the soldier dropped to his knees, the man coming up behind him accidentally stepped on him. Not realizing his comrade had been shot, he tried to help the dying man to his feet. The ram ground to a halt. Cyn took advantage of the confusion to reload and shoot another soldier in the back of the knee. A fat soldier came up, apparently to berate the two at the front for slowing things down. He was yelling at them to get the ram moving when a third bolt streaked through his upper palate. For a heartbeat the feathers looked like a strange mustache between his nose and upper lip before they became covered in shattered teeth and bloody gore. ¡°Showin¡¯ off?¡± asked Pons. ¡°Are they stupid or idiots?¡± The enemy finally thought of bringing up some men to defend the front of the ram. They held their large square shields directly in front of themselves seeking to cover as much as possible. The archers had caught up to the men of the ram and were pressing forward to fire on the walls. Pons ordered all of the men with bows to fire on the enemy archers with the advantage of range and height. Soldiers on the walls made way as Demetrios and another hulking man used wooden yokes to carry large copper cauldrons of heated pitch up to the parapet on the other side of the gate. ¡°This is a hell of a plan. I shoot everybody while you fetch momma.¡± Cyn let loose with another quarrel which punctured the wrist of a man pushing the ram. A slave brought up the rope which Pons had ordered and the grizzled old mercenary began to tie it around his waist. ¡°As soon as I get the darling clear of the ram and inside the gate, you tip the oil.¡± Cyn took his time aiming, finally selecting the exposed feet of the men with shields. He squeezed the lever and the bolt ripped through his target¡¯s ankle. He handed his arbalest to the man beside him and switched to his medium sized crossbow which he could draw more quickly using the stirrup and the strength in his calloused fingers. ¡°You will probably fall and break your neck.¡± ¡°Si, if God wills it,¡± Pons said as he looped the rope around the parapet¡¯s crenellations and eyed the length he would need to reach the ground. The tower was stout, but not tall. Cyn snapped off another quick shot, but it glanced off a shield. ¡°Shit,¡± he muttered, ¡°I was doing so well. Hurry with my big one, I was having better luck with that. Crank like a sonofabitch.¡± The archers on the plain advanced to within in range. They began to fire arrows at irregular intervals forcing the men on the walls to duck for cover. Rapidly switching crossbows, Cyn fired off three more bolts, but missed each time. He could not take the time he needed to aim properly without presenting a target to the archers. ¡°One of these bastards will shoot an arrow in your ass when you¡¯re goin¡¯ over the parapet.¡± ¡°Si, if God wills it. What are those Verangians doing?¡± Cyn peered from behind cover. ¡°They are hanging back. I think they are going to see if these men up front can force the gate before they charge.¡± On the walls a Nicean archer went down, pierced through the throat, but his fellows continued to pepper the enemy. The gate they defended was one of the smaller ones which strung along the city¡¯s walls like beads on a rosary. It was wide enough for a single cart to enter. The lintels were made of marble and a double door of heavy lumber reinforced with stoutly riveted iron bands blocked access. The doors were barred by a thick wooden beam held in a metal bracket and other beams had been brought up for reinforcement. ¡°Do you want my pavese?¡± Cyn asked, referring to the large shield which leaned against the rear railing of the parapet. ¡°Nah,¡± Pons said, ¡°I¡¯m gonna have my sword, my axe, the rope, and the old lady to worry about. I think I¡¯ll have my hands full.¡± Cyn fired at some of the archers who were getting too cocky. Two of them went down and the rest crouched low for what little cover there was behind shrubs and hummocks on the field. The ram rolled to the front of the gate, and the soldiers heaved on the rear end to line it up squarely. They returned to their places and were preparing to swing the massive log back for momentum when Pons, rope in hand, swung his legs over the parapet. ¡°Now.¡± he shouted. Cyn switched to the bolts coated with pine resin. He leaned over the wall and shot almost directly downwards at unmissable range. His first bolt, fired from the powerful arbalest, hit a burly man low in the belly in a gap between his breastplate and armored kilt. His second punctured the side of another soldier¡¯s neck. Cyn judged it was not a lethal shot as the man only dropped to his knees and began to fumble with blood slick fingers to withdraw the shaft. Pons clambered down the rope and landed atop the ram. He crouched low, thanking Saint Sebastian for blindinging the heathen archers who were holding their fire, perhaps unwilling to send arrows among friend, foe, and hostage alike. The old woman continued to scream and Pons gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Then he brutally thrust the tip of his sword into a soldier¡¯s face. As the man fell, the blade was wrenched from his grasp. He quickly pulled the throwing axe from his belt and hacked down at the head of another assailant. The axe, deflected by the soldier¡¯s helmet, slid past the man¡¯s face, chopping through his collarbone and into his shoulder blade. Pons wrenched it free and with a few precise hacks cut through the ropes binding mother Angelos. The four men remaining at the ram began to pull back afraid of the onslaught from Pons and the withering fire from the wall. Pons chopped down once again, this time at one of the ropes which held the massive log suspended. When the rope split, the head of the ram dropped and buried itself in the earth. It was clearly useless. Pons jumped down to the ground and turned to the old woman who was still sitting on the covered top of the ram. ¡°Come on, Mother,¡± he called, ¡°Jump down. I will catch you.¡± To her credit she jumped, but Pons could not support her, merely break her fall, and both of them fell to the ground in a heap. The great crossbeam was withdrawn and the gates swung open, not to permit their entry, but rather to allow a squad of horsemen to exit. First out of the gate leading the cavalry in a full suit of plate armor was Theodore Kantakouzenos mounted on a splendid black stallion. When the attack began, he had quickly assembled a group of mounted Turcopole lancers and now they were here with him. He saluted Captain Pons with a grin, gave his shield and lance to a squire to hold for a moment. He gallantly offered his cloak to cover the shame of the naked domina, as the mercenary cavalry, riding smaller shaggier horses and armed with short stabbing lances, began to fan out one by one to the sides of the gate. Pons looked glum. ¡°Jesus be with you boy, if you are going to charge those Verangians. They don¡¯t have spears so they can¡¯t turn a charge, but those axes could cut your horse¡¯s head off.¡± ¡°I will burst through their ranks and then circle around and come right back, Uncle. I will not be gone for a moment. How you do worry?¡± Theodore put on his helmet with a face guard. The helmet was plumed with the magnificent feathers of the camel sparrow - a giant bird from Ethiopia which could not fly but which could outrun a horse. He caught up his equipment, and with a ¡®click-click¡¯ sound from his cheek - set his black destrier to slowly walk forward as the last of the Turcopoles exited the gate and spread to their positions. Another ¡®click¡¯ set the horse trotting as they covered the distance to the Imperial guard. ¡°Too few,¡± said Pons to no one. The Angelos brothers wept and held their mother. Up on the wall Cyn watched how the Turcopoles on their sturdy ponies fell in behind their leader in a V formation like a flock of geese on the wing. The enemy archers, highly vulnerable to light cavalry, abandoned the field in haste. With a battle cry the spurs were laid on and the mounted force gathered momentum and raced to engage the Imperial bodyguard. For a few moments it was magnificent. The pounding thunder of the hooves. Lance heads flashed in the sunlight. Colorful pennants on spear shafts snapped in the rushing wind. Scant yards from the Verangian line, Theodore Kantakouzenos¡¯ black stallion¡¯s left foreleg went out, bringing the beast down in a cloud of dust, and catapulting the rider forward. The knight landed on his head. The Turcopoles on the flanks reined in and drew up - halting their mounts. Encased in its armor, the body of Theodore Kantakouzenos twitched for a moment before becoming still. Less than the distance of a spear¡¯s throw separated the horsemen and the Verangians, but no spear was thrown. As if they were one, the Turcopoles turned their horses and trotted back to the city. ¡°What the hells just happened?¡± Pons called up to Cyn. ¡°Our boy¡¯s horse went down hard and him along with it. Stepped on a caltrope, maybe?¡± From the enemy lines a retreat was being sounded. Chapter 61 - Clearing the Field Chapter 61 Clearing the Field Brian the Saxon had been praying to the mother of Jesus to save him when the stallion charging toward him spilled its rider and they landed in a clatter of metal, thrashing horse, and dust. Brian was baptized into the faith and had prayed many times before, but never to have his prayers answered in such dramatic fashion right in front of his eyes. The tip of the lance had been aimed directly at him, but now the shaft was as broken as both horse and rider. For a man who spent a large portion of his waking hours in churches, Brian was of middling devotion. It was his duty to accompany the Emperors as they went about their many religious observances. With pious Emperor Manuel, church attendance had been constant. Now with two Emperors, a rotating shift had been introduced to cover both Andronikos and Alexios. Emperor Andronikos avoided going - certainly to the Hagia Sophia, so most of the religious aspects of the role of Emperor were entrusted to the boy. When he returned to the capital, the next time he went to the church of Christ Pantocreator with Alexios he would bring with him a large candle of fine quality and place it directly before the icon of the Virgin Mary. On the field before him the spearmen on their sturdy ponies, reined in, drew to a halt, turned, and trotted back the way they had come. From the city came two figures, one a teen carrying a white flag, the other, unmistakable after the retreating Turkopoles had passed and their dust settled, was Pons. Brian walked forward to where the agonized whinnying stallion lay. With one overhead, two handed swing of his poleaxe he ended the beast''s suffering - severing its spine - separating body from head. It lay as motionless as the armored rider. ¡°What happened? Did you lay out caltrops?¡± Pons called as he strode forward. ¡°Good afternoon and well met to you as well.¡± Brian looked at the knight on the ground. Both the man¡¯s neck and the ostrich plume on his helmet were bent. ¡°Caltrops? No. You must think someone here has a sense of organization and planning. Looks like the hoof broke through to a groundhog burrow and the leg snapped.¡± ¡°A gopher hole? Fuck. I had such high hopes for this one.¡± ¡°This was your Prince Renier¡¯s friend, no?¡± ¡°Yes. Theodore Kantakuzenos. I think he was a great-grandson of Emperor John of blessed memory.¡± If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°The Holy Virgin saved me. He was charging straight at me. I was praying for her intervention and then¡­ splat.¡± ¡°You can plant the flag in the ground here.¡± Pons indicated a spot to the adolescent who accompanied him. ¡°Run back to town and have them send a cart to fetch this one home. His armor is worth a fortune and can be beaten back into shape. I want you to stick with the arms and the saddle as well, boy. Make sure no one filches them. Uncle Pons will make it worth your while.¡± Pons shifted his gaze from the fallen rider to the tents on the hill to the rear. ¡°Uh oh. Here comes the quality.¡± The tall form of the Emperor followed by his cluster of attendants began to make their stately descent. ¡°I do not think that I have seen an assault carried out in such a fashion.¡± ¡°We have everything but tumbling dwarfs. The stars have to be correct, you see. The lettered tiles in his bubbly water basin have to come up favorably. This morning he produced the mother of the Algelos brothers. He must have had her apprehended a week ago and brought here. I had heard nothing about it. Shamed and placed on a battering ram. A domina of one of the greatest families. In all conscious? Such a thing is unimaginable. He is mad.¡± ¡°His madness has cunning behind it. This battlefield skirmish is being refought in the minds of the Angelos brothers again even now. Is that why you have camped here for so long? Waiting for this surprise?¡± ¡°Yes. I think he was planning for a more grandiose attack today, but you spoiled that. Thank you for waking me up in the middle of the night. That was you I am sure. I was able to watch all of the catapults and trebuchet burning. Your friend and his toy helped. I saw his little arrows in some of the bodies. It has a deadly range.¡± ¡°He was shooting at an ox - they are large and slow.¡± The large slow beast had bolted so far into the distance it was lost to view. ¡°But those three,¡± Brian motioned to two dead bodies on the field and one man down with a quarrel in his leg, ¡°I am impressed. He should do trick shots between the races to entertain the crowd.¡± ¡°Our Hawk, General Lepardis will not be joining us. A week ago we received the news his wings were clipped and his eyes put out. With this one dead,¡± Pons made the sign of the cross over the young man¡¯s corpse, ¡°We are left with¡­¡± ¡°Alexios and Issacos¡± Brian supplied. ¡°Yes. ¡®Sobs¡¯ and ¡®Tears,¡¯ the Angelos brothers.¡± Pons sighed. ¡°What were the exact words you spoke to the Holy Mother for her intervention? Alas, no time. Here they come.¡± The Imperial retinue was drawing to within hearing distance. Pons smiled. Among them, clad in black, cloaked, and hooded, was the noseless skull-like face that owed him thirty silver byzants. Pons bowed low, ¡°Your Imperial Majesty, I come from the city of Nicea under a white flag of peaceful intent to seek your protection so that we may clear the field of the dead and wounded?¡± ¡°You have our Grace,¡± the Emperor consented. ¡°You will want ten, perhaps a dozen stretchers with bearers.¡± The attendants seemed confused as to who should organize such a thing. Pons and Brian a exchanged sympathetic side glances. Crybabies on one side, mad men and incompetents on the other. What was a soldier to do? Chapter 62 - A Quarrel Retrieved Chapter 62 A Quarrel Retrieved Cyn descended the tower stairs and pushed past Alexios and Issacos Angelos as they held their mother and cried. Wrapped in a cloak, she swatted at their heads and berated them as cowards. Out past the gate sat the battering ram, its penis shaped tip askew on the dirt. Bodies of the dead and dying littered the ground - bolts in the neck and guts, sword in the face, arm mostly severed. ¡°Never had a chance to roger the gate?¡± Cyn asked of one of the men who lay gurgling in his own blood. ¡°Get your prick cut off?¡± He kicked another who was down. The soldier he had ridiculed whimpered in agony. A crossbow bolt had entered his side and driven downward towards his bladder. Only the notch and a few feathers remained outside of the wound. Cyn stepped out of the way of the returning light cavalry, drew his dirk, and moved to the fallen soldier. ¡°No, please,¡± the soldier begged. ¡°I yield, please let me live.¡± ¡°Your wound is mortal. Perhaps you will die tomorrow or the next day in screaming agony. I hope you were shriven before setting out on this pointless attack. This way is easier, no?¡± ¡°Mercy, back at the camp there are army surgeons.¡± ¡°But they won¡¯t return my bolt to me, will they? My father made that one. It is my lucky bolt.¡± Cyn¡¯s mercy and Brian¡¯s were delivered in the same instant. Across the field the Verangian and Pons were having a chat as the flag bearer planted his banner. Cyn pulled on the notch of the quarrel. It came out of the dead man¡¯s side too easily. The head had broken off in the body. The feathers were ruined anyway. Mal fortuna. He was running low after the previous evening''s foray. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Another nearby body had staggered a few steps before collapsing from a bolt in the neck. This one came free easily and intact. It was a lucky bolt too. Any bolt which dropped an enemy was lucky. In the middle distance lay the bodies of two archers. Cyn made his way to the fallen forms. Retrieving bolts was easier than making new ones. The two archers lay near a hummock with a shrub growing from it. Both had been making for cover when Cyn dropped them. Fortunately they had gone down for good. He disliked delivering the coup de gras. From the direction of the enemy camp came a gaggle of dignitaries led by the tall purple-plumed fork-bearded imperial gander. Was he in range? Cyn had brought his smaller crossbow and it was slung across his back. He had six quarrels in a quiver at his thigh plus the lucky one from the neck of the poor fellow (may he rest in the arms of Mary) who had tried to hide behind a naked domina as he assaulted a free city (may he burn in Hell). The wind was against him, clouds to the north, perhaps rain later. Much too far for the words of the party to carry and a white flag up in any event. Looking to the task at hand, he set about to extract the bolts from the dead Mohamadeen archers. Both had been hit in almost the same spot - a hand span below the left armpit. Both had fallen within a few meters of the other, and both had broken the shafts of the quarrels. Damn. Looking about he saw the boy walking back to the city. The dead archers'' bows and quivers would not go to waste in Nicea. Cyn whistled to the kid to get his attention. The lad was the barracks mascot and go-to dogsbody of the west gate militia. As the boy was trotting over Cyn cast his glance at Pons and the imperial party which had not moved from the fallen horse. In the distance on the hill by the camp where the gaggle of robed geese had come he saw her. Cyn handed the boy the bows and quivers when he drew near. The lad was about to return to the city when Cyn motioned for him to stay. He began to disrobe the bodies trying to keep the garments free from the blood. He unwound a turban and head scarf from a body. ¡°What do you want with all that?¡± the lad asked. ¡°That my boy,¡± said Cyn bundling up the garments, ¡°is a disguise.¡± Chapter 63 - Dirty Laundry Chapter 63 Dirty Laundry Striding to the gate Cyn explained his task to the barracks lad. ¡°Take these robes to a safe place where they will not be found. Under a bale of hay, in a closet in a tack room, wherever you hide things.¡± ¡°Captain ordered me to bring a cart to fetch back the body.¡± ¡°I will get the cart. You stash the garb, then hurry back.¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The boy seemed about to argue, but a glare from Cyn kept his mouth closed. The captured bows and quivers were handed over to garrison soldiers before the lad gathered up the bundle and scurried off. Glancing about Cyn saw the Angelos brothers and their mother had moved on, but he caught the eye of one of the Turkopoles he had caroused with a few evenings earlier. ¡°Can I borrow your mount? We can hitch,¡± Cyn bent down to look under the horse, ¡°Him to a cart and bring in the dead.¡± The cavalryman consented and handed his bridle to Cyn. A nearby cart was unloaded and the horse harnessed. Heading to the far side of the battlefield, Cyn set a brisk pace. Chapter 64 - A Quarrel Renewed Chapter 64 A Quarrel Renewed ¡°Who then,¡± Emperor Andronikos asked, ¡°Was this heavily shelled tortoise? It appears he did not pull his head in fast enough.¡± The sight of the mangled rider and decapitated horse was drawing the eyes of the attendant functionaries - a small crowd of officers, court officials, servants, and pages. The morbid little joke drew their forced laughter. The tortoise should have accompanied me with a bag of coins to the camp of these same mercenary archers to take the palace on the day of Renier¡¯s funeral, Pons mused. He thought I was jesting, but it would have been his best chance - our best chance - and all of this could be over. He waited too long. We waited too long. Now here is another unexpected opportunity. ¡°He was your majesty¡¯s great-nephew, the youngest son of Ionnes ¡®Half-hand,¡¯¡± Brian replied. ¡°He was coming directly at you. I thought for a moment that I was going to need to find myself another Captain of the Guard. What happened?¡± ¡°The mount broke its leg in a groundhog hole.¡± ¡°Ha. His bad luck, your good luck.¡± The Emperor turned to Pons. ¡°And here is another lucky one - climbing over the wall alone to cut the Lady Euphrosyne loose. Go tell the Angelos brothers to come to my tent for dinner, but to leave their disagreeable harpy of a mother behind. I can see why their father risked excommunication to try to divorce her.¡± ¡°I will relay your message, but I doubt they will accept and put themselves in your power. Hostages will be needed.¡± Although slightly downhill and much shorter in stature, Pons looked Andronikos directly in the eyes as he spoke. The Emperor smiled. ¡°You speak with an accent. You are not from Nicea, yet you fight for them.¡± His face was smaller than the end of the log Pons used for target practice in his room atop the Golden Eel. The distance was greater. ¡°They pay me.¡± A step to the left - farther away from Brian and the reach of his poleaxe. ¡°A sellsword. But I see you do not have a sword?¡± Another step. ¡°I prefer an axe.¡± A throwing axe rested on each hip secured by his belt. The one on the left slick from the gore of chopping through a man¡¯s shoulder back at the ram, the one on his right still clean and sharp. ¡°You do not have to go back to the city. This could be your lucky day all around. You could join the winning side. Capable men are welcome in my camp.¡± The Emperor pointed at the fallen body of Theodore Kantakazenos. ¡°I hope he was not the one paying you.¡± ¡°A tempting offer, Majesty, but I do not like the company you keep. This one,¡± Pons pointed at the noseless courtier in black and took another step, ¡°I call him by name, Stephen Hagiochristiphrites. This one owes me thirty silver stamenon which I won from him betting on the chariot races September last.¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Titters of laughter from the robed assemblage. A glare of recognition from the Emperor¡¯s minion. ¡°Stephen,¡± the Emperor beckoned him forward, ¡°Stephen, Stephen, you disreputable fellow. Have you been gambling in the stands with foreign mercenaries and then skipping out on paying? That is not done. It is not proper. It is not¡­¡± ¡°Gentlemanly.¡± Pons supplied. ¡°Exactly. A gentleman always pays his gambling debts. Even a Latin sellsword knows this.¡± ¡°He lies,¡± spat the henchman, freeing his tongue at last. ¡°I know him not.¡± ¡°Aaah. There you have it. One man says one thing - another the opposite. Am I to judge? Do you have a witness?¡± ¡°There was a free citizen of Constantinople who was to hold the coin for the race - he witnessed the wager.¡± ¡°Alas your witness is in Constantinople.¡± ¡°And we are in Nicea. I see.¡± Pons took another step and he could see. Clouds building to the north. Behind him the gate with a shaggy horse and cart coming along the road. Nicea could not be encircled and starved into submission like other cities. It lay on the eastern shore of Lake Askania which stretched for some twenty miles to the west. To completely cut the city off would require a flotilla. Andronikos had a navy on the sea, but nothing on the lake. Admiral Angelos had officially begun the revolt - to overthrow Andronikos and save Alexios - the goals were very clear - by sailing the fleet out of the harbor. Sadly, a few days later he dropped in an apoplexy on the main deck of his flagship and died the following morning. His replacement was not interested in joining the dead Admiral¡¯s sons in revolt and sailed the fleet back to port. One blow. General Lepardis was to bring his legion of soldiers from the borders of Hungary. His soldiers refused to join. The ¡®hawk¡¯ flew on his own, but had been brought down. News of that had come a week ago. Another blow. Pons could see the dead nobleman broken before him. A third blow. ¡°Knowing what a rascal Stephen is, I suspect you may have the right of the argument. The next time you are in the capital do bring your witness before a magistrate and raise your case.¡± More titters from the Greek chorus. Both master and dog were within throwing range. Two axes. One for each. And then? The Verangian¡¯s tall axe dripped blood so red from the stallion. The bright sun, the fresh breeze. He could end it. This chance would not come again. His soul would ascend to heaven even as his body would be struck down. Of that he was sure. Pons had a deal in place. ¡°He lies. Strike him down and be done with him, Basileus.¡± ¡°And that is another thing a gentleman does not do - violate the sanctity of a white flag. Really Stephen. The Latin would never contemplate violence under a flag of truce, would you, fellow?¡± The opportunity passed. A trundling cart led by Cyn drew close. ¡°You have our leave to take our nephew¡¯s mortal remains for burial. My sons Manuel and Ionnes will be guests of the Niceans while I entertain the Angelos brothers.¡± Two officers stepped forward, one bearded in his forties, the other clean shaven and in his twenties. The Imperial party returned to the camp. With care and respect Pons and Cyn placed the heavy armored body on the cart, unstrapped his saddle from the dead horse and rested it on his knees. The mercenaries led the pony. The Emperor¡¯s sons followed the body of their fallen cousin back to the gates of Nicea. To the north sheet lightning lit the darkening sky. Chapter 65 - Cut and Run Chapter 65 Cut and Run ¡°That was the noseless swindler, did you use the heckle Zinth composed?¡± Pons held the shaggy horse''s bridle and led wordlessly over the fallow field and back to the road which led to the gates of Nicea. In the cart lay the body of Renier¡¯s best friend. Heart of this revolt - this endeavor - the True Romans for the Protection of Emperor Alexios League. Theodore¡¯s hemet was still on and the face plate remained down. Pons did not want to look him in the face yet. Too damn young. Both of them. After many paces of brooding silence Cyn pressed on, ¡°What was said? Who are these fellows?¡± ¡°He is beyond cunning. He is not to be underestimated. He plays one battle on the field and another in the mind.¡± ¡°Eh?¡± ¡°He offers a vision of Hell. Their mother - naked and shamed on a battering cock. They cry and sob. Now will come dinner and a vision of Heaven. They will grovel at his feet.¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°The Angelos brothers.¡± ¡°I do not follow. Who are the soldiers behind us, are they really the Emperor¡¯s sons?¡± ¡°Si, I suppose so. It is a hostage swap. Try to keep up.¡± ¡°What will happen?¡± They marched on. Pons gave no reply and muttered to himself. He had done something to his shoulder going over the wall. Now that the rush of battle and the tension with the Emperor had abated his upper arm seemed on fire. Once through the gates and into the city, he bellowed for the head watchman of the gate. The Emperor¡¯s sons were given over to his care. Let the Niceans deal with them. He needed a moment to think, but there was much to be done. Someone was sent to retrieve the Angelos brothers. A Turkopole wanted his horse returned to him. The body needed to be stripped of its armor and turned over to a priest. Where was a priest? In the way when not wanted - absent when needed. The cart was led to the nearest church. Pons and the Turkopole lay out the body on the steps. The Turkopole took his horse. Someone else took the cart. Pons began to unstrap the armor - worth fortune in the west - was there even a point in keeping it? The dinner invitation could have only two consequences. Either the fight would go on. If the enemy had any mangonels or other hurling artillery remaining after last night¡¯s bonfire they would have to be supplied from the rear. Andronikos would need to storm the walls in a serious effort requiring well led infantry equipped with ladders and ropes with grappling hooks. Troops shielded by mantlets. Kill or be killed. Fine. So be it. What a mercenary was paid to do. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Or the Angelos brothers would surrender. Where did that leave a Latin sellsword? Discretion, distance, disappearance - if he had any sense. Pons was about to tell Cyn to gather his belongings and prepare for a quick departure, but where had he gone? A nervous elderly priest finally appeared to see about the dead body on the steps of his church. Pons stifled a yawn and explained that the final rites needed to be performed and the nobleman¡¯s interment needed to be organized. As for the armor¡­ ¡°Store this somewhere safe. I need to consult his, how do you say it? The document where you leave your property? Will? Testament?¡± ¡°Diatheke?¡± ¡°Si, whatever. Hold the armor and saddle safe here until we consult that parchment, understand?¡± Pons gently removed the nobleman¡¯s helmet. His eyes were still open, as if he could spring back to life again - ¡°See Uncle, I told you I would be back directly.¡± The priest held out his hand as if expecting an offering. Pons handed him the broken feather from the exotic bird and paid him no further heed. He walked off flexing his shoulder. Rain speckled down. What to do? He made his way from the church back to the barracks room he and Cyn had been sharing since they had added their expertise to the cause. Had it seemed promising at first, or had it seemed like the only available chariot on the track? Theodore Kantakouzenos had been paying Pons and Cy the pricy sum of a golden hyperpyron per tenday. Each. Andronikos had been right about that. This was more than the other mercenaries were making - there was a squad of Genoese pikemen manning the east wall - outlaws facing hanging at home, fighting under a bastard son of a bastard son of one of the Embriaco clan, plus the Turcopole light cavalry. Pons felt he and Cyn were worth every obol. They had fought off an entire sortie practically by themselves. Rescued the domina. Led the raid on the catapults the night before. Yawn. Christ he was tired. Perhaps it would be best to slip away in the night. Cut the rope attached to the anchor and let the tide carry them out to sea. A prudent man would be considering escape as a possibility. Pons was prudent. He neatly packed his belongings. His sword was missing, but he could find another. One axe was covered in blood and his right hand was spattered with it as well. He needed a wash. His shoulder pained him. Where the hell was Cyn? They needed to be ready to move at a moment¡¯s notice. Nothing to do but wait until the Angelos brothers returned and try to read their faces. They would probably lie if asked directly. Might as well clean up. Pons took an indirect route to the baths and wandered along the shore of Lake Askania. Rowboats lay hull up, shore birds waded in the mud. They did not mind as the rain fell heavier now. Nicea¡¯s baths, smaller than those in the capital, still functined. He scrubbed off the blood with lye soap in the cold pool before gently lowering himself into the hot caldarium pool. The warm water soothed his aching back, shoulder, and arm. He breathed deeply. What had he done to it? Not getting any younger. A man did not need to take a wound to be wounded. Hadn¡¯t been the proper time for the heckle. Pons fell asleep. Chapter 66 - Betrayal or Another Siege Camp on Another Rainy Night II Chapter 66 Betrayal or Another Siege Camp on Another Rainy Night II Mariaptikee watched the assault with the Emperor and his attendants. Standing beside Andronikos she saw it all unfold: the poor lady on the ram, the missile fire from the walls, the rescue, the charge, the fall. The knight on the black stallion - was it her lord? Please Holy Virgin, I did not even know his name. She gasped and tried to blink away the tears in the corners of her eyes. ¡°Sweetling, you have become excited.¡± ¡°He¡­ the poor horse,¡± Mariapitkee stammered to cover her concern. Andronikos bellowed to the signal man with his curling brass buccina horn. ¡°That¡¯s enough. Sound a retreat.¡± ¡°My Love, I did not know that battle would be so¡­¡± ¡°Battle? This is hardly a battle, my dear. This is merely an invitation to parley. You wait here, fix your eyes, and make yourself pretty once again. We may be having guests for dinner. Ahh, here comes a white flag. Come gentlemen, you can be brave enough to walk onto the field now. Let us see who has fallen.¡± The Imperial party sauntered down the incline. Mariapitkee waited in an excruciating daze of worry. She had to will herself to breath slowly. The horse whinnied in screeching agony. If Andronikos brought her lord¡¯s body back and ridiculed it or performed indignities - she could not watch. Her face would betray her. She walked forward straining to see and immediately wished she had not. The guard¡¯s poleaxe swung, ending the animal. From the city, striding forward with the flag bearer, the one who had gone over the wall rope in hand, was - her Lord¡¯s servant. Which could only mean that the body on the ground was¡­. She felt cold. Everything she had been hoping for cashed in the dust with him. The tears flowed freely. She felt unsteady on her feet. Was that low thunder to the north? The men on the field spoke at length. She could no longer watch, and finally retreated to the command tent which stood on the highest part of the rise overlooking Nicea. The tent was made up of a series of connected canvas pavilions, the central hall of which was over two stories high, held aloft with a pole as tall as the mast of a ship. In the private rear quarters near a heavy cotton mattress stood a mirror, two hand spans wide and almost as tall as the Emperor, of inestimable value. A chip about the size of a wine goblet, or perhaps a shoe, was broken off of the lower left corner. The porter who had dropped it while moving it from the capital had been forced to eat the broken glass. His fellow bearers had tried to care for him in vain during the days it had taken him to die. Mariapitkee looked at her reflection, the kohl highlighting her seductive eyes was streaked from tears and she knew she would have to begin again. She washed her face with tepid water from a nearby basin and began to adjust herself. Why had she dreamed? Daydreams of life with her handsome lord in a castle in Italy. His handsome kinsman in a nearby castle for Eyrinee to marry. A church part way between their estates where their growing families would meet on Sundays and Saints days. The cousins growing up together. Why had she hoped? It would never end for either her or her sister until Andronikos slaughtered them out of hand. It had all come to nothing. Voices spoke, men entered the outer pavilion - the strategy and map room. Mariapitkee listened out of habit as she adjusted her eye cosmetics, although there was no reason to listen anymore. ¡°Stephen, I grow weary of hearing of your financial woes just as I grow fatigued of your command ineptitude. You are epitou stratou, are you not? In command of the mercenary forces, AND also given charge of the artillery for this assault. Where is the artillery? Do not speak. The question was rhetorical, you imbecile. The artillery was reduced to ashes last night. And why? Because of your inadequate security. So now instead of an almighty dramatic assault with screaming momma Angelos as the centerpiece, I have to send her thusly, AND you cannot even muster your archers in a timely manner for this squalid sortie.¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°They pretend that they do not understand. They will not listen to me and show me no respect.¡± ¡°You risk my displeasure. What is to be done, Stephen? How do we assault the walls without catapults, mangonels, and trebuchet? The ones we brought came out of storage, ready to assemble. Shall we build new ones? Do you see any trees about to provide wood? No. Would you know how to build them had we the timber? How many of the siege engineers survived the raid? Could any of them tell you?¡± ¡°I have not¡­ I do not¡­¡± ¡°Look at you fret. Are you crying? Are those tears? Do you get all snotty and have it simply bubble out without the nose? Never matter, I have no wish to know. Turn your back, and compose yourself, but stay. Be not sad. I have no wish to demean you, Stephen, but your chastisement is warranted.¡± ¡°These men do not fear me.¡± ¡°Oh Stephen, are you only to be used as a blunt weapon? Is there nothing sharp about you? Dull, dull, dull.¡± Mariapitkee heard the Emperor¡¯s voice louder, calling to the outer flap of the tent. ¡°Captain, have a squad of your Varangians equipped with¡­ not whips¡­ flails I think - to separate the wheat from the chaff - they will accompany the epitou stratou back to his mercenaries. You may go and gather them. There is no need for a guard. Stephen shall remain, he is one of our oldest and most trusted friends.¡± A moment passed. A patter of rain had begun to fall on the canvas. Quietly Mariapitkee moved to the flap between the connected pavilions to listen more closely. ¡°That one, he is loyal and steadfast¡­ but loyal to the boy. There is another Varangian captain, very fierce, from the land of the Rus. Do you know him?¡± ¡°I have seen him about.¡± ¡°He is less loyal to the memory of my predecessor and his progeny. One night Stephen I may have another discrete task for you to perform. A blunt task. Patience. Soon. Until then, for you my old friend, I shall grant a boon.¡± Maraipitkee could hear the Emperor pacing the length of the outer pavilion. ¡°I shall clear your debt with this lucky Latin who insults your integrity in front of the court. After dinner I will offer the Angelos brothers amnesty. They will be allowed to go free. The citizens of Nicea will not be harmed and there will be no sacking of the city. I know you and your men lust for it, but the Empire needs people. We cannot execute an entire city. Unless, of course, the brothers Angelos refuse my offer of surrender. In that event: rape, butcher, and loot as you please. But they will not. I am sure of it. And just for you I will make it a condition that all mercenaries must be turned over for immediate execution. We do not need foreigners loitering about the borders of the empire making themselves available to our enemies. We will have them impaled before the gates. You can even have the pleasure of changing his luck yourself.¡± Even her lord¡¯s poor servant would only outlive him by less than a single day. Mariapitkee had no more tears. ¡°The Angelos can go forth to tell all the empire how clement and forgiving I am, and how their misguided father dragged them into this regretful situation. And then one dark night, a year from now perhaps, when matters are calm and there is no one remaining for any opposition to rally around, I will have you settle with the brothers.¡± Without warning Andronikos swung open the flap connecting the strategy pavilion and his quarters. She was revealed. The Emperor towered above her. The top of her head came to his sternum, her face at the twin tips of his forked beard. His massive hand gently touched under her chin and tilted her head upward. ¡°There you are, Sweetling. Let us see. Yes, better now. You can dance and play music to entertain the guests. They should be arriving shortly.¡± Oblivious, Andronikos strode on to the outer grand pavilion. Mariapitkee was about to follow in his wake but drew up in pain as a strand of hair at the nape of her neck was sharply yanked. ¡°Hear all you wanted to hear you nosy whore?¡± The living skull hissed in her ear. ¡°I heard nothing. I was fixing my eye makeup.¡± ¡°Yes. Shipwrecks most every day at the Hippodrome, never a tear, but today all weepy. Just remember, Sweetling, I am his favorite.¡± The voice was a rasp, followed by rolling thunder. The rain continued unabatingly. Chapter 67 - In the Imperial Pavilion Chapter 67 In the Imperial Pavilion In order to play the twin aeolian flutes properly, Mariapitkee used a circular breathing technique inhaling through the nose while simultaneously exhaling continuously through the paired pipes at her lips while fingering their holes to produce the haunting and mournful sounds. As she played she danced sensuously. White gown flowing diaphanously, she swirled for the Emperor and his guests. The Angelos brothers seemed nervous and unsure of themselves when they arrived, but later lay back on their couches more at ease. A tame bishop had been brought in as a fourth guest at the dinner - a lavish mockery of the simple fare the soldiers ate outside in the drizzling rain. The bishop particularly enjoyed the flute playing and the dancing. His left hand on the wine goblet on the table in front of him - his right under his robes. She continuously refilled the wine cups as the evening progressed. The Emperor was polite, amiable, conciliatory even. Assurances were given as to the health and safety of the boy emperor. Was concern over his well being not the reason for this ill advised disobedience? Since the boy was fine all could be forgiven. The presence of the bishop did much to allay fears. Dinner concluded. The brothers accepted the offer of amnesty with its conditions and departed. ¡°I will wait for the return of my sons and we will have one more cup of wine to toast my bloodless recapture of this rebel city. Go my Sweetling, warm my bed. I shall be along shortly.¡± Mariapitkee bowed to her master and made her way from the grand pavilion through the strategy tent and into the Emperor¡¯s private sanctum. She had only stepped past the partially drawn flap when she was grasped from behind. A hand over her mouth, so sudden and startling she did not have the time to scream. Spun around in the dim light. Lips pressed against hers. A tongue intruded into her mouth. Dry. Sour, but not rank. Onions? She could not call out. She tried to struggle. A man held her close. She struck his chest, but her attacker was not fazed. At last the kiss ended and she drew back to see - her lord. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. She struck him again open palmed across the face. ¡°Why you hit me? You not like my surprise visit?¡± It was him with a silly carefree grin. ¡°You are alive,¡± she hissed. ¡°Si. Of course, I live.¡± He took her by the hand and pressed his lips to her fingertips. ¡°How did you get in here?¡± He displayed the wet garb of a Mohamadeen archer. ¡°Why are you here?¡± ¡°I see you. On the hill after the fight. You look so sad. I come to save you.¡± ¡°I was sad because I thought you died in the charge.¡± ¡°No, that was another fellow.¡± ¡°The Emperor may be along at any moment. If they find you they will kill you.¡± ¡°Ha. Perhaps, I kill him.¡± He transferred her hand to his crotch and drew out a dirk - single edged, not as long as an old Roman gladius, it would have been a huntsman¡¯s first choice to joint a stag. The keen edge gleamed in the flickering lamp light. Could he cut the Emperor¡¯s throat with a sudden lunge just as he had caught her from behind not a moment ago? She could lay enticingly on the cotton mattress tempting the Emperor forward into the pavilion - baiting him. The chance may never come again. She stroked his shaft. It would mean his death. He must know this. She pressed against him. Gently she withdrew her hand and lowered his arm holding the dirk. ¡°Shhh. No. They will strike you down even as the Emperor falls. I will be caught and tortured. What will become of my sister? You must fly, my Lord, and not simply from this camp. The men who came here tonight mean to surrender the city. All of the foreign soldiers are to be executed at dawn. I lost all hope when I thought you were dead. Now you are back. I cannot lose you again. Keep trying. You must find another way.¡± She kissed him again. Yes, onions. Onions were not so bad. The smell would not make her cry. She would not need to fix the kohl on her eyes again. That was past. Pushing him quickly back the way he had entered, he was gone again, rolling out the bottom rear leaving her with a tent peg to replace in the ground. Damn it. She had forgotten to ask his name. Chapter 68 - The Empress of Hens Chapter 68 - The Empress of Hens When Pons awoke he was all wrinkled and pruney. Hours must have passed. The baths were empty save for a few old men who kept odd hours. I am an old man myself, keeping odd hours. He dried himself off and dressed in the clothing he had brought. His shoulder felt better. A steady north wind blew as he made his way through the streets, wet from the rain which had abated. At the gates, he was told that the brothers Angelos had returned and sent the Emperor¡¯s sons back. No word on what was discussed. There was to be a general muster at first light. This only increased Pons concern. Either there was to be an attack at first light or a surrender. It wanted an hour of dawn. He returned to the barrack. Cyn needed to be ready to move, but he was not in the bunk they shared. Someone else was. * * * It had been a day of high drama for Lady Euphrosune Katamontissa, widow of the late Admiral Angelos. As the sun¡¯s chariot crossed the sky every human emotion had flowed over her, into her, and through her. Eos ¡°the Dawn¡± had brought Phobos ¡°Fear.¡± She had been awash in dread since she was arrested at the family villa north of Constantinople earlier in the week and taken - not to court, not to a nunnery, not even to the Anemas dungeon; but to a siege camp several days uncomfortable travel east of the Bosphorus crossing. Until that day her life had been filled with more customary family dramas. The quietly placid pageant of births, weddings, deaths, small scandals, infidelities, and the like. Those calm days were over. Lady Euphrosune came from a family, not Imperial, but of the bluest blood. In her youth she had been chief lady in waiting for Emperor Manuel¡¯s frigid, foreign, first wife Irene. The Patriarch of Constantinople, Kosmas the second, had cursed the Empress''s womb when he was convicted and deposed for heresy. Therefore Manuel would have no male heir. Empress Irene was unable to carry a child to term after the difficult birth of her second girl, Anna (who died young of the winter cough). The Empress became increasingly irritated and jealous as her first handmaid was forced to step back from her duties to tend to her pregnancies which came along regularly, even as she herself remained barren. That Lady Euphrosune produced sons followed by daughters only increased the Empress¡¯s envy. Sadly Lady Euphrosune¡¯s arranged marriage had not been to the eminent statesman, bureaucrat, and agriculturist John Ducas, but rather his inept younger brother. Undaunted by the dolt she was saddled with, she used her influence and charm to pull enough strings, whisper into enough ears, and cross enough palms with silver to have Emperor Manuel ennoble her husband, despite his having done nothing of note. This meant that he no longer used the cognomen Ducas, but revived an older family name - Angelos; thus beginning his own noble house and lineage separate from his elder brother¡¯s. The Empress'' first maid was pretty, popular, and witty. Lady Euphrosune was the grand matron of the Byzantine court that Empress Irene could not be, and which none of the Emperor¡¯s string of mistresses dared to be. Everyone who was anyone stopped in to visit her as they were traveling in and out of the city to catch up on the latest gossip. Emperor Manuel, cock of the walk, ruled the world of men, but Lady Euphrosune ruled the ladies court. This situation lasted even after Empress Irene took ill and died. Pious bitch. God rest her soul. In later years Lady Euphrosune would have cause to be grateful to this devotion to holy vows until death - in Emperor¡¯s Manuel¡¯s own marriage. It would be held up as a shining example in Lady Euphrosune¡¯s defense when her husband attempted to divorce her in favor of a younger mistress. Ungrateful idiot. After all she had done for him. Emperor Manuel still longed for an heir. Immediately after the required mourning period (and dowry negotiations) he remarried. Another foreign princess was sent for - this time to the constantly vacillating vassal state of Antioch. Beautiful, blonde (from her Norman lineage) Maria (a name that would not need to be changed) took Irene¡¯s place as Empress and as Xene - the noble but friendless foreigner. Lady Euphrosune continued to hold sway with the women¡¯s court for seven more years until the Empress was finally able to bear a live son. Even then she was able to maintain position as chief broody hen with a foot in each nest, insinuating herself as a confidant with Maria of Antioch, while roosting as godmother to Maria Prophorygenita. When Manuel fell ill and died, the Maria¡¯s pecked at one another. Maria Prophorygenita sent a letter to her father¡¯s cousin. A new rooster, indeed a cockatrice, arrived. The entire chicken coop collapsed. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. After Phobos came the emotions of shame and humiliation. She was dragged out of the tent allotted to her tent and stripped naked accompanied by the lewd jests and howls of the soldiers. They forced her to lie on a wet hide attached to a frame. Ropes dragged her limbs spread eagled. Horror. Her mind ran wild. Was she to be raped by the legions? Drawn and quartered? When the frame was hoisted to the top of a battering ram she was almost relieved. Almost. That emotion would come later. Next - indignation. How dare Andronikos? How could God above permit such atrocious abuse? This sense of pique was in turn replaced by pain - in her wrists and back - as the ram, pulled by a team of oxen, bumped along the path near the camp leading to the gates of Nicea. The pain was ignored and replaced by panic - as one of the oxen was struck by something, kicked and bucked, and almost overturned the ram. When it was moving forward again - pushed by men now, she looked up at the blue sky. Clouds to the north. A bird crossed her vision. Was God watching her watching him? Arrows hissed as they crossed her vision. Men screamed as they were struck. Hopelessness. Despair. So many emotions. She tried to remember her prayers of contrition but the words came out as little more than wails, sobs, and moans as her spine jolted along the rutted road. Please Holy Virgin. She begged Almighty God for help. And then, as the soldiers readied the ram to strike the gate, He was there, falling from on high. Sword striking down her oppressors. Not as handsome as the seraphim carved in statues - God¡¯s angry angel, fury in his face, switched to an axe and lay about his foes. Alive, virile, and powerful. For an instant she thought he was going to chop her hand off, but the axe blade missed severing the ropes that bound her. Relief. Amazement. Gratitude. She could barely remember falling into his arms and onto the ground. A cloak from out of nowhere to cover herself. It was all a blur. Horsemen rushed out of the city followed by her sons, Alexios and Issacos. Out of her senses she wept and berated her boys as she held them, though she could not have said why. They wept along with her. And the agent of the Lord waked forward to face Andronikos and his army alone. Who was he? She was given over to the care of the wife of the exarch of Nicea, but refused to be confined to the governor¡¯s house. While her sons supped with the demon who had abused her she seethed and paced the walls awaiting their return. Impatient. She would not be called down by the Exarch¡¯s wife and servants and bade them retire for the night. Lady Euphrosune, no matter the distress she had suffered, was able to command the provincial poultry. A retainer with a lantern was left with her to see to her safety. Bored. She asked after the welfare of Jehova¡¯s guardian soldier, but he, a mercenary from the west, was not to be found. He deserved a purse of coin, but she had nothing but the borrowed clothes from the magistrates wife. When her sons returned she badgered them until they revealed the terms of their surrender and the details of the treachery to be meted out to their foreign allies. Contempt. Her sons would have him suffer the most horrible of deaths as repayment for his heroism. Futility and disappointment. Urgency. Where was her champion to be found? She almost took the servant with the lantern by the ear as she began her search. She had no coin for a gratia, but she could save his life just as he had saved hers. There was another emotion. Thrilled? Excited? Determinated? She felt flushed. * * * The horn and drums announcing the call to assemble had just begun to sound as Cyn, dripping, panting, and gasping for breath, opened the door to the barracks room he and Pons were permitted to share as officers. Pons was not alone. He had found a doxie, and was enjoying having the room all to himself. Pons had a tunic on and was lacing on his breeches. ¡°Good. You are here just in time. We have to go. What happened to you? You are caked head to foot in mud? How is it you are garbed?¡± ¡°No time to explain.¡± Cyn puffed. ¡°We cannot attend the assembly.¡± ¡°Si. Verra. We are betrayed. We will be impaled outside the gates if we do.¡± ¡°She said ¡®executed.¡¯ She did not say ¡®impaled.¡¯¡± ¡°Ahh your dancing girl. I should have guessed your location.¡± ¡°How do you know?¡± Pons put on his boots and motioned for Cyn to grab his belongings. He kissed the woman in his bed on her shoulder. ¡°You understand that I must leave, Bella Domina. Know that I am forever grateful for your warning.¡± The woman, not a doxie, stately and dignified looking, took his hand and kissed it. ¡°No Serrah, I would have died today had it not been for you. I am forever grateful.¡± ¡°You had a difficult day. We will return to the city but must remain hidden. Our quarry will return as well. If some street urchins should bring flowers to your domus, know that I am thinking of you.¡± With so many missiles flying around the gates of Nicea, had Aphrodite¡¯s sweet son been firing barbs into the fray as well? A final emotion. The one that would make such a day understandable. Caked mud flaked off Cyn as they made their way out of the barracks and turned right - away from the horns and drums on their left. ¡°You are a sight. You need a bath. No time. Too bad. I had a bath. Nice long bath. Did you sleep? No time. Too bad. I had a nice long sleep. Did you get laid? No? Too bad. I did. Nice long ride.¡± Along the shore of the lake Pons righted an upside down rowboat. ¡°At least you will have plenty of energy. You will man the oars. A long way. I have a sore shoulder. Do not run off again in the night without telling me.¡± Chapter 69 - Back in the Big Stink Chapter 69 Back in the Big Stink It was the height of summer and the Queen of Cities was at her sweltering worst. A miasma of stench blanked all. Beasts of burden - the oxen, horses, donkeys, mules, and camels which brought in the city¡¯s supplies left their manure in the streets. Rats dodged among the turds. The reek of open sewers, clogged latrines, drifting smoke, rotting garbage, sweat, and cooking food was overwhelming. Following their escape from Nicea (which Pons considered a strategic withdrawal by way of tactical reattempt), the mercenaries returned to their former haunt near the forum of Constantine and announced their arrival with kicks and curses evicting the family which the Golden Eel¡¯s owner had allowed to lodge in their absence. He and his wife had, understandably, given the mercenaries up for dead. ¡°Mother, even from my grave, my ghost would come for your food. Can a ghost eat? Maybe I would simply enjoy the cooking aroma and spook the customers.¡± That tasty aroma, welcome on the first night, would become lost among the other smells as the heat of summer progressed. The largest city in the world once again quickly proved to be a small village. Both Nestor the storyteller and Zinth the hunchback turned up with their hands outstretched looking for a free meal. Pons provided. He needed Nestor, or more accurately his network of urchins, and he also had an idea as to how to make the misshapen beggar useful as well. Pons and Cyn had made their way back to the capital before Emperor Andronikos and his army, but their foe was certain to return. Would the Emperor and his noseless henchman seek after him? No. Pons finally decided, in all likelihood, not finding him among the dead in Nicea, they would assume he had fled. There was no reason for either man to suppose he would return to Constantinople and actively search for him. Most likely he would be forgotten. Still, he would grow a beard and don a broad brimmed hat, like all the Greek farmers, to hide his appearance. With Andronikos absent, Pons felt it safe enough to sit at the hippodrome with an easy view of boy Emperor Alexios II, who was in the kasthima with his adorable betrothed, Agnes. She held his hand when she was not clapping with excitement between the races at the spectacles - not executions - which were given over to tumblers, mimes, exotic animals on parade, and jugglers. Pons did not bet on their way in, though Cyn did. Kosmas gave them a dirty look but took the wager. Alexander ¡®the Great¡¯ - whose racing career had remained competitive over the winter and spring - paid two against one as winner of the third race. This time a mere twenty silver byzants were collected on their way out from the ten gambled. Cyn even did the courtesy of advertising, ¡°Kosmas pays!¡± to all who would listen. They walked back to the Golden Eel with more than enough for a good supper. It was damned well time Cyn paid for once. Walking in they found tall, lean Marius all dusty and sweaty at a table in the common room. He still wore his red and white livery. Back slaps, hand shakes, and ¡®Well mets¡¯ all around. Nestor and Zinth were introduced. Zinth¡¯s back was rubbed. Food and Wine! Stolen novel; please report. ¡°The guard at the gate told me to look for you here. He says he will stop by to be paid later.¡± ¡°What news do you bring?¡± Pons asked. ¡°Little. I am acting as Lord Guilhelm¡¯s herald. I am just doing it quietly.¡± Marius'' voice shifted to a whisper. ¡°Make way. The Marquis de Montferrato comes. Give way.¡± ¡°So, the Margrave is coming? How far behind you is he?¡± Marius spit out an olive pit, finished the last of the wine in his cup, stretched his long legs out, grasped the overhead beam with his hands while still sitting, and looked about as if seeking a place to piss, before he said. ¡°We parted in Dyrrachium a week ago. I rode overland, but he was going to hire a ship and sail. You know how I travel. You know how he moves. Faster than a snail, but not quite as fast as a tortoise. And this time it is worse than ever. He is older, and the entourage he is bringing. Madonna, save me. What is he not bringing? He is convinced he will never see Montferato again. Lady Joanna is as bad. What he did not think to bring she pressed upon him.¡± ¡°They are right. He probably will not see Monferrato again; he is an old man traveling into a dangerous land in an uncertain time. Does he bring soldiers?¡± Pons asked. ¡°No. Only servants. He only wants to stop in Constantinople for a few days in secret to find out what you know and how you are getting along. Then he and I will continue to Jerusalem. He is cautious, fearing that Guy de Lusignan, Queen Sybilla¡¯s new husband, would see soldiers as a threat. No, Margrave Guilhelm is simply a caring grand-papa who has come to see his eldest son¡¯s only orphaned child learn his manners and his catechism to become a proper king. Why even now, I am simply a riding instructor going back to see to the prince¡¯s horsemanship. We need to pick out a pony for him.¡± ¡°What about us?¡± asked Cyn. ¡°Will we be going to Jerusalem with you, returning to Montferrat, or staying here?¡± ¡°I guess that depends on what you know and how you are getting along?¡± He paused to wave the hostess over to refill his cup. ¡°Where to¡­?¡± he pointed to his crotch. ¡°Nestor, point him to the piss jars.¡± ¡°My Lord Conrad, however, is training an army. That will give him something to do. His wife and child died during a birthing.¡± Marius said over his shoulder as he was led out. Pons nodded and looked somber. He could not remember Conrad¡¯s wife¡¯s name. God, he was getting old. He had attended the wedding. She had been a daughter of one of dame Judith¡¯s elder brother¡¯s vassals in Austria. Baroness¡­ something. ¡°To her memory,¡± he toasted and drank. When Marius returned he picked up his filled cup and sat. ¡°It is too much to hope that the Margrave sent you with any coin. Bribes, burials, and revolts are expensive.¡± ¡°I have a bit of traveling money. Why are you broken?¡± Pons waggled his hand in a so-so motion. ¡°I would feel comfortable with more.¡± ¡°You could bet on the chariots like I did.¡± Cyn gloated. ¡°I would prefer to stack the odds in my favor. Boys, who is up for a little adventure?¡± Bemused stares all around. ¡°Right! Nestor, get along to the carpenters who fixed our upstairs room. Find a compass saw and bring it back here. Cyn, gather your kit. Marius, have some more wine, you may need to be drunk to agree to this. Zinth, with the summer¡¯s heat the cisterns under the city must be running low. Do you think you could lead us to where the chariots are stored at the base of the hippodrome? Unseen like?¡± Growing smiles all around. Chapter 70 - Mischief Chapter 70 Mischief Once Nestor returned with the saw, they swilled down one more cup-full of wine for courage. Pons pressed a silver byzant on the goodwife of the Golden Eel with the instructions that should a guardsman from the Golden Gate come, she would give him the coin and he would eat and drink on Pons¡¯ credit. Wineskins were filled for the revelers and their follies. Almost as an afterthought Pons brought some dried lamprey as a snack. On the rapidly darkening streets, their first stop was at a chandlers stall for the correct equipment. Pons bought a lantern fueled by oil with a wick - metal on three sides with a bull¡¯s eye aperture on the front which could be shielded from a draft (or observation) merely by covering it. He handed it to the hunchback. Thrilled to be in the lead position, Zinthziphitees almost danced with delight at the midnight drunken caper about to unfold. Nestor followed with no light source, merely his crutch. ¡°I should be abed. You will all run and leave me to be caught and lynched.¡± Behind came Pons, Cyn, and Marius. Each carried a torch as yet unlit. The men of Montferrat were armed but not armored. Pons carried the triangular saw discretely along the length of his forearm. They made their way nonchalantly through the gloom. ¡°The misshapen Greek is leading us the wrong way,¡± Cyn murmured to Marius, ¡°Hippodrome¡¯s back that way.¡± They turned right and arrived at an archway with an iron gate closed by a padlock. ¡°The journey¡¯s end for you and me - we simply do not have a key.¡± Zinth sniggered. "Unless you robbed a bearded one¡­ good night my friend it has been fun.¡± Two quick cracks with the flat end of Pon¡¯s hand axe sundered the lock. Beyond the gate a stone stairway curled into the darkness. ¡°You two, wait here,¡± Pons indicated with a nod of his head to Cyn and Marius. ¡°I¡¯ll whistle - you come.¡± Pons lit his torch from the lantern Zinth carried, and gestured for the club foot and the cripple to lead the way down. ¡°You two, advance.¡± At the top of the stairway Cyn and Marius leaned back into the shadows, settled on their haunches, and let the late street traffic drift past. ¡°Is he always like this?¡± Marius asked. Marius and Cyn knew one another from days past. ¡°We recently returned from Nicea. We joined a revolt. It failed. He is furious. It is the heat. Who can sleep? Better if we do something.¡± ¡°We did not have a chance to speak when I arrived in Montferrat last summer. I came in late one afternoon with the bad news about Renier while you left early the next morning.¡± ¡°Pons did not even bother telling me I was going to Constantinople until I dragged it out of him. Did you know the Margrave granted him a grain mill near Tanibrook?¡± Mutterings and curses from the stairwell. Pons¡¯ torchlight had spiraled down out of view. ¡°He tells you what he wants you to know when he wants you to know it.¡± ¡°Or he tells you nothing because he has no plan. Which do you think tonight¡¯s lark is?¡± Marius chuckled. ¡°You rose to be Lord Conrad¡¯s sergeant during the five years I was in the Land Beyond the Sea. Were you busy while I was gone?¡± ¡°Some,¡± Cyn replied. ¡°After the League of Lombard cities made peace in Venice with Lord Guilhelm¡¯s cousin, the German Emperor, things became quiet. Quiet with the Lombards that is. Lord Conrad fought at Camerino for a time. Bigger than a ¡®skirmish,¡¯ not really a ¡®battle,¡¯ certainly not big enough to be a ¡®war.¡¯ A ¡®campaign¡¯ I guess you could call it. Some spoils. We ransomed an archbishop, but still not enough for a man to take a wife. A lot must have happened to you over five years. What were you doing all that time?¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°William the Longsword fell ill and died - one year, almost to the day - after we arrived. King Baldwin was unsure what to do with me. Count Raymond counseled sending me home, but as he lay dying, Lord William charged me to defend the child growing in his princess¡¯s womb. Things said on a deathbed are taken very seriously in the Holy Land, so I stayed in Jerusalem. This was fine with the King as I simply made myself a bunk in the corner of a tack room in one of the stables.¡± ¡°King Baldwin. He is a leper, no?¡± ¡°Si.¡± ¡°And how is he?¡± Cyn made a circular motion around his face. ¡°Not good.¡± Marius drank a squirt of wine from the skin. ¡°He wears a mask because¡­ not good. Five years ago it was not so bad, he could ride a horse well, and you could understand him when he spoke. It became worse though. He could barely hold things when I left. It will be over a year by the time we get back there, so I fear what we will see.¡± ¡°What did they have you do?¡± ¡°They made use of me. That land is hard on horses. All dry rock and scrub brush. Working in the stables and watering the mounts is enough to keep a man busy, but I also kept the horses exercised beyond the walls. The King had me riding here and there with messages to this bishop and that lord when times were peaceful. I also did scouting when the army was on the move. About a month before the Longsword¡¯s son was born, Saracens invaded from Egypt. Do you know where that is?¡± Cyn shook his head. A whistle echoed up from the stairwell. ¡°Egypt is a long hot way off south across the Middle Sea.¡± Cyn led their way down, his left hand on the column which the stone steps wound around. His right reached out for the railing on the outside of the circular stairs which was often absent and broken off. Marius, minding his head in the low confines, squeezed in the rear. The pupils in their eyes widened as they became accustomed to the darkness on their seemingly endless spiraling descent. At the bottom was a brief narrow passage before they entered a vast underground chamber. Hundreds of columns stood out from the water - centurions in a legion - and receded out of view. Their gazes went up, but the ceiling, if there was one, was lost in the darkness beyond the light of torch or lantern. The feeling Cyn had once felt gazing up at the roof of the Hagia Sophia - wondering if the hand of God kept it aloft - was back. Magnified. Cool droplets of water fell from on high like a gentle rain. The Aqueduct of Valens fed the cisterns and the cisterns filled the city¡¯s many fountains. Pons was correct - with summer high the water level was running low making the underground network passable. First, however, feet would need to get wet. Marius and Cyn lit their brands from Pons¡¯ torch. Stepping into the dark water, Zinth and Nestor¡¯s sandals immediately became soaked. Together they moved as quietly as they could for five men wading through water. The water level gradually rose to cover the mercenaries'' ankle high boots. At the base of a column a carved stone face lay on its side, half in and half out of the water. The one eye above the surface seemed to follow the cadre. Cyn did not care for this place one bit. Sober now, he lost count of how many columns they waded past. At the far side was a wall. Hunching their way through a low, narrow, conduit they eventually came to yet another massive cistern. By this point even lanky Marius¡¯s riding boots, which came to the middle of his calves, were full. This new cistern was so tall Cyn could see high up to where each column had had a stone ring upon which rested - another column - thereby doubling the height to a ceiling so far up and out of sight it was all he could do to slog on. ¡°It has held up since the time of the saints. It will hold up for tonight.¡± He said aloud to himself and to everyone. A splash far off in the darkness. A rat? A bat? Someone else? They ventured on. Again he lost count of the columns passed. Finally they came to a wall and followed it to a passage - more of a crevice Cyn felt. Another circular staircase leading up this time with treacherously narrow steps. ¡°Watch your footing,¡± he hissed. ¡°All I need is for a hunchback, a cripple, and a drunkard to come rolling down on me should you stumble.¡± As he emerged into the moonlight, Cyn looked around and found they were just down the second hill south of some grand palace and the Church of Saint Euphemia. Sure - there just a short saunter down the slope was the sphendone end of the hippodrome - the massive arched and columned U-shaped southwest end of the racing circuit. Bunching up, Pons issued instructions. ¡°You two, distract the drivers and the grooms who still remain awake.¡± Under the spectator seating to the north lay the stables and the drivers¡¯ quarters. ¡°Stories, songs, jokes, rhymes, wine, let them rub your back for free, the lot. Anyone comes our way - Nestor you drop in an apoplexy and start thrashing on the straw. Make a lot of noise.¡± ¡°You two, eyes on the street. Bird-whistle me if you see any trouble. Use your judgment. Understood?¡± Pons darted off into the shadows at the southern end of the sphendone where the chariots were stored. ¡°Whistle if I see trouble? This entire shenanigan feels like trouble.¡± Cyn sulked. Marius leaned against an archway and proffered Cyn his wineskin. ¡°Listen to you. It has only been a year, but the way you complain is as if you have been married for decades.¡± Chapter 71 - More Mischief Chapter 71 More Mischief The mercenaries doused their torches in the cistern, to allow their eyes to adjust once again. Up the stairs, the only light came from the slightly less than full moon - the speckled silver wheel of Selene¡¯s chariot making its monthly circuit - a few wispy clouds, but the night was clear. Pons gave instructions and hoped everyone was sober enough to do their parts. He parted from the others and skipped from shadow, to moonlight, and back under the tenebrous arches, then paused to take his bearings. To his right lay the inner part of the U-shape of the sphendone with a massive tack room. Harnesses, ribbons, feathers, placards, and ornamentation for the next day¡¯s races were laid out. To his left and the outer part of the U-shape was a storage alcove with chariots lined up, ready for their teams to step up and be harnessed for the following day¡¯s parade to the starting gates. It was at this point that Pons realized his folly. In Cyn¡¯s haste to collect his winnings after the final race they had not waited to see the lots drawn for position in the next day¡¯s contest. His plan was to cut part way through an axle with the saw. But which chariot? The harnesses were colored and beribboned, but not the cars. The placards with the team''s racing record were in the tack room beside the harnesses, not beside the cars. Eighteen identical wicker chariots were before him with more spares and broken ones in the rear. Another thought struck him. How will I know which chariot I have sabotaged tomorrow when it comes to the betting? They all look the same. Sabotaging the harness would be out of the question, the drivers and grooms would notice cuts or frays while bridling the horses. No, it would need to be a chariot. Glancing about in the gloom he saw what he needed. On a shelf lay a pottery urn of axle grease to cover the damage. Nearby was a tally board with chalk. Someone would have bad luck. Pons chose the thirteenth chariot. He marked the inside of both the chariot¡¯s metal wheel rims with the chalk. He knelt beside the left wheel and made half a dozen rasps with the saw blade. How deep to cut? Enough to make the wheel come off when stressed, but not so deep that the car cannot make the parade and past the starting gate. It was at this point that he became aware of a low, rumbling growl. Advancing from the dark, past the stalls where the horses were now softly nickering, paced a hound. * * * ¡°You must stop me if you have already heard this tale, in order that I not washte my breath. My voice rashps with age, and I am telling you this amusing story for free.¡± Nestor slurred his preamble. He and Zinthzinphitees staggering and supporting one another drunk was a common enough sight at any hour, and the only thing suspicious about their being in the common room of the charioteers barracks in the north end of the Hippodrome¡¯s undercroft was that they had brought a wineskin to share with the few drivers and grooms who lingered late. ¡°Our mighty Emperor Andronikos, first of his name, did shummon to attend a banquet in the city, the world''s most powerful men. Noble and worthy lords from near and far came. At the feast they fell to talking of matters military - both shtrategic and tactical. Hic. They boasted of which of them had the most daring cavalry, the most accurate archers, and the most valiant infantry. Through all the convershations Emperor Andronikosh listened, but remained shilent and merely shtroked his beard. Hic.¡± Nestor mimed the action. ¡°¡®Prove to me the loyalty of your men!¡¯ the Emperor challenged his guests. Hic. He directed the greatest of them, Frederick - King of the Germans, and Shaladin - Shultan of Damascus, to the column of Arcadius in the forum which bears his name, and bade them to climb to the top, each accompanied, like himself, by their chosen soldier.¡± ¡°When was the Sultan of Araby in town?¡± one of the grooms hiccuped. ¡°Quiet fool, he is relating a comic anecdote satirizing the political elite. It did not actually happen,¡± a driver reproved him. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Following a dour look and a belch, Nestor continued, ¡°¡®Order your man to leap from the column and plummet to the cobbles below if he is so loyal,¡¯ Emperor Andronikos challenged his fellow monarchs.¡± ¡°King Frederick Barbaroshsa commanded his faithful knight to jump, but the knight refused, pleading he had a wife and family he loved and who would be left without a benefactor should he die. Holy scripture spoke against sush action. No?¡± ¡°Shultan Saladin commanded his shtaunchest warrior to throw himself off the tower, but the man refused. He also had a wife and family held in affection who would have no one to support them after his passing. To die merely for vanity was a shin. No?¡± ¡°Emperor Andronikos ordered his Megosh Domeshtikosh - commander of the army - to jump, and with no word - over the edge he went.¡± Smack. Nestor clapped his hands horizontally. ¡°His corpse was a bloody schmear in the forum below.¡± Zinthzinphitees now also down with the hiccups, bade the drivers pat his back. With wine late at night, free luck for tomorrow¡¯s race, and a bedtime story; no one noticed the stable hound sniffing off south into the shadows of the horses¡¯s stalls. ¡°Why, hic¡­?¡± the groom asked. ¡°Why did he jump? Hic.¡± ¡°Good question, my friend, that is exactly what the King and the Shultan asked. Emperor Andronikos stroked his beard,¡± Nestor mimed the gesture again. ¡°And replied ¡®He jumped because he has a wife and family he loves.¡¯¡± Guffaws from the table. ¡°Hic. I do not comprehend the nature of the jest and how it explains his self sacrifice?¡± The groom persisted. Zinth supplied, ¡°The man was afeared that should he fail to obey the Emperor his family would end up as a lesson between the races.¡± ¡°If you have to explain it, the jesht loses all of its punsch.¡± Nesor huffed. * * * Cyn and Marius first sauntered east along the curve of the sphendone with the city wall to their right only to find that the street ended at the south gates of the Great Palace. Fading back into shadows they retraced their step and headed north towards the church Cyn had seen earlier. Sitting on the steps they passed the wineskin and each took a swallow. ¡°Where were we?¡± ¡°Egypt? ¡°Right,¡± Marius stretched his legs out. ¡°I was with the King of Jerusalem and his forces. The plan was to meet up with some knights of the Temple at their fortress. I rode ahead with a message but came across beturbaned scouts who rode off when they spied me. I followed and saw a vast host approaching. I laid spurs and warned the Templars to prepare for siege, and raced back to the King. The Templars walled up in Gaza while we were sheltered in Ascalon. Other riders were sent summoning all men in the kingdom - any age, any weapon, pitchfork, scythe, anything. Overnight on the double to Ascalon. Then - for some reason - rather than besiege us the Sultan moved his army past. A huge army, beyond counting. Did I mention there were a lot?¡± ¡°I rode again to tell the Templars to make themselves ready. It was the King¡¯s intention to attack from the rear. By the time I returned, my horse was winded, so the King gave me leave to ride one of his own spares. I took my place as the last rider on the far right wing of the cavalry. We came over a ridge and there was the Sultan¡¯s army spread out before us down the hill and across the plain. No rear guard, no order. We dismounted, and knelt. A priest came forward and we said a long prayer. I kept thinking ¡®Father, keep it short, they are going to see us and form up.¡± But they did not. We mounted and cried ¡®Deus Vult¡¯ as we charged for the will of God. When they saw us coming they broke and ran.¡± ¡°There was this one heathen heathen. You¡¯ve seen them, Cyn yeah?¡± Cyn nodded. ¡°They wear scarves tied upon their heads.¡± ¡°I know they are devilish to tie always an end hangin¡¯ in your face or trailin¡¯ in the mud behind you.¡± ¡°Eh?¡± ¡°You are not the only one with war stories.¡± ¡°I want to hear yours. It is good to catch up.¡± Another swig of the red grape. "Where was I?¡± ¡°Headscarf.¡± ¡°Si. Difficult to tie, as you say. I was charging, one man broke and ran. His headscarf was loose. I don¡¯t know if he tied it differently from the others because he was a jaunty sort of fellow, or if it had become untied over the course of the day, but I clearly remember it flapping as he ran. Then I speared him in the small of the back. I keep thinking about him almost every day, and it has been six years. That Saracen, who was he? I rode down others that day, but the one with the yellow headscarf coming loose and the terror in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder. God was with us, but I do wonder about that man. Like that.¡± Marius snapped his fingers. ¡°I took his life - which was all he had - and then the King''s horse was past him and running down the next. Perhaps he had a missus and little ones. Have you ever killed a man?¡± Cyn took another swallow of wine. ¡°No.¡± He leaned back with his elbows on the stone church stairs behind him. ¡°Not this week. Last week¡­ several. Mind you, this week still isn¡¯t over yet.¡± Chapter 72 - The Fourth Wager Chapter 72 The Fourth Wager ¡°There¡¯s a good,¡± Pons looked under the belly of the dog as it licked the dried eel from between his fingers, ¡°Girl. Who is a sweet mutt? Why, you are. No, keep your snout out of the grease. It is no good. That is why I am putting it back on the shelf like nothing happened.¡± He held up the skin of the eel. The black hound, thankfully a sweet tempered barn dog - to keep the high strung horses calm - not a guard dog, begged wagging her tail. He had brought the fish in a pocket, as an afterthought, something to snack while sipping from a wineskin. But¡­ was it an afterthought? A premonition? ¡°Ah, there you go,¡± Pons tossed the morsel. The dog pursued it into the hay. He cleared up the telltale saw dust from beneath the chariot - hopefully the cut would suffice, ¡°Now I must bid you a goodnight.¡± Passing through the archway and slipping from shadow to moonlight to shadow once again, Pons reconnoitered the avenue. All dark, all silent, except - from the steps of a church - the laughter of his own watchmen. He strolled up to them. ¡°Having a pleasant evening?¡± ¡°Except for our feet being wet, it has been a lovely night,¡± Cyn held out the wineskin. ¡°Seen anything?¡± ¡°There is a beggar sleeping at the far end of the church stairs. Over yonder I spy the first of the fishing boats putting out to sea. There have been a few cats lurking about.¡± ¡°Back to the tavern then.¡± ¡°Above ground or below?¡± ¡°Above. Looks like we are in the clear. We ¡®aven¡¯t done nothing wrong. If the viglas stop us we are simply drunks heading home.¡± ¡°It is said the streets of this city are to be feared at night.¡± ¡°True, Marius, true. That is because of evil men like us.¡± ¡°Should we wait for our co-conspirators?¡± Cyn asked ¡°Bugger ¡®em. They¡¯ll show up, they always bloody do.¡± * * * Late in the morning, when the trio from Montferrat came down to the Eel¡¯s common room, they did indeed find Nestor and Zinth pestering the goodwife for food. ¡°So, once again, who do I bet on, and who do I bet with?¡± Marius asked. Pons raised his voice. ¡°Gather around everyone I do not want to repeat this. We do not know which team to wager on until I watch the parade to the post. I will instruct you at that point. However, I recommend you wager with Kosmas, at the main stands. He enjoys betting with out-of-towners.¡± ¡°And Kosmas pays.¡± piped in Cyn. He was stiff having slept on the floor to allow Marius, the guest, his bed. ¡°Can we eat and move this to the hot baths?¡± ¡°Kosmas pays almost all he owes, almost all of the time. He has not seen Marius before and does not know we are in league. Nestor and Zinth, you will show up later with more silver. You will tell Kosmas you have robbed us, ¡®the Latins.¡¯ He will love it.¡± ¡°Since Fortune shows favor - we wish to wager.¡± Zinth rhymed. ¡°And if Fortune does show favor, this will provide enough to continue living until the Margrave arrives.¡± * * * Alexander the Great noticed that more flowers, thrown from the girls watching the parade to the post, rained down on Antenor (for the Greens) and Diocles for (the blues) than on any of the others. They were the favorite charioteers. Handsome pricks. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Gone were the days when he rolled to the post without a standard bearer. An impressive tally was now recorded on the placard. He led the six tetra hypos - quadriga teams following the twelve biriga chariots, six each for the day''s first two races, as they rolled along the avenue. Old timers talked of the grand days when six races were held each day, eight on feast days or if a foreign dignitary was in town. There would be four, or in the final, even five teams pulling. Back then, newcomers from the provinces would briefly try starting up a white or red faction as in the ancient days. Inevitably they would run out of money within a few months. Nothing like that racing atmosphere had existed for ages. Now, in Constantinople you were either Blue or Green. There were only three races - when and if there was to be a race day, and two of those would merely be synoris - biriga races. What was the Empire coming to? Alexander smiled to see his good luck pisan in the crowd with his friends. When the Latin brought his sister¡¯s favor and turned his fortune around, he became solid on the track. His come from behind win and the clean sweep victory - was one of those ¡®you should have seen it¡¯ races, which was still talked about in the forums and markets almost a year later. Even now the comb, Anna¡¯s hair fallen away, was still woven through the threads of his tunic. Again Fortune was smiling on him. He could feel it. After his victory on the previous day he had been lucky enough to draw the lot for first position. He would have no need to cut inward for advantage. All he needed to do was charge like Hell when the gates swung open and spin-pivot on the left wheel while bringing the horses around at the far end of the spina. Simple. If Alexander¡¯s talisman did not meet his eyes and stared instead at the rims of his chariot wheels, it went unnoticed as a proud poppa pushed forward with two sons and two daughters showing their blue colors and offered apples to his team. Alexander smiled his assent. * * * ¡°Saddens me to say it, men, but we will be abandoning our customary support of the Venetoi and I will have you place your bets on the Parasenoi.¡± Pons handed a purse each to Marius, Zinth, and Nestor. ¡°Green across the board. No particular driver.¡± * * * The carceres - massive stone starting gates - were capped with a magnificent gilded bronze statue which resembled his own team. They were slightly curved to compensate for the circumference of the track and adjust distance. Horse shit. Everyone knew the inside team had the advantage. Alexander the Great, in pole position, had a clear view of the Imperial box where the Emperor Alexios¡¯ fiancee stood with the white cloth dangling from her fingertips. However he was watching the referee who would release the ropes to open the hisplex - the starting gates. The French Princess would release the mappa, the referee would release the rope. He watched the referee. And they were off. Alexander shifted his weight to the back of the chariot with his feet over the axle, leaning and using it as a fulcrum to lift the yoke off of the two middle horses. Less encumbered, whip cracking fear - right behind their ears, they were free to hit their stride. The outside horses were not attached to the yoke - at all - and were unburdened, only trace straps connected them to the bridles of the inner horses. The secret, the trick, the skill, came in keeping all four houses - burdened and unburdened - parallel. With four sets of reins to control and only two hands, one holding reins, one holding a whip, it was a challenge. Feet wide, his center of gravity low. His second whip snap went to the face of Antenor racing beside him. Boos from the crowd, but once the hisplex fell, there were no rules. As this team surged forward he also whipped the faces of the green horses beside him causing them to veer to the outside. Open track and room to turn. Ha Fortuna! Physics. Centrifugal force, momentum, velocity, shifting weight, tensile strength. Rounding the spina the axle snapped and the inside wheel came off his chariot. Thrown from the car and pulled forward by his team, Alexander fishtailed, dragged along the track. Whip forgotten he drew his knife and slashed at the reins wound about his left hand. The remains of the chariot hit the obelisk of Constantine on his left and splintered to wicker and wood fragments, Alexander missed by a hair¡¯s breadth, as he did the pounding hooves of the team on his right. So close everyone in the stands rose as one to watch the man''s life or death struggle. Once cutting himself free¡­ he was immediately run over by one of his own teammates sending the latter¡¯s car swerving out of control, his team of horses diarayed. Alexander the Great lay in a heap, unmoving, for two more circuits until the stretcher bearers got into position and judged it expedient to throw him on and run off the track. * * * After the weight of the odds, the celebration dinner, and Nestor and Zinth¡¯s slice, the win was not a doubling of Pons¡¯ wealth, but it was helpful. Still, it nagged. He could not help but feel that somehow he was responsible for the injury of their lucky charioteer. Chapter 73 - Ships Chapter 73 Ships The view of the Bosphorus straits past the harbors from the railed balcony atop the column of Arcadius was expansive and unlimited, unlike the conversation with the stylite which was going nowhere. ¡°So I confess to all that which I have told you and yet you cannot offer absolution.¡± Pons shook his head. ¡°Give me back the meat pie.¡± ¡°I cannot grant absolution because your Catholic heresy breaks with Orthodoxy. That blasphemy alone damns you before any dirty tricks you may have played at the chariot racing circus.¡± ¡°Waste of time talking to you. Still, mum and silent - seal of the confessional and all that. Wouldn''t want any of this to get out. That is a long fall.¡± Pons¡¯ eyes scanned the horizon, which was the real reason for his personal ascent up the narrow stairs along the inside of the sea green column¡¯s drum, not absolution. He had a feeling that today would be the day. ¡°How long have you been up here?¡± ¡°I ascended when the foreign Empress Regent and her lover, Emperor Manuel¡¯s nephew, tried to seize power from the true Emperor, Alexios II. I remain while the Kingdom of Man strays from the Kingdom of Heaven.¡± ¡°Praying to put it back to rights, are you?¡± ¡°There must be one Emperor, clear and unchallenged on Earth, just as there is one all-powerful God in Heaven.¡± Off in the southern haze rising from the sea Pons spied a white and red sail. ¡°If you spurn mankind and want to get close to Heaven why do you not climb a mountain?¡± ¡°I do not spurn mankind, I spurn mankind¡¯s excesses.¡± No. Two sails. Red over white. ¡°Ha ha. I do not suppose a dove has shit on you today?¡± No. Wait. Three. Three ships from the west flying under the colors of Montferrato. The Margrave was coming. ¡°Not today, but for a blessing would you do a Holy Brother a kindness and carry down my chamber pot?¡± ¡°On a mountain you could shit in the forest and piss in a stream. All on your own.¡± Pons chuckled the whole way down. ¡°Empty my piss pot he asks.¡± Pons was unconcerned about failing to obtain absolution. He had a deal in place. * * * The first time Pons visited Montferrat and met Lord Guilhem was on a beautiful spring day in the year 1147. In his early twenties at the time, he had always been of a flexible morality, and was ignorant of all Church learning save the most rudimentary gestures, genuflections and responses picked up, not through instruction, but merely by observation. Yet at this point in his life he was concerned about his soul. And more particularly, his life. On that April morning a large table had been set up out front of St. Evasius¡¯ church and busy behind it were the clerks, priests, and notaries which would deal with the organization of the entire ¡®thing.¡¯ Stolen novel; please report. The ¡®thing¡¯ they were preparing for was a¡­ what? A pilgrimage? A campaign? A pilgrimage with a lot of soldiers and supplies in any event. Fighting men were needed. Pons had long ago left lawful employment when the barracks, where he acted as mascot and barber, was ordered, by the King, to surrender to a neighboring Lord. The local Count refused and rebellion ensued. Pons¡¯ hardiness and folk remedy medical skills proved handy in the field to the rebels, but as time wore on and the political situation became hopeless, the rebels became outlaws and then highwaymen. Older veterans from the barracks died or were killed, but new recruits, ne''er-do-wells, and runaways from all over would seek the band. They numbered between twelve and twice that, as the toll of seasons, attrition, and illness waxed and waned. The luckless, castout rogues eked out an existence poaching, raiding, and thieving. They would be taken and executed in most of France and northern Europe, death sentences hung over all. They kept one step ahead of Lord¡¯s men and town watches, passed from borough to burgh, forest to field, constantly on the move. With the noose tightening they took to the mountains for winter. Pons and a handful of others survived to come south down from the Alps to the Po River valley. Their salvation was found by virtue of timing. News had arrived in the region. ¡°Zenghi has taken Edessa.¡± The words from a passing friar meant nothing to Pons. A foreign sounding person had captured a foreign sounding place. Yet, much excitement had been elicited by this far away aggression. The friar said that available fighting men of suitable age and fitness were being recruited to journey to the Holy Land and defend fellow Christians from the heathens. Those who enlisted would be provided rations, and all of their past sins, both mortal and venial would be absolved, better - it would be as if baptized once again - cleansed of all sin, once they reached the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. Pons could not speak for the rest of his men, if indeed they were his men; they were so few in number, and no vote had been taken, so there was no actual leader; but the mention of the word ¡®rations¡¯ caught his attention. He was younger than most, but more savvy than all. The friar assured them that the nearest place to swear pilgrimage was in Montferrat. At the prime fighting age of thirty-one years and due to his standing, Margrave Guilhem had to go, of that there was no question. He had a male heir in his son William, and Montferrat would be secure with his wife ruling in his absence. The only question for the Margrave was with which relative should he travel? He had to choose between accompanying his first cousin, Louis VII, King of France, or his brother-in-law Conrad III, Kaisar of the Holy Roman Empire. Both of these sovereigns had gathered their forces for the¡­ event. For the second time a crusade was called. The County of Edessa, one of the four states of Outremer held by the Christians, had been overrun by Zenghi, Atabeg of the Seljuk Empire, and the western powers were worried for the fate of the others, chief among which was Jerusalem itself. Zenghi had overrun Edessa. When Pons presented himself and his weary band at the recruiting table outside of the church, they were met with stern appraising eyes from the Margrave and the assembled church officials. ¡°State your name, the name of your company, and your skills.¡± ¡°I¡¯m known as ¡®Pons¡¯ and my fellow travelers¡­ go by no company name. We are sworn to no Lord. As for skills, we can stand in the front with spears as well as any men, these boys can shovel shit in the stables, and can clean the latrines. I myself am a barber.¡± Pons drew forth his scissor shears and clicked them. ¡°When we get to the Holy Land you will have a shaved army with soldier¡¯s cuts, marching properly in formation.¡± This drew a chuckle from the dignitaries. ¡°I can also stitch a wound and set a broken bone.¡± For a moment the Margrave sized up the man before him and his company. ¡°Do you have any kit?¡± ¡°We were hoping that would be provided, along with rations, forgiveness for past crimes, and salvation?¡± In the end Margrave Guilhelm chose to travel with neither sovereign. Instead he met up with his half brother Amadeus, Count of Savoy, and together they made their way down the coast to Brundisium at the heel of Italy. That had been Pons¡¯ first visit to Constantinople, enroute to Jerusalem, crammed with the armies on board the first ship he had ever been on. Once he had sailed into the very harbor where his master now returned. He was a pilgrim who had not completed his pilgrimage. In the end, he never visited the church which had been the object of his journey. He had been diverted by a debacle of a siege at Damascus. For the past thirty six years the tally of his sins and crimes had been mounting. Still, Pons had every intention of completing his vow and pilgrimage and fulfilling his end of the deal. Someday. Chapter 74 - In the Garden of Woe Chapter 74 In the Garden of Woe Mariapitkee walked alone in the gardens of the Blachernae palace. Lush grass and shady plane trees lined the path which ran parallel to the massive white Theodosian wall with its regularly spaced towers. The path led up the gentle incline of New Rome¡¯s sixth hill to the back of the Chora Church of St. Savior of the Fields, a geometrically proper domed cross of a basilica. Andronikos had recounted how his father Issac had restored the ancient building to its former glory, and then improved on it, to recreate the ornate marvel that stood today. The church''s reconsecration had been a memorable childhood event before his father¡¯s failed coup and flight. Currently, the Emperor was camped outside of the city. He wanted a grand entrance, on a chariot in the style of a triumphant general of the old republic, making a procession through the Golden Gates along the great Mesee to the Hippodrome. Mariapitkee had been sent ahead with the other servants. In the afternoon she would be waiting for him in the kasthima, but for now she had the morning to herself. There was no access between the church and the palace, and walls closed both off from the city, but there were stone seats outside stained glass windows which ran along each narthex and flower bed with bees and butterflies. It was lovely under the leafy canopy, a perfect place she could go to be alone. She stepped carefully to avoid the fallen cones from the trees and the peacock shit which lay on the lane. The main path broke into a network of narrow trails connecting bowers overhung with branches - perfect for lovers¡¯ trysts. Some afternoons Andronikos would dress as Dionysus and play hide and seek while she and the other concubines, naked as nymphs, sought to evade him. To be caught was to be roughly taken by the god of wine. Fortunately Mariapitkee was good at hiding and Eyrienee was always silent. Beyond a hedged thicket Mariapitkee heard sobbing. She bent low and peered into the shelter with its marble bench. A man, clad in court robes, held a kerchief to his eyes. After he dabbed and gently blew his nose, she recognised him to be Alexios, the Emperor¡¯s Cupbearer. Among the attendants and functionaries who trailed the Emperor, the pinkernees was omnipresent. At meal times it was Alexios¡¯ duty to mix water with the Emperor¡¯s wine, and to taste a portion of each dish presented. He was with the Emperor as often as she was. They knew one another by continued presence, yet aside from polite pleasantries, they had not spoken. Mariapitkee was about to withdraw and leave the man to his private anguish, but too late. He had seen her. He brushed a final tear from his eye and returned the handkerchief to the sleeve of his robe. ¡°Here I sit, besotted in the morning and blubbering in front of the concubines.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°I did not mean to intrude, noble one.¡± ¡°No come in girl, sit. You may as well have a good cry too. You are just as doomed as the rest of us. He will kill us all, you know.¡± He slumped and withdrew his kerchief again for renewed tears. ¡°You, some dark night. Me, after the dolphins fall in the Hippodrome.¡± Mariapitkee put her hand on his shoulder. ¡°We must pray.¡± ¡°He is mad, you know? But his madness has rationale behind it. You have heard his innuendos and jests. You sat beside him at the ¡®victory¡¯ banquet last night. He sent for the eunuch who mixes his morning tonic of antitoxin to ask what signs of poisoning I might exhibit - choking, vomiting, the like.¡± Alexios paused to blow his nose again. ¡°That wretched, bald bootlicker told everyone - all the commanders of the army and all of the bureaucrats who had come out from the city to grovel and greet - how each plant, and each metal, and each animal venom could kill, and how a man would suffer and die. This is after they have eaten. And each man looked ill at ease, you saw. ¡®Did the wine taste correct?¡¯ or ¡®Was there something off in the seasoning of the chicken?¡¯ You must have noticed how Andronikos smiled at their discomfort, as if he wanted to see each death happen right before his eyes even as the bearer of the chalice of Mithridatium described it.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Mariapitkee did not know what to say. ¡°It will be Emperor Alexios next. You know that, don''t you? I overheard Emperor Andronikos with his noseless rat. Emperor Alexios will be dead within a week. Mark my words pretty. He is my younger brother. Half-brother. Then it will be me.¡± ¡°Noble one¡­¡±, she made to move. Alexios clasped her hand. ¡°I am next to die, I tell you. Emperor Manuel was also my father. Once the legitimate heir is gone, getting rid of the illegitimate son will be easy. I taste his food for poison. Do you see the joke? ¡®What a good servant. He died protecting me from plotters.¡¯ Alas for you pretty girl, he will not waste poison. He will throttle you or beat you to death in a rage should the mood take him. When he grows angry you must flee. Hide in a cupboard, jump out a window, or crawl down a latrine if you have to. Forgive my rudeness, it is morning¡­ and I am drunk.¡± The man in his early thirties before her eyes clearly was an older version of the boy Emperor - the very image of him - the resemblance striking. Both were trapped. Both would have to meet the monster who held their lives subject to his unpredictable and murderous whim in a few hours time or be hunted and executed. A few hours. Before presenting herself at the kasthima she would stop at the Forum of Arcadius. Her lord had not been among the poor dead foreigners impaled outside of the walls of Nicea. On that day Mariapitkee held her stomach, looked away, and tried to plug her ears to the screams. Andronikos had gleefully overseen each horrific execution and looked with satisfaction into the face of each dead and dying man. The noseless one had raged that her lord¡¯s servant was not among them. He seemed to bear a particular grudge. Perhaps if her lord still lived and was in the city, the waifs would still be begging at the fountain. Perhaps if word could be gotten to him there would be time. Time for what? She did not know, but she knew she would not weep helplessly. Weeping was over. No more fixing the kohl on her eyes. Let the men weep. Chapter 75 - At the Harbor of Eleutherios Chapter 75 At the Harbor of Eleutherios ¡°You have arrived on an eventful day, My Lord,¡± Pons said as he greeted the Margrave. Lord Guilhelm was first down the gangplank and clasped his captain¡¯s shoulder as they shook hands. It was courtesies such as this which had won the loyalty of a landless orphan. Oddly, the fiasco at Damascus had been the best thing to ever happen to Pons¡¯ fortunes. ¡°I see you are not alone,¡± The Margrave acknowledged the bows of Cyn and Marius who had accompanied Pons to the Eleutherion harbor. He had the grace to smile politely at an accompanying club footed hunchback and another elderly cripple who appeared to be hushing a pair of girls with bouquets at the end of the dock. ¡°I see you are not alone either, my liege.¡± ¡°When it became known that I was traveling to Jerusalem, everyone, along with his auntie and all his cousins, sought to sail under my flag. What you see is the backlog of years of pilgrims who have been waiting to travel. One ship is mine, the other two have them packed in like cordwood.¡± The Margrave indicated the following vessels which were even now drawing up. ¡°They are from all over, but they hope my standing and reputation will protect them.¡± ¡°It hurts me to say that your standing and reputation avail you little here my Lord, so it is well that I have paid the harbormaster to remain silent about your arrival. Between that bribe and the flowers, I am afeard that I am without coin. I hope you brought a war chest.¡± ¡°Yes miser, you will be paid, and I expect an accounting of the funds I sent with you. Has my son been laid to rest?¡± Pons nodded. ¡°Across the golden horn - in Galata.¡± ¡°The girls with the flowers can accompany us. I will stop there first and the blooms can be laid on my son''s tomb. The pilgrims however, having come this far, will insist on seeing the sights. Will that be possible? How do things stand in the city?¡± ¡°As I said, it is an eventful day. Andronikos is camped outside of the city at this moment but at noon will be making a triumphant parade to the Hippodrome.¡± ¡°A triumph? Over whom?¡± ¡°The triumph is over¡­ us. We backed a rebellion. It was crushed. We should talk. Fortunately the walk to the Golden Horn will give us time.¡± ¡°I have been at sea for weeks. I could use a long walk to stretch my legs.¡± ¡°Nestor, Zinth, escort the pilgrims from these ships to¡­ the nearest baths first, I should think. Have them buy local clothing on the way to change into after they wash. No need for them to stand out. Then a nice tour around the Hagia Sophia and other holy sights. You two move at the pace of gawking pilgrims seeing the marvels at the best of times. That should take all day. Back at the ships by dusk, si? The streets will be crowded today so do not lose any of them.¡± Pons spoke Greek. ¡°Nestor and Zinth?¡± Pons switched to the language of Occitan. ¡°New friends. Long walk. Long talk.¡± He called up to the ship''s captain who stood nearby at the gunwale, ¡°Resheet with white sail. Reprovision by tonight and be ready to put out, pilot boat or no pilot boat, men at the sweeps, at a moment''s notice.¡± he spoke Venetian Vulgar Latin taking the man to be from that city. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Margrave Guilhelm arched an eyebrow. ¡°As dangerous as all that? Is that why you are dressed as a rustic?¡± ¡°I paid the harbormaster to be blind, my Lord. We cannot pay every eye to close. Is Andronikos spying on his own docks? I doubt it. Somehow I do not think he is farseeing enough. He is¡­ impulsive.¡± ¡°You have a sense of him?¡± ¡°We have crossed paths. Long walk. Long talk.¡± Ushering the Margrave forward, Pons spoke to the men. ¡°Marius, seek John Ducas, and see if he could meet us on the sly later at the Golden Eel. Cyn, you run ahead and find us a boat to cross the straits.¡± * * * Maria was so annoyed she could have stamped her foot on the dock. The pretty lady at the fountain had told her that the message was important, but the longer Maria had to stay in the back holding flowers, the more she was forgetting it. She was starting to fidget and her little sister Anna, who held flowers at her side, could sense her anxiety. The lady had seemed grateful to see her again and had spoken quickly and adamantly, only pausing to throw the evil eye at the bravest of the cat calling young men who came close. There had been no time to braid her hair, even though Maria asked, for she hadn''t seen the pretty lady in ever so long. She whispered something about Alexios, no there were two Alexioses. And one was going to die, and one needed to flee or he would die as well. And one Alexios was older and one was younger. And they were brothers. And the younger one was Emperor. Only that couldn¡¯t be right because the older son followed his father. Maria was only eight but she knew that much. Her baby brother Michael, who smelled like poo, would grow up and continue to stink, and butcher pigs, and cut them up, just like father, in the livestock market, in the Forum of Theodosius. Patera was never home, and mother was always busy with baby, and she was constantly cross, and she shooed them out of the house every morning. Maria wished her metera was nice like the pretty lady. And there was something else the lovely lady had said. What was it? And then Uncle Nestor was summoning her, and the lady had to leave, and flowers were placed in her hands. She and Anna were to get an obol each to be flower girls welcoming an important man. She needed to talk to the storyteller¡¯s friend, but Uncle Nestor kept telling her to keep quiet. A great magistrate or someone was visiting, and she was to stand still, and carry flowers (both Maria and Anna liked that part), and smile, and ¡°shussh,¡± and if she was good mayhaps she and her sister would get another obol or more. ¡°Obols drop from Capatini Pons like turds pellets from a goat,¡± Uncle Nestor said. That made Anna giggle. Before Capatini Pons arrived, Maria and Anna would only get a single obol to crowd in to listen to a story when Uncle Nestor gave the hand signal. The littler kids (the birds) would get up front to put the listener (the mouse) at ease while the big mean boys with the daggers and clubs (the cats) would close in and pounce. Then it was her job to snatch Uncle Nestor¡¯s begging bowl and run off in the confusion. ¡°I can¡¯t fly like you, little bird, so I must appear to be a victim as well. That is how I will escape to meet you later at ¡®the nest.¡¯ I know I can trust you to return my bowl to me.¡± A storytime robbery had not happened for some time. Begging and singing at the fountain, and carrying messages from the pretty lady, paid better. On the dock Capatini Pons seemed to be giving everyone orders, and then Uncle Nestor was telling her to carry the flowers, and follow the Capatini and his guest. Good. She needed to find a moment to talk to him. He scared her a little. He was always polite to her, for a grown up, and gave her an obol for carrying messages, and sometimes bought her a meat pie. But she did not think he was always polite with everyone. Uncle Nestor seemed in awe of the man. Maria could sense that the man stepping down from the ship was important for the Capatini. Maria knew one important rule that both her pateras and her metera taught her. She was only to speak when the grown ups were done speaking, or she would get a smack and go to bed without dinner. Capatini and his guest walked ahead up the avenue towards the Forum of the Bull, talking, talking, talking. Politely, shyly, bearing bouquets, hoping for a moment to get a word in regarding the imminent peril of the empire, Maria and little Anna followed. Chapter 76 - A Fifth Wager Chapter 76 A Fifth Wager Mariapitkee waited in the kasthima for Emperor Andronikos¡¯ arrival, but she did not wait alone. Also present to greet his elder cousin was young Emperor Alexios II and his betrothed Anna. They wore ornate robes of state and perspired in the day¡¯s heat. Mariapitkee was clad in the cool cotton drape which Andronikos preferred to see her wear. It was light, clung to her curves in the front, and flowed in the back when the slight breeze caught it. Unobtrusively, to the left of the rear archway stood Alexios the cupbearer, with a side board of wine, oysters, pastries, and other refreshments. The Imperial box was not a large space and no more than ten people could crowd in comfortably. After the Basileus¡¯ triumphant arrival, one by one, or in small controlled groups, as their station (or bribe) permitted, visitors would be briefly allowed in to congratulate and petition. To the right of the archway stood the leering verangian captain Mariapitkee did not like. He was always trying to pinch, squeeze, and spank - not only her, but all the concubines - when Andronikos was not looking. Mariapitkee sought to catch the eye of the cupbearer, but he avoided her gaze. Was he now embarrassed by his earlier confidence in her in the garden, or merely vacantly regaining sobriety? She could not tell. She wanted to scream for him to warn his brother (or half brother) of his imminent doom. Why could the masters not be open and honest with one another? Why must they always conspire and connive? Why must she stand silent and unmoving, with no place to address any of them beyond a demure curtsey and ¡°Thank you, your Majesty¡± (or ¡®your Grace¡¯, or ¡®Most Noble One¡¯, as the situation required.) At the bottom of the circular stairs, in the octagon courtyard, more hulking varangians, with double headed great axes held port arms, barred a press of greybeards. Men with high office elbowed and scrummed along with toadies, eunuchs, supplicants, and functionaries of station. After even only a few months away many sought the approaching Emperor¡¯s attention. Some had dire concerns, some only wanted to be seen smiling and cheering. (¡®Please notice me. I support you. I am not your enemy. I wish to congratulate you on this auspicious day.¡¯) The sound of their hails preceded Andronikos¡¯ arrival up the stairs. The handsome officer of the guard, the one she had come to think of as ¡®loyal to the boy,¡¯ led a scowling Andronikos followed by his sons Manuel and Ionnes. Yes, the box would be crowded today, Mariaptikee thought. ¡°Oh you¡¯re here.¡± Andronikos seemed surprised to see his co-ruler. His countenance darkened further. ¡°I greet you coz, on your victorious return.¡± The teen Alexios looked unsure, but extended his arm. Mariapitkee watched closely. Did a slight shudder pass over Andronikos before his countenance brightened? Was that a sly smile now partly hidden by his fantastic mustache? ¡°Thank you coz, it was a very simple victory - hardly worthy of the triumph - over foes who were fighting for¡­? Remind me. For whom were they fighting? Why, you my coz. These rebels were fighting to kill me. In your name.¡± The teen was speechless. Awkward silence and tension filled the kasthima. Eventually Alexios stammered ¡°I - I nuhknew nuhnothing of their uprising. They have abused my nuhname.¡± ¡°I know coz, you are innocent of their over zealous persecution of what they mistakenly thought were your interests. They thought that by killing me, you would become beholden to them and thus fall under their sway. The nobles will always seek to divide and overthrow the Imperial family. You must learn this, if you are to rule. I am here to instruct you.¡± Andronikos sat on the larger of the two thrones, and directed his attention at the twelve year old girl on Alexios¡¯ right. ¡°My dear, you look like a rosebud about to blossom.¡± In terms of color, the comparison was apt given Princess Anna¡¯s seafoam green silk robes accented with pink lace. Her fashion was accessorized with a feathered fan and parasol of the same hue. ¡°You have come along so nicely in the few months while I have been absent. How you have grown. It is delightful to see you again. You must do us the honor of dropping the mappa.¡± Little Anna smiled and her cheeks turned the color of her fan. The Emperor¡¯s grown sons took their seats as the attendant page ushered forth the first notable to be presented, ¡°Most Noble Sebastocrator, Ionnes Ducas.¡± The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Oh look boys,¡± Andronikos said to his sons, ¡°Here is old farmer John, your erstwhile cellmate. Tell me farmer John, how did you keep the city in my absence?¡± ¡°Most gracious Basileus, your confidence in me is all too kind.¡± ¡°No invasions, no fires, no riots, the earth did not tremble, and it is exactly where I left it. I could not ask for more, do have a seat for the first race.¡± Mariapitkee moved aside from her place and sat on the railing of the box offering her seat to the small grandfatherly man in his tall miter of office. ¡°Thank you, young lady.¡± the magistrate smiled. ¡°Many will come, Noble One. I will perch on the ledge.¡± ¡°Farmer John, you have until the end of the first race to tell me about all that has transpired in our absence.¡± ¡°I shall be concise, most regal Basileus. One important matter has presented itself¡­¡± ¡°Princess Anna, have the charioteers taken position? No. As soon as the official gives you the signal, drop your mappa. You have brought some? You have done this before haven¡¯t you? Is she not a delicious vision, farmer John? A ripe sweet peach, the sort you would seek in one of your orchards?¡± ¡°Emperor Alexios¡¯ betrothed is most gentle and well loved by the people.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ well loved. Who do you fancy in the first race, farmer John, I¡¯ll let you choose.¡± ¡°I am one of your majesty''s few subjects who does not follow the races. You know me. ¡®Practical farmer John.¡¯ Horses? I am more likely to curry a horse¡¯s mane or check their droppings for worms than bet on them.¡± ¡°Just so¡­ but surely, for entertainment, a flirt with fortuna between gentlemen? Allow me to tempt you. This has just been struck at the mint, an electrum aspron. It has my likeness. What do you think?¡± John Ducas took the proffered coin and examined it. ¡°It is not the best likeness of you, it being so small and yourself so grand. It is like that statue of brooding Hercules at the far end of the spina. Up close you could scarce wrap your arms around his thumb, but at this distance, why - it looks as if you could crush him between your own thumb and forefinger.¡± ¡°But you can see it is me? Being crowned by Christ?¡± ¡°Of course it is clearly you, Basileus, the forked beard is unmistakable. And the obverse?¡± the bureaucrat flipped the coin over. ¡°The Virgin.¡± Did Andronikos¡¯s gaze turn to the princess again? Mariapitkee felt cold despite the August heat. ¡°A superb coin, may they flow out to the merchants and back thricefold in taxes.¡± ¡°Well put farmer John, so you will take my wager?¡± ¡°I believe I can stretch my finances to an aspron to keep the contest interesting. What is it they say, ¡®otherwise you are simply watching livestock exercise?¡¯¡± Andronikos took back the coin and handed it across the slight aisle between thrones for his equal and co-ruler to admire. Did the teen ponder the absence of his own likeness on the currency of the realm? Mariapitkee wondered. ¡°Of course, you understand that this coin is precious to me, the master of the mint presented it to me at the bottom of the stairs just now and assured me that it was the first of its pressing. This is not any aspron. You must wager something equally important to you. Your estates in Anatolia? Or Thrace? I pick Anatolia. Your turn to choose, Blue or Green?¡± A confused look crossed the sebasotcrator¡¯s face. ¡°Imperial Majesty?¡± ¡°Your estates in Anatolia against my aspron. Would you prefer the Blues or the Greens?¡± The bureaucrat was pale. ¡°I defer to your selection, Most Augustus one.¡± ¡°Right then. I¡¯m for the greens.¡± The mappa fluttered, the caceres opened and the biriga chariots sprang forth. Here we go. Come on you, Parasenoi! You were talking about affairs in the city? A concern?¡± Mariapitkee noticed that farmer John¡¯s hands gripped the arm rests of the consort¡¯s chair with white knuckles. Mariapitkee hid her own smile at the unfortunate man¡¯s discomfort. He was a fan of the Blues now. She looked out at the crowd. Was he there? Was he watching her even now? ¡°Affairs in the city have been calm and restoration of the Church of the Forty Martyrs proceeds apace. No, the concern is from without, in Cyprus. The entire island has fallen to a pretender and usurper.¡± Like a bird on a windowsill, Mariapitkee listened.