Chapter 76

  King of Beasts

  “I wanted to see the races today, Nestor. The Emperor is returned. People will be out and abettin’. They will want to rub my back. I could be making a tidy sum. I do not want to sheepdog boatloads of pilgrims about the shrines.”

  “Zinth, you twisted imp, do not be set in your ways and blind to the opportunities which have been placed before us. Do you smell that?”

  “All I can smell is the sea, and the reek of unwashed Latin pilgrims.”

  “Exactly. First thing a body wants to do after coming ashore is go to the baths. Capatini was correct. But these Latin rubes have never seen proper baths. Don’t have ’em. The worst baths in the city will seem as a luxurious spectacle. Take them to that falling down one by St. Eustolia’s nunnery by the Cistern of Aspar.”

  “Keep talking to me like I am a child, old man, that is the baths I go to.”

  “Well if they will let a hump-back bathe there, then Latins should certainly be permitted. We will charge them a silver staemenon each.”

  “What? But they only charge…”

  “I know. Shussh. How many pilgrims? How many silver coins? Think. Move your clubfoot damn you, hobble to the baths and have them ready for the influx. Also, as you go, tell every clothing merchant from here, through the Forum of the Ox and on up, that I, Nestor the storyteller, bring customers. Capatini ordered them to buy Roman garb. He he. I will translate. I will haggle. And I will take fifteen percent. Tell the merchants to take it or leave it. I will bypass their stall, should they baulk. Oh Zinth, I told you this Capatini Pons is our man. How you complained and moaned about getting wet in the cistern that time. Keep these pilgrims sweet and everyone will pay to rub your back before they resume their voyage. Ha ha. Now move you.”

  * * *

  Well ahead of Nestor and the slowly disembarking pilgrims, Pons, the Margrave and the trailing flower girls made their way through Forum of the Bull. Pons, paused at a few clothing vendors of his own choosing and selected serviceable garb of good quality but sparse ostentation and a wide brimmed hat which resembled his own. “My Lord, you should, perhaps, appear to be a steward from a distant estate. That may explain your Greek.”

  “Disguised is it?”

  “Si. Many nobles know you, some of them may still live. A bath, a haircut, a change of clothes. Then we visit Renier. I know a nice baths. The water is so hot it will scorch your bum and boil your jewels.”

  “Before you left, you said you would send messages.”

  “In my entire time here I have not come across a soul heading west. Marius’ arrival surprised us.” Between the third and fourth hill they came to a baths of high quality fed by the aqueduct which ran almost directly overhead. Pons loved a good baths and this was one of the best in the city. As they were about to enter, the elder of Nestor’s street waifs tugged at his sleeve.

  “Capatini…”

  “Ah girls I had almost forgotten you were with us. So quiet you are. We men are going to have a wash. You take this hat here and sing for some coins outside the baths while you wait.” Quietly, “After, my senior is going to the grave of his son. It is a sad time for him. Do you girls know any pretty hymns to sing while we pray?”

  “We know ‘Mother Mary, Comfort Me,’ but…”

  “We know ‘Snuggle Little Lamb.’” The smaller child interjected.

  “That’s not a hymn, that’s a lullaby.”

  “‘Mother Mary, Comfort Me’ is perfecte. If you girls bring a tear to this old man’s eye with your song… he’s gonna give you a gratia. I just know it. Now you practice, we won’t be long.”

  “NO!” One of the waifs stamped her feet.

  This brought the Margrave’s attention. “Problems with your associates, Pons?”

  “Una minuta, Lord.” Pons said. “Girl, why are you contrary?”

  “The pretty lady said it was important. Emperor Alexios will be killed within the week, and - I know I have this next bit wrong - his older brother Alexios wants to flee or he will be killed too. I’m sorry Capatini, I am forgetting and getting confused. And there was something else.” Somehow it came out of the child seemingly in a one syllable burst despite being peppered with tears, hiccups, and a snotty nose.

  “Calm yourself child. Breathe slowly and begin again. You spoke so fast I could not understand a word you said.”

  “Is the girl quite alright?” Margrave Guilhelm asked.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “I… have a spy.” Pons replied.

  “Your spy is a girl of eight.”

  Pons let that pass and said to the little one, “Say again. Speak clearly.”

  The girl repeated herself and then added, “Oh yes. I remember the other thing. She wants to meet you tomorrow night at ‘the usual place.’”

  * * *

  The day of Andronikos’ triumphal entry should have been glorious and spectacular. His enemies were vanquished. Their leaders were in chains walking behind his chariot, albeit the only two spared impaling outside the gates of Nicea were a Genoese mercenary leader and the son of a Turkopole hetman. This fellow had swiftly slit his own father’s throat rather than see him impaled. Had it been mercy? Mattered not. Both would get ‘the shaft’ before the final race. Such had been his instructions to the master of the games. The people of Constantinople had seen many executions, but impaling… that had not been done in living memory. Andronikos would share this exquisite suffering with them. His sons and heirs followed, all good and proper and according to tradition. Legions should have followed, but his army consisted of little more than of his own varangian guard, and the troops his sons commanded which were levees and garrison forces. The Mohamadeen archers were once again camped to the north. They would not be joining the parade and entering the city.

  At the Golden Gate trumpets blew and drums beat a cadence for the marching men. There was a crowd, but they were not adoring multitudes, merely a traffic delay of citizens and vendors seeking entry, now forced to wait. Patriarch Theodosius of the Hagia Sophia was not there to greet him. Instead he was welcomed by Bishop Basil, only last night returned with the army himself.

  Once inside the Theodosian Wall the march to the Walls of Constantine was only witnessed by monks in the vineyards harvesting their monasteries’ summer wine, and laborers on the estates, weeding and watering the vegetable crops. They paused to look up and a few field hands raised in salutes. Mocking salutes? Andronikos, his shoulders straight, glared forward, and did not acknowledge the small folk. The Great Mese was not lined with people throwing flowers. In the Forum of Arcadius a woman came up to him as if to sell him a melon, noticed the chained prisoners and following soldiers, then stepped back. In the Forum of the Ox a hunchback and a cripple shooed gape jawed yokels out of his way. Other than those, the way down the Mese was clear of people - entirely too clear. No crowds welcomed their leader, until he reached the Forum of Constantine. Finally a few, drooping servants of his most loyal supporters, as wilted in the sun as the palm fronds they waved. More people in the Augustaion, the grand courtyard of the Imperial palace, but at best a smattering, in no way a multitude or throng.

  Andronikos entered the palace to a modicum of applause, the captives were given over to the care of the master of the games for their execution. The master of the mint pressed forward and presented a coin with a distorted image on it. Andronikos took it and waved the fellow away, the poles of long axes reinforced his dismissal. He brushed aside the greetings of the Master of the Inkstand.

  “Is this meant to be an insult? Where are the people?”

  “Most triumphant Basiueus, your victory was achieved so quickly, the harvest is early this year, clients could not be summoned before your rapid return. Such speed, did Caesar or Alexander, ever… ”

  Ignoring the secretary and striding up the stairs to view the races, the first thing to greet his eyes was him. Andronikos had almost forgotten about him. Alexios’ presence and continued existence made him briefly shudder with revulsion. He could sense the boy’s disquiet, and smiled at the chance to toy with his prey.

  Such a sweet kitten sat beside him.

  Then came the sebastokrator, another man to be insulted, demeaned, toyed with, and put in his place. After all, the late Admiral Angelos, leader of that little revolt, was his brother. During the race Andronikos let the man babble of distant affairs and examined the French princess. After the race, he acknowledged the accolades of those next to be ushered in. Again he wagered his coin against another man’s estates. Andronikos savored this white faced man’s forced acceptance with enjoyment. Nice trick the coin. He enjoyed his own cleverness.

  “Uncle,” the teen to his right began again, using a more respectful, if not entirely true title, “My love has selected a parade of entertainments for your return.”

  “Your betrothed has selected entertainment - for me? How delightful.”

  It started with a race between stilt walkers and another bet of his electrum piece versus another man’s estates. They were followed by acrobats who did flips and cartwheels - tumbling around the entire course, an act which bored Andronikos. He had seen this routine before, and there was nothing to wager over. Then another race featuring a trader from far off, mounted on a camel against a four man relay team of dwarfs. Andronikos’ next victim chose the camel and kept his land despite outrageous cheating by the surprisingly quick dwarfs who darted among the spina’s statuary and tossed the baton. The kathisma filled with laughter, some of it forced. Then came a menagerie led by a flock of camelsparrows from Aetheop - enormous strange swift birds who ran, but never flew, with necks akin to a goose and legs alike a horse. A bear rolled a large ball of wool. A small terrified dog on a leash walked as fast as it could - bait ahead of a creeping krokodilus dragon from the far off Nilus River in Aegyptus. It was capable of bursts of great speed and had a huge mouth. Then followed another old familiar sight, a lion on a leash who begged for scraps of mutton tossed from the kasthima - turning circles and bowing to the Emperor.

  Andronikos leaned forward on his throne. He watched the lion’s eyes. On the track the shaggy maned beast had its own eyes fixed on the boy in the Imperial box.

  It was making obeisance to him. The great cat’s eyes were fixed on the boy, and the boy alone. Was everyone else oblivious? They continued with their conversations and drank wine as if the magnitude of nature’s subservience to the youth was not even noteworthy. Only Andronikos could see the threat.

  “I have an entertainment for you as well, nephew. More of a lesson really. Before the final race.”

  Reader Void_Crafter once asked me about money at this time. I will provide the same answer based on the old theory that if one person asks… ten others are thinking it:

  Most trade at this time would have been exactly that - trade. I give you a big sack of onions if you shoe my horse, that sort of thing. Of course EVERYTHING would have haggled over, barterd on, and negotiated.

  As to coinage:

  At the top was the golden hyperpyron, below that the electrum aspron, followed by the silver stamenon (I am calling this a 'byzant' in the mouths of the Latins). At the bottom was the small copper noummion (I am calling this an 'obol' - ancient Greek for 'coin') and the larger copper tetarteron (sort of how the British used to have a pence and tuppence).

  1 golden hyperpyron = 3 electrum aspron = 48 silver 'byzants' = 1728 'obols' or 864 tetarteron. (as near as I can tell at this point in time)

  As to the purchasing power or each - not a clue.