The second watch of the night had passed when Marius reached the designated spot agreed upon the previous day with his associates. Though… no one would exactly call them associates. They were bound together by many years of friendship.
Petros, Vasileos, and Marius, raised in the alleyways of Ephesus, had learned from an early age how harsh life could be. Yet their companionship helped them find comfort in one another, even in the toughest of seasons. As the years passed, the three friends became partners in crime. At first, they took on small “jobs,” stealing simply to survive. But as time went on and they gained experience, they began aiming at larger targets—usually nobles who, if they happened to lose a piece of jewelry or a few gold ornaments, would hardly notice the loss.
In this way, they managed to gather a respectable fortune. Of course, they could not display it within the city. They were well known to the local authorities. The ruler of Ephesus, a man named Mandis, had caught them red-handed on several occasions. Yet their crimes did not warrant severe punishments under the Code of Emperor Justinian. They were frequent occupants of Mandis’ prisons, and more than once they had felt the sting of a leather whip across their backs. Still, they never abandoned their… “calling.” There was always a new opportunity to grow richer still.
But their fate was destined to change that night. And not for the better.
In recent months, men claiming to represent “the most powerful man in all Ephesus”—at least that was how they introduced him—had approached Marios, who acted as leader of the “gang.” They delivered a list of valuable objects, texts, letters, and state documents, with the corresponding payment written beside each item and the deadline by which the “task” had to be completed.
“It’s a great opportunity,” Marius had told his two friends.
“An anonymous client is never good news. I’m telling you, sooner or later we’ll find ourselves in trouble,” Petros had objected.
“And what do you expect us to do?” Vasileos replied. “We haven’t landed a profitable job in three months.”
Vasileos was right. When they first embarked on this life, they dreamed of saving enough capital to buy houses in the countryside and live there, enjoying the peace and quiet of mother nature. But the demands of daily survival kept dragging them back into theft and deception. Their reasoning was simple: if they completed these contracts, perhaps they could finally leave that life behind for good, since the money they would earn would help them walk away and settle anyplace they wanted in the vast empire.
They began their first assignments successfully. After the first five missions, they had amassed many gold coins and became favored patrons at the city tavern. Yet, as Petros had predicted, this “powerful” anonymous man soon began demanding increasingly outrageous tasks—and with far more violence involved. The risk was getting to high.
The trio succeeded again, though at one point they had to leap from a wooden tower twenty meters above sea level. Marius later admitted his back ached for the rest of the week.
Then came the mission that would seal their fate—for better or for worse.
The men who brought the contract offered them a small chest containing one hundred gold coins. A stonecutter could not earn that much in ten years of continuous labor. Neither Vasileos nor Marius heeded Petros’s voice of reason. Blinded by the sight of gold, they accepted what was, in truth, their own sentence. The task? To infiltrate the armory of Ephesus—a building that served both state and military functions—specifically the office of the commander of the small fortress and steal two golden-sealed imperial decrees that had recently fallen into military hands.
After the second change of the guard, several hours before the sun would rise over beautiful Ephesus, the three friends stood upon a small hill overlooking the modest fortress. It lay in a secluded part of the city, though still within its walls. The armory was surrounded by a wooden palisade about two meters high, protecting the interior. There were three entrances—on the north, the southwest, and the east sides. There was no possibility of passing through the main gates unnoticed. Four small towers encircled the compound. From information provided by their anonymous employer, they knew that a force of forty men lived behind the wooden palisade.
“Petros, did you bring the rope?” Marius asked.
Petros nodded affirmatively.
“What about the hooks?” Marius asked again, turning towards Vasileos this time.
“Of course I brought them,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “For whom do you take me for?”
“We all remember that the last time, it was because of you that we almost ended up in prison,” Petros laughed.
“Petros, please, shut up,” Marius growled at him, to prevent a possible fistfight between his two friends. “The time has come. Move it!”
At that very moment, the guards were leaving the gates and towers to be relieved by the next watch.
“And now it’s our turn,” Petros said with a grin.
They approached the wooden palisade and threw up their ropes with grappling hooks. The hooks caught on the first try. With swift movements, they climbed and silently dropped down on the other side of the low wall.
Almost on the tips of their toes, they moved behind the tents, heading toward the center of the camp, where the commander’s office stood—the only stone-built structure in the compound. The common soldiers lived in simple tents. They saw the guards at the front entrance of the building chatting among themselves. Though distracted, there was no possible way the three of them could pass unnoticed through the main door.
Vasileos looked upward and spotted a small window on the second floor.
“Oh really? And how do you suggest we get up there?” Petros asked with a mocking tone.
“We climb,” Vasileos replied.
“With what equipment? We left the ropes at the wall so we can escape later.”
“The wall has enough ledges for us to grip,” Marios observed. “Let’s go.”
They had to move quickly. There was no more time to waste. The floor wasn’t very high—perhaps two or three times their own height—but it still took them more than a few seconds. Marios climbed first.
“Vasileos, you really are one lucky—” he began to say but stopped short.
“What happened?” Petros asked, lifting his head up through the window.
He was panting as he tried to pull himself inside, nearly out of breath. Marius reached down and helped him.
“Take your time, boys… it’s not like I’m hanging off a wall like an idiot,” Vasileos muttered sarcastically below.
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At last, Marius hauled him up as well.
“Look!” Marius whispered, gesturing around the room.
The other two glanced at each other in confusion.
“Well, what about it?”
Marius sighed.
“We’re in the commander’s office, geniuses”.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Vasileos shot back, already rifling through whatever he could find.
“Hey, we’ve got a job to do!” Petros chastised him.
“Alright, alright, I was just looking!” he tried to defend himself.
“Shut it, both of you,” Marius gave an end to their bickering. “We don’t have much time. Search for the letters with the golden seals”.
The search did not take long. The office was quite small. A moment later, Petros pulled open a drawer and cried out softly.
“There, they’re here!” he signaled, revealing the two precious documents.
Without skipping a beat, Vasileos grabbed two metallic cylinders that contained the letters and put them inside the bag he was carrying.
“I think it’s time to go now. After all, our job here is almost fini…,” he went on to say, but the camp commander – wearing full body armor and with a longsword in hand – barged in the small office.
It took him some time to realize what had happened just at this moment.
“Sound the alarm, you dumb creatures!” the commander screamed to his soldiers standing behind him. “Seize those intruders!”
“Damn it all!” Marius cursed.
The fully armored commander, with his weapon in hand, rushed towards him. Marius, in his panic, grabbed an oil lamp from the desk, that was half full, and threw it on the ground. The hapless man slipped on the slippery liquid and found himself crushing on the floor, with a loud crack. Probably his armor breaking… Or his spine… The three friends didn’t stand around to find out, nor to celebrate their brief victory. Soon the whole camp would be upon them. They had to flee – and fast. They ran to the long corridor, pushing three soldiers aside, and started running. As they were running, Vasileos’ straw bag was caught in a wooden protruding beam. The bag was torn and the letters with the golden imperial seal were scattered on the ground.
“You got to be kidding me…,” Vasileos cried, considering for a moment to turn back, with the soldiers already hot on their tail.
“Leave them!” Petros urged him to move on. “We have to get out of here!”
They burst out of the building. The soldiers were startled at the sight of them—but instantly gave chase.
“This way! Up the tower!” Petros shouted so the other two could hear him.
In front of the wooden structure stood a makeshift rope ladder, used by the guards to climb up.
“Go, go!” Marius urged, grabbing hold of the rope.
All three scrambled up the ladder as arrows rained down around them. One nearly pierced Petros’s hand, but the lucky young man jerked it away at the last possible second. At last, they reached the top. The guard stationed on the tower stared at them in confusion. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Petros and Vasileios—each seizing one side of a rope—threw him off balance and sent him crashing down.
After helping Marius up—he had begun the climb last—they crouched at the rear of the tower, shielded from the soldiers’ arrows below. Their pursuers attempted to climb the ladder after them, but Marios managed to rip it loose and hurl it down upon their heads, injuring several of the archers.
“And now what?” Vasileos asked, his voice worried.
Marius was trying hard to find a solution.
“Maybe we should jump?” It’s not that high,” Petros suggested.
“We are at least ten meters above ground, and I cannot see any water surface around here. Have you completely lost your mind?” Vasileos objected.
“Get down here at this very moment! Or you will be executed on the spot!” the commander threatened them, standing below the tower, having them surrounded.
In his panic, Petros kicked over the brazier the soldiers used to light their flaming arrows. He had meant for it to tumble off the tower and land among the soldiers below—but he struck it clumsily. Instead, it crashed against the edge of the wooden tower and fell at its base. The wood caught fire at once.
“Bring water! Damn it! They’re going to burn us all alive!” the commander barked orders to his men, standing directly beneath them.
The beams of the wooden tower began to creak. The fire devoured timber and rope with astonishing speed. Marius’s mind raced a thousand thoughts a second, searching desperately for some way they might survive the situation. Yet all three were certain of one thing—they would not escape unscathed.
To make matters worse, the entire right side of the tower collapsed.
“Hold on!” Marius shouted at his friends.
“Take cover!” the commander yelled from below.
Within moments, the whole tower began to crumble. Vasileos and Marius tumbled to the ground. By sheer luck, the tower had fallen outside the guard post. That meant they had a few precious moments before the soldiers and sentries could surround them.
“Where’s Petros?” Vasileos asked anxiously.
“My leg! Help me!” they heard their friend cry out.
They turned and saw him behind them. A heap of wooden debris had crushed his leg—and the fire was creeping dangerously close. They rushed over and freed him just as his clothes began to catch fire. Once released, he struggled to his feet, frantically beating at his burning garments, finally extinguishing any signs of fire.
“There! There they are!” the soldiers shouted.
“Every man for himself now!” Marius cried to the other two. “Run!”
They didn’t make it far.
“Surrender now!” the commander of the guard roared. “Our archers will cut you down!”
The three friends froze immediately, raising their hands into the air. Soon the guards surrounded them, spear points pressed threateningly toward their chests. From a distance, beside the guard post now fully ablaze, came the sound of approaching hooves.
“Damn it,” Petros muttered through clenched teeth. “I told you so…”
Through the smoke, they saw a mounted figure approaching. Clad in armor and helmet, he circled them on horseback, kicking sand up at their feet. The soldiers of the garrison relaxed and began laughing at their captives.
“Well, well, what have we here?” the armored man asked. “Did the mice get caught in the trap?”
The soldiers laughed at his jest. But when the rider removed his helmet, the laughter died instantly. Behind the metal visor was the face of the city’s lord—the man they called Mandis, ruler of Ephesus.
“So, you are the new group that conspirator managed to recruit…”
He spat.
“Seeing you up close… Well, you are nothing special”.
Some soldiers laughed. The man on the horseback did not share their sense of humor.
“Although, I must admit, you are far more worthy from this band of dogs that I keep around as sentries and personal guard”.
The laughter was cut short. There was silence for at least thirty seconds. The only sound was made if someone coughed or spat on the ground.
“Each and every one of these scum that let you walk around in this camp, deserve at least one hundred lashes with a whip. And that’s an understatement…”
He turned his horse around and was ready to leave. But he looked back, seeing everyone standing still in place.
“Don’t just stare at them!” Mandis ordered his men. “Take them, shackle them and bring them to my palace”.
And as soon as he barked that order, he spurred his horse and disappeared inside a cloud of dust, towards Ephesus. The Mediterranean sun was immerging in the horizon, its rays gently caressing the rooftops of a city that was just waking up.
Author's Note:
Petros, Vasileos, Marius and Mandis are real people of the present but completely fictional to the scenery of the story