Chapter 94
Stephen Hagiocharistophrites was happy to receive the order and a little surprised it had taken the Emperor so long to rescind his earlier amnesty regarding the Angelos brothers. For the execution to be perfectly legal, a writ was required, and he simply had not gotten around to it. The Keeper of the Inkstand was drawing up the necessary document. The incineration of Emperor Alexios’s final servant had reminded Andronikos that Alexios's erstwhile defenders needed to be dealt with as well. The Emperor was always most cogent in the morning, dreaming up an elaborate execution for the pair as Stephen took his leave.
The family of Admiral Angelos was among the Empire's wealthiest, possessing prime lands and an estate within the walls - the large one on the right just after passing the Golden Gate - adjacent to the monastery of St. Mary. The looting would be excellent.
He selected a party of nine, ten including himself: five men for the front and five covering the back. The front men would flush them out; their quarry would run. They always ran. Stephen had ensured that his familiar coterie of malcontented soldiers was not sent to the war against the Normans. He would go to the rear with the best of them. He could have scraped together more men, but the Angelos brothers were milksops. With a mere half score, the split of the spoils - what could be taken before the agents of the Imperial treasury arrived - would be greater.
The hunt for the Latin fugitive, or fugitives (Stephen was now certain there were two: the one with the smart mouth and a burly companion) had gone nowhere. The city was full of shrugs and ‘don’t knows.’ The commoners scattered before him like rats before a hungry tomcat. Phaugh. The fellow had seen St. Paul’s blessing fall upon him. Perhaps he fled.
The cripple knew… something, but would surrender nothing. Stephen had spent the evening of the feast of St. Helena in the torture chamber of the Bucephelon Palace, breaking him to extract any information. Whipping, hot irons, flaying, and maiming - the beggar claimed he was dying happy. The greatest joy in his life was to thwart Stephen.
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In frustration, Stephen buried an axe in the old man’s brain, just as the Latin had done for the Bearer of the Chalice of Mithridatium. He tossed the body into the Forum of Constantine. Let that send a message.
At nightfall, Stephen and his gang made their move on the estate. It was Wednesday, the 11th of September, in the year of our Lord 1185.
* * *
The snobbish major-domo, with disdain and jealousy in his voice, informed Pons that “M’Lady was given to receiving foreign guests unannounced. Perhaps if Ser wished to make an appointment for, perhaps, Friday…”
Cyn pushed his way through the doorway, almost knocking the man off his feet.
“No violence now,” Pons said in Occitan before switching to Greek.
“No, Ser will not be waiting for an appointment. Summon your Domina. This is a matter of life or death. It could be yours. Go!”
The steward scurried off aghast, sending the slaves he passed to keep an eye on the intruders.
In the foyer, Pons knocked on the wood of the double doors as he closed them and eyed the frame. He jerked his thumb at the nearby beam and again at the brace at the back of the door.
Cyn secured the portal. “What is the plan? There are two floors. I could shoot from the upper windows and clean out a lot of them.”
“No. He has taken many nobles before, in estates similar to this. Always he is successful. He is hunting groundhogs. A groundhog burrow has a main entrance and a side entrance. To catch a gopher for lunch, you set a fire in some grass at the main entrance, but you also set a snare around the side hole. When he smells the smoke, he will dart for the safe exit and - zhup!” Pons mimed jerking his arm over an imaginary rodent hole. “You have him.”
“Say again. Who wants a groundhog for lunch?”
“I grew up hungry. Some men bang on a nobleman’s front door: ‘Surrender yourself to the Emperor’s justice’ - that talk, while others are ready to catch the noble as he flees.”
“I see. The noble is afraid of the men at the gate; he does not consider the men… at the stables. He will seek to saddle up and flee.”
“Si. Look how you are learning. I will make you into a strategist. I shall mold a tactical commander of you yet.”
“We set an ambush in the stables.”
“We will even leave the door open for him to walk in.”
