Chapter 95
Stephen strode along the Great as the shadows lengthened and eventually blended into the falling darkness, bringing welcome cool after the heat of another intense day. His gang consisted of the worst the Empire had to offer: cutthroats, thieves, murderers, and malcontents. Some, like the twins Castor and Pollux (not their real names, but everyone called them that), had been with him since the defilement and death of Maria of Antioch. Others, like Ahmed, a fierce and violent cousin of the late Iqbal, and Demetrios, a deserter from the navy, were more recent additions.
They passed the crumbling Gates of Constantine and paused five minutes' walk from the newly repaired and scrubbed Golden Gate. Andronikos wanted the sight of the defenses to be splendid and disheartening to the Normans should they get this far.
The Angelos’ estate lay to their left.
He signaled a squad to attend to the front doors and continued with the rest of the men to the gated doorway at the side of the property. It led to a large two-story stable with a loft for hay and fodder and a smithy at the far end. No smoke came from the smithy, but lantern light spilled from the door, carelessly left ajar.
“We will grab these two before they can get a bit between a horse’s teeth or a bridle over its head.”
He opened the stable door and drew his sword. His men filed in behind him like a V of flying geese. The barn was bathed in lantern light, but all was quiet. To the right and left, fine horses in their stalls nickered and pawed at the hay at the sight of the strange intruders.
From the front of the estate came a hammering on wood and the repeated cry, “Open in the name of Emperor Andronikos!”
The trap was unfolding.
Then, from the rear of the stable came a ring of metal against metal. Ting! It matched the rhythm of the pounding on the front door.
Ting! Someone was in the smithy, though the forge was dark.
Stephen gave the hand signal for caution. Together, they made their way forward (Ting!).
At his feet were hay and horse apples on the wooden flooring. (Ting!) Stephen stepped carefully.
Above him, the dark opening to the loft revealed a rising bulk.
A pain pierced his neck as a whistling ‘thrum’ touched his ears. Stephen tried to touch his throat but instead felt feathers and a wooden shaft. And then he could feel no more.
* * *
Below, the ring of the flat of Pons’ axe against the anvil proved the perfect lure.
At first, Cyn could only see shadows on the floor, then the curious black catspaw stepped into view. Cyn waited until a second target was visible before sending a bolt into the throat of the Bringer of the Anti-Christ. Movements fluid, he switched from his arbalest to the lighter crossbow that lay cocked and loaded on the bale to his right. He squeezed the lever and took a savage Mohamadeen through the eye. Without pause, he grabbed the nearby block and tackle used to haul hay to the loft. With one foot on the curve of the bale hook, he rappelled down to the stable floor, kicking out his right foot into the crossbow stirrup mid-descent to re-cock it as he landed.
Thrown axes whooshed past to his left and right, tumbling end over end to land simultaneously between the eyes of two identical attackers. For a heartbeat, Cyn thought he was seeing double, but he knocked a bolt and let fly at the last man who was fleeing. The quarrel winged him, but he kept running, now screaming. Cyn sprinted after him, paused at the stable doorway to reload before spinning around the corner.
The man’s shouts had brought reinforcements from the mansion door. Cyn fired into the mass, not waiting to see the result. He reloaded again, and when he took aim, he could see that he had caught one in the thigh. His cohorts helped him to his feet, and they all ran, or limped, off.
“They are retreating,” he called to Pons.
* * *
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
None of this is happening, thought Stephen.
“Attack!” he cried to his men.
Or… he tried to. No words came. The iron taste of blood was on the back of his tongue.
He could not turn his head but heard Ahmed drop to his left. A man sailed down from the darkness. I know him. There two. I am correct.
Blood filled his lungs. His breath rasped. Stephen teetered for a moment and dropped to his knees. He should have felt his kneecaps striking the floorboards, but instead only heard the thud. He teetered again but still had a sense of balance.
The Latin stepped out of the shadows, flinging axes to his left and right. Castor and Pollux went down. Stephen could not see it, only hear the axes striking and their bodies as they thudded to the floor.
NO!
He raised his blade to slash at the Latin, but his hand did not respond, and the sword slipped from his numb fingers. He heard it clatter to the floor.
The mercenary leered down at him. “I had a little rhyme to force you to duel me, but my friend was over-eager. Strike hard. Strike fast. Kill their leader, and the rest will scatter. I always taught the men that.”
The foreigner patted his cheek, almost affectionately, before putting one finger to Stephen’s forehead and contemptuously pushing him over.
He could feel the pat, the push, and his head pained him as it hit the stable floor. However, he could feel nothing below his neck. He lay on his side, and the blood in his lungs pooled. He breathed in ragged gurgles.
None of this is happening.
At long last, I am high in the Emperor's favor. I have an apartment in the Great Palace.
His view was limited to a pile of horse turds and the rear hoof of a silver stallion in the nearest stall. An enormous horsefly with shimmering purple eyes left the excrement and came to investigate the smell of fresh blood from the holes where Stephen’s nose had once been.
* * *
Lady Euphryosyne had heard the banging on the gate and the shout of “Open by Imperial order!” once before. The last time, she had been seized, taken to the battle front, and tied naked to a battering ram. She thanked God for the warning from her guardian angel.
She left Ser Pons and his subordinate to set their trap in the barn while she, along with the son who was home (the other was out carousing with friends), rallied the servants and further barricaded the front door. Her son, now a man nearing thirty, donned his armor. Like an Amazon in a statue, she held a javelin, knuckles white, trying to maintain her composure. They would not take her without a fight this time. Even the steward held a cudgel.
After a few minutes of banging, the noise receded, and the men… fled? She crossed herself. Was it over? She bade the major domo to remain at the barricade while she and her son made their way through the still courtyard to the side, the only sound a trickle of water from the estate’s fountain.
Entering the stables from a postern, they found bloody chaos. Four bodies littered the floor, but Ser Pontius leaned against the anvil, calmly cleaning an axe on a piece of cloth while his lieutenant drank from a wineskin.
“Ah, good Lady, we were just coming to find you. I am sorry you had to see this.” He waved his hand, indicating the fallen bodies. “I take it the front was not breached?”
She nodded, “They have retreated?”
The nearest body, clad in black, still rasped.
“ attack has turned, but they will be back in force by dawn. Your sons will be hunted throughout the Empire, and anyone who aids or shelters them will be executed as well. Where is your brother?” This last question was directed at her son.
“Alexios left the city to escape the heat and went hunting with his friends.”
She had not thought beyond the urgency of the moment. Would it never end? A tear must have escaped her eye, for the knight brushed it from her cheek.
“All is lost. Alexios is in the wind, but I have a plan. For it to work, you must gamble all you have, and we must hurry to do everything tonight. Each of us has a task.”
* * *
Stephen’s view was limited to dung. The fly explored his nasal cavity. The fallen chess piece could only listen helplessly as he heard the unfolding plan of the endgame.
The Latin spoke to the noblewoman first, “Lady, gather all the coin, gold plate, silver candlesticks, jewelry, and such into one room.”
The treasure should have been mine, Stephen silently screamed. Each breath was a gurgle.
“Also collect deeds and land titles. You will go to your brother-in-law, John Ducas, and mortgage all.”
“What? Why?”
“I will take the portable gold to the Guards to secure their loyalty. Cyn will take the silver to a fat man I know and secure a crowd of Blues and Greens.”
“What do I do?”
“You, Isaacos, have the greatest task of all. Saddle your mount and ride to the . Proclaim to all that the Bringer of the Anti-Christ has fallen. Circle the column of Arcadius and tell the stylite that he must come down and summon the people. There is a new emperor.”
“What? Who?”
“Why, it is you, noble Sir. It is a very big wager, but there is a very big payout if you are successful. And tomorrow you will either be a prisoner or a fugitive if you do nothing, and all your family’s wealth will be forfeit anyway. Take heart. A white dove sat on the Madonna’s shoulder in the great church this morning and winked at me. Take sanctuary there and convince the patriarch to abandon Andronikos. I will get the palace gates open, and the people of the city will carry you in.”
“Now, to prove what you say is true, let’s put a head on a lance. Carry it with you. Everyone recognizes the noseless one.”
Stephen could feel the pain in his scalp as the mercenary dragged him by his hair over to a wooden stump near the anvil. The blood in his lungs shifted, and he almost blacked out. No. This is not how it ends.
“My lady, your spear, if you please. Do turn away. You will not want to watch.”
Neck on the tree stump, face up, Stephen could not turn away. Tenderly, in a gout of blood, the bolt was pulled from his neck.
“That’s my lucky one. My dad made that one.”
The Latins loomed. The axe was raised. It came down.
