Chapter 97
Cyn, crossbow drawn and quarrel in the groove, led a slave with a silver wine bowl filled with plates and goblets brimming with coins - the cargo on the barrow he trundled. As they neared the address Pons had provided, Cyn hollered, "Helloah, hello! Silver for Fat George. Open your door; I have silver for Fat George!"
An eye slit in a nondescript wooden door slid open, accompanied by exclamations of surprise.
In short order, the door opened. Gruff men led Cyn and the slave, still rolling the barrow of treasure, through a maze-like warehouse of crates and barrels. They bumped down a flight of stairs to a stone corridor where a ladder descended to a cellar with many branching tunnels.
This was as far as the barrow could go. Cyn slung his crossbow, draped some necklaces over the arms of a candelabra, and filled a goblet with rings and coins before descending the ladder, dribbling riches as he went. At least it was cool here.
In a nearby chamber, Fat George, suffering from the heatwave and put off food, was irascible. "Is Ser Pontius too busy to come his-self? Sent his servant instead?"
Cyn diplomatically overlooked the 'servant' and replied, "You are correct; Ser Pons is occupied. The time has come to call in all of the Blue supporters and the Greens as well. At the top of the ladder, a silver cauldron awaits. We shall clear as many debts as we can." Cyn set the goblet and candlestick down before Constantinople's other emperor and stepped back. "However, everything must be done tonight. Everyone, and alike, must gather at the to acclaim Emperor Issacos."
"I thought it was to be Emperor Alexios at the Golden Gate."
"Things have changed."
"It is late; the dinner hour has passed."
"The moon is full, and with this heat, who is sleeping?"
George shrugged. "Have runners sent to the ," he ordered his steward. "Have the crucibles lit. Let us see how this silver renders into coin."
* * *
The riskiest part had been the duel.
Pons marched along the Great - unchallenged, axe in hand, followed by Lady Angelos' palanquin, shades drawn, hiding the great family's treasure. The litter bearers heaved under the weight of gold far exceeding their mistress' heft. At the gate, he demanded to see the captain.
After a brief wait, Brian the Saxon arrived.
He and the palanquin were permitted entry. Negotiations proceeded smoothly, and word spread; the entire guard trickled in, chuckling with glee and marveling at the treasures - until one surly captain arrived. He wished to remain loyal to Andronikos and got into an almighty argument with Brian. Curses were exchanged, and Brian told Istvan he was a fine one to talk about loyalty with Emperor Alexios' blood on his axe.
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This led to the duel.
In a steel whirl of double-headed pole-axes, strike met block, and feint was countered by parry. The warriors circled one another as the cohort of made a wide oval around them. The guards, sick of Andronikos' excesses and blinded by the luster of wealth, were sympathetic; yet, were Brian the Saxon to fall, the mood could turn. Then Pons would be in a difficult position.
The entire endeavor now rested on the prowess of Brian. As a captain of the elite bodyguard, Pons knew Brian must be an accomplished warrior, but he had never seen the man fight. Did his reputation rest on his father and grandfather, both before him?
And the other combatant was a captain as well. The men let the officers settle their grudge. As the dance of thrust and counter, duck and dodge, with grunts, clacks of pole against pole, and the screech of axe blade along breastplate, reached a crescendo - Brian fell. Struck on the side of his knee by the haft of his opponent's axe, he sprawled on the cobbles.
Istvan the Rus raised his axe high with both hands. Before he could bring it down for the kill, Brian the Saxon lunged forward on his good leg, stabbing upward with the pikehead on the top of his pole-axe. It pierced Istvan's throat, cleaved his palate, and entered his brain. Brian rolled, narrowly missing the falling axe and collapsing body.
Pons tended to Brian's leg. Not broken. Not dislocated. A sprain. He would have to use his pole-axe as a crutch. The men clapped their commander on the shoulders and snatched up the gold from the litter.
The consensus among the soldiers, and indeed custom, was that they would return to their quarters. Pons was invited along. Although not a member of the guard, he had brought a palanquin laden with gold.
In the barracks, much discussion ensued as Brian's knee was bound and splinted. It was resolved that when the new Emperor gained admittance, he must be accompanied by the Patriarch to proclaim his legitimacy. Also, the would only swear their oath they were granted the customary right of taking all they could carry from the treasury (such as it was). Cheers. "And let us not forget our brothers in the field." The with the army must be granted similar riches.
At this point, Pons realized that all the guards, save those in the field with the army, were in this very room.
Damn! For how long? Andronikos had been left completely unguarded. With realization dawning, Pons ran off to finish the vendetta.
* * *
Stoneworkers, avoiding the sun to take advantage of the full moon's light, paused in their repairs of the railing of the to investigate the noise from the far end of the - past the starting gates. It was after midnight, but the teemed with a multitude.
The Blues and Greens, free from the debts they or their relatives had incurred, did as instructed. Rage against Andronikos was tempered only by gratitude to their benefactor. Who had paid their debt? Who was this Issacos they were to shout for?
The factions could agree on little, but disgust with the current Emperor and fear of the approaching enemy army were two issues on which they could find accord. For one night, they could meet at the Great Church. Hundreds of others, unencumbered by debt but restless on this stifling night, joined their neighbors to voice their anger. In the great plaza, many knelt as a sermon, pent up for years at the top of a column, delivered by Holy Brother Baniel, proclaimed that the Anti-Christ lay within the palace, but an Angel had been sent in the city's hour of need.
Thanks to God for the moonlight and lingering heat - which made torches unnecessary and unwanted; else the city would have surely burned. Chants were taken up, and rocks were thrown, but Patriarch Basil, swayed by the crowd pressing against the basilica doors and seeing that Andronikos was doomed, endorsed Issacos Angelos (once assured he would retain his position). Peacefully, the city's savior - timid-looking for an angel - and the Patriarch emerged, arm in arm, from the , crossed through the adoring throng, and were admitted to the Great Palace.
* * *
The Great Palace had its name for a good reason. It was immense.
By the time Pons navigated the labyrinth of candle- and moonlit corridors to locate the Imperial chambers, they were deserted. He calmed a panicked servant who pointed him onward. He crossed through a garden, then a courtyard, past a church, up stairs, and into another palace. Then down to an empty dock with its balustrades carved as bulls and lions.
Dawn was breaking. Andronikos was gone.
