Chapter 87
When Pterygeonites discovered the secret of Mithridatium, his life changed.
He was born the third son of the governor of Oinaion, a city on the coast of the Black Sea. The eldest son inherited. The second son could find a home in the church. For a third son lay the path of the Imperial bureaucracy. Pterygeonites had a horrifying infancy followed by a strict and disciplined upbringing.
The infancy was horrifying because, shortly after he was born, he was castrated.
Holy Mother Church frowned on disfigurement, but a centuries-long tradition held that senior, trusted positions must be held by loyal servitors who could hold no dynastic ambition. Fortunately, in the enlightened age in which he lived, castration was carried out swiftly with a slice, rather than agonizingly, over the course of years, through crushing, as in the olden days. Also, fortunately, Pterygeonites was so young that he had no memory of the ‘slice.’
Following his rigorous education in the classics, math, medicine, and law - every subject for which his father could find a tutor in Oinaion - he was sent to the capital to seek his fortune.
He was not alone, for many others, from every province of the Empire, competed for the few positions which were not given to the extensive imperial family. He need an advantage, an edge over his would be peers.
He found it in a market. A trader, with Greek bearing the accent of Trebizond, was selling a scroll. He told Pterygeonites the remarkable story of how it was sealed inside a room by an ancient earthquake and had only recently been uncovered. It was… a recipe, consisting of fifty-six different ingredients and their exact proportions.
Pterygeonites was convinced the seller had no idea of the real value of what he was selling and gladly paid twelve gold hyperpyron - to be sure, a princely sum - to secure his future. His childhood lessons in the classical histories were not a waste.
Tribizond had once been part of the ancient kingdom of Pontus, a land once ruled by Mithridates the Great. After his father was poisoned at a banquet, the suspicious young king began to consume small quantities of various types of poisons. Over time, he became immune to all that were known. Life was risky for royalty in Asia Minor, but because of his immunity King Mithridates VI Eupator lived to be an old man - and Rome’s most bitter enemy.
It was obvious to Pterygeonites that this recipe must have been secretly copied down before the king died.
Even with this knowledge, he was not of stature to serve Emperor Manuel, nor was the of a paranoid demeanor.
But his eldest daughter, the Princess Maria Porphorygenita, felt insecure in her position. When her father fell ill, she engaged Pterygeonites’ services. After his death, her rivalry with the Empress Regent began to spiral into bloodshed in the courtyard of the Augesteon.
Pterygeonites was sent as a messenger to her cousin in Oinaion seeking aid. Seeing the man’s magnificence up close, he instantly recognized the correct chariot team to back and switched sides. Making himself indispensable and stroking the fears of a tyrant who imagined daggers in every shadow, Pterygeonites was installed in an official position and allotted an empty villa near the palace once Andronikos took power.
In the early days, Pterygeonites had been a busy stinging scorpion. However, as things stabilized for the Emperor, and more of his opponents could be safely executed, rather than needing to be quietly poisoned, his special services were used less and less.
* * *
When Pterygeonites arrived home one chilly winter evening, he noticed the doorman was not standing at the outer gate. That should have been his hint. Was the man warming himself inside?
Unfortunately, his digestion was troubling him, so he gave it no other thought than to hope the man was not in the latrine stinking it up ahead of him.
Undependable servants. The fellow was dangerous looking, but came cheap - a bored mercenary attached to the Muhamadeen cohort Stephen Hagiocharistophrites commanded. He would have his steward thrash the lazy lump.
He opened the doorway and stepped into the foyer. “Nikodemos,” he shouted as he strode forward, “Nikodemos, I want you to have that fool of a gatekeeper…”
He stopped as he heard the door slam shut behind him. He whirled to see an armed man dropping the cross beam into its slots to bar the door.
“Iqbal.” The eunuch yelled for the gateman.
The stranger held a scimitar.
“Iqbal.” Pterygeonites shrieked again, hysteria in his voice, as he regarded the intruder in his home.
The man gave a sardonic grin. “This Iqbal you keep calling for, he wouldn’t by any chance be a large Saracen with a red turban, would he? Long black beard? Foul breath? Not as good a swordsman as he likes to pretend? Used to carry a curved blade like this one here?”
The blade gleamed in the weak light.
Pterygeonites bolted towards the doorway in the opposite wall of the room. As he sprinted into the atrium, a burly man stepped from behind the shadows of a pillar and dealt him a blow from his balled up fist. It caught the slender palace eunuch in the solar plexus and drove the wind from his lungs. He dropped to the floor in a fetal position, gasping for air.
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“Where do you think you’re goin’?” the other intruder growled.
Pterygeonites held up a hand as he struggled to breathe. Tears filled his eyes. “Please,” a rasping sound came from his throat as he sucked in air. “I have money.”
The man’s grin became bigger. “Do you hear that, Pons? He has money.”
“That is good. Money is important, Cyn,” the man with the scimitar towered over Pterygeonites. “I like money.”
Pons bent down and looked into the eunuch’s eyes, his face inches away, “How much you got?”
Pterygeonites struggled to think about how much money might be in the house. His steward must keep some around to pay tradespeople, grocers, and the like. He only had a couple of in his own purse.
“Do you have enough to buy back your soul?”
“My steward.” Pterygeonites winced at the pain in his chest. “He has the money.”
“Nikodemos? He and his missus, the cook, are taking the night off? As is your gatekeeper.”
Pterygeonites’ eyes filled with despair.
“Do you think we are here to steal your egg money?” The sardonic grin again.
“Besides,” said Cyn, “We have gone through too much to get to this point. I bounced my ass along seven hundred miles of road to get here. We fought in a revolution to get here. There is no way you have enough money to divert my friend and me from our purpose.”
Pons nodded, “He is right. You are going to die. Tonight. Here. In this room.”
Pterygeonites sobbed.
“No, no,” continued Pons. “No tears. Face your death like a man. Oh. Sorry. Half a man. Used to be a man. Tell you what… I’ll make you a deal. How about you tell me exactly how you went about the killing? Tell me who told you to do it, who else was involved, you know, clean your heart of the murder. Then, before I kill you, I let you pray to Almighty God. He’s gonna forgive you, ‘cause you confess and you’re so sorry.”
Pterygeonites was desperate for anything that would delay the fatal blade by even the time it took him to draw a few more labored breaths of air. “I’ll do anything you ask. Please forgive me,” he grabbed in supplication at Pons’ boot.
“Who ordered you to poison him?”
“Poison who?” Pterygeonites blubbered.
“Prince Rainier.”
Pterygeonites looked genuinely confused. “I have not killed this man.” he pleaded. “I am innocent.”
Indeed, his eyes filled with hope and a look, like bliss crossed his face. “I have been falsely accused. You have the wrong man.”
“You knew him as the Ioannes, the young emperor’s brother-in-law.”
Pons grinned again as shock then guilt that washed over Pterygeonites’ face. The terrified man’s bowels loosened.
“Go ahead and shit yourself. You remember him, don’t you? Young fellow with the blonde hair.” Cyn chimed in. “Christos, he’s poisoned so many he can’t keep ‘em all straight.”
“Who gave the order?” Pons asked again.
“The Emperor, Andronikos, told me from his own lips to get rid of Emperor Alexios’ sister and her husband. They were the ones who had invited him to the city, begging for his help to take it back from the Dowager Empress and her lover. The boy Emperor and his mother still had uses. The time was not right. But for her lover, the … blinding - it was botched. He later died. And for the Princess Maria and Ioannes… He said they were going to try to overthrow him. They had to go. He ordered me to do it. One night, I mixed hemlock into strong wine. I visited each of them separately. Princess Maria knew the game was over. She knew the wine was poisoned, cursed us, and accepted her fate. But Ioannes - Prince Rainier, as you call him, he thought I was doing him a kindness - a decent sort - sharing a cup of wine. I think he believed Andronicus would set him free with a hearty thanks. I think he was truly surprised when he felt the poison begin to work, and he collapsed. God forgive me.”
“Anyone else with you?”
“No. Just me.” Pterygeonites sniveled.
“What about Stephen the Bringer of the Antichrist? Was he there?”
“No.”
“Why not? I thought he did all of Andronikos’ dirty work?”
The eunuch bowed his head, “I think he was out killing someone else that night.”
“On top of the killing you were doing. You were a busy bunch. Your master will have a lot to answer for come Judgment Day.” Cyn sneered.
“Please spare me.” Pterygeonites’ sob was almost hysterical and punctuated with hiccups. “I can get to him. I can help you. He trusts me.”
“He trusts you?” Pons scoffed. “Now you are being foolish. You are the most notorious poisoner in the empire. Did you know that after you leave a room, servants come along behind you to clear away any food that was out and throw it away? He trusts you?”
Pterygeonites lay on the floor. Pons handed the scimitar to Cyn and pulled him to his knees. “Come on. Make your peace with God.”
Pterygeonites was weeping uncontrollably. “No,” he moaned, “I beg you. Don’t kill me. Don’t let my life end this way.”
“Take your time. Compose your soul as you pray for God’s forgiveness.”
Pterygeonites wiped snot from his nose with the back of his sleeve. He almost broke down in another wave of sobs, but softly he began to whisper, “Heavenly Father, I be-”
Pons snatched the throwing axe off his belt and buried it in the eunuch’s skull, neatly severing the two hemispheres of his brain. Bright blood ran down the eunuch’s face and onto the flagstones of the atrium.
Cyn put the scimitar back in its scabbard, “Didn’t let him get too far into his prayer, did ya?”
“I was tired of listening to him blubber. Besides, I heard him say ‘Heavenly Father.’ He had turned his thoughts to God, and that was more than the wretch deserved. Start searching, I don’t like waiting around to be discovered.”
Cyn was staring at the eunuch. Pons had withdrawn his axe in a gout of blood, but the corpse was still kneeling. It hadn’t dropped to the floor yet. “Will you look at that… his lips are still moving. How’d you make him do that?”
Pons shrugged, “Hmm. I bet you the last thing he’s gonna say is ‘ouch.’”
“What are we searching for?”
Pons gave him a wry glance, “This fellow was a poisoner. What do you think?”
“Aah. Poison. I see, but what for? What do we need with poison?”
“I dunno, maybe we can smear some poison on the tip of the crossbow bolt when you shoot the son-of-a-bitch.”
“No…” Cyn’s eyebrows shot up. “You think?”
“Emperor Manuel’s father died after he scratched himself with his own poisoned arrow. Killed one emperor, why not another. Start looking?”
The box, a small trunk, was sitting in the eunuch’s sleeping chamber. Cyn popped the lock off with his dirk to find it cleverly folded open to reveal three trays and four drawers. Dozens of small bottles, vials, and philters of various sizes and colors were strapped to the inside of the lid by leather straps. “Don’t touch any of it,” Pons cautioned.
He moved closer and began to examine the chest’s contents. “Let’s see. Here we have some wolfsbane, that one is hemlock,” He moved a tray which contained tongs, a mortar and pestle, and an oil burner. He opened a drawer. “That is opiate powder. Monkshood. That one is costmary… Fredrick uses a sprig to mark his place in his Gospel. That smells like malabathri leaves. I don’t know what most of this stuff is. We are going to have to find a friendly apothecary or herbalist and get him tell us what we have here.” He closed the box, and the two soldiers made their way out.
