Chapter 91
The two men walked unhurriedly through the twilight, one a few steps behind the other. At an intersection near an ancient column and the Church of Holy Apostles, they turned right, walked for a few dozen paces, and paused at a door.
“Are you sure? He has been of ill humors lately. He may order you killed outright.”
“I do not have time for his humors to be in order.” The Latin called Pons motioned them forward.
Earlier that evening, when the third race ended and after the settling of accounts, Kosmas, at his all too quiet betting booth, had been approached by the Latin who requested to meet with Fat George.
About what? Kosmas had no idea, but for a silver coin, he agreed to ferry the man across his Styxx.
George had eventually paid the debt. He endowed the church, although he delayed until the following Easter to make his donation more noticeable. He grumbled about it for some time, and Kosmas knew he was not one to forget. The insult of being humbled before ‘the quality’ must still rankle. This Latin was entering a web.
They descended a stone stair. Rough fellows eyed them as they crossed a storeroom to a desk at the back. The steward told Kosmas to leave his tablet and takings. Kosmas whispered a word. The steward’s eyebrow raised. He put down his quill. “Wait here.”
A silence ensued.
“I do not think he will be inclined to be friendly. Why do you risk his displeasure?”
“Business.”
The only answer that would suffice.
“Speaking of which, how are things?”
“You saw the meagreness of the crowds. Only the most regular gamblers at the stall. Races once a ten-day, perhaps twice a month.”
“Why do you think no one comes to the races anymore?”
Kosmas shrugged. “It’s not fun anymore, is it? Sharpened pole shoved up a man’s arse ‘til it comes out of his mouth. Who wants to take their young ones for an outing to see that?”
The steward motioned them to a chamber further within.
* * *
Fat George was seated behind a large table. A soft cheese and oyster course was outgoing. Incoming servants brought spliced lentil porridge and fish baked in grape leaves. Tender food was all his decayed teeth would allow.
“Wud you bring him here for?”
“‘He wants to talk business.” Kosmas held his cap.
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George nodded. The toad-like wattles below his chin bobbled. “Five hyperpyrion worth of business? Where are your bishop and magistrate tonight?”
“If we are to do business, I should introduce myself. I am Ser Pontius of Montferrat. The church and nobility do not stand with me. I come alone.”
Very proper. Sir, was it now?
George had inquired into the mercenaries after their arrival. They stayed at the tavern where they met, and kept to themselves, going out once a month for a quality girl. (The slave side of the business was Pandarus' own affair, but the harlotry required that he kick coin up to George). The younger of the pair gambled, but not enough to matter. (And where was he on this evening? Not sleeping, George wagered.)
They were up to something; why linger for three years otherwise? Had it been so long? They had not interfered in his business, so George had half forgotten about them… until recently.
His web of information brought back the tale of a crippled storyteller whose murdered corpse was found in the Forum of Constantine. The sight of bodies in Constantine’s Forum was common. Usually, it was the remains of a noble who had fallen afoul of the regime. The dead beggar was not remarked upon at first, merely glanced at distastefully, only to later be transported to lie beside a prince across the water in Galata.
“Right then, what do yer want? And what makes you think you are going to walk out of here alive?” George slurped a spoonful of porridge. Some dribbled on his chin wattles.
“Kosmas, tell George what you were just telling me.”
“About the poor attendance? Domine knows it’s thin in the stands and the take is poor.”
“And the fear?”
“People are scared of what might happen. Everyone is concerned about the invaders being so close, but there is more. They avoid public places. They go to the baths, the market, then home. No one loiters. Everyone scuttles.”
George glowered at Kosmas, “I assume he paid you to bring him here? Did he also pay you to bargain for him?”
Kosmas looked confused. “I do not know what he wants?!?”
“I want what you want.”
“And what do I want, Latin?”
“Prosperity. The - full of people of all sorts, farmers, tradesmen, nobles, and their families. Each placing a bet before they go in. Foreigners with full of goods to be pilfered. Sailors and pilgrims lined up at the brothels. We can make Constantinople great again.”
George belched and smiled. Toying with the vision.
“Right you,” he nodded to Kosmas. “Fuck off.”
He waited until the door had closed and the bookmaker retreated. “A noseless dog sniffs for you. Have you not heard? Why do I not simply give you to him?”
“For the same reason no one else has. He is the most despised man in the Empire. Still, Andronikos has his sycophants, yet all loathe the ‘Bringer of the Anti-Christ.’ He throttled the boy Emperor. Mothers frighten their children to silence by whispering his name. Saint Paul’s icon wept upon seeing his sinful countenance. He offers threats, never silver.”
“And you’ve silver?”
“Not with me tonight, neither of us is a fool, but yes.”
“And what would you like to do with this silver?”
“Across the city, many gamblers, of all classes, are indebted to you. I would like to pay.”
“The debts of this city of gamblers?”
“Come now. I do not have a silver mine. I would like to help those who could not ever have the means to repay, those with large families. I want numbers. Everyone and their cousin. Blues. I would like to help the faction.”
“And what would you want from the Blues?”
“Simply to go to the races on a day that I tell them and fill the stands, or perhaps show up at a city gate chanting the name of a new Emperor. Be available now and then.”
“What ‘new Emperor?’”
“Alexios Komnenos.”
“‘E wuz throttled. Said so yourself.”
“Different Alexios. Manuel’s bastard, the cupbearer, is with the Norman army.”
“The army that just sacked Thesolanika is three hundred miles to the west.”
“They are not coming to conquer the city. They are coming to save it… from Andronikos. He is mad. It cannot continue. You must see that.”
“The Normans will sack the city.”
“Not if the true Blue people rise to welcome the Emperor they bring.”
“Not paying for the Greens?”
“Can’t afford a full mob. Half a mob will have to do.”
