The Byzantine Wager

Chapter 39 - A Celebration Dinner

Chapter 39

A Celebration Dinner

Brian the Saxon slogged through the wind and rain as he escorted the Emperor's litter back to the Blachernae Palace in the city northwest. No sooner had he entered the gates when the deluge gave out to a spattering again. Having given and received the correct password for the changing of the guard, he retired for the evening. Still in armor, which he wore like a second skin, and with his long axe slung over his shoulder he made an imposing figure as he ambled his way back along the city's second great mese. Traffic - even muleteers - moved out of his way. To his left the aqueduct of Valens ran from the Church of the Apostles on the fourth hill to feed the sculpted fountains of Great Nymphaeum on the third hill. After merging on to the Great Mese it had grown dark and by the time he had walked the entire way back to the Forum of Constantine, he was in need of the promised drink - or several.

Ducking inside the candle lit tavern Brian found Pons with a party of men occupying the largest table. Pons sat at the far end, beside him on his left was his sergeant beside whom was a rough looking fellow with a bruise forming on the middle of his forehead and a dazed look about him. Next to him sat what appeared to be a crippled elderly beggar. To Pons' right sat John Ducas, who nodded hello. Beside the bureaucrat on the bench rested his tall mitre of office. Next to the peaked headdress sat a priest - one of the fellows in the Patriarch's circle - Brian had seen him from time to time but could not recall his name. Seeing Brian, Pons' smiled and waved him over. "Sit" he called and motioned to the seat beside himself, indicating to the low men to shuffle along.

"Wine?" Pons offered.

"Fill the bowl."

"Lean your axe up against the wall. The eel is fantastic here."

"I know. I was the one who recommended this place to you. The wedding. Back when everything was happy. Before the Basileus became ill, and everything started to go to Hell."

"Ahhh. Remember when..."

* * *

Nestor the storyteller, left seatless, picked up his crutch and shuffled back from the table. At the beginning of the evening poor Nestor had anticipated a nice dinner paid for by his winning patrons, followed by a 'gracia' for his services. A nice tip. Once Fat George's name was mentioned he simply hoped to get some money, anything, before the Latins were killed. But then the table began filling up with people far beyond what he thought was his employer's station.

The first to arrive was a nobleman in blue robes which denoted his high status. His miter of office was so tall that he was forced to carry it as he entered and set it on the bench beside himself. Wine of the first quality was poured in a cup for the newcomer, and he fell into conversation with the Latin who called himself Pons. An appetizer of olives, oil, and fresh bread was served.

Next a senior priest in fine robes entered and asked to speak to Captini Pons. He was invited to join the meal. Beggar, prince, or priest, no one in Constantinople ever turned down the offer of a free meal. Eel and oysters were served. More wine was poured. A child was sent to a nearby vendor to get groggy Andros a chicken. Someone called for lamb, and another child was sent scurrying. Now one of the emperor's bodyguards had arrived. Again wine was poured. More eel, more oysters. "Where are they hiding the doxies?" the crossbowman queried. Quiet for once, Nestor cocked an ear to the conversation, and tried to pass unnoticed.

* * *

Whilst Pons turned his attention to the noble to his right and began to confer, Cyn leaned in to speak with the soldier beside him. "Forgive me, Capitini Pons introduced us this morning, but today I have met so many people, I can not remember your name."

"I am called Brian."

"Si, Brian the Saxon. Why are you called Brian the Saxon? You are a Varangian, no? Why not Brian the Verangian?"

"My grandfather was a Saxon. He left when the Normans invaded and sought his fortune in the east. He sold his sword, or to be more correct, traded it for one of these axes. He became bodyguard to the old Emperor Alexios. My father was captain of the guard under Emperor John, and I served under Manuel and now his son Alexios. All of the Varangians, or their fathers, are from outside the Empire. Some are Rus. Some from the lands of the Dane."

"Have you been to Saxon lands?"

"Oh no, never. The farthest north and west I have ever been is to Bulgar lands. To the east I have been to the lands of the heathen. You?"

"Up and down Italia. I won the prize for archery at a tourney in the land of the Franks. Far to the west. Do you know what that is - a tourney? Do you have them?"

"With the lancers and the melee? I have seen - in the Hippodrome- when the knights came through on pilgrimage they displayed their prowess. What a sight."