The Byzantine Wager

Chapter 40 - God Gets His End of the Action

Chapter 40

God Gets His End of the Action

Fat George fumed as he ambled his bulk along the mese to the Forum of Constantine. Behind him was Kosmas, and three of the other bet makers all armed with cudgels. Beside him walked the Deletes cousin, a stout fellow in his late adolescence holding a torch to light their way. George himself retrieved an antique Roman gladius style short sword from a chest. No belt could readily be found long enough to go around him so he held the weapon sheathed. He had no intention of using it in combat though. George knew that his fighting days were behind him, but once the two Latins were beaten into submission, he felt he might take a slice or two off of them before getting his coin back. Assuming that they were still at their meal, and assuming they were still being watched by the two remaining Deletes men. With them that would bring his numbers up to a formidable eight against two. Let the foreigners beat those odds. George wheezed as he plodded through the forum. The mumbling torch bearer was filling him in on the situation they were likely to face as they walked.

"Also one has a hu-huge crossbow."

George stepped in a puddle of rain water and glowered. "Say again."

"Th-they had a big cr-crossbow on the table," the young man stuttered.

"You could have mentioned that earlier. Right. Kosmas you take the front. If someone goes down tonight let it be you, you sniveling shit." The two members of the Deletes clan were still at the entrance of the Golden Eel. "They in there? Eating and drinking my money away?" George barked. "Fall in."

"Domine they are not alone," the bald one said.

"What do you mean? Who's with them?"

The bald man motioned for George to see for himself. A waft of smoke from the fish grilling on the charcoal braziers near the entrance obscured his vision as he peered into the candle lit common room.

"The Quality, that's who. And a priest from the basilica. And an Imperial guard in the bargain."

When the smoke drifted past he saw that the bald man was correct. At the far end of a crowded table sat a man with a leather cap who was waving in their direction as if to make a cheery greeting. He motioned for them to enter, calling, "Look who is here. It is Kosmas. Has Kosmas come to pay?"

Pons stood and smiled. "Father, your Eminence, may I introduce Kosmas. Earlier Kosmas and I had a wager on one of the races, and my team won. Forgive me, I know Father that to give in to such vice is sinful, but I felt so lucky, and a holy brother advised me to do so. Unfortunately Kosmas was a little short, but he has with him someone who is a little fat, so now no doubt he has come to settle. Honest fellow that he is. No?" George said not a word. Kosmas looked like he would rather be at the bottom of the Bosphorus. Pons motioned the gamblers and the Deletes clan forward. "Here you lot. Gather up Andros and take him home to his missus. Mind the knock on his head. That'll free us up a seat at the table for George. It is George isn't it? You lads can go. Your betters will come to an arrangement."

In near silence and with a minimum of fuss he was obeyed. George heaved in and sat on the vacant seat. The wooden bench groaned under the combined weight of the Varangian, Cyn, and himself. Kosmas was left to stand at the back with Nestor and his crutch. The storyteller nodded at him and gave a shy shrug.

The priest sensing the tension made moves as if to leave. "Perhaps I should get going as well. Thank you most graciously for the repast. So delicious. I had almost forgotten the reason for my stopping, namely to relay this message: The Patriarch will not be returning to the city until late tomorrow evening. He is across the Propontis visiting a monastery and will not sail until late. Perhaps the day following, after morning mass, he could meet with you."

"Please Father, tarry a moment. I have an idea to benefit the church. I cleaned unfortunate Kosmas out, but now Father I transfer his debt of five gold pieces to the church as my tithe for the wealth which God's Grace has provided. Five gold pieces is one part in ten of what luck has provided. That is right and proper for a tithe. George can discharge the debt the next time he goes to the basilica."

"I attend mass at St Euphemia's," the words snarled out of George's mouth around the flesh of silver lamprey, to which he had helped himself, and his own rotting teeth.

"Father, I am sure an arrangement can be made with the prelate of the church of St. Euphemia. No? Good then it is settled. How fortunate, now George does not have to go hunting all over the city to pay me back."

The priest seemed to mull over this or a moment before he proffered his hand to shake in a bargain. And there George was - thrust into a debt with the church. With a magistrate, looking fit to burst with laughter, witnessing the whole thing. Kosmas would never be dead enough. He finished his wine, belched, and stood. The sheathed gladius was still in his left hand and he longed to plunge it into everyone at the table, but summoning his dignity he nodded, shook the priest's hand with his right, and bid the table a good evening.

Kosmas followed at a distance, as George plodded home, but he could feel the rage coming off of him. "I should cut your throat right now and leave your body here in Constantine's forum next to the column. Why don't I do that? You have cost me all the day's take of the wager stalls. I should cut your cock off and feed it to the pigs. Plus a debt of five gold coins now owing the church and witnessed by the Emperor's cousin for all I know. Why would you risk coin - MY coin with such men? Maybe an impaling with a long greased pole up your arse. You can be replaced by next race day and the other bet makers will take better heed from your unfortunate example." It was a long walk home for Kosmas.