Narses was walking with Emperor Nikephoros through the Great Palace. The architecture was so stunning that he had trouble focusing on their conversation. He was likewise unable to conceive of what he was even looking at. Dark purple marble pillars supported pink arches, themselves supporting upper stories consisting of enormous echoing rooms where armored guards stood at attention, their armor glinting in the light from the torches, chandeliers, and the sunset glowing through the windows, where purple silk drapes glimmered, all beneath vaulted ceilings.
Everywhere walls were covered with gold leaf and mosaics and frescoes depicting haloed monks dressed in flowing robes clasping their hands in prayer. Emperors and empresses drenched in pearls and jewels were handing entire cities and palaces and churches to the Virgin Mary Unconquerable, who held the baby Jesus. The adult Jesus himself was never far, and always piercing you with his gaze. His left hand would be clutching an enormous golden book studded with gems while his right hand made a gesture beyond Narses’s understanding: the index finger and middle finger were pressed together while the ring finger and pinky touched the thumb. It looked like a gesture of power, but it must have meant many things.
Though he was a general, Narses’s education level was Journeyman (6/10), which made it difficult for him to understand symbolism like this, even if he could read and write. His Christianity was still strong.
“You don’t remember the big thing we’ve been working on all these years?” Nikephoros stepped over the black and white marble flooring and Persian carpets in his purple buskins, which were embroidered in gold with double-headed eagles. “Long before we had power. Back when we were taking orders from Emperor Anastasios, may he rest in peace.” He crossed himself.
Narses stopped in his tracks. “What? Oh, I’m sorry, your majesty, I have no idea.”
Nikephoros continued walking. Narses jogged to catch up with him.
“Maybe one of my Jew physicians ought to take a look at your head,” Nikephoros said. “Shabbethai Donnolo’s the best. He’s one of those Italian Jews. A real combination, Italian and Jew. They’re stubborn fucks. They don’t work on the Sabbath, and they never shut the fuck up, but they know a thing or two about this and that.” He tapped his head. “It might also be time to take communion. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
“That’s not a bad idea, your majesty. I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. I’ve been confused with some kind of spiritual sickness—false memories—”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll all blow over soon. You were—you still are—the best thing I’ve ever made.”
Nikephoros seemed to want Narses to say something, but he was clueless.
“I’m disappointed you didn’t get that manual,” Nikephoros said. “You’ve gotta keep looking for it. It’s a big fucking deal.”
“But your majesty, it must have been lost—dropped in a field, burned in a fire—”
“Is it in your hands?” Nikephoros shouted, turning to him. “Do you see me holding it in mine? No? Then it must be in theirs. If there aren’t any bodies, then the ones we’re hunting are still alive! If the book isn’t in my hands, it’s in theirs! That’s how this shit works! I shouldn’t have to explain it to you!”
“We searched everywhere, majesty. There’s nowhere left to look!”
Nikephoros—though he was shorter than Narses—reached up and backhanded him.
Minus one health, the voice said. 99 health remains.
Then, as Narses gasped and clutched his cheek, Nikephoros seized him by his hair, dragged him to the fountain, and shoved him under the water.
Minus five oxygen, the voice said. 95 oxygen remains.
Narses tried to surface, but learned the hard way that while Nikephoros looked like a flabby old man, he was as strong as an ox. Whatever class Nikephoros was, it was strength-based. Narses was held underwater for so long that his lungs burned, and as he struggled and his hands slipped on the wet fountain he feared he would drown.
Minus five health, the voice said. 94 health remains.
Only then did Nikephoros release him. Narses threw himself out of the water and fell onto the floor, coughing and gasping.
“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to stand.
“Don’t say sorry!” Nikephoros yelled. “I don’t want apologies. I want results!”
“Yes, your majesty.” Narses climbed to his feet and bowed. He was dripping water everywhere.
“Now look at this mess.” Nikephoros glanced at the guards. “I always have to clean up your messes. Get back to your apartments, change your clothes, and get back here.”
Narses bowed to Nikephoros and acknowledged him, then ran away, slipping on the marble floor, hardly knowing where he was going. He needed to ask several guards and servants where his own apartments were, which lowered his standing among the men, according to the voice.
At one point he strayed inside the throne room, where the steam-powered bronze automatōns were kept for impressing foreign dignitaries: a tree with birds that would flap their wings and sing, lions that would roar, and even armored soldiers who would draw their swords and adopt a battle-ready pose. After passing an Egyptian sorcerer wandering the hallway, Narses ended up in the Purple Chamber where the children of emperors were born.
How could he do that to me? Narses rushed away from the stone oxen and lions at the chamber’s entrance. He almost killed me! But it must have been for my own good. I just have to do as he wants and then I'll be alright. Still…in the future I can kill people. That's easy enough. But drowning them…never.
After Narses located his apartments, he had trouble finding his bedroom and closet—where all the clothes inside were black. His slaves needed to help. When he returned to the palace hallway, a woman was waiting outside. Though Narses had trouble recalling who she was, he remembered she was important. Covered in red, purple, and golden silk trimmed with pearls, her skin was pale and translucent enough to burn if exposed to candlelight, while her orange hair was restrained by a golden clasp studded with enormous sapphires which, for all their beauty, lacked the potency of her blue eyes.
“Hello, Narses,” she said, gazing into him. “Where are you off to?”
Narses blushed and bowed. “Nowhere, princess.” He only barely managed to blurt out this last word. “I mean—I’m going to see your father.”
“Very well.” She bit her lip to restrain the smile that exposed her white teeth. “Carry on, soldier.”
Narses bowed again, then rushed past her, remembering as he stumbled down one wide marble stairwell after another that her name was Erythro.
My charisma seems useless against her, he thought.
Princess Erythro Komnenē, the voice said. She belongs to the courtesan class. As a Master Charismatic (8/10), she relies for survival on charisma over other attributes like strength or dexterity.
Erythro was Nikephoros’s youngest daughter—the most intelligent and troublesome, and also the one he doted on. She was likewise unwed. Nikephoros was reserving her for some alliance with the barbarian hordes to the east, west, north, or south, but Narses suspected she would never be sent to languish in the sultan’s harem in the Round City of Baghdad or to freeze among the Bulgar Khanate’s encampments or even Gallía’s cold gray fortresses. Nikephoros had already married one older daughter to the Franks and the other to the Grand Prince of Novgorod. His lazy, foolish sons had taken wives from the House of Doukas and the House of Paleologos, whose mansions lay within the City’s walls. Nikephoros himself was a Komnenos, and no less illustrious than any of them.
Narses found him in a different part of the endless palace. The emperor was in the treasury watching servants haul huge sacks of ringing golden nomismas before the eunuch secretaries, with Paul the Chain among them. They were counting the money using abacuses and scrawling in thick ledgers which were stored on enormous shelves packed with dusty tomes—some of which were accounts, while others were Justinian’s Digests and Codices. The newer volumes were labeled using Greek numerals; the older ones used Latin.
Nikephoros strode over with a friendly look on his face—as though he hadn’t nearly drowned Narses moments before—and said he was keeping an eye on the City’s daily excise taxes before they were sent to the army’s quartermasters for distribution to the soldiery. Narses felt experience points being added to his education level, though the amount was too low for him to level up, which meant that he still had trouble understanding what Nikephoros was talking about. A secretary brought Nikephoros a parchment covered with cursive Greek; he signed it using purple ink.
“You gotta know this shit.” Nikephoros placed his arm around Narses, who winced. “One day you might have to deal with it. You gotta keep an eye on your tax collectors, or else they’ll steal from you! Everyone here is always trying to steal from me. All my slaves and servants and workers are so lazy and stupid, they’re such a fucking pain in the ass, I have to do everything myself, I can’t depend on anyone, I can never make enough money. Everyone just wants to use me for my money and power. I’m surrounded by idiots. Even you, Narses—you stole from me when you fucked up—when you didn’t get that manual.”
Nikephoros raised his fist as though he was about to punch Narses, who covered his face with his arms. But Nikephoros laughed, patted his back, and told him he was just messing around.
“Half the money flowing into the imperial exchequer finds its way into the pockets of Rome’s soldiers,” Nikephoros said, as they continued walking through the palace. “Since they’re pretty fucking expensive. Do you know how many enlisted men we’ve got at the moment?”
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“About one hundred thousand,” Narses said—though he was unable to understand where this knowledge even came from. “Spread out across Romanía.”
Nikephoros nodded. “Those numbers are exaggerated. We’d be lucky to muster a tenth that many, and almost all of them are on guard duty. They protect the frontiers, and keep the people from rioting. They live off the land in the themes, but we also pay them a monthly salary. Each soldier gets one gold nomisma per month. The officers get more. It might not seem like much, but it adds up. Most soldiers spend their salary on whores and wine. The wine merchants pay taxes, and the prostitutes buy food from other merchants who also pay taxes, and so the money comes back here, unless people spend it on foreign goods, like Seran silk, but that’s pretty rare. Most of our money circulates in-country. We also produce a lot of silk here on our own. It’s a miracle my monks managed to steal some of those silkworms from Sera in the first place—the Serans have Nestorians out there fingering my men. Does this interest you?”
Nope, Narses thought. “Of course, majesty.”
“Just because you don’t take an interest in politics doesn’t mean politics isn’t going to take an interest in you. And you never know. You might take over someday. Look what happened to me. I was just a general like you. I knew a little about this and that. When those bastards killed Anastasios, God rest his soul, I had no choice. I had to step in to avenge him. And you might have to avenge me. Who knows?”
“But—your majesty—”
“You know,” Nikephoros continued, “when I was young, I trained under this guy named Petros. He was the Grand Logothete—the chief finance minister and tax collector for Emperor Anastasios—may he rest in peace.” Nikephoros placed his right hand over his heart for a moment, and shut his eyes. “It still makes me sad, losing Anastasios. I’ve been talking with the Patriarch about having him canonized.”
“You mean—you want to make him a saint, majesty?”
“Thank you for reminding me what the word canonized means. We can focus on all the good he did for the poor, rather than the money he was stealing from the rich—his radical politics. That’ll be a nice consolation for poor people, and it might even shut ‘em up for a change. We can stress his peaceful reforms, so people think that’s the only way you get anything done. Be peaceful and civil, do everything legally—basically, be non-violent, be harmless. That’s what we want ‘em to do: things we can easily ignore.”
“What if the poor find out that you’re tricking them like this?”
Nikephoros shook his head. “My bishops and priests and university professors and town criers are telling ‘em the same old shit. If anyone gets out of line, we kill ‘em, ruin their careers, exile ‘em, etcetera. You gotta toe the line if you’re gonna work in the City. There’s so many people here, somebody can always take your job. Present company excepted.”
Narses laughed with Nikephoros.
“Most of the time, though, people fall in love with the hand that feeds ‘em, so the system kind of takes care of itself, just like it’s been doing since the founding of the city of Rome. Petros taught me all about this stuff. He was a real stickler. His nickname was ‘Scissors’—he was always snipping coins, cutting corners. He taxed some rich folks so much they got thrown out of their homes. Anastasios had so much money here he didn’t know what to do with it. He was building houses for the homeless, hospitals, orphanages, aqueducts, roads, all kinds of shit. Some very wealthy people didn’t like all the waste, so very sadly, he had to die for the greater good, you know? Petros Scissors got his limbs and his head scissored from his body and then put on spikes all over Romanía. We don’t raise money like that now.”
“Your majesty,” Narses said. “Forgive me for asking, but—where are we going?”
They had been walking through the palace, passing the limitless marble hallways and chambers full of pillars and statues, all guarded by excubitores who must have been dying of boredom.
Maybe they’ve figured out some way to sleep standing with their eyes open, Narses thought.
Nikephoros stopped and turned down one hallway.
“That’s right,” Nikephoros said. “We’ve got a bunch of new projects in the works, and you’re one of ‘em. But you aren’t alone. You’ve been away so long hunting down Herakleia it seems like you forgot your old crew.”
“We killed so many people out there,” Narses said, dazed with the memories of the last few days.
“Shit happens,” Nikephoros said. “It sucks that you fucked up with the manual, but killing all those villagers in Troas—it might not have been a bad idea. Maybe we should think about destroying more cities. All those places are filled with traitors anyway. It takes just one troublemaker making a speech to turn all our good little farmers against us. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with ‘em—how fucking stupid can they be? They stray from the truth—God’s truth, and damn themselves to hell, all because a stranger wanders into their village and starts shouting about how nobody can afford anything and nothing’s fair. Well, guess what? Life isn’t fair!”
Probably there’s a reason everyone’s so upset, Narses thought.
“Everybody knows the truth,” Nikephoros said. “If we weren’t favored by God, if we didn’t work hard, if we weren’t so educated and qualified, we wouldn’t be Emperor. It’s that simple. The people chose us. The army chose us. God chose us. So fucking get used to it, pay your taxes, harvest your crops, and shut the fuck up! Right?” Nikephoros laughed, and Narses joined in again.
“It just takes a little hard work,” Nikephoros continued. “A little scrimping and saving and money management. Just do whatever the fuck you need to do. These farmers and villagers and hillbillies, they’re just lazy. They never get anything done. Except pissing us off. They waste all their money on silk.”
“Of course, your majesty.”
“Speaking of which,” Nikephoros said. ”You need to get back to work with your men. We’re gonna deploy you guys soon.”
“My men, majesty?” Narses said. “The Hikanatoi tagma, you mean?”
“Maybe I ought to smack you around a little more to make things right in there.” Nikephoros hit his cheek, and Narses laughed.
Just then, Erythro appeared in the hallway and approached as though stepping out of a painting. The way her silk dress scintillated, and the way her orange hair glowed—it was like a mirage.
Is she following me? he thought. Where did she come from?
“Hey there, beautiful,” Nikephoros hugged his daughter, who kissed his cheeks. “How’s everything? You need anything? Where’s your mother?”
“I’m fine, daddy.” Erythro flashed her eyes at Narses from over her father’s shoulder. Narses gulped. “Mother’s in her palace.”
“Alright, we’ll be seeing you around,” Nikephoros said. “We’ve got important business. Manly work.”
“Bye, Narses.” Erythro bared her teeth in a broad smile.
“What a pain in the ass,” Nikephoros said, as he walked away with Narses. “Spends hundreds of nomismas a month on all kinds of shit. Her apartments are full of practically everything you can buy in the entire city! The whole empire’s gonna go bankrupt because she can’t get enough of that fucking silk! It’s like a river of gold, pouring out of her bedroom!”
“Well, what are you going to do, majesty?” Narses said.
Nikephoros stopped and glared at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I just meant—uh—”
“You just meant!” Nikephoros slapped him.
Minus one health, the voice said. 84 health remains.
“You just meant!” Nikephoros slapped him again.
Minus one health, the voice said. 83 health remains.
“Forgive me, majesty.” Narses did his best to take the blows without blocking him.
Nikephoros glanced at the ceiling. “I’m surrounded by idiots. Help me out for a change, would you, God?”
Nikephoros walked more briskly now, bringing Narses through corridors and gardens to a courtyard at the palace’s heart. High walls on all four sides prevented the exterior world from seeing what was happening here. Dozens of men were fighting each other in the courtyard. Like Narses, they wore black garments. At first they seemed to be dancing, but then they began to move in impossible ways. One man chased another along a wall, running all the way up and disappearing over the rooftop. Another man punched his sparring partner so hard that the latter was flung into the dust, where he picked himself up, shook his head, and then leaped off the wall behind him, twisting through the air like a spear, then rolling and tumbling and standing up again when his partner darted out of the way in a blur.
Narses stared. It had been an actual blur—like actors animated inside a big budget action movie.
Two other men were sparring with long thin lightweight swords of a style different from the typical Roman legionary’s. Something in the back of Narses’s mind said that the swords looked Japanese, although he no longer knew what this word meant. The steel blades clanged against one another so rapidly Narses had trouble following their movements. Sparks poured away like the blades were chainsaws tearing into metal.
Chainsaws—Japanese—big budget action movie—these were terms Narses understood, yet at the same time they were also nonsense. In his memory pictures as real as anything before him in the courtyard appeared on something called a screen, and they were so mesmerizing people would stare at them their whole lives. Then Narses blinked, and he was back in the courtyard feeling confused and having trouble recalling what he had been thinking about.
One last pair of men was experimenting with something Narses had difficulty describing. It reminded him of the naphtha spouts on dromons—it was like a long spear with a metal tube at the end. After filling the tube with a black crystalline powder and a metal ball, one of the men pressed a lit torch to a small hole at the top of the tube—aiming it at the other man, who was standing with his sword raised near the opposite wall. Thunder clapped from the tube, and Narses was blinded for a moment by a burst of light, but something metallic rang, and a brick was knocked from the wall.
The soldier near the wall swung his sword through the air and then sheathed it. A cloud of acrid smoke filled the courtyard.
That’s a gun! Narses thought. That’s what I was talking about with Paul the Chain! But why didn’t he know about it? Or was he just pretending not to know…?
“Well done, John.” Nikephoros turned to Narses. “This guy’s one of my favorites. One of the best. We’re lucky to have him.”
John bowed. “Thank you, o despota mou.”
“There’s so much they can do,” Nikephoros said to Narses. “We’re training a whole new fucking army here, like nothing the world’s ever seen. We call ‘em Immortals—Athanatoi. Remember, Narses?”
“No.” Narses shook his head.
“You’re one of ‘em. With men like this, we’re gonna reconquer Rome. Our legions will fuck those criminals so hard, they’re gonna stay fucked. We’ll fuck ‘em right out of existence. Then we’ll drive the Skythioi back north to the steppe. We’ll kill all the Sarakenoi in the eastern deserts. We’ll subjugate all the Franks and Latins. Before long, the whole world’s gonna be Roman again. And no one’s gonna stop us. We’re gonna go farther than Justinian ever dreamed. Everybody’s gonna bow to us—and to Holy God, of course.” Nikephoros crossed himself.
“But they seem so powerful,” Narses said. “How can you control these men?”
“We use the usual methods,” Nikephoros said. “Each soldier gets a share of the spoils whenever they sack a city. This includes prisoners of war—they all get enslaved. Our men get a salary and opportunities for advancement. Once they’ve served with us twenty years, we pension ‘em off with good farmland. It's a good deal. It keeps ‘em in line. They’re all Romans, too. The handful of good Roman men left in Romanía who prefer fighting to praying—or getting their balls cut off. I pulled ‘em from the empire’s edges, where men are harder.”
“May I stay with these men?” Narses said.
Nikephoros nodded. “Who do you think trained ‘em? I trained you, and you trained them! The hundred here will train a hundred more. Hundreds are gonna train thousands.”
The soldiers were now bowing to Nikephoros and Narses in silence.
“Keep going!” Nikephoros yelled. “Don’t let us stop you!”
“We shall do as you command, o despota mou!” they shouted in unison. Then they rose, bowed once more, and resumed sparring.
Nikephoros turned to Narses. “One day soon, you’re going back out there with my boys here. You’re going to find the manual. And you’re gonna kill whoever has it.”