Outrider Philippikos sighted Nikaia at noon. This time Narses ordered the century to attack before the doux could close the gates. The immortals spurred their horses to full gallop, charging so fast they almost flew off the ground, each like Pegasus reborn. Foam poured from the beasts’ lips, and their hooves clattered against the road’s uneven paving stones, but it was too late. Once again, militia posted to the walls shut the gates the moment they spotted the mass of horsemen riding on the long straight road that cut between the olive and date palm orchards on one side with Lake Askania on the other. And as Paul had warned, a moat surrounded the city, and the bridge across was only wide enough for one horse to pass at a time.
Swearing, Narses screamed for his men to halt and keep out of bowshot. His rage was such that he considered entering the city on his own and flaying alive every last man, woman, and child by himself. Only the memory of the arrow in his shoulder at Nikomedeia restrained him.
I can’t scale the walls alone, Narses thought. I have to wait for the right—
“As I told you.” Paul rode up next to him and nodded to the city. “You would need an army of tens of thousands to take it.”
“Quiet, logothete,” Narses growled.
Paul frowned and looked away.
Church semantrons were rattling inside the city, their echoes bouncing back from the low green mountains. Peasants fled the farms outside the walls, women carrying baskets of spinach on their heads while dragging their children and donkeys after them. They entered the city through gates which were still open on the eastern side.
Philippikos, meanwhile, attempted to speak with the militia posted above the gate facing the Roman army, which was called the Konstantinopolis Gate. The militia responded by shooting arrows at him from the gaps in the battlements. Using the divine farr, he knocked the arrows away with his sword.
“Are you loyal to His Majesty the Emperor?” Philippikos yelled.
“Are you?” one Nikaian yelled back.
The bowstrings twanged like lyres; a fresh volley was loosed. One arrow swooped into Philippikos’s horse's thigh. The poor creature fell, pinning the outrider beneath him. More arrows struck the ground nearby. At that moment the gate creaked open and a dozen militia men rushed out, yelling and waving their swords as they charged him. Philippikos struggled to pull himself free from his wounded horse—still writhing in misery on the grass—but the beast was too heavy even with the farr glowing in the outrider's veins. Nonetheless the ground shook for some reason, and when he looked up Narses galloped past on his gigantic destrier, hacking at the militia with his Almaqah sword glimmering in the sun and then chasing them back into the gate—which remained open. Without hesitation or escort Narses raced into the city. His men, still hanging back according to his commands, looked at each other and then surged after him—though they were forced to slow down at the bridge, passing over one at a time. Tzanichites dismounted to help Philippikos out from under his horse, then followed after Narses.
Nikaia was a greater city than Nikomedeia, and had once vied with Konstantinopolis to be Capital of the East. But like the rest of Romanía, too many invasions, plagues, earthquakes, and famines had struck this place, and now many of its enormous stone buildings were in ruins. Though the streets were crowded when Narses entered—everyone was wondering why the churches were rattling their semantrons—the Nikaians fled screaming as soon as he appeared through the gate. His men followed. Without a wall and moat for protection, the militia were no match for the immortals. Many Nikaian soldiers were cut down; others escaped by throwing off their armor and hiding.
Accompanied by Tzanichites, Narses lost no time in finding the doux’s kastron, or fortified mansion. This was in the city’s heart adjoining the central market, where the basilica of Hagia Sophia was also located. Narses took a moment to cross himself. He discovered the doux hiding in a walnut cupboard in his kitchen. Pulling the man out and cutting his throat on the black and white tile floor, Narses emerged from the man’s house—with the women, children, and slaves fleeing into the street—and remounted Xanthos, who snorted and stomped his hooves, eager to keep fighting.
“We shall rest here tonight,” Narses said to Tzanichites. “Secure the city and requisition as much food from the market as can be carried.”
“Right.” Tzanichites nodded, his eyes shining.
“If you forget basic discipline again, your fate will be the same as his.” Narses pointed to a dead militia man lying on the uneven paved road, his red blood filling the deep ruts.
Tzanichites bowed. “Sorry, sir.”
“Keep in touch with Orban and the baggage,” Narses added. “Have the engineers and the captured youths join us here. And remember: anyone who starts a cooking fire gets his nose slit.”
“Sir.” Tzanichites rode off.
Narses was left alone. His men were already ransacking the city, and screams were rising from every direction, both near and far. There was so much loot they could never carry it all.
I have to keep things moving, Narses thought. Otherwise the men are going to start wondering why we’re leaving such a nice place to chase after criminals in the countryside. Nikaia is the last city on the frontier. Everything beyond now belongs to the Skythioi.
“Who here is loyal to Rome?” Narses shouted at the walled mansions of the rich. “Who will take over leadership of this city? The first man who volunteers I will appoint the new doux.”
No one responded. Then a small bald slave emerged from a narrow alley between the outer walls of two mansions. He wore a bronze name plate around his neck.
“I humbly volunteer, lord,” the slave said. “I have always labored in the service of—”
“I meant the first free male citizen,” Narses said.
The slave bowed, apologized, and then backed into his hiding place.
Absurd that I have to explain that, Narses thought. It won’t do at all if we put slaves in charge of anything. People will mistake us for the traitors.
Riding around the city, he shook his head and smiled as his men flung treasure out of people’s homes and into the street, where Paul and Nemanjos were already collecting and tabulating everything. They were in the dyer’s quarter, where it was easy to see vibrant cloth draped between buildings and drying in the sun. Among the coins and golden goblets and reams of silk piled on the street were Jewish candelabra, which Narses also found amusing.
So they even have Jews out here in the country, he thought. Pursuing their usual occupations: silk-weaving, dying, farming, and refusing Christ as lord and savior. Stubborn bastards. It seems the country is not so pure as I believed.
He looked around, noticing that he was surrounded by Jews. The women were veiled and, aside from their accents, difficult to distinguish from Roman women, but the men wore that yellow Jewish hat which looked so strange to Narses. It almost resembled a giant yellow handheld bell turned upside-down and placed on your head.
All the Jews were standing outside their homes in tense silence as the immortals took care of their belongings. Bodies lay everywhere—cowards who had attacked Narses’s brothers. The immortals were also separating any pretty mothers and daughters from their families. Father Kosmas oversaw this and even encouraged it, laughing and slapping the daughters on the back and telling them they could have avoided this if they had listened to reason.
Once we go east, Narses thought, the men will hump anything that moves. And maybe even things that don’t move. Appearance won’t matter. Old women and young boys or girls won’t be safe.
A few of Narses’s brothers were even despoiling women in the street in front of their families. The women were stoic about this, urging their children to look away, telling their fathers and brothers and husbands to restrain themselves, or accepting the men on top of their daughters. Father Kosmas told the immortals to do their business away from the street.
“It is highly uncivil,” Kosmas added. When the immortals ignored him, however, he appealed to Narses for help.
“The men have earned a little rest from their labors,” Narses said. “We can both agree that the Jews have brought this upon themselves. They should have known better than to betray His Majesty. We know, besides, that they are in league with the Sarakenoi, and that they also use their influence to turn good Romans astray.”
Father Kosmas bowed. “With all due respect, Domestikos, that may be true, yet some propriety must still be maintained…”
But Narses did nothing, the immortals continued to enjoy the Jewish women, and Father Kosmas averted his gaze.
“Think of this as a tax on living among Christians.” Narses dismounted so he could walk among the Jews. “We tolerate your presence out of the goodness of our hearts, even though your existence insults God.”
They neither answered him, nor even met his gaze, all except for one older man who approached him.
“Pardon me, sir.” He spoke with a faint Jewish accent. “But might you be the officer in charge?”
“That is correct,” Narses said.
“I am the leader of Nikaia’s Jewish community.” The man was trying to avoid looking at a nearby woman whom an immortal was enjoying. “I was wondering if—”
“Now you can see how the sinfulness of this place has offended God,” Narses said.
“I cannot speculate as to the workings of the mind of the divine, my lord.” The leader bowed low.
“We are the weapon of God,” Narses said. “We have come to remind all Rome who is in charge.”
“All of us here are loyal to His Majesty the Emperor Nikephoros,” the leader said.
“Certainly you are,” Narses said. “Yet you supported the traitorous doux of this city.”
“We never knew the doux was opposed to His Majesty the Emperor, sir. He never told us, nor did anyone else.”
“You claim to be loyal to His Majesty,” Narses continued, “yet you refuse to acknowledge him as the representative of God on Earth.”
The leader kept his head down.
“You and your entire community will convert to Christianity,” Narses said. “Every man, woman, and child will die unless they accept Christ as lord and savior in their heart.”
The Jewish families gasped; mothers clutched their children close. As for the men, their muscles were trembling, and their hands balled to fists.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“We will remove the Jewish stench from this place one way or another,” Narses said.
“Sir, we have lived in peace with Rome for generations,” the leader said. “All we wish is to continue serving His Majesty the Emperor as we always have—”
“Do not speak of His Majesty,” Narses waved his finger. “You insult him. You are an insult to all that is good and noble in the world. You have robbed good Christians of their jobs and money—it is by their blood and sweat that you have grown so fat, rich, and powerful. Like a disease you corrupted the mind of the doux of this great city, so that he shut the gates against us. You have conspired with foreign powers, as when you gave up Jerusalem to the heathens in the time of Emperor Herakleios.” Narses drew his Almaqah blade. “You will be baptized, or you will die.”
“We will never betray our families.” The leader raised his head and glared at Narses. “We will never betray our ancestors.”
“So you choose death.”
Narses approached the leader, who closed his eyes and prayed.
Make it gruesome, Narses thought. Painful.
He stabbed the leader’s belly, driving the blade all the way into his flesh and twisting. The leader fell to the street, taking the sword with him. It was stuck inside his flesh, and Narses had to tear it out. Meanwhile the leader writhed and groaned on the paving stones, clutching his bleeding wound. Then Narses took communion with his psyche, gaining not only farr but XP for his strength and piety.
“Stubborn Jew.” Narses raised his red blade to the other Jews, who stepped back. “Who’s next?”
All at once the men—mostly old, young, or weak—screamed, charged at him, and struck him with their fists, inflicting one damage with each hit, since Narses was still wearing his light armor. At the same time the women took the children and ran, scattering in different directions. When Narses cut one man down, several others took his place. They piled on top of him, knocking him onto his back on the street. He couldn’t lift his Almaqah sword—he couldn’t fight—they were holding him down—they had knocked his sword away. One was trying to twist his head on his shoulders to break his neck.
Danger of a critical hit, the voice warned.
When Father Kosmas called for help, Narses’s brother immortals noticed that he was in trouble and killed the Jewish men on top of him. Kosmas, in fact, was the one who helped him up, handed him his sword, and asked if he was alright.
“A massacre of Jews,” Paul the Chain said, standing beside Narses, who was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, having lost almost all his stamina and half his health.
“This will look good,” Paul added. “It is not as though you have to worry about the Khazar khagan perpetrating revenge massacres against Christians when word of this gets out. He has sent letters to the palace repeatedly warning that he will kill one Christian for every Jew who is harmed in Romanía.”
“We tried every compromise.” Narses sheathed his sword. “All we wanted was a peaceful resolution—“
“What a joke,” Paul said. “You don’t realize that the dyer’s quarter is the heart of this city. Silk is exported from here across the world. You have managed to ruin the local economy in a matter of minutes.”
“We haven’t touched their tools or equipment—”
“But who shall work that equipment, Domestikos? Or have you forgotten that it is impossible to make money without human labor?”
“There are other trades,” Narses said. “There is farming—”
“If you continue to fight the traitors like this, there won’t be anything left to save. You’ll destroy Romanía long before they ever can.”
“I’m a soldier, not a politician. I don’t need to listen to—”
“Despite all evidence to the contrary, I do believe you’re capable of thinking for yourself. This massacre serves no purpose except to deplete imperial tax revenues.”
“I never knew logothetes had such soft hearts.”
“It’s the money I’m worried about. We shall have to debase the coinage if these depredations continue. His Majesty will not be pleased to learn that you have killed some of his most industrious subjects. There are only so many cities in Romanía, Domestikos.”
“I merely acted in self-defense,” Narses said. “What does money matter when God himself is infuriated with you? Besides, everyone knows the Jews cannot be trusted, that the Khazars are a menace we shall one day eliminate. They may already be in decline, with Rus rising in their place. Christians have been ordered to depart those lands—”
“You’re a clown, Narses. You should have gotten a job taming bears in the Hippodrome.”
You have lost favor with Paul the Chain, the voice said.
“Leave the general alone.” Father Kosmas glared at Paul. “Do you forget who you are speaking to? He is the Domestikos of the Scholai. He answers to the Vicegerent of God alone.”
“Your superstitious gobbledygook may work on uneducated rubes, but it has no power over me,” Paul said to the priest.
“This is blasphemy,” the priest said. “You philosophers, scum obsessed with Euklidian geometry—”
“Enough.” Narses took Father Kosmas aside.
To hell with the eunuch. Narses left the dyer’s quarter and passed the amphitheater. I got distracted. I still need to find someone to run the city after we leave.
Once Father Kosmas had calmed down, he helped Narses search the biggest mansions, reasoning that someone among the local rich must have wanted to be doux. Yet everyone had fled. When he returned to the market square at the city’s heart, he stared into the distance at Lake Askania gleaming in between the gaps in the buildings to the west, and the low green mountains which surrounded Nikaia’s three other sides. People were running up those mountains with their kids. There must have been thousands. From this distance they looked like ants fleeing the terror of stomping children. How difficult would it be for the immortals to round them up? They were still despoiling women in the Jewish quarter…
It was at this time that the captured youths were brought into the city. They were late because they were on foot and had trailed behind the mounted immortals.
I almost forgot about my reinforcements, Narses thought. I must train another century. We must build ourselves up into an entire legion at least. And yet how can I train people who have no desire to learn?
Narses instructed Father Kosmas to continue searching for a citizen to be doux.
Father Kosmas bowed. “As you command, Domestikos. Only I think I need an escort. It seems too dangerous for a priest such as myself to be left alone in a hostile city like this one.”
But Narses was too preoccupied. He left Father Kosmas and brought the children to the market, where he snatched freshly baked loaves of bread from an abandoned bakery and gave them to the youths to eat, one by one. Tied to each other, they sat on the ground, gripped the loaves in their dirty hands—they had not bathed since their capture—and tore the bread with ravenous teeth.
The youths must be washed, Narses thought. Given new clothes. Reborn.
Doctor Asklepiodoros and his assistant Ignatios were rushing about the city and tending to the survivors who were groaning on the street in puddles of blood. The doctor glared at Narses, as though it was the general’s fault that the city was full of traitors. Tzanichites had also returned to announce that the engineers were now arriving inside the city. Narses ordered him to close the Konstantinopolis Gate and any other gates that were still open once all the engineers were inside.
“Post half the immortal century at regular intervals along the walls,” Narses added. “Then round up all the slaves you can find.”
“Sir?” Tzanichites said.
“Send the slaves to the lakeside,” Narses said. “We'll need several hundred. Have them bring soap and clean clothes for the youths. Join me there with the other half of the immortal century when you have completed this task.”
“Sir.” Tzanichites nodded, then rushed to relay these orders to his four hekatontarchs.
When the youths had finished eating, Narses commanded them to stand. Romanos and Joseph refused, but then Narses showed them his bloody sword.
“You will join me or die,” Narses said.
Joseph stood, followed by Romanos, who scowled at Narses. The general brought all the youths through the city toward the lake. There he needed to open the gate in the walls to the harbor by himself since all the slaves and workers and merchants had fled. All the boats were gone, too. Some were visible on the horizon, their white sails poking above the distant surface of the lake. They must have been waiting for the soldiers to leave the city.
“Wash,” Narses told the youths as he untied them. “If you flee, you die. If you harm yourself or others, you die.”
“If you break wind, you die,” Romanos said.
Joseph snorted, but most of the youths kept quiet. Narses met Romanos’s defiant eyes.
To kill this boy, he thought. That would waste a body. But if I could make him one of us, we would be unstoppable.
Narses continued untying the youths. They undressed and walked into the water.
“You may not believe it,” Narses said to Romanos as he undid the rope around the boy's raw wrists. “But I was once a student, and I also cracked jokes at my teachers’ expense—”
“Doubt they were good ones,” Romanos said.
Narses glared at him. “Will you ever know the joy of serving something greater than yourself?”
“Will you ever know the joy of shutting up?”
Narses tried to backhand Romanos, but the youth blocked him, then punched his face.
You have sustained three damage, the voice said. Health is at 97/100.
“Some warrior you are.” Romanos raised his fists and bent his knees. “Ready for round two?”
Narses seized the youth and shoved him underwater. Romanos struggled to lift his head, but Narses pushed him deeper, counting the seconds as the boy thrashed in the foam. The other youths watched with wide eyes. At that moment Narses remembered how Nikephoros had nearly drowned him in the Great Palace. He had sworn to himself that he would never harm anyone the same way.
“You’re killing him!” the orange-haired Joseph shouted. “Stop!”
Only then—when a few more seconds would have drowned Romanos—did Narses pull him back up. The boy gasped and coughed as he stumbled out of the lake. Narses stared for a moment, shocked and even saddened that he had nearly killed this person.
Push the sadness down, he thought.
“Why did none of your friends help you?” Narses growled, following the youth as he collapsed onto the lakeside dirt. “They could have rushed me. They could have attacked me all at once and saved you. But only one spoke up for you. The rest just watched. Why?”
Romanos, lying on his side, turned over to look at them. Everyone was staring.
“They may laugh at your jokes,” Narses said. “They may seem like friends. But they care more about their own skins than yours. They are nothing. I am everything.”
The boy turned away and cried. Narses came closer.
“Stop crying,” the general said.
The boy covered his head with his arms but continued to cry.
Narses leaned in and punched Romanos's head as hard as he could.
“Stop crying,” Narses repeated.
The boy suppressed his tears.
“You will never cry again.” Narses looked back at the other youths. “None of you will cry—except when you see us marching. Except when you meet His Majesty the Emperor. Then you will cry for joy. You will feel strength through joy. But you can no longer feel sadness. I will beat you if you feel it. I will destroy you if you feel it.”
Narses returned to untying the youths. Soon they were naked in the water washing themselves. None took their eyes off Narses. Eventually the slaves sent by Tzanichites arrived to help. Narses returned to Romanos—still huddled in the dirt—and threw him into the water so he would be clean. Then Narses stood with his arms crossed and watched his students wash in the gleaming afternoon light. All this strong nude flesh was beautiful and primordial. These harbingers of something new would sweep the corrupt elites away. That was what Paul the Chain said, in any event. He had tired of counting stolen merchandise and was now annoying Narses again.
“And yet at the same time I sense we are taking on something useless,” Paul said. “Child soldiers are a sign of desperation, are they not?”
“I will make them into men,” Narses said.
“This may look like a victory, but it’s really a disaster.”
Before Narses could answer, Tzanichites arrived with forty-nine immortals, who stood at attention before the lake in a column. Their puffy eyes blinked with fatigue, presumably from spending half the day marching and the other half stealing. Tzanichites reported that the other forty-nine immortals were spread out along the walls. Their numbers were so sparse that they could only man about half the city’s towers.
“My brothers,” Narses said, walking among the immortals. “I have a new task for you. We have here two hundred fresh recruits, but little time to train them. Each of you will choose several youths from among those in the water. You will eternize them, as you yourselves were eternized. You will live together. You will be responsible for them. Punish them as you see fit, but keep them alive. Should they betray us, bring them before me.”
“We shall do as you command, sir!” the immortals shouted in unison.
“We are also taking the slaves you see here out of the city,” Narses said. “They will accompany us to Trebizond, serving you and your students. As for the rest of the immortal century, because they have no students, they will handle guard duty during the campaign, and they will also be responsible for the night watch as well as constructing and breaking our field camps. You shall be excluded from these duties because of your teaching responsibilities.”
The immortals stared forward and held still, but this announcement made their eyes flash with excitement.
“We need more men,” Narses said. “I think all of you can see that, my brothers. These students of yours must be ready for combat by the time we reach Trebizond. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!” they screamed in unison.
“Will we have victory?” Narses asked.
“Victory or death!”