Chapter 24
Friends in the Forecourt
When the priest returned, it was to tell them the Patriarch was out of the city, visiting a monastery across the Golden Horn at present. He was expected back late that evening or possibly on the morrow. Pons impressed upon the priest their desire to see his Holiness as soon as possible and received a promise that a church official would stop by the Golden Eel that evening to confirm their audience.
As they made their way towards the exit, the choir on the left side of the church began to practice under the direction of their cantor. A somber harmonious chanting rose. “Pretty,” Pons commented, “Perhaps we should hire a choir for Rainier's funeral. His mother would want that.” Past the atrium which shaded the west entrance of the basilica they returned to the public square of the Augustaion with the Golden Milestone and the tall column bearing the equestrian statue of the Emperor Justinian (although some said Constantine).
“Where to next?” Cyn asked, shielding his eyes as they readjusted to the bright morning light. It wanted perhaps an hour of noon by his reckoning.
“I would like to have a good wash and scrub off the road before we see the races. I am trying to remember where the nearest baths might be.” The Baths of Zeuxippus which stood to their left were of no use. It had been a hundred years or more since water had flowed into that building. Beyond ancient - it predated Christianity, having been named for Zeus, the old king of the pagan gods. These days one end of the building was a storehouse for the nearby Imperial Palace while the other end had been turned into cells where noble prisoners were sometimes held. Still everyone referred to the building as “the Baths.” Pons pondered his options. Across from the Melion the street stretched past the entrance to the Hippodrome to the palace gate. He began walking.
“I have an idea. Suppose we walk up to the front door and say, ‘Bon Dias. May we visit with the Caesar Ioanes. I am an old friend, and have known him since he was a baby. Used to be his master-at-arms. Taught him everything he knows.’”
“Caesar Ioanes is dead. Our Marius saw his body.”
“Si. Then why no message to his family. Is that not what one does? Someone dies, you send a message to their kin, do you not?”
“They have not. Our Marius came across the body by chance.”
“Why so quiet then? Somebody is hiding it. Pretending it never happened. I think I know who, but I would like to hear with my own ears.”
“Yet if we announce ourselves at the gate will not your somebody know we are here sniffing around and asking questions?”
“They would find out about us eventually. It is a small town.”
“‘Small town,’” Cyn snorted. “Didn't you tell me this morning that this is the greatest city in the world?”
“Si.”
The Great Palace was not where the emperor lived - that was the newer and more sumptuous Blachernae Palace in the city’s north west, however the Great Palace was where the business of empire was truly conducted. Here was where the lowly waited to present their petitions. Where the high born, easily recognized by their voluminous robes, long beards, and the tall awkward miters on their heads, angled for political appointments. Where the eunuch bureaucrats took bribes and awarded contracts. The courtiers passing in and out of the gate were overseen by a guard detail of Verangians. It was Cyn’s first glimpse of these elite guards, and he was impressed. He considered the size of the tall, powerfully built men charged with protecting the palaces and the person of the emperor. He had seen larger and stronger men, but not many. A plumed helm indicated the officer, a giant with an enormous double-headed pole-axe resting on his shoulder. He looked like he would be the equal of either Lord Conrad or Lord Boniface in a contest, and Lord William’s sons were superbly trained, formidable men. With his rusty beard, the officer even resembled Lord Conrad.
“I know this fellow. He is one of the men I was hoping to find.” Pons caught the big man’s eye and made a friendly half bow.
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A look of surprise crossed his face before the Verangian shook his head and grinned. “Oh Ho. I do not believe my eyes. Captain Pons, you old wolf. Here is trouble from the west indeed. How fare you?” He nudged the subordinate soldier next to him. “Mark you this man. He is the worst of the Latin bandits.” He strode over and clapped Pons on the shoulder. The old mercenary smiled with genuine affection.
“Brian the Saxon. Look at you. Standing here at the Chalke gate. Still talking gullible petitioners into giving you bribes? You could not give them access to the latrine. You look sober… Is it a holy day?” The two men laughed. On his last visit - for the wedding - Pons, captain of the Margrave of Montferrat (father of the groom) and Brian, bodyguard of the Emperor Manuel (father of the bride) had spent many idle but agreeable hours together while attending to their masters. Brian was as close to a personal friend as Pons was likely to find in Constantinople. “Allow me to introduce Sergeant Cyn, in service to Lord Conrad.”
The tall guard nodded. “What are you doing back in the capital?”
“My master has sent me to bring his son back home.” Pons replied, serious now.
“Oh? I see.” The smiling Verangian had also turned serious at these words. “That will not be possible. How much do you know about what has happened?”
“My master’s son, the Caesar John, he is dead?”
“He is…” Brian the Saxon paused and considered his words, “…missing.”
Pons nodded. “If I told you his body was found four months ago by a fisherman and is buried on a beach north of the Diplokionion, would you be surprised?”
“Saddened, but no, not surprised. We should have a drink later and talk.”
“We are staying at the Golden Eel.”
“I must escort the Emperor from the Blachernae Palace to the races and back again.”
“The Emperor Alexios is attending the chariot races?”
“No. The Emperor Andronikos.” Seeing Pons’ raised eyebrows he continued. “The Emperor Alexios and the Emperor Andronikos rule together as co-emperors.”
“Co-emperors. How fortunate to have two. This way there is a spare should something happen to one.”
“As I say, we should talk later.”
“You would not happen to know if John Ducas is in the city?”
“John Ducas? Why I saw him a few moments ago.” Brian scanned the crowd in the forecourt. “Sure - there he is.” He pointed to a small man in the blue skiadion hat and robes of a Sebastokrator.
Pons was considering the best manner to approach, when the court official met his eye and held up a finger. “Oh yes, I see you there. I know that face.” John Ducas began walking across the forecourt directly towards them. Behind him came a secretary and a page. John Ducas continued to point at Pons as he approached. “You are… What is your name? No, do not tell me… do not tell me… it will come to me. Lord William - from up the Po valley - you are his bully boy. The one with the ill favored name. What was it? It was not Judas or Cain was it?”
“Pontius, M’ Lord.” supplied Pons.
“That is it. Pontius. Whatever possessed your mother to give you such a name?”
“I’m told I named myself.”
“That I do not doubt. And so… Seeing you, I also know why you are here. You are here about your lord’s fair haired son? I am correct, no?”
“Si.”
“Sad… sad. A terrible thing. Ah, but he was brave, your boy. What good he could have accomplished as the Emperor’s strong right hand. It was his wife you see. She was his doom. And saddest of all, they have vanished. Gone. Not spoken of. As if they never existed. Ah, that I should have lived to see such troubled times as these. I wish I could give your master some comfort. I truly liked him and his family. I wish I could give you an explanation to take back to him. We should talk,” he gestured to the crowded courtyard, “But obviously not here.” He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. You smell of horse. I am off to the baths myself. As I recall you also serve as your master’s barber. Come along then. You can trim my beard for me and save me the price of an obol.”
“I would be glad to,” said Pons. “However, I would ask…” He lifted the saddlebag off his shoulder and jingled the coins inside for John Ducas to hear. “Perhaps, if my Lord has a strong box. Somewhere safe.”
“Ha ha. You should be paying for the baths.” John Ducas hefted the bags himself for a moment to check their weight and unashamedly took a peek inside. “That is enough for… for something. Yes. Very well.” He motioned for his secretary to take the saddlebag. “Run this along to the house by the Kontoskalion Gate. Watch while they count it and bring the receipt along to the baths and give it to this fellow.” He indicated Pons.
“Captain,” John Ducas now addressed Brian the Saxon. “I will need two of your men to escort my servant.” John Ducas, who had no authority to ask anything of the Varangian Guard, did not pause to see if his instructions were followed. They were.
“And who is this one?” John Doucas indicated Cyn. “He smells of horse too. He must be with you.”
“Sergeant Cyn, a crossbow-man in service to my Lord Conrad.”
“Crossbow-man. Humph. Has not your Pope spoken against this weapon and those who wield it?”
“We have not heard.”
“So, Lord William sends you two, and enough coin… for something. Yes, let us go and have a wash and talk.”