Chapter 25

The Baths

Steam rose from the surface of the water as Pons and Cyn gingerly lowered themselves into the hot water of a caldarium pool heated by a hypocaust under the floor. They simultaneously uttered an ‘Aaah’ of contentment, the water reaching up to their chins, as they settled back to enjoy their soak. John Ducas, cautious of the slippery tile, was helped by an attendant slave.

Margrave Guilhem and John Ducas had become friends because they were similar in some ways. In the weeks leading up to Ranier’s wedding to Maria Porphyrogenita, the Margrave, as father of the groom, was expected to serve attendance on Emperor Manuel. The Emperor had an army of bureaucrats and servants to see to his every want. Serving attendance on a man who was already well served involved a lot of standing around and waiting. Of course, Margrave Guilhem was afforded every courtesy and respect. He was invited to enjoy any of the sumptuous dishes the palace kitchens prepared for the Emperor. At church services he was asked if the choir could perform any hymns he liked. During the odd rare spare moment he and the Emperor even conversed about politics or theology. For the Margrave it was all quite polite, and dull, and in Greek. The boys of the younger generation Conrad, Boniface, and Renier were spared much of the standing about. They had impressed the Greeks on the training field with their horsemanship and prowess. Dame Joanna and the girls spent their days serving the Empress in her court in much the same way - crafting at the loom or attending mass.

John Doucas was one of the bureaucrats who was also in attendance. He and the Margrave would find time to chat. Both were down-to-earth men who looked to know more about how the world around them worked. They were men who acted and achieved results, their talents were wasted idling in attendance. They were interested in the common man and his works. They were agriculturalists and could wax on at length about planting depths, drainage, and animal husbandry. Despite their blue blood they both pumped the bellows, hammered the steel, and shod their own horses.

“My master wants to know what happened. He wants to know how his son died. He wants to know who was responsible.”

John Ducas nodded and gazed at his fingernails for a moment before replying. “In truth I am not even certain he is dead. No one has seen him, nor his wife since March. It is now September. They have simply disappeared. Now the Empress Dowager is also gone - although I am told she is being held in close confinement at the convent of St. Theodosia - no one is certain.”

The attendant offered sea sponges. The two soldiers began to scrub a month of sweat, and dust off their skins. “Oh he is dead,” Pons asserted. “A fisherman pulled his body out of the sea and buried him on a beach. One of our men dug him up to be sure.”

“That I have lived to see such days.” A slave applied olive oil before beginning to massage the elderly statesman’s shoulders. “You could say his wife, Maria Born-to-the-Purple, killed him - and herself - the day she wrote to Andronikos asking for his help against Maria of Antioch and her lover.”

“Be careful of what you ask for.”

“True. Andronikos arrived on the far shore of the Bosporus with an army of Muslim mercenaries. Admiral Angelos, my own brother, went over to his faction and ferried his men across. When they arrived - I know you are a soldier and have been on many campaigns, but the violence and bloodshed they unleashed in the Latin quarter… you cannot imagine. I did not see it for myself. I was in prison on the orders of the Protosebastos Alexios at the time. The grown sons of our current co-emperor were also in cells - one in the very cell where he had been conceived - I’m sure you know the tale. They were down the passage from where I was held. However, I was freed shortly after the Massacre of the Latins. Thousands butchered. Tens of thousands. A month later I passed through and some of the warehouses and fondaccio smoldered still. Take a walk over there tomorrow. You can see the ruins. At the Blachernae Palace the slaughter was not carried out with swords and fire but with garrotes and poison.”

John Ducas waved the slave away, but took the strigil and used its dull curved blade to scrape the oil off his skin himself. He glanced about to be sure they were alone and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I tell you, that we, all Romans, noble and commoner alike, live in terror. His army is still camped idle outside of the city by the Gate of Adrianople. He has surrounded himself with the most loathsome creatures you can imagine; pimps, whores, murderers, mad-men. Citizens are dragged from their homes in the middle of the night - never to be seen again - old men, women, children. Every week men, some of them from the most distinguished of families, are executed between the races at the Hippodrome.”

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He continued, “It may be I myself only exist because I was a prisoner in the same dungeon as his sons. When they were freed I also was freed almost as an afterthought. Because of the spacing of the cells we could not see one another, but we could converse and our servants could pass items. I came to know them, and they came to know me. There are a lot of hours to pass in a prison. Perhaps they said something favorable about me to their father. Somehow I have retained my position.”

John Ducas glanced about again to see if any of the other bathers were listening. A trio of boys had entered and their noisy play as they splashed in the warm water covered low conversation. “In truth I tell you I believe Alexios, our boy emperor, is being held as a prisoner. When his uncle’s grip on power tightens - his life will not be worth a clipped obol.”

Pons scrubbed his nether regions. “If things are so bad, surely there must be some good people in this city who are organizing against him.”

“Of course, I am not involved in any resistance. My position is complicated. My family has much to lose. As I said my brother is his Admiral. Currently. It is not that I am in favor of Andronikos, but in opposing him… timing is so important. If one raises banners and beats drums too soon - it may be no men will gather around those flags, or too few, or the beating drum may not summon them quickly enough.”

Pons understood. Timing is important.

John Ducas went on. “There are some families - with money - and with land in Anatolia. Cities could be fortified. Mercenaries could be hired. When and where will they take a stand? How prepared are they? More importantly, how strong is their resolve? I cannot say.”

One of the boys playing in the warm water of the tepidarium pool had accidentally splashed water in Cyn’s eyes. Cyn chose to become enraged. He grabbed the offender, a lad of about eleven, and thrust his head under the water and held him there.

“Perhaps you could put me in touch with these men. I might prove useful to them.” Pons ventured.

“Brave as you are, and no doubt your intentions do you credit, but you are a mercenary captain without mercenaries.”

Pons gave a shrug - as if to say, “Soldiers - not a problem - one can always find soldiers.”

“In any event I would think they would welcome you. Do you remember Theodore Kantakouzenos? He used to follow your Caesar Ionnes around like a favorite dog.”

Pons could clearly recall a dark teen with a case of hero worship for the blonde Renier.

“He convinced Ionnes to teach him the western style of riding with the heavy horses and the lance couched just so. Paid a fortune for a trained destrier, the special saddle, trappings, armor - all in the western style. Not that his family are unable to afford it. He has gone over to the opposition - if for no other reason than the love he bore for your master’s son. His brother died recently, and he is now the head of his house, but he is too young. Not yet twenty. The other families will not rally to one of his age - even if he is capable. He is not what one would call a leader - more the heart of the cause rather than its head.”

Cyn continued to hold the boy under water despite his struggles to rise. His friends tried to intervene. One received a fist to the nose. A sharp swift head butt sent the other reeling. Blood began to cloud the water of the tepid pool.

“Where is Theodore Kantakouzenos now?”

“Not in the city, else he would certainly have been executed. No, he has been absent all summer, on his estates in Anatolia gathering supplies and forces, perhaps? He would probably want to hire you - even without soldiers - if only to help train his own men.”

“Does he have allies? Or any chance of success for that matter?”

“If Andronikos’ cruelties continue, he will gain more allies.”

Pons shrugged. “It is too late in the season for a campaign this year.”

“Yes, a hard winter in the capital could see many people considering their options in the spring. By the by, I think your sergeant is about to murder that boy,” John Ducas said mildly.

The boy’s kicks and struggles had almost completely stopped.

“Cyn,” Pons growled, “Quit messing about.”

Cyn wretched the youth up and tossed him to his wide-eyed bleeding friends. They held him as he coughed, gasped, and vomited water. Cyn exited the tepid pool and waded back into the hot one.

“They started it.”