Chapter 46

A Fellow Mourner

On the following afternoon the funeral was held. The church of St. Paul’s by the Tower was not a large domed edifice with soaring columns like some in the city proper. It was stone, close, and simple. Pons had spent enough coin for what he thought was sufficient incense, not realizing how much cheaper it was in the east than Montferrat. As a result a cloyingly perfumed miasma was pouring out of the censors and thuribles. The choir which had been brought in at reasonable expense from a nearby Orthodox church were choking, coughing, and gagging, through some of the sonorous Latin hymns which were universally known. The red eyed priest, a Genoan, sneezed throughout the prayers.

Pons and Cyn were not the only mourners. A dashing olive skinned man, about twenty years old, stood quietly near the open door. A servant with a palm frond stood nearby gently wafting the plumes of scented smoke away. The well dressed youth did not perform the steps of the ritual service and remained silent. After the ossuary was carried into the crypt, Pons stepped outside onto the portico to speak to the handsome young man.

“I did not expect anyone else to be here. Thank you for coming. This must be some risk for you.”

“There is a chance I could be apprehended. However, word would get out. ‘Why was Theodore Kantakouzenos taken - in a church? Whose funeral was he attending?’ Then they would be reminded afresh of the murders of the Emperor’s sister and brother-in-law. The risk is worth it. He was my best friend in all the world. He did not deserve to be cast into the sea. I thank you, sirrah, for bringing him to rest.” The raven haired man gestured to his servant who produced a purse.

Smooth, thought Pons. From the somber yet stylish funeral attire, to the careful way he pronounced his name. Not at all boastful, but clearly ‘Kan-ta-koo-zee-nos’, politely for the benefit of the foreign ear. Not checking to see if the purse contained substantial coin or a mere gratia, Pons indicated for the servant to put it in the nearby poor box. Let him make of that what he will. The young noble nodded at the pleasantry.

“His mother would be pleased to know you were here for him in the end.”

“I could not defend him.”

“From poison? Even the charm his brother gave him for his wedding did not help. A ring set with a peridot gem to protect him.”

“Peridots provide protection from nightmares. Garnets are proof against poison. His brother bought the wrong gift.”

“Still and all, your friend and my Lord’s son… lies behind us in this church with God.” Pons made the sign of the cross in the Catholic manor, as did Theodore in the way of the Orthodox Church. Theodore kissed the gold cross which hung at his neck. “The question is: ‘What comes next?’ Our mutual friend mentioned you are not happy with the current state of affairs in the Empire.”

“Emperor Alexios must be protected from this monster.”

“My master would agree.”

“Andronikos Komnenos must be thrown down.”

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“Also agreed. The palace is across the water. We can be there within the hour. I am not sure of the new Emperor’s sense of honor, but I do not think he would feel obliged to respond to a challenge. I am told you are valiant (John Ducas had not said that), I am an experienced soldier (true enough), and Cyn here is keen for vengeance (Cyn was not following the conversation, but was eying the poor box to determine how to discreetly get the coins later). However, I doubt the three of us could overcome a phalanx of Imperial guards.”

“We must take to the field. Our friend says you have coin, but no army.”

Pons indicated Cyn with his thumb. “We have one another.”

“That is a very small army.” The youth smiled at the banter. “You were Caesar Ionnes’ master at arms?”

“Hardly. His father was his master at arms and he had four older brothers with which to practice. All I did was teach him some dirty fighting tricks for on the ground should he become unhorsed.”

“You could train the men I am levying on my estates.”

“Your own retired veterans will do a better job than I.”

“I do not suppose you have brought any dragon's teeth from the west to plant?”

“Huh?” The mythological reference slid past Pons.

“We need an army of mercenaries.”

“Andronikos found one. There it sits.” Pons pointed to the west of the palace. “You can see the smoke of their campfires from here. How does he pay them? Our friend says Maria of Antioch and Alexios the Protosebastos left the treasury empty. Full as it has ever been when Emperor Manuel died… yet today nothing.”

“Andronikos pays them with promises.”

“We have coin - and they are mercenaries. See. I found you an army. They do not even need to march. Already in place. We negotiate with the leader, hire the force, bringing with us wagons loaded with ladders. Everybody puts on armor. We scale the palace wall and it can be ours by dawn - if we act quickly.”

The young noble looked at Pons. “Christos! Bribe this heathen army and storm the palace? You jest.”

Nothing on Pons’ face indicated he was making a joke.

“No,” Theodore shook his head. “An army of the unfaithful costs both coin and reputation. This army - camped right outside of the city - drains away Andronikos’ support and helps win other noble families to our side.” Smooth and clever. Angry but not rash.

“Besides,” Theodore continued, “Emperor Alexios could be injured in such an attack.”

“Emperor Alexios could be fed poisonous mushrooms in his soup tomorrow.”

The young man was ready to cry out in frustration as he looked to the nearby palace with its walls. “The Empress Regent is dead.”

“We have heard.”

“Her sister Agnes is married to King Bela of Hungary. She will force him to act.”

“Good, that is one ally.” Pons gestured due south beyond the sea wall to the ruined Latin quarter. “The Venetians will not let this stand. Already they seek to bring the Norman King of Sicily to bear. Should Andronikos take to the field against either the Hungarians or Normans that could leave the back door to Constantinople open.”

“As I say, we must gather the great families, and take to the field. There are Turkopoles, Christians in Anatolia with mounted lancers who raid against the Sultan. Would you accompany an emissary to see if they would join forces with us?”

“I could. Where should I rally them? And when? It is September. There will be no campaign this year. Nothing will happen until this coming spring or even the following one? In war nothing happens quickly - until the moment when everything happens quickly indeed.”

“And Emperor Alexios?”

Pons sighed. “The boy is an honored hostage. He will be safe until his uncle is more secure, or until he shows any sign of independence.”

“And then?”

“And then his life will not be worth a clipped obol.”