Chapter 64

A Quarrel Renewed

“Who then,” Emperor Andronikos asked, “Was this heavily shelled tortoise? It appears he did not pull his head in fast enough.” The sight of the mangled rider and decapitated horse was drawing the eyes of the attendant functionaries - a small crowd of officers, court officials, servants, and pages. The morbid little joke drew their forced laughter.

The tortoise should have accompanied me with a bag of coins to the camp of these same mercenary archers to take the palace on the day of Renier’s funeral, Pons mused. He thought I was jesting, but it would have been his best chance - our best chance - and all of this could be over. He waited too long. We waited too long.

Now here is another unexpected opportunity.

“He was your majesty’s great-nephew, the youngest son of Ionnes ‘Half-hand,’” Brian replied.

“He was coming directly at you. I thought for a moment that I was going to need to find myself another Captain of the Guard. What happened?”

“The mount broke its leg in a groundhog hole.”

“Ha. His bad luck, your good luck.” The Emperor turned to Pons. “And here is another lucky one - climbing over the wall alone to cut the Lady Euphrosyne loose. Go tell the Angelos brothers to come to my tent for dinner, but to leave their disagreeable harpy of a mother behind. I can see why their father risked excommunication to try to divorce her.”

“I will relay your message, but I doubt they will accept and put themselves in your power. Hostages will be needed.” Although slightly downhill and much shorter in stature, Pons looked Andronikos directly in the eyes as he spoke.

The Emperor smiled. “You speak with an accent. You are not from Nicea, yet you fight for them.” His face was smaller than the end of the log Pons used for target practice in his room atop the Golden Eel. The distance was greater.

“They pay me.” A step to the left - farther away from Brian and the reach of his poleaxe.

“A sellsword. But I see you do not have a sword?”

Another step. “I prefer an axe.” A throwing axe rested on each hip secured by his belt. The one on the left slick from the gore of chopping through a man’s shoulder back at the ram, the one on his right still clean and sharp.

“You do not have to go back to the city. This could be your lucky day all around. You could join the winning side. Capable men are welcome in my camp.” The Emperor pointed at the fallen body of Theodore Kantakazenos. “I hope he was not the one paying you.”

“A tempting offer, Majesty, but I do not like the company you keep. This one,” Pons pointed at the noseless courtier in black and took another step, “I call him by name, Stephen Hagiochristiphrites. This one owes me thirty silver stamenon which I won from him betting on the chariot races September last.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Titters of laughter from the robed assemblage. A glare of recognition from the Emperor’s minion.

“Stephen,” the Emperor beckoned him forward, “Stephen, Stephen, you disreputable fellow. Have you been gambling in the stands with foreign mercenaries and then skipping out on paying? That is not done. It is not proper. It is not…”

“Gentlemanly.” Pons supplied.

“Exactly. A gentleman always pays his gambling debts. Even a Latin sellsword knows this.”

“He lies,” spat the henchman, freeing his tongue at last. “I know him not.”

“Aaah. There you have it. One man says one thing - another the opposite. Am I to judge? Do you have a witness?”

“There was a free citizen of Constantinople who was to hold the coin for the race - he witnessed the wager.”

“Alas your witness is in Constantinople.”

“And we are in Nicea. I see.” Pons took another step and he could see.

Clouds building to the north. Behind him the gate with a shaggy horse and cart coming along the road. Nicea could not be encircled and starved into submission like other cities. It lay on the eastern shore of Lake Askania which stretched for some twenty miles to the west. To completely cut the city off would require a flotilla.

Andronikos had a navy on the sea, but nothing on the lake. Admiral Angelos had officially begun the revolt - to overthrow Andronikos and save Alexios - the goals were very clear - by sailing the fleet out of the harbor. Sadly, a few days later he dropped in an apoplexy on the main deck of his flagship and died the following morning. His replacement was not interested in joining the dead Admiral’s sons in revolt and sailed the fleet back to port. One blow.

General Lepardis was to bring his legion of soldiers from the borders of Hungary. His soldiers refused to join. The ‘hawk’ flew on his own, but had been brought down. News of that had come a week ago. Another blow.

Pons could see the dead nobleman broken before him. A third blow.

“Knowing what a rascal Stephen is, I suspect you may have the right of the argument. The next time you are in the capital do bring your witness before a magistrate and raise your case.”

More titters from the Greek chorus.

Both master and dog were within throwing range. Two axes. One for each. And then? The Verangian’s tall axe dripped blood so red from the stallion. The bright sun, the fresh breeze. He could end it. This chance would not come again. His soul would ascend to heaven even as his body would be struck down. Of that he was sure. Pons had a deal in place.

“He lies. Strike him down and be done with him, Basileus.”

“And that is another thing a gentleman does not do - violate the sanctity of a white flag. Really Stephen. The Latin would never contemplate violence under a flag of truce, would you, fellow?”

The opportunity passed.

A trundling cart led by Cyn drew close.

“You have our leave to take our nephew’s mortal remains for burial. My sons Manuel and Ionnes will be guests of the Niceans while I entertain the Angelos brothers.” Two officers stepped forward, one bearded in his forties, the other clean shaven and in his twenties. The Imperial party returned to the camp. With care and respect Pons and Cyn placed the heavy armored body on the cart, unstrapped his saddle from the dead horse and rested it on his knees. The mercenaries led the pony. The Emperor’s sons followed the body of their fallen cousin back to the gates of Nicea. To the north sheet lightning lit the darkening sky.