Chapter 70

Mischief

Once Nestor returned with the saw, they swilled down one more cup-full of wine for courage. Pons pressed a silver byzant on the goodwife of the Golden Eel with the instructions that should a guardsman from the Golden Gate come, she would give him the coin and he would eat and drink on Pons’ credit. Wineskins were filled for the revelers and their follies. Almost as an afterthought Pons brought some dried lamprey as a snack.

On the rapidly darkening streets, their first stop was at a chandlers stall for the correct equipment. Pons bought a lantern fueled by oil with a wick - metal on three sides with a bull’s eye aperture on the front which could be shielded from a draft (or observation) merely by covering it. He handed it to the hunchback. Thrilled to be in the lead position, Zinthziphitees almost danced with delight at the midnight drunken caper about to unfold.

Nestor followed with no light source, merely his crutch. “I should be abed. You will all run and leave me to be caught and lynched.”

Behind came Pons, Cyn, and Marius. Each carried a torch as yet unlit. The men of Montferrat were armed but not armored. Pons carried the triangular saw discretely along the length of his forearm. They made their way nonchalantly through the gloom.

“The misshapen Greek is leading us the wrong way,” Cyn murmured to Marius, “Hippodrome’s back that way.”

They turned right and arrived at an archway with an iron gate closed by a padlock.

“The journey’s end for you and me - we simply do not have a key.” Zinth sniggered. "Unless you robbed a bearded one… good night my friend it has been fun.”

Two quick cracks with the flat end of Pon’s hand axe sundered the lock. Beyond the gate a stone stairway curled into the darkness.

“You two, wait here,” Pons indicated with a nod of his head to Cyn and Marius. “I’ll whistle - you come.”

Pons lit his torch from the lantern Zinth carried, and gestured for the club foot and the cripple to lead the way down. “You two, advance.”

At the top of the stairway Cyn and Marius leaned back into the shadows, settled on their haunches, and let the late street traffic drift past.

“Is he always like this?” Marius asked. Marius and Cyn knew one another from days past.

“We recently returned from Nicea. We joined a revolt. It failed. He is furious. It is the heat. Who can sleep? Better if we do something.”

“We did not have a chance to speak when I arrived in Montferrat last summer. I came in late one afternoon with the bad news about Renier while you left early the next morning.”

“Pons did not even bother telling me I was going to Constantinople until I dragged it out of him. Did you know the Margrave granted him a grain mill near Tanibrook?”

Mutterings and curses from the stairwell. Pons’ torchlight had spiraled down out of view.

“He tells you what he wants you to know when he wants you to know it.”

“Or he tells you nothing because he has no plan. Which do you think tonight’s lark is?”

Marius chuckled. “You rose to be Lord Conrad’s sergeant during the five years I was in the Land Beyond the Sea. Were you busy while I was gone?”

“Some,” Cyn replied. “After the League of Lombard cities made peace in Venice with Lord Guilhelm’s cousin, the German Emperor, things became quiet. Quiet with the Lombards that is. Lord Conrad fought at Camerino for a time. Bigger than a ‘skirmish,’ not really a ‘battle,’ certainly not big enough to be a ‘war.’ A ‘campaign’ I guess you could call it. Some spoils. We ransomed an archbishop, but still not enough for a man to take a wife. A lot must have happened to you over five years. What were you doing all that time?”

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“William the Longsword fell ill and died - one year, almost to the day - after we arrived. King Baldwin was unsure what to do with me. Count Raymond counseled sending me home, but as he lay dying, Lord William charged me to defend the child growing in his princess’s womb. Things said on a deathbed are taken very seriously in the Holy Land, so I stayed in Jerusalem. This was fine with the King as I simply made myself a bunk in the corner of a tack room in one of the stables.”

“King Baldwin. He is a leper, no?”

“Si.”

“And how is he?” Cyn made a circular motion around his face.

“Not good.” Marius drank a squirt of wine from the skin. “He wears a mask because… not good. Five years ago it was not so bad, he could ride a horse well, and you could understand him when he spoke. It became worse though. He could barely hold things when I left. It will be over a year by the time we get back there, so I fear what we will see.”

“What did they have you do?”

“They made use of me. That land is hard on horses. All dry rock and scrub brush. Working in the stables and watering the mounts is enough to keep a man busy, but I also kept the horses exercised beyond the walls. The King had me riding here and there with messages to this bishop and that lord when times were peaceful. I also did scouting when the army was on the move. About a month before the Longsword’s son was born, Saracens invaded from Egypt. Do you know where that is?” Cyn shook his head.

A whistle echoed up from the stairwell.

“Egypt is a long hot way off south across the Middle Sea.”

Cyn led their way down, his left hand on the column which the stone steps wound around. His right reached out for the railing on the outside of the circular stairs which was often absent and broken off. Marius, minding his head in the low confines, squeezed in the rear. The pupils in their eyes widened as they became accustomed to the darkness on their seemingly endless spiraling descent. At the bottom was a brief narrow passage before they entered a vast underground chamber.

Hundreds of columns stood out from the water - centurions in a legion - and receded out of view. Their gazes went up, but the ceiling, if there was one, was lost in the darkness beyond the light of torch or lantern. The feeling Cyn had once felt gazing up at the roof of the Hagia Sophia - wondering if the hand of God kept it aloft - was back. Magnified. Cool droplets of water fell from on high like a gentle rain. The Aqueduct of Valens fed the cisterns and the cisterns filled the city’s many fountains. Pons was correct - with summer high the water level was running low making the underground network passable.

First, however, feet would need to get wet. Marius and Cyn lit their brands from Pons’ torch. Stepping into the dark water, Zinth and Nestor’s sandals immediately became soaked. Together they moved as quietly as they could for five men wading through water.

The water level gradually rose to cover the mercenaries' ankle high boots. At the base of a column a carved stone face lay on its side, half in and half out of the water. The one eye above the surface seemed to follow the cadre.

Cyn did not care for this place one bit. Sober now, he lost count of how many columns they waded past. At the far side was a wall. Hunching their way through a low, narrow, conduit they eventually came to yet another massive cistern. By this point even lanky Marius’s riding boots, which came to the middle of his calves, were full.

This new cistern was so tall Cyn could see high up to where each column had had a stone ring upon which rested - another column - thereby doubling the height to a ceiling so far up and out of sight it was all he could do to slog on.

“It has held up since the time of the saints. It will hold up for tonight.” He said aloud to himself and to everyone.

A splash far off in the darkness. A rat? A bat? Someone else? They ventured on.

Again he lost count of the columns passed. Finally they came to a wall and followed it to a passage - more of a crevice Cyn felt. Another circular staircase leading up this time with treacherously narrow steps. “Watch your footing,” he hissed. “All I need is for a hunchback, a cripple, and a drunkard to come rolling down on me should you stumble.”

As he emerged into the moonlight, Cyn looked around and found they were just down the second hill south of some grand palace and the Church of Saint Euphemia. Sure - there just a short saunter down the slope was the sphendone end of the hippodrome - the massive arched and columned U-shaped southwest end of the racing circuit.

Bunching up, Pons issued instructions. “You two, distract the drivers and the grooms who still remain awake.” Under the spectator seating to the north lay the stables and the drivers’ quarters. “Stories, songs, jokes, rhymes, wine, let them rub your back for free, the lot. Anyone comes our way - Nestor you drop in an apoplexy and start thrashing on the straw. Make a lot of noise.”

“You two, eyes on the street. Bird-whistle me if you see any trouble. Use your judgment. Understood?”

Pons darted off into the shadows at the southern end of the sphendone where the chariots were stored.

“Whistle if I see trouble? This entire shenanigan feels like trouble.” Cyn sulked.

Marius leaned against an archway and proffered Cyn his wineskin. “Listen to you. It has only been a year, but the way you complain is as if you have been married for decades.”