Chapter 71
More Mischief
The mercenaries doused their torches in the cistern, to allow their eyes to adjust once again. Up the stairs, the only light came from the slightly less than full moon - the speckled silver wheel of Selene’s chariot making its monthly circuit - a few wispy clouds, but the night was clear. Pons gave instructions and hoped everyone was sober enough to do their parts. He parted from the others and skipped from shadow, to moonlight, and back under the tenebrous arches, then paused to take his bearings.
To his right lay the inner part of the U-shape of the sphendone with a massive tack room. Harnesses, ribbons, feathers, placards, and ornamentation for the next day’s races were laid out.
To his left and the outer part of the U-shape was a storage alcove with chariots lined up, ready for their teams to step up and be harnessed for the following day’s parade to the starting gates.
It was at this point that Pons realized his folly. In Cyn’s haste to collect his winnings after the final race they had not waited to see the lots drawn for position in the next day’s contest. His plan was to cut part way through an axle with the saw. But which chariot? The harnesses were colored and beribboned, but not the cars. The placards with the team's racing record were in the tack room beside the harnesses, not beside the cars. Eighteen identical wicker chariots were before him with more spares and broken ones in the rear.
Another thought struck him. How will I know which chariot I have sabotaged tomorrow when it comes to the betting? They all look the same. Sabotaging the harness would be out of the question, the drivers and grooms would notice cuts or frays while bridling the horses.
No, it would need to be a chariot. Glancing about in the gloom he saw what he needed. On a shelf lay a pottery urn of axle grease to cover the damage. Nearby was a tally board with chalk.
Someone would have bad luck. Pons chose the thirteenth chariot. He marked the inside of both the chariot’s metal wheel rims with the chalk. He knelt beside the left wheel and made half a dozen rasps with the saw blade. How deep to cut? Enough to make the wheel come off when stressed, but not so deep that the car cannot make the parade and past the starting gate.
It was at this point that he became aware of a low, rumbling growl. Advancing from the dark, past the stalls where the horses were now softly nickering, paced a hound.
* * *
“You must stop me if you have already heard this tale, in order that I not washte my breath. My voice rashps with age, and I am telling you this amusing story for free.” Nestor slurred his preamble.
He and Zinthzinphitees staggering and supporting one another drunk was a common enough sight at any hour, and the only thing suspicious about their being in the common room of the charioteers barracks in the north end of the Hippodrome’s undercroft was that they had brought a wineskin to share with the few drivers and grooms who lingered late.
“Our mighty Emperor Andronikos, first of his name, did shummon to attend a banquet in the city, the world's most powerful men. Noble and worthy lords from near and far came. At the feast they fell to talking of matters military - both shtrategic and tactical. Hic. They boasted of which of them had the most daring cavalry, the most accurate archers, and the most valiant infantry. Through all the convershations Emperor Andronikosh listened, but remained shilent and merely shtroked his beard. Hic.” Nestor mimed the action.
“‘Prove to me the loyalty of your men!’ the Emperor challenged his guests. Hic. He directed the greatest of them, Frederick - King of the Germans, and Shaladin - Shultan of Damascus, to the column of Arcadius in the forum which bears his name, and bade them to climb to the top, each accompanied, like himself, by their chosen soldier.”
“When was the Sultan of Araby in town?” one of the grooms hiccuped.
“Quiet fool, he is relating a comic anecdote satirizing the political elite. It did not actually happen,” a driver reproved him.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Following a dour look and a belch, Nestor continued, “‘Order your man to leap from the column and plummet to the cobbles below if he is so loyal,’ Emperor Andronikos challenged his fellow monarchs.”
“King Frederick Barbaroshsa commanded his faithful knight to jump, but the knight refused, pleading he had a wife and family he loved and who would be left without a benefactor should he die. Holy scripture spoke against sush action. No?”
“Shultan Saladin commanded his shtaunchest warrior to throw himself off the tower, but the man refused. He also had a wife and family held in affection who would have no one to support them after his passing. To die merely for vanity was a shin. No?”
“Emperor Andronikos ordered his Megosh Domeshtikosh - commander of the army - to jump, and with no word - over the edge he went.” Smack. Nestor clapped his hands horizontally. “His corpse was a bloody schmear in the forum below.”
Zinthzinphitees now also down with the hiccups, bade the drivers pat his back.
With wine late at night, free luck for tomorrow’s race, and a bedtime story; no one noticed the stable hound sniffing off south into the shadows of the horses’s stalls.
“Why, hic…?” the groom asked. “Why did he jump? Hic.”
“Good question, my friend, that is exactly what the King and the Shultan asked. Emperor Andronikos stroked his beard,” Nestor mimed the gesture again. “And replied ‘He jumped because he has a wife and family he loves.’”
Guffaws from the table.
“Hic. I do not comprehend the nature of the jest and how it explains his self sacrifice?” The groom persisted.
Zinth supplied, “The man was afeared that should he fail to obey the Emperor his family would end up as a lesson between the races.”
“If you have to explain it, the jesht loses all of its punsch.” Nesor huffed.
* * *
Cyn and Marius first sauntered east along the curve of the sphendone with the city wall to their right only to find that the street ended at the south gates of the Great Palace. Fading back into shadows they retraced their step and headed north towards the church Cyn had seen earlier. Sitting on the steps they passed the wineskin and each took a swallow.
“Where were we?”
“Egypt?
“Right,” Marius stretched his legs out. “I was with the King of Jerusalem and his forces. The plan was to meet up with some knights of the Temple at their fortress. I rode ahead with a message but came across beturbaned scouts who rode off when they spied me. I followed and saw a vast host approaching. I laid spurs and warned the Templars to prepare for siege, and raced back to the King. The Templars walled up in Gaza while we were sheltered in Ascalon. Other riders were sent summoning all men in the kingdom - any age, any weapon, pitchfork, scythe, anything. Overnight on the double to Ascalon. Then - for some reason - rather than besiege us the Sultan moved his army past. A huge army, beyond counting. Did I mention there were a lot?”
“I rode again to tell the Templars to make themselves ready. It was the King’s intention to attack from the rear. By the time I returned, my horse was winded, so the King gave me leave to ride one of his own spares. I took my place as the last rider on the far right wing of the cavalry. We came over a ridge and there was the Sultan’s army spread out before us down the hill and across the plain. No rear guard, no order. We dismounted, and knelt. A priest came forward and we said a long prayer. I kept thinking ‘Father, keep it short, they are going to see us and form up.” But they did not. We mounted and cried ‘Deus Vult’ as we charged for the will of God. When they saw us coming they broke and ran.”
“There was this one heathen heathen. You’ve seen them, Cyn yeah?”
Cyn nodded.
“They wear scarves tied upon their heads.”
“I know they are devilish to tie always an end hangin’ in your face or trailin’ in the mud behind you.”
“Eh?”
“You are not the only one with war stories.”
“I want to hear yours. It is good to catch up.” Another swig of the red grape. "Where was I?”
“Headscarf.”
“Si. Difficult to tie, as you say. I was charging, one man broke and ran. His headscarf was loose. I don’t know if he tied it differently from the others because he was a jaunty sort of fellow, or if it had become untied over the course of the day, but I clearly remember it flapping as he ran. Then I speared him in the small of the back. I keep thinking about him almost every day, and it has been six years. That Saracen, who was he? I rode down others that day, but the one with the yellow headscarf coming loose and the terror in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder. God was with us, but I do wonder about that man. Like that.” Marius snapped his fingers. “I took his life - which was all he had - and then the King's horse was past him and running down the next. Perhaps he had a missus and little ones. Have you ever killed a man?”
Cyn took another swallow of wine. “No.” He leaned back with his elbows on the stone church stairs behind him. “Not this week. Last week… several. Mind you, this week still isn’t over yet.”