“Where do I go, Justinian?” Basil asked as he pushed open the door of the tower. “Beyond the Column of Constantine, I mean. I seem to have been familiar with it, whoever I used to be.” He looked at the shade curiously.
“You wouldn't happen to know who I am, would you? You called me kin, blood of Romans, and so on, so you must know something.” Justinian avoided meeting his eyes, his intangible form hazing slightly around the edges.
“It is forbidden. The knowledge will change your path from here on, and that is not His will. I cannot speak of it, nor would I if I were able. Please, for your sake as much as mine, do not ask this of me.” As soon as the words were said, the ancient shade vanished, though his presence remained.
Basil strode in silence along the darkened road leading towards the Hagia Sophia, its vast dome dominating the skyline. From there, he needed simply to follow the path of the Mese to the Forum of Constantine, where he could then escape into the innumerable side passages of the ancient city and then work his way out undetected.
“In response to your initial question,I'm afraid I don't exactly know, Basil.” Justinian’s disembodied voice whispered. “My experiences of the road were limited at best, as a scholar of the court under my numinous adopted father Justin, I had little time or desire to wander the countryside. The cares of Imperium made the time even more precious later on, and with a general of great heart and unending courage such as Belisarius at my command, I sat in perfumed splendor the equal of any Cathayan Khan or Emperor. What good would I serve on the field of battle that would not be even greater service than restraining our reckless and often downright treasonous nobility?” He paused for a moment, then resumed in a more subdued tone. “I believe that was my mistake, I allowed naysayers and my wife's friends to sway me from my trust, to impose on Belisarius impossible restrictions and in so doing, doom the Renovatio.”
Basil sank back into the deep shadows of the nameless alley, a glimmer of torchlight his only warning of the oncoming Ottoman patrol. The two men passed, oblivious to the hiding Greek, eager to reach the end of their assigned patrol. Basil rose several minutes later, resuming his circuitous course. His mind was running with the thoughts of what else his escape would require, A horse definitely, and food and water enough to last through the passage of Marmara and the journey to Nicaea…and more, if the overly chatty ghost in his head would only keep silent, Basil thought dourly. He once more considered the possibility of madness, or demonic possession, dipping a finger into the small fountain as he passed, drawing the cross in the air and flicking away the droplets.
The increasing intensity of light warned of his approach to more populated parts of the vast city, and he made use of the hooded cloak which Al-Shifa had kindly lent him, regretting he would not be able to properly thank the kindly old man for his care and patience.
The Mese was plainly apparent to him as he left the alleyway behind, a wide, cobbled stretch nearly cutting the city in half. What was also apparent was that the entire stretch was both well-lit and heavily trafficked, even in the depth of a moonless night.
Basil leaned casually against a damaged marble colonnade, pulling his hood low. “Justinian, you talked me into this, so you're at least going to help me get there in one piece. I need a way slightly less frequented, preferably one with less than half the entire Turkish army on it. Do you know of one?”
“Of course I do, third turnoff to the left after you pass St. Mary of Chalkoprateia, that'll take you around the northern edge of the Basilica Cistern, from there you can cross through the ruins of the Palace of Lausus. After that, the way is apparent, a straight shot.” The ghost replied testily, “and I am not a demon.”
Basil smirked, though it did not linger long. “Never said you were, but that just leaves madness, as the Church firmly states that ghosts and shades do not exist. Does that mean I am mad?”
“That is yet to be decided, but you had best heed my instructions or you will never escape this city alive.”
“As you say, so do I obey, Emperor.” Basil replied mockingly.
The silence was deafening.
################
The venerable brick church was easily located and swiftly passed by the hurrying Basil, the third turnoff approached and taken. He paused for a moment at the end of the road, where it ended in a plaza bright with the lights of the guardhouse keeping watch over the ancient cistern. Basil skirted the edge of the plaza, sticking to the northern side amid the stacked stones and reclaimed lumber of the Turkish reconstruction efforts, his eyes constantly focused on the movements of the sentries. It came as a great shock, almost eliciting a shriek, when a heavy hand firmly grasped his shoulder and turned him as effortlessly as if he were a small child.
Basil lashed out instinctively, landing a firm kick into his enemy's shin. His faceless enemy cursed audibly and with a hard, calloused fist, smote Basil a resounding blow to the head, staggering the smaller man. His enemy came close, seeking to pin his arms, but Basil managed to break free with a fierce headbutt to the man's chin, drawing blood and knocking loose a few teeth. The two men did not go unnoticed by the guards of the cistern, who drew their swords and cautiously advanced across the plaza towards them.
Basil regarded his enemy warily, his eyes widening as he recognized the visage of the man, a porter he had often seen, but never realized, on the docks near the tower he had spent his recovery in. The man grinned widely, his blood-slicked mouth black in the twilight, and he spat a ropey strand of bloody spittle onto the cobbles as he came forward once more, dirk in hand. The unarmed Basil was forced to evade his powerful swings, dancing left and right to escape the hungry blade. His back fetched up hard against the solid stack of beams, and he was forced to dive for the corner to avoid being disemboweled, running painfully into the side of the stack as he rounded the corner.
The guards were nearly upon him, and Basil's suspicions deepened when the two passed his assailant without a word and continued advancing, swords at the ready. Basil looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon, before spotting a worn iron measuring rod resting on a wooden trestle table next to the nearest Turk. He charged, his desperation making him fearless and though he received a slash on his upper arm, he managed to bull past the soldier to the table, snatching up the metal rod, raising it in time to block a slash that would have riven him from shoulder to groin. He deflected the sword down and away, stepping in to punch the man in the face before he recovered. Out of the corner of his eye,he saw the other soldier circling him from the right while the porter came from the left. He feinted towards his opponent's groin, then rising swifter than the longer sword could recover, his rod struck him in the jaw with force, snapping his head up and with another blow to the temple of the dazed man, finished him off.
Basil turned, backing away from both enemies, ever towards the exit leading to the ruins of the Palace of Lausus, but, sensing his intent, the soldier rushed in with a cry, wildly swinging a flurry of blows that knocked sparks from Basil's notched iron weapon. He received a slash across the cheek from a misjudged parry, then with a flicker of inspiration, heaved the bar at his enemy, following close behind.
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The soldier managed to turn the rod aside, but was not able to free himself from Basil's grip on his sword arm, struggling mightily to free himself before Basil turned his own blade upon him. Basil swept low, knocking his enemy to the ground with a clatter of metal on stone. He stomped on the man's wrist, knocking the sword away before reaching for a loose cobble and he beat him about the head until he lay still. A cold prickle went down his neck, followed by an evil chuckle as the porter closed on him from behind. He spun, scoring a hit on the man's midsection.
No response save a stifled grunt came from his attacker as another man rose behind him and with serpentine grace, wrapped a fine silken cord around his neck, and with a sharp yanking turn, expertly snapped his neck.
The battle had drawn the attention of the guardhouse, and at least a dozen soldiers were forming up into two squads that had begun to sweep the plaza heading in their direction.
“My thanks, stranger. I would ask your name, but as you can see, time is scarce and we should probably be going.” Basil motioned for the other to follow, bolting towards the exit that had been his goal.
“Chenmo.” the smooth tenor said in accented Greek, as they ran between the crowded buildings towards the overgrown ruins of the ancient palace of Lausus, visible in the distance as a tumbledown collection of massive stone blocks and pillars, scarred by ancient fires long since extinguished.
“My name is Chenmo, and I have been sent by my masters to ensure your survival. Ask me not of them, nor of why, as I do not know you save for your visage. Now run, we must reach the ruins, or so I mark your goal, before they grow close enough to ascertain our destination.”
“A fine plan, friend Chenmo! We must speak further when we've shaken these Turks.”
Basil focused on his stride, legs pumping rhythmically, eating up the distance. The torches of the Ottoman contingent rounded the corner, the tramping of booted feet and jingle of mail echoing loudly on the deserted street among the derelict buildings, the barking of the sergeant maintaining the cadence seeming right behind them.
Basil made it into the relative safety of the ruins, noticing that Chenmo had not followed him, but instead continued around the edge of the ruins, crying out directions to a non-existent companion and tossing stones against the sides of nearby buildings as he passed. The sergeant paused for a moment before the path into the ruins, before detaching two of his men to block the entrance and await his return. That done, the patrol moved off to follow the escaping Chenmo.
The two left behind sat against the worn stone gate posts as soon as the patrol was out of sight, laying their swords across their laps and speaking quietly. Basil took their measure from his vantage in the remains of a great hall. Rather than confront them, he decided to move further into the ruins, the fire-scarred, age-worn faces of the few ancient statues that still remained sightlessly staring at him as he passed.
Basil sat on a weathered limestone block next to a brackish pool clogged with fallen leaves from the gnarled celtis trees that had grown wide and tall with age, their dried berries littering the broken path. He rolled a small branch between his palms idly, before speaking as if to himself.
“Justinian? Do you remember this place? As it was, I mean. It seems strange that an area this close to the main holy places and the ancient Great Palace should remain in ruins and unused, especially when the greatest days of this city were still to come, if I read correctly.”
Justinian did not reply for a long moment, then the now-familiar presence fell upon him with an ethereal sigh. “This place was a ruin even when I was a boy, though much less wild and run-down. The statues that survived the fire were quickly spirited away by any means available to the homes of notable antiquities collectors, and the more beautiful and intact of the pillars were taken for newer public buildings. It was always thus in the days when we could still call ourselves a true Roman Empire, endlessly cannibalizing the old to serve the new.
During my time though, I found it to be a fine nature trail, as the paths were still sound and the fountains and contemplation pools were still maintained. A spectral finger pointed towards the pool, before motioning to the left and right in a circle, then repeating in smaller, more precise, progressively lower circles. “That was a most fascinating fountain in my day, the water fell in constant waves through the lower levels until it fell into a basin in which a pedestal was set, bearing a bronze nymph, as large as a living woman, who held in her raised cupped hands a silver lily with stamen of gold. During the early hours of the afternoon, the metal would reflect the sunlight onto the colored glass covered tile of the basin and it would seem as if you were looking into another world. It was truly magical, Basil. The ghost’s voice seemed noticeably nostalgic and yet deeply melancholy. “She survived longer than most in the city. The Latins took her in 1204 in the year of our lord, sold her as a curiosity to a Venetian trader for a handful of gold.“
Justinian seemed to be preparing to speak again, but instead his presence lifted as Basil heard the muted pop of the dried berries approach his seat. Seeing Chenmo, Basil relaxed onto his seat.
“Are they gone?” Basil asked. Chenmo nodded. “They are chasing a phantom back towards the harbor. May I politely enquire what your plan is?” The lithe assassin sat, folding his legs beneath him.
Basil regarded his savior closely for the first time, noting the wiry frame, jet black hair and unusual features that marked those who he had heard called “Ming” or “Cathayan”. If so, he was far from home, and it added another layer of confusion to the web of intrigue he had found himself in since waking to this new life. He felt the hawklike gaze of Chenmo upon him, probably analyzing him with the same cold dispassionate gaze he had displayed when breaking necks. Cold indeed.
Basil cleared his throat. “ I must go to the Forum of Constantine, which lies nearby, and retrieve an item of some worth and utility to my further journey, then gather whatever supplies may be found or stolen before making my escape via some form of small craft to Nicaea, where there exists a number of Greeks who would accept one such as myself. Beyond that, I am not sure.” A hint of levity crossed Chenmo's face.
“Not much of a plan. However, in furtherance of the goals of my masters, I shall give you a better one. I shall accompany you to this “item of some worth” and then I shall furnish you with both supplies for an extended journey and a mule to carry them, and in my company, passage to the independent Candar port city of Sinope. There we shall part ways and see each other no more.”
Basil warily responded,”That is a princely offer, but such things often have heavy costs, even if they do not seem so onerous at the time. Out of the courtesy you have shown thus far, speak plainly of your master's desires.”
Chenmo nodded, smiling graciously, “ I appreciate your quick grasp of the situation. What my masters wish of you is…” He paused, and when he resumed speaking, it was in a dusty monotone common to those reciting verbatim from memory.
“Should you accept our aid, you will not be beholden to us save if, one day, which may never come, we shall call on you under this sign.” Chenmo pulled away his dark arm wrap to expose a symbol both flowingly alien and yet somehow familiar. “And on that day, you shall grant to Us a boon. The boon will be of our choosing and you must fulfill it, and should you violate this vow, you will die. Test us not.”
With that final utterance, Chenmo looked once more himself, blinking owlishly at Basil.
“This offer is very time sensitive, friend Basil. I implore you to decide before you rise from that block, for if you refuse, I must leave you now.”
Basil ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair, knowing his answer as surely as if he had already spoken it, yet dreading the future implications. He saw how small his chances were on his own, but feared what he stood to lose, what he may have to do to appease the Cathayan’s enigmatic masters. He sighed, feeling oddly as if he was repeating a decision he had already made. Basil looked up, his face resigned.
“Tell your masters that they have a deal, they shall have their boon. May God have mercy on my soul, should it lead to ill to me and mine.”
Chenmo nodded sagely, “So I hear, and thus I shall report it so. If I may be so bold, I predict that this association will not be as you fear, but I am but a servant.” He rose gracefully, arching into a full-body stretch. “Let us go, friend Basil. Your trophy and freedom from this giant Turkish prison awaits.” With that, he moved silently in the direction of the Forum, his feet no longer making even the slightest noise on the littered ground.
Basil rose, intending to follow the assassin, but the returning presence of Justinian stayed his feet. “Emperor?” He asked, surprised at the ghost’s show of spontaneous activity.
“I was wrong, Basil.” came his disembodied voice, but it was light and seemed brighter than before. “They did not steal all of her. It is poetic that I should grant you both the Lily and the Sword unforeseen. Ask not why, but do this.” His spectral form became dimly visible, standing Christlike upon the water of the pool across from Basil. “Come here, and reach deep, Basil. You shall know what you have found once you have grasped it.”
Feeling that he owed the old ghost his foibles just this once, Basil crossed around to the other side of the pool. He stuck his hands deep into the cloudy water, then into the muck below, until a hard,slick surface touched his hands. He tugged upon it, but the muck of centuries was not so easily beaten. Up to his shoulders in the water, leaning until his face almost touched the water, he pulled with all his strength,and with a loud pop, the object came free.
It was oddly shaped, but when he knocked loose the clinging mud and weeds he discerned the glitter of gold. He washed it in the water and beheld the lily of which Justinian spoke, tarnished by many long centuries, but still whole and beautiful.
Justinian appeared at his shoulder, a soft smile on his face. “A fitting heirloom for kin of mine, but now you must take it and go, your “friend” is looking for you. Do not falter, Basil, for the Lord shines upon you tonight.” Justinian’s presence faded away, and Basil climbed to his feet, stowing the flower in his bag, judiciously acquired from the trestle. He took one last glance over the ancient scene, then with the cracking of berries underfoot, he followed his new companion.