The Alchemist's Revenge

by Martin Archer

  ****** George Courtenay

  Much of time on the day after the battle had been spent closely questioning the captured nobles to find out who they were so we could decide how much ransom each of them might yield. Suffering such great losses and more than a day without food and water had definitely softened them up for our questioning. I and my helpers kept copious notes as we asked each of them about himself and the others.

  Some of the riders proudly claimed to have lands and wealth and others to be the sons of rich merchants or land-owning gentry and franklins, but many were quite cagey—they each claimed to be able to afford only a small ransom, and then pointed to others as being much richer when we asked who they thought could pay more. They did so in an effort to distract us into looking for coins elsewhere instead of from themselves.

  Later that afternoon I decided it was time to see just how gullible the two Orthodox priests at the inner gate might be now that Richard had softened them up. I passed the word for Adam to join me at outer gate and he arrived all out of breath about twenty minutes later. He would be, I informed him, my translator.

  My preparations consisted of sending Nicholas and Adam to the largest market in the Latin Quarter to buy elegant clothes for me and a civilian tunic for Adam such as one of the city’s scribes and translators might wear.

  I was hungry so I rode to the Commandery for something to eat while they went shopping. They returned with an elegant embroidered tunic, a dandy’s hat with a feather in it, and a fine sword and scabbard suitable for an ambassador. This time I decided to tie my hair into a sailor’s knot and be an ambassador instead of one of Adam’s fellow traitors.

  Adam and I donned our new clothes and walked with Nicholas to where the two priests and the other survivors from the city mob were being held under the watchful eyes of half a dozen archers. They were sitting on the ground talking and eyed us intently as we approached.

  One of the priests got to his feet, the other, the mortally wounded one with an arrow in his chest, was mostly asleep. He just lay on the ground and groaned every so often. The priest who stood had no idea who I was or what I wanted, but he knew instinctively from my dress and bearing that my arrival was somehow significant.

  Despite some of the wounded men dying during the night, there were almost sixty men from the city’s Orthodox protection gangs who had survived yesterday’s attack including eight or nine who had been severely wounded. Most of the wounded men still had our arrows in them and were in great pain. Their screams and sobs were clearly distressing their unwounded mates.

  Nicholas walked ahead of me and waved away the archers standing guard so they could not listen to what I had to say. Several of the older guards had looked startled when I arrived and eyed me rather keenly as they walked away. I suspect they may have recognized me.

  “Who amongst you can gobble French or the crusader French some are now call English?” I called out to the prisoners. “Is there anyone who can gobble Varangian or Rus?”

  I asked my questions loudly so all the prisoners could hear me, even those of the wounded who were not sleeping. Adam immediately repeated what I said in Greek. No one raised his hand.

  Good. No one was likely to challenge me if I lied about my identity in order to tell lies for the priest to hear that would mislead his masters when we released him.

  My effort to feed the priest information that would help mislead his masters was understandable; lies and deceptions were part and parcel of how important financial business was done in the civilized world the days following the Fourth Crusade. The old days when a man’s word was his bond were gone.

  There had been no response to my questions so I decided it was safe to claim to be the Ambassador of the Kievan Rus to the Empress’s court, a position it was reasonable for me to pretend to hold for several reasons, not the least of which was that neither the position nor the Kievan Rus state still existed.

  “Greeting fellow brothers in Christ,” I announced in crusader French with Adam translating what I said into Greek. The prisoners were all listening intently. I pretended to be speaking to all of them. In fact, what I had to say was aimed at the able-bodied priest even though I did not look at him as I gobbled.

  “I am Andrey of the Kievan Rus. Until today I was my country’s ambassador to the Latin Empire. As you know, my people and I are Orthodox Christians and supporters of our beloved Patriarch. That is why I stopped for a few moments to talk to you even though I am on my way to the harbour to sail for home.

  “As you may have heard, I have been expelled by the Empress and must immediately leave begin my long trip home. But I heard of your capture whilst doing God’s work and wanted to tell you what I have learned whilst at the Empress’s court.”

  “The gate in the interior wall was supposed to be open for your army to enter peacefully. But it was not opened—because the French and Venetian ambassadors heard about the plan and informed the Empress in time for her to send her guards to fight you off and keep it closed.

  “Unfortunately, I only this morning learned about the French and Venetian betrayal of our dear Patriarch. The French and Venetians betrayed our Holy Father when they realized that the Greek army could not win a war against the Empress’s English archers.

  “What the French and Venetians hoped to get from betraying our dear and most holy Patriarch was more merchant and money-lending stalls in the city’s markets, and control of more of the city’s churches.

  “Having said that, I believe you still have a chance to keep your churches. That is because the Empress trusts the French and Venetians even less than she trusts you, her Greek-gobbling subjects.

  “So it is up to you, my dear brothers in Christ, to decide whether or not to ransom yourselves and your churches by paying the Empress and the English archers for the losses you have caused them. If you do, I believe the Empress will let bygones be bygones and you will be able to continue to hold your churches; if you do not, the Venetians and French will almost certainly compensate her for her losses and take your churches and sell you to the Moors for slaves.”

  ******

  My story blaming the French and Venetians for the prisoners’ troubles was well received. So was my suggestion that paying a ransom would be a viable path to their freedom, particularly since it was the common people in their parishes who would inevitably end up paying the ransom coins, not the priests and the men of each church’s protection gang.

  As a result of the favourable reception my lies received from the captured priest and the men of the churches’ protection gangs, I decided to also visit the priests who had accompanied the Greek army and repeat a slightly different version of them—and that is what I did a few hours later. It was my first visit to them and I did so whilst once again posing as the departing Orthodox ambassador.

  Of course I repeated my lies; an Englishman can hardly go wrong by convincing others to pay ransom coins to his company and causing trouble and confusion for the French and Venetians.

  ******

  All in all, I was quite satisfied with myself by the time I changed back to my regular clothes and rode back to the Citadel Sunday night to spend my first night there in almost a week. I had planted the seeds for the Greeks and the priests of the Orthodox Church to become distrustful and angry with the Venetians and French.

  But would the seeds grow? And would Elizabeth come for a visit that night? I was not sure, but I was strangely pleased and excited by both prospects.

  Before I rode back to the Citadel, however, and after much thought and another discussion with my lieutenants, I scribed and sent a message to the commander of the Greek army about his captured men and the barbering of his wounded.

  My message was carried by two prisoners from the Greek army, a priest and poor noble with no coins with which to pay a ransom. The two men were released late in the afternoon of the day after the battle to carry my message to the Greek commander about the care and feeding of his captured men.

  The released prisoners
were accompanied by hastily summoned three Greek food merchants from the city. The Greek army’s “commander” was available to receive the message because he had avoided being killed or captured by remaining behind in his tent when he sent his men off to fight.

  The message I scribed to the would-be emperor’s brother informed him that I had taken the liberty of informing his captured subjects that he and his brother had agreed to ransom and feed them and to see to it that their wounded friends and family members were properly barbered.

  We had done so, I scribed, because we were concerned that the men we captured would otherwise rise up against his kingly brother, and because we wanted to re-establish friendly relations with the king. A new friendship was something, I scribed, which might be possible now that he and his kingly brother knew they had “been betrayed by the French and Venetians just as we had been.” If that does not make him and his brother view the French and Venetian with suspicion, nothing will.

  We would, I further scribed to the Greek commander, send him our modest ransom requirements when we finished the lengthy task of getting the names and importance, meaning their ability to pay, of the nobles, knights, and priests we had captured.

  In the meantime, I suggested, he might want to do make arrangements with the merchants for his men’s food and water as soon as possible “since your men seem to be getting hungrier and angrier with you and your king as every hour passes.”

  In addition, I also scribed, “as I am sure you understand, all of the archers and others being held as prisoners by his army and the Venetians must be immediately released before the release of our prisoners can begin.”

  I was particularly pleased with myself when I re-read the message and made my mark on it—because before I sent it I had reached an agreement with the merchants for the Company’s local shipping post to be immediately paid one coin out of every three the merchants received for the prisoners’ food.

  The merchants were honourable men in the best fashion of the Greek nobility and the moneylenders of London. They readily agreed to cheat the Orthodox army and pass the savings on to us. It would be a profitable end to a just war.

  Epilogue

  I was off to meet with my father privately in his room at the Citadel to discuss some family matters. The Company had re-floated its galleys and used them to clear the Venetians out of the Marmara Sea. My father and I needed to talk before I sailed for Venice and launched a surprise attack to take our well-deserved revenge on the Venetians.

  Sweeping into Venice’s harbour and attacking the city and its shipping was a matter of honour and had to be done. It was also required by the Company’ contract as a revenge for the men on the Company’s roll who had lost their live or been wounded because of the Venetians. Besides, it was also an opportunity that might yield additional chests of coins and result in fewer Venetian transports competing with ours to carry passengers and cargos.

  In any event, a major fight with the Venetians had become inevitable when Venice’s transports carried the Orthodox army to fight us and its galleys directly attacked us at the harbour. In essence, our move against Venice would be a payback for the Venetians’ assistance to the Greek army and their attacks on the Company’s galleys and transports during the fighting that had ended several weeks ago.

  The fact that the Venetians had sailed off whilst still holding some of the Company’s men captive merely encouraged us even more, particular since the Venetians had refused to release or ransom them.

  Hopefully, and with a little luck, an attack on Venice and its harbour would be as profitable as the recent war and motivate the Venetians to release our men. And even if it did not turn out that way, there would be a great deal of satisfaction in making the effort. In essence, they started the war and we would finish it.

  In any event, it was too good of a coin-making opportunity for the Company to pass up, particularly since now most of our galleys and men were all together in one place and fired up by our recent victories.

  My father knew all this and had asked me to visit him before I sailed. He did so, I assumed, because he intended to try to convince me that my younger brother and my even younger son were not ready to go on such a dangerous voyage. He wanted, I was sure, that they be sent to Cyprus for more seasoning as apprentices under new captains.

  What he really hoped to accomplish, I knew, was that not all of the family eggs be put in one basket. I agreed and was pleased to be able to tell him so—I had already decided to announce that the two boys would not be going to Venice with us before he had a chance to ask.

  It turned out that I was wrong; the boys were not the reason he wanted to talk with me.

  ******

  I heard laughter and exuberant men’s voices coming from my father’s room as I walked alone down the corridor towards it. The door was cracked open.

  The laughter and good will in the room was so great and real that it somehow lifted my already high spirits even higher as I walked up to the door.

  “Hoy to all, may I come in?” I inquired with a cheerful sound in my voice as I rapped my knuckles on the wooden door frame, and entered unbidden.

  A moment later my mouth gaped open in shocked surprise when I stepped into the room and realized who was sitting there drinking with my father—three of the Company’s greatest enemies: the commander of the Varangians who had bribed Adam to open the gates to the Greek army, Ivan the Bulgarian who had refused to sally to help relieve the pressure on us when the Greeks were assaulting the wall, and the Metropolitan of Constantinople who had bribed Adam to open the inner gate and then sent the Orthodox Church’s protection gangs to attack us to make sure the inner gate was open.

  “Come in, George, come in. You know Eric and Ivan, of course. But please meet our friend Father Andreas, the Metropolitan of Constantinople.”

  I merely nodded towards the Metropolitan with a stony face. Making peace with Ivan and Eric was one thing; the Metropolitan, however, was going too far.

  “You have strange drinking friends, father. I am surprised,” I said harshly.

  Truer words were never spoken. I was shocked and glaring at his visitors as I said it. And then, to make it worse, they all started laughing.

  “Hoy, my boy, and good day to you too. And please come in and take a stool. We have much to talk about.”

  My father said it all with a merry twinkle in his eye as if what I was about to hear was something minor. But I immediately knew it was important.

  “The thing is, George, the four of us were more deeply involved in your recent moves and countermoves against the Patriarch’s army than you know.”

  He made the announcement as he stood up, grabbed a large jar and began pouring wine into a bowl, which he promptly handed to me with a gesture towards an empty wooden stool.

  I took it and sat with a stony face whilst he topped off the bowls of the other men and his own.

  “You did not tell anyone about your plan to trap the Greek army in the states’ enclosure, and rightly so. But it was plain to see that was your plan. And the spies of the Empress, the Varangians, and the Orthodox Church all confirmed it by telling us the various different stories you were spreading to different people. We, fortunately, were the only ones with all the information and able to figure it out. It was brilliant, by the way. I am truly proud of you.

  “The thing is this—we wanted to help you since all four of us wanted the Company to be successful and the Empress to be unharmed and stay in power. I, of course, because of my deep affection for the Empress; Eric because he needed to know exactly when the Greeks would attack because he was sworn to protect her and needed to know when to be ready to evacuate her.

  “Somewhat similarly, Ivan absented himself and took his men from the state’s enclosure because he wanted the Greeks to think they could enter it and rush to inner gate unopposed so your men could kill them. He did so because he wants one of his sons to marry Elizabeth to get her late husband’s estates in France in case the Greeks come back
and he has to run.” Marry Elizabeth?

  I was astonished as you might imagine.

  “Excuse me, father, all that may be true, but we would not have won if we had not beaten off the Greek mob that attacked us in the rear.” I looked hard at the Metropolitan as I spoke.

  “But you did beat them off, George—because they attacked too soon, eh?”

  “Well, yes. We were lucky.”

  “And why did they attack prematurely, George? I can tell you why—because the Metropolitan told them when to attack just as he somehow forgot to tell them, the first time the city rose, that the arrival of the Greek army would be delayed.”

  “But that does not make any sense.”

  “Oh but it certainly does, George, it certainly does. Let me ask you this: If you were Andreas here, and serving as the Metropolitan over all the Orthodox churches in the Empress’s empire, you would have to appear to be loyal to the Patriarch by calling out your faithful and your protection gangs to help fight his enemies, would you not?”

  “Well yes. I suppose.”

  “But if you were my friend Andreas, would you really want the rising of the people or the protection gangs to be successful in helping the Greek army enter the city—if it meant the Patriarch would return to take your place as the city’s most important churchman, especially if you liked living in the Church’s fine palace in Constantinople with many servants and getting all the coins from the Orthodox churches in and around the city?”

  “Well no.”

  My father just grinned at me and nodded. “Neither did Andreas,” he said.

  -End of the book-

  And the Saga Continues. The next book is The Venetian Gambit.

  The readers of this book can be of good cheer about the possibility of another book about the fighting that was about to engulf the archers and threaten the future of their company. What will happen to them after that is uncertain. Oxford’s taverns, however, are uncommonly enjoyable so there is every reason to hope that Martin Archer and his fellow scholars will continue the Oxford tradition of drinking and debating about what really happened in the medieval world until either someone with authority decides the story is complete, or they are forced out of their favourite Oxford pubs by a shortage of Newcastle Ale.