He was close enough to be able to breathe in her clean scent; she wore none of the make up nor perfume that was common with the kind of women he knew. It was a fresh smell that he inhaled slowly into his lungs. He almost smiled and forgot to reply. Theodora repeated what she had just said.
“Ah, what would that mean?” he asked, unsure of the term.
“It means that the lens within your eye is partially covered with a cloudy substance. It can be rectified.”
“You can repair it?”
“Yes, but it isn’t serious, not yet. In a year or so it should be seen to. You say you have some discomfort?” she asked, sitting back and looking as though his own intense scrutiny was unsettling her now, but her eyes were steady and unafraid. He liked that.
“Enough to want someone who knows what is what to check it for me, yes,” he stated.
It was true, he did occasionally have blurred vision, and it annoyed him to have to rely upon one eye.
“The operation is painful, although there are drugs, such as opium, that can reduce the pain considerably; and it would have to be performed at the academy,” she said. “I am not sure how much the scar tissue is affecting the movement of the eye. Not very much, it would seem.”
Exazenos nodded and stood up. “Thank you, Madame... your name?” he asked, although he knew very well.
“It is Theodora Kalothesos,” she said.
Later she could not be sure, but as she told him her name she noticed a look lurking deep in his eyes that was full of malice and drew back from it in surprise. But as quickly as it had appeared it vanished, and he smiled that grimace of his, displaying good teeth, then called out towards the door.
“Gabros!”
Then to her, “I wish to thank you for coming. Gabros will see you out, and he will pay you for your trouble. I shall inform you when and if I require the operation you are talking about. The officer at the main door will take you home.”
He turned away and walked off into another room, leaving Theodora staring after him.
The Empire of Byzantium
Nothing has changed.
The body is susceptible to pain,
it must eat and breathe air and sleep,
it has thin skin and blood right underneath,
an adequate stock of teeth and nails,
its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.
In tortures all this is taken into account.
—Wislawa Szymborska
Chapter 20
Exazenos
While Theodora was being taken home, Exazenos sat in his chambers and brooded. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Not even a glass of cool amber wine from Nicaea could stop his mind from worrying at the problem—like a dog gnawing at a piece of leather, he thought ruefully. Somehow he had been taken off balance by the woman.
Theodora had poise, and although he had detected nervousness she had contained it well under a mask of professionalism. No recognition there, but it would come in time, he promised himself.
He drained his glass and stood up. There were other issues to consider besides a snip of a woman whom he intended to destroy, along with whatever was left of her family—and that included her brother. Shaking his head, he tried to dismiss the cool eyes that had regarded him with nothing more than professional interest, but somehow he could not. To distract himself he went and looked out of the window towards the northern approaches of the Golden Gate.
Why was the emperor not more concerned about the menace threatening Thessalonica? he wondered. If that city fell then the road to Constantinople would be wide open. Those Franks from Sicily meant to destroy this city if they could, and King William would then take the entire empire for himself. Exazenos hated the senate class and wanted nothing less than their annihilation, but that didn’t mean he wanted to die alongside them at the pointed end of spears wielded by Franks and other barbarians. Perhaps, he thought reluctantly, it had been... hasty to have so many officers of the army and navy executed. Now all Exazenos could do was to speculate and fume. Even he had to be careful around the emperor, who had become more paranoid than ever and trusted no one at all.
He recalled a conversation. They had been eating well, alone except for some statue-like servants against the wall, when he’d spoke of his concerns.
“My Emperor, how are the preparations going on the walls in case of a possible siege?” Exazenos knew that Andronikos had, with his usual efficiency, ordered the walls repaired. He had even ordered the demolition of houses in the vicinity of the walls to eliminate the possibility of fire. Exazenos had merely asked out of interest.
Andronikos spat out a piece of gristle, which landed on the pure white table cloth. “What siege? What are you talking about? Thessalonica perhaps, Exaz?” he demanded, mildly enough.
“No, my Lord, that siege has begun. It’s too late to help them; but here, I’m talking about this city, Constantinople. Unless you intend to send an army to relieve Thessalonica?” Exazenos asked, sipping his wine.
“I have been in conference with my Generals, I have send more than one army,” Andronikos snapped. “When I want advice from a psychopathic pimp of a eunuch I shall ask for it,” he stated, his tone cold.
His smile frozen upon his lips, Exazenos bowed over his knees and said, “My Lord, I had not intended to offend. Merely to assk... out of interest, you understand?”
“My generals are dealing with it, so stop worrying about any of that! And don’t bother me about it, either,” Andronikos snapped, clearly out of sorts. “Be careful, your wig is slipping.” Andronikos gave a snicker. “Why you wear one at all is a mystery to me.”
“My humblesst of apologies, my Lord.” Exazenos found that his hand was trembling. He had no idea how he had offended his emperor, but to continue to do so would court disaster.
“Your duty is to find traitors who are plotting against me, so get on with that and leave the generals to me,” Andronikos snarled. Then with bewildering speed he switched his tone to being conciliatory. “My Exaz, you take upon yourself too much. I know what I am doing. So don’t worry, and go find me some more of those pretty girls I like so much from Macedonia. I think I shall have three tonight. Don’t forget to bring me the potions.”
Exazenos had taken his leave soon after and gone to his rooms to recover and to think. While he had done many dreadful things in the service of this unpredictable and moody emperor: pimped, procured, denounced and much else that would have sickened a normal man, the words of Andronikos rattled about in his mind. A psychopathic pimp, was he? That stuck in his throat, but it helped to decide him upon a course of action.
If he was nothing else Exazenos was a survivor, and the thunder clouds on the horizon in the form of a vast army sent by William of Sicily to destroy the empire was warning enough for him to at least take precautions. The Serbs had already made inroads from the North, and Andronikos had done absolutely nothing about them.
He knew that the emperor, in yet another indication of his growing instability, had ordered no less than five generals to take their armies and move against the enemy who squatted before the gates of doomed Thessalonica. The appalling fact was that he had done absolutely nothing about the incursions of the Bulgars to the north.
The luckless citizens of the city of Thessalonica , which was about to fall any day now, were doomed by the ineptitude of its leader, David Komnenos. Exazenos’ spies told him more than he passed along to his emperor, so he knew.
The ever-growing persecution complex of his master worried Exazenos more than anything. The unpredictability of an emperor with so much power, one who could clap him on the back one moment with sincere affection and then call him horrible names, was frightening to a man who was not frightened by very much. Death seemed to be lurking around every corner of the bloodstained palace these days. He, Exazenos, didn’t intend to become another of its victims just yet.
He had one thing to do before he worked out a plan with his henchma
n, Gabros.
Alexios Kalothesos woke to the distant sound of keys turning in rusty locks, then iron doors being slammed open—sounds louder than the moans and cries of the other prisoners lying chained to walls and posts in dark chambers all around him, and portending a visitation. They were in a lower level of the prison within the grounds of the Blachernae palace, one reserved for traitors. The torture chambers were upstairs, and whatever went on there was clearly heard down in this rat-infested hole. Alexios painfully pulled himself up into a sitting position. By his reckoning, and that was very unreliable, it was late at night; but it was always dark in the dungeons, and the jailers were carrying flared torches held high.
Alexios listened intently. Names would be called, if a prisoner did not answer it was usually because he had died. When a prisoner did respond he would be hustled upstairs, and the screaming and shrieks of agony would commence. It did not matter how hard he pushed his hands against his ears, the sounds penetrated his skull just as they penetrated the walls of wet stone. He could feel his heart beginning to beat a trifle faster.
He was in a cell with three other prisoners, and they had all been subjected to the games above, which had left them crippled and unable to perform anything but the most basic of functions. He looked about him in the flickering light that was coming their way. His companions were sitting up, just as he was, fear and apprehension etched on every gaunt and bearded face. Their rags hung off then in streamers of filth, and they unconsciously scratched at the fleas and lice that crawled all over them.
Just as he had feared, the torches approached their cell, and then the jailor was standing in front of their door. One of the prisoners gave an involuntary moan.
“Alexios Kalothesos, stand up!” the jailor called, peering into the gloom of the cell.
His heart now beating a tattoo in his chest, Alexios stood up with a clink of his chains.
The jailor beckoned him. “Get over here,” he growled. “Hurry up about it.”
Alexios shuffled over towards the barred gate and stood silent. The man holding the torch on high indicated the lock to his attendant, who hurried forward to unlock the gate and swing it open.
“You’re going upstairs.” The jailer smirked. “Mustn’t keep his lordship waiting.”
“God protect you, Alex!” croaked one of his companions. There were murmurs of encouragement from the others.
“Shut your mouths, or I will come in there and stuff the torch down your throats!” bellowed the jailer. They left in silence, with the head jailor leading and his two workers hauling Alexios along with them. He could barely walk since the last time, when they had burned his feet with red-hot irons. They were not gentle as they dragged him up the stone steps to the bright lights of the torture room. The first thing that struck him as he stood, moving from one foot to the other, swaying and blinking in the bright lights, was the smell. It was the stink of blood, faesces, fear and terror, and it literally dripped off the walls. He couldn’t help himself; he shuddered. Trying to put a brave face upon what he knew must come, he peered into the room.
Standing opposite him, dressed in a costume of rich silks of many colors and sandals of fine leather and gold filigree, was a man he had never seen before. They stared at one another for a long moment. Finally it was Alexios who looked away, but his eyes found no resting place to please him. The blood-bespattered table where he had been chained a month ago was still there, and from what he had heard and now saw, its recent occupant had only just departed. Probably for the deep waters of the Bosphorus.
The tools bore fresh blood that gleamed in the flickering light, and there was a dark puddle on the floor nearby. He felt his heart quail and his stomach knot at the thought of lying there yet again, unable to answer the shouted questions hurled at him for hours on end. He glanced away to look at the full chamber and was sickened to see a severed arm lying in a corner. His stomach heaved, but there was nothing in it to come out, only a small retch before he could regain control of himself.
The man before him looked vaguely familiar, Alexios realized slowly, but he was hideously scarred down one side of his face and appeared to be wearing a wig.
“Ssit down, Alexios,” the man said.
The jailers behind him shoved Alexios into a heavy wooden chair with metal clasps along the arms and began to clamp him down. “Leave it alone!” the man snapped at them. “Leave us.”
“But, your lordship—”
“Go!” the word cut the air like a whip. The guards scurried off like rats.
Alexios brought his attention back to the man in front of him.
“You don’t recognize me do you, Alexios Kalothesos? How have they been treating you?”
“No, I don’t recognize you, and they are not treating me at all well.” Alexios shook his head. His long, filthy hair slapped his face as he did so; he barely noticed it.
“Yess, you do look a little thin.”
“Your creatures don’t go in for much in the way of food,” Alexios retorted, determined upon defiance.
The man gave a grimace, like smile of amusement.
“Then let me tell you a little about mysself,” he said with a slight sibilance to his voice, as he took a stool and placed it opposite Alexios and sat down. He smoothed his tunic with care, then he, too, looked around. His grotesquely distorted face registered distaste.
“Not the best of places to renew our acquaintance, but it will just have to do.” He smiled, baring good teeth to Alexios.
“Who are you?” Alexios managed to croak. He was very thirsty.
As though sensing this, the man in front of him stood up and said, “You would like something to drink, perhaps? I can offer you water, or even some wine. It comes from an estate not too far from here.”
“A drink of water,” Alexios said huskily.
“Very well, some water,” Exazenos said, and poured some into a leather cup which he handed to Alexios, who lifted it to his lips with a clink from the chains on his wrists.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, after he had gulped the entire contents of the mug.
Exazenos settled himself comfortably, his eyes intent on Alexios’ every shift and expression. “I am going to tell you who I am, and then we will deal with the future and your place in it... or not in it, as the case may be.”
Alexios did not expect to leave the dungeons alive; he wondered what this strange man could possibly have in mind. Exazenos continued in the same conversational tone he had used from the beginning.
“I am known as Exazenos by everyone here in the city, but you know me by the name Pantoleon Spartenos,” said the man, and he watched the reaction from Alexios.
His eyes widened with disbelief and shock as he re-examined Pantoleon. “You can’t be!” he breathed. “He died in the battle of Myriokephalon. We were all there. You’re lying.”
“Hmm, well, not really. You see, I did die and lived again but... as you can see, somewhat changed.”
“How, how did you live?” Alexios gasped. “Where have you been all these years?” his voice still sounded as though he didn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Let me tell you a little story, and then we will see if you believe me or not,” said the man who called himself Exazenos—Pantoleon, the once famous charioteer.
“As you may well remember, the army was ambushed in the defile by the Turks, who rained boulders down upon us. I was up near the emperor, and if I remember rightly you were back some way with that annoying Frankish friend of yours. A boulder struck my horse and took us both down into the river. I was thrown by the animal right onto the other side of the stream, where I bashed my head and knew nothing from that moment on.
“That is, until I woke up and found that I was lying on a fire, which as you might imagine got my attention very quickly; so I did some screaming and flailing about, then found myself being dragged off this pyre by some Turkish soldiers, who tossed me back into the river to cool off.”
Pantoleon grimaced a
t Alexios, who wore an expression of incredulous astonishment. “Yes, I had virtually died, but the fire woke me up to something... unexpected. Two days before, the Turks had gone among the wounded and the dead and scalped every one of us. Look!” he took off the wig and showed Alexios the dreadful scars on his head. His smile was a baring of teeth.
“Panto, I’m so sorry,” Alexios whispered. “I had no idea.”
“No, well, no one did. Our illustrious Emperor,” he spat out the word, “Manuel the pig ran away, didn’t he? Along with his famous guard and the rest of you. You left me and many others there to die or to become slaves, which is what happened to me. I was one of the lucky ones, up to a point,” Pantoleon snarled.
“The Turks didn’t try very hard to keep us alive. Many died, and it was probably a relief, after the way we were treated, but I wanted to live. You see, I wanted to come home.” His eyes burned as he remembered....
He woke to a terrible burning sensation on the right side of his body. Pantoleon jerked fully awake. He was in the middle of a fire, surrounded by bodies that were burning furiously. He screamed in horror and agony and struggled to roll out, thinking of all he had heard about hell, and then he felt hands seizing him and dragging him out of the fire. The agony didn’t stop there; he was rolled on the grass and then tossed, still screaming, into a stream nearby. The cold of the water was almost more than he could bear, as it seemed to burn the already flayed skin off his shoulders and face. He went under and then surfaced, gasping for air.
Again hands grabbed him and hauled him onto the bank, where he lay while some Turkish men stood over him, arguing. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he was sure it was about whether they should bother to keep him alive or not.
One grabbed him by the neck and pulled him to his knees. Pantoleon thought this was the end and closed his eyes. But a voice shouted at him and he was hauled to his feet and made to sit down under a tree beside another prisoner. He was too weak to do anything, let alone try to escape. He could see the Turks examining the bodies before they stripped them of armor, clothes, and jewelry then heaved the bodies onto a roaring fire. He wondered why they bothered. Usually a battlefield was left with its dead to rot forever; he had once ridden across an old one. Why were they burning bodies this time?
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