Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  Alexios could appreciate the irony. Again a hand on his shoulder, and it was Stephan.

  “Do you want to go home now, Alex?” he asked. Alexios nodded, numb with the noise and exhaustion.

  The chilling roar of the mob below could be heard at the villa, and the men under Gabros’ command eyed one another uneasily. What if the citizens came for them? Every one of them had committed unspeakable crimes against the population, and to a man they knew the awful things that Pantoleon had done. They had witnessed it with their own eyes.

  Gabros arrived with the news of the capture of the emperor and his concubine Maraptica, with a lurid description of the emperor’s mutilation.

  “We cannot stay here in this city, Master,” he told Pantoleon urgently. “There are people who will denounce us, and then they will scour the city for you. I didn’t even get close to the dungeons to retrieve Alexios. The prisoners were released almost as soon as the mob stormed the gates, then the prisoners joined the crowd.”

  “What is the mob doing right now?” Pantoleon asked him.

  “They are looting the palaces, Master.”

  “That should keep them busy for the rest of today and tonight. It will leave the way clear for us to take the wagons down to the harbor and load the ship. Is everything ready to go?”

  “There are now two wagons full of treasure, Master. We are ready whenever you say the word.”

  “Good. When it is fully dark we will leave.”

  Pantoleon congratulated himself on having had the foresight to not only steal treasure but to vacate the palace the night before. Had he not, he knew that he would now be in a cell along with Andronikos. That man was as good as dead, and Pantoleon had no intention of remaining any longer than necessary. It was a pity about the girl and her brother, but saving his own life was a more pressing concern right now.

  After leaving the mob that was still milling around in the gardens and scrounging some food at the nearly deserted palace kitchens, Alexios and Stephan headed for his family villa. They had found some clothing strewn on the floor of the kitchen and eagerly exchanged it for their rags.

  It was late after noon by the time they arrived at the street which led to the villa’s gates. Alex hobbled down the street filled with anticipation at finally going home and surprising his family. But then he stopped. Walking ahead of them some distance away was someone he recognized. He snatched at Stephan’s sleeve, almost tearing it, and dragged him into the recess of a gateway. He stifled the startled yell of his companion with a finger on his lips.

  “What is it?” Stephan exclaimed with surprise.

  “Watch that man ahead of us! I know him.”

  His guess was confirmed when he saw Gabros turn right and walk into the family villa. It was the man who had brought Theodora to his cell. There was no mistaking the walk and the profile. Alexios sagged against the wall, trying to think.

  “Who is that?” Stephan asked him, looking confused.

  “He is the man who works for Pantoleon, the sadistic monster you knew as Exazenos! They never caught him, did they?”

  Stephan shook his head. “In all that confusion he must have slipped away.”

  “Well, now I know where he slipped away to. That is my father’s villa, and he is there.” Alexios turned a tortured face to his companion. “There is every likelihood that my sister is there too, a prisoner of that scab.”

  “There is nothing we can do without help,” Stephan told him. “It is no good trying to get anyone to risk their lives to storm a property when easy pickings are to be found in the palaces tonight. We will have to wait until morning.”

  “Every minute we wait will be a torture for me until I have my sister back,” Alexios groaned.

  “Let’s at least see if you are right,” Stephan suggested.

  Taking great care not to be seen, they were soon close enough to the gates to see that they were well guarded by men who were obviously mercenaries. The guards were alert and watchful, which forced Alexios and Stephan to keep their distance for fear of attracting attention to themselves. Even so, one of the guards did see them and shouted an alarm. They bounded to their feet and fled; Alexios had no intention of being taken prisoner a second time. When he came back it would be with a large escort, and they would storm the villa. Better to find help and a place to rest before coming back in the morning.

  That night when the city had quieted, although fires still raged out of control and the looting of the palaces continued, a group of armed men escorted two heavily laden wagons out of the Kalothesos property and ground their way down the hill towards the Neorion harbor. Once there, the men hurriedly set about loading small boats with the cargo and rowing it out to a ship anchored in the still, dark waters. It took about four hours for all the cargo to be transported, and then the men themselves boarded the vessel for the last time. Gabros and Pantoleon went up to the after deck of the vessel and spoke to the captain.

  “Make sail immediately, we are leaving,” Gabros said.

  The captain growled some orders. Soon the sail was billowing and the rowers ready. The anchor was hauled up by two crewmen, and one ran back to inform the captain.

  “Anchor is up, Captain Nigel. We are free.”

  The ship slipped out to the middle of the Bosphorus with barely a ripple and set sail for the south. The stars and the loom of the land on either side were all Nigel needed to maintain his course and remain in the center of the Marmara sea.

  “Where are we heading, Master?’ he asked in his poor Greek.

  “We are going to Cyprus, Captain. There is a Komnenos royal there who might have need of my services,” Pantoleon told him.

  Alexios didn’t have much luck in finding people to help him with his cause. Interest only flickered when he described Pantoleon as the executioner of Andronikos and his right hand man in so many of the horrific crimes that had been inflicted upon the people of Constantinople.

  Eventually he and Stephan managed to find about thirty men, amongst whom twenty were self appointed soldiers from Isaac’s personal guard. Now that the emperor was imprisoned they were eager to find anyone else who might be implicated. The manhunts were beginning. Alexios sounded convincing, so they set off at about mid-day to arrest Pantoleon and his men.

  They arrived in the afternoon to find the gates hanging open and no guards. The group of men rushed along the deserted pathway to arrive at the house in a baying pack, hoping to surprise Pantoleon, but there was no one to greet them, not even armed men. It was very quiet and all the signs were that the property was deserted. Alexios was distraught. He didn’t really care where Pantoleon had gone, it was Theodora and his mother he wanted to find. He paid almost no attention as the disappointed men shouldered him aside and ran into the house, not even when some began to ransack the villa.

  They blamed him for the absence of their victim and it was all Stephan could do to calm the shouting men and explain that he and Alexios had spent months in prison as the victims of the very man they sought. Eventually the leader of the mob called a halt to their behavior and told his men to leave. He turned to Alexios, who was leaning against one of the pillars, still too exhausted to do much more than protest, and said.

  “I’m sorry for their behavior. I believe you were right, but he has gone now. A good thing that he has for his own sake, but don’t worry—we’ll find him if he is still in the city, just not today. Tomorrow that shit bag Andronikos will be brought out and tried for his crimes. You should be there to be a witness against him. He did you much harm by the look of it.”

  Alexios barely heard him. He slumped down on the floor in a daze. Pantoleon must have fled the city in the hours of darkness, and he would not be easily found. Stephan stayed with him when the others had left, and the silence of the house and property closed in on them.

  “What am I to do, Stephan? I do not know where she is, where that animal might have taken her!” he cried to his friend, beginning to weep tears of frustration and loss.

  To
calm him, Stephan took him outside to the garden. Alexios gestured towards a tree on the slope of the property. “I want to go there to think,” he said. “My father in his later years used to rest there. He would summon me and my mother and we would talk. He was not always an easy man to get along with.”

  When they arrived at the stone bench they noticed a three paces long strip of turned earth very near to the tree. With a sense of dread Alexios went to the small rise and knelt near it. There was no sign nor stone that might indicate what it was, but he was sure that it was a grave.

  Stephan sat on the bench and watched him until his attention was caught by a small, narrow, earthen bottle lying nearby. He reached for it and held it up for inspection. It had not been there long; there was very little dirt on it. He broke a wax seal, took off the cork stopper and peered inside, seeing a roll of paper. “Alex!” he called. “I have found something.”

  Alexios climbed stiffly to his feet and came towards him.

  “Here,” said Stephan. “You need to read this.”

  Alexios peered down at the paper.

  To whomever should find this: Know that the person laid to rest by this tree is my mother, Joannina. Respect her grave for the sake of her soul and yours. God will bless you.

  Alexios sat down heavily on the stone bench and looked down. “It is my mother,” he stated unnecessarily. “My sister buried her here, of that I am sure. Mama would have liked that; she is with Papa now.” Tears came and he wept. “Oh, Mother, but I wish God had granted us some moments together before this.” He put his face in his hands and sobbed.

  Stephan put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

  “Ah, Stephan, but these are terrible times. Why has God permitted such cruelty in the world?” Alexios cried.

  Having no answers Stephan could only shake his head. “At least she is at peace, my friend. I pray that your sister is not with that monster.”

  The next day the entire city of Constantinople, it seemed, was on the move. It was the day Androikos would be tried for his crimes against the people. Initially reluctant to go to the trial, Alexios was persuaded by Stephan.

  “It is possible the guards will have captured Pantoleon and you will be able to find out about your sister,” he told his friend.

  That morning, two days after his capture and maiming, Andronikos was dragged from his prison cell, having spent the time without food or water. Besides his missing right hand, one eye had been burned from its socket.

  Alexios and Stephan were witness to the barbarism of a mob gone crazy with hate and loathing. The former emperor of Byzantium was only half conscious when the guards brought him out to face the masses, mounted for some reason upon a scrawny camel. But that did not last long.

  If the officials had thought they might be able to control the crowd and ensure a civilized trial they were terribly wrong and caught completely off guard. The mob surged forward baying like hounds at the kill and dragged Andronikos off his mount, then began to beat him, stab him with spikes, and hurl excrement and filth onto his prone body. A shrieking woman poured boiling water over his head which made him jerk about in agony. The screaming and howling rose in volume as they hoisted their former emperor up by his feet high enough for all to see him hanging him upside down off some railings while they continued to torment him and abuse him.

  Alexios turned away in disgust, “I am revolted, Stephan, we must leave. I cannot watch this barbarism any more.”

  “He has died. Look, they have had their vengeance at last.” Stephan pointed to the still hanging body of Andronikos Komnenos, which no longer twitched or writhed but was still being abused by the maddened people.

  “How can people do this?” Alexios asked of Stephan as they pushed their way through the screaming crowd.

  “He received what he handed out, Alexios. Have you forgotten already the monstrosities he committed against us and our friends? He killed so many without a second thought, and most of them were in agony themselves before they died.” Stephan was angry now.

  Alexios shut his mouth. What he had witnessed today would stay with him for the rest of his life; he would never forget how cruel a maddened crowd could be towards one whom they judged to have betrayed them in the manner of Andronikos.

  One would think of blaming you

  For hesitating so.

  Who, setting his hand to knock

  At a door so strange as this one,

  Might not draw back?

  —Rainer Maria Rilke

  Chapter 23

  Chinese Powder

  A loud crash shook the walls of the castle, causing the women to look up from their sewing. The maids who had been cleaning the room flinched, but Rav’an smiled and called out, “Its all right, Anna, it’s just the men fooling about. Nothing to worry about.”

  Rav’an and Jannat looked at one another with raised eyebrows. “Those two are like little boys with a new toy!” Jannat said, as she calmly threaded a needle. She lifted her embroidery to inspect it against the light. They were on the northwest side of the bailey overlooking the magnificent view of the valley and the sea beyond. There was a distant explosion, then silence.

  “Let’s hope they have not killed themselves while playing their games,” Rav’an murmured. “Nor anyone else.”

  Down in the main yard of the barbican, Talon and Reza clapped each other on the back while Dar’an and Yosef danced about exultantly. “I have to say that I was not sure it would work, Brother, but it does. One more?” Reza beamed.

  Talon nodded happily. “Yes, and then we should test the Scorpions. I want to mount those on the ships, but we have to make sure they work first.”

  With the help of a very wary Palladius and Talon’s “engineers”, they prepared the trebuchet, which they had reconstructed after hauling its pieces into the confines of the castle, for another swing. It took several minutes for the huge arm to be winched back down to the point where they could load its unique cargo. Talon took Rostam with him as he went up onto the battlements overlooking the gates. Rostam was beside himself with excitement.

  “Does the emperor have any more of these weapons, Father?” he squeaked. His voice was breaking and was wont to embarrass him when he was excited.

  “I suspect he does, but we now have the advantage,” Talon informed him. Max grinned and ruffled Rostam’s hair.

  “Fear not, young warrior, your father and uncle know how to use these diabolical devices. Which is more than I do.” They settled against the parapet overlooking the barbican to watch the demonstration below.

  Gingerly, Yosef placed a small wooden barrel filled with Chinese powder in the sling. Then Reza waved everyone to step back. They needed little persuasion; men scuttled away to hide behind the walls of the barbican, but Yosef raced up to join Talon, Max and Rostam on the parapet. Only Dar’an stayed with Reza to assist.

  Reza looked up to where Talon and his little group were standing with a good view of the mountain slope to the south east. Max was making a determined effort to overcome his fear of the infernal devices. He could certainly appreciate their military value. Even old Simon had taken time off from his labors in the newly built gardens to watch—from a safe distance behind the walls, along with other curious watchers. They crossed themselves as they watched the men handling the Chinese devil’s powder, as most people in the castle called it.

  “Ready?” Reza called.

  Talon waved and called back, “Whenever you are.”

  Reza lifted a small flaming torch and touched it to the crude fuse sticking out of the barrel. The moment he saw it fizz and spark he stood back. Dar’an slammed a hammer against the release mechanism of the trebuchet, then they both dived for cover behind a thick wall. The giant machine jerked, the great arm seemed to hesitate for the briefest moment as though gravity refused to release it, but then it whipped up, rotating with tremendous power and speed. Its long arm slammed into the massive padded stop bar with a resounding crash that shook the ground. The sling was jerked forw
ard and hurled the barrel high into the air, twisting and turning, leaving a small trail of dark smoke behind as it soared away into the sky.

  The missile flew high over the walls hissing as it went. Everyone ducked reflexively.

  “Merde,” muttered Max, pulling a face. “I shall never get used to those damned things.”

  Talon chuckled and they all stood up to follow its trajectory. It seemed as though the barrel would stay in flight forever, but eventually it began to arc downwards, and then it fell very rapidly, becoming a small black dot. Just as it seemed about to disappear altogether there was a flash and a distant bang. It had landed very close to the flat space on the thin line of the trail that led up to the castle. Talon and Max peered down at the small dust cloud that rose on the hillside. Talon nodded to himself, satisfied. Should they ever have to fend off another attack, that was a good place for the missile to land. Right where the trebuchet used to stand.

  “This is a very formidable weapon and will serve to deter any more armies the emperor might be rash enough to send our way,” Max commented. Talon agreed. They were still standing there when Reza and Dar’an arrived on the ramparts.

  “How did we do?” Dar’an asked breathlessly before Reza could ask the same question.

  Talon pointed to the small dust cloud that had been raised far down the slope. “If we do this exactly as we did today, we will be able to kill, or at the very least terrify, men almost a league away, and there will be nothing they can do about it except run,” Talon told them.

  “Good,” Reza said, rubbing his hands with glee.