Tales of Byzantium

by Eileen Stephenson

  The Red Fox

  Constantinople, November 978

  Biting-cold November rain pelted the two soldiers approaching the Great Palace. The icy torrent did little to suppress the high spirits of Manuel Comnenus; his friend’s face, though, mirrored the gloomy weather. Comnenus announced their names to the palace’s guards with a jaunty air, unfazed by either the downpour or the prospect of being held to account for the recent complicated situation in Nicaea.

  Comnenus looked at his second-in-command, Gregory Poulades, clapping a hand on his shoulder. His friend had the twitchy look of a deer catching the scent of a hunter.

  “Buck up, soldier. What’s the worst that could happen?” he said, trying to encourage Poulades. He shook out his cloak, ignoring the musty smell of damp wool, and handed it to a servant.

  “The worst that could happen? Ya mean like being blinded? Or thrown into some dank prison cell? Or sent to the farthest reaches of the empire for the rest of our lives? Did you think I want to live in Cherson for the rest of my life?”

  Comnenus shivered in mock horror at the thought of Cherson, a bleak outpost on the far side of the Black Sea, close to the terrifying Pechenegs.

  “Cherson? You’re right, that would be the worst that could happen. Even worse than being executed.” He laughed at his friend’s grim expression before pulling him forward down the porticoed corridor leading to the Boukoleon Palace. He would not let Poulades see it, but his own thoughts swung between apprehension and confidence. Military decisions did not always make sense to those not on the battlefield, even if they could be explained.

  “You shouldn’t laugh. We surrendered Nicaea. They won’t be happy ’bout that.” Poulades smoothed his damp hair back away from his face, dripping rainwater onto the ground. Their heavy woolen uniforms—the deep red of the Exkoubitores taghmata—clung to their thighs under armor that clattered with every step.

  Comnenus forced a nervous smile. “Of course they won’t be happy about it. But we made the best of a bad situation. We gave the emperor time to regroup. We lost just a few of our soldiers, and what will Skleros have by the end of winter, eh?”

  The reality was Comnenus knew they could end up in Cherson; or they could end up dining with the emperor. The dice were still rolling. He had kept the rebel Bardas Skleros from Constantinople for a couple of crucial months. Perhaps less important to the high and mighty in the palace, he had also saved the local populace from the rebel army. The faces of those people, especially one small child, would have haunted him the rest of his life if he had not.

  They approached the reception room where Emperor Basil and his great-uncle, the Parakoimomenos Basil Lecapenos, awaited them. The parakoimomenos had been the one to send Comnenus to Nicaea, lacking any more senior officers. Manuel Comnenus had been second in command of the Exkoubitores, behind its domestic. The domestic had fallen ill with fever, leaving the palace with no alternative to young Comnenus

  The assignment to take on the defense of Nicaea had been the opportunity of a lifetime. Now, Comnenus had to answer for his decisions. He had no doubt his actions had best served the emperor. He just needed to get the emperor and parakoimomenos to see it from his point of view.

  The two men were led to one of the minor reception rooms in the Boukoleon Palace. Even in this subdued room, the emperor sat on a throne of ebony with armrests plated in gold before a mosaicked wall with Christ Pantocrator looming in fiery Pentecostal red-and-gold glory above him. Emperor Basil, a young man about five years Comnenus’s junior, lounged on his throne as he surveyed the two soldiers with hooded eyes and a guarded expression.

  The parakoimomenos had a more intimidating aspect. The man was not just the bastard son of Emperor Romanus I, he had served as the leading advisor to five emperors, was more than twice Comnenus’s twenty-five years, and was at least a head taller than Comnenus. Also, since his father had had him castrated in early childhood, his voice remained girlish while his words held iron. Altogether, the man presented a disconcerting image.

  The parakoimomenos, Basil Lecapenos, wielded the power of the throne on which his great-nephew sat. Even Comnenus’s untrained soldier’s eye could see the eunuch wore the finest black silk embroidered with gold imperial eagles. The man’s imperial red leather boots were embossed with some sort of swirling gold pattern, done at a cost Comnenus could only imagine. A large gold signet ring, inset with onyx, glittered on his right hand. His shoulder-length blond hair shot through with silver had been brushed and oiled to a gleaming sheen. Lecapenos’s icy blue eyes glared at the two soldiers daring to report the surrender of such an important city.

  Manuel Comnenus and Gregory Poulades made their obeisances before the emperor, who observed them silently. Comnenus took a deep breath and stood relaxed before the dais; the time had passed for worries.

  “So you’ve come to report your abandonment of Nicaea – the city I sent you to defend and hold,” the parakoimomenos stopped his diatribe to catch his breath before spitting out more, “and hold it against the rebel Skleros. Can you explain what happened?” he demanded in his high voice.

  Comnenus glanced briefly at Poulades. The poor fellow stood to one side, his face red and sweaty with worry. He looked back at the young man on the throne and the older man standing behind it. The emperor’s beard was a young man’s beard, pale and thin. The parakoimomenos’s face was as smooth as a baby’s, not a hair to hide the eunuch’s anger at losing Nicaea.

  “Yes, Excellency, I can.” He caught the emperor’s eye, a half smile flashing at young Basil for just a moment. The emperor spoke for the first time since Comnenus had entered the room.

  “Go ahead. I want to hear what you have to say.”

  The parakoimomenos scowled, but behind the throne, he was out of the emperor’s sight. Manuel Comnenus gave them both a direct look and began his story.

  ***

  Comnenus arrived in Nicaea in late September with about a thousand soldiers of the Exkoubitores taghmata and ten expert siphonatores with their equipment and chemicals for the defense of the city. They arrived a week before Skleros reached the area. The thousand experienced fighters of the taghmata were barely adequate for a city the size of Nicaea, but the contingent of siphonatores and their lethal Greek fire would prove invaluable. The parakoimomenos had been unwilling at first to release the siphonatores and their wicked burning potions, but the importance of Nicaea and Comnenus’s persuasive efforts convinced him.

  Skleros had been leading his army of six thousand men across Asia Minor toward Constantinople. He needed to capture Nicaea before attempting his assault on the capital. A talented and successful general, he became wealthy during the reign of the young emperor’s late uncle and predecessor on the throne, John Tzimiskes. Angered at his demotion under the new regime, Skleros retaliated by attempting to seize the throne from the inexperienced young Basil.

  A few days after the imperial army’s arrival, scouts sent to watch for Skleros and his men returned with word of their approach. Messages went out to the neighboring villages, and many inhabitants sought the protection of the city’s walls.

  People soon jammed the city’s gates and streets, carting in whatever possessions and foodstuffs they could carry. No one wanted to be in the path of a conquering army—sure to take anything they could find, killing and raping at will. The city’s population grew by at least a thousand souls.

  Comnenus ran a hand through his red hair, his voice hoarse from shouting instructions. He watched as his soldiers worked to find places for the many people to stay during the siege. Animals grunting and pissing everywhere, voices calling to each other, sweaty bodies competing for space, toppled carts, wailing children—it was the picture of chaos.

  In the crush of people, one child caught his eye. A small blond boy was carried by his father, his pregnant mother nearby. The lad, who rested his head on his father’s shoulder, looked on in confusion while the father comforted his tearful wife. The child looked straight at Comnenus, his blue eyes fearful
at the pandemonium. Comnenus gave the boy a wink and a playful grin. The boy gave a timid smile back before shyly burying his head in his father’s shoulder. At least one child would not be crying.

  A soldier called down from the ramparts, “Sir, smoke coming from the east.”

  He scrambled up a ladder to see that Skleros had set a village aflame. Soon others could be seen burning in the distance. People crowded the parapets of the city’s walls, crying and groaning over the destruction of their homes and farms in the distance. A pitiable sight, but he had no time for pity. Comnenus ordered the gates shut and everyone but soldiers to leave the walls.

  Nicaea’s fortifications consisted of a double moat in front of three miles of brick and stone wall, which stood at the height of five men, topped with over one hundred towers spread around three of its sides. The fourth side faced a lake; mole walls stretched out to protect the harbor, a heavy chain slung between their two towers. Skleros would find that way as daunting a challenge as the walls since what boats were not in the harbor had been burned to prevent their use in an assault.

  Skleros camped outside the walls the next day. His five thousand men built ladders and siege engines for his attack and scoured the nearby areas for food and forage for their animals. His men took whomever and whatever had stayed outside the city.

  Guards stood watch at all hours at the six city gates. The taghmata were not enough to defend the entire city; civilians needed to be armed. The rustic local farmers, angered at the loss of their homes, were not soldiers, but they were strong, eager, and learned fast. Sufficient men had to be assigned to each tower and the walls, no matter where Skleros attacked. Food supplies were assessed. The harvest had suffered from a late hailstorm, so grain supplies stood low, but the farm animals could be slaughtered, and for a time fish could be caught.

  Skleros attacked on a bright morning four days later. Hundreds of archers rained down arrows on the soldiers defending Nicaea’s walls. Under cover of the arrows, the heavily armored cataphracts and foot soldiers rushed to lean ladders against the walls. The rebels had the rising sun on the eastern horizon at their backs while it half blinded Nicaea’s defenders. Their archers could only return fire with difficulty, and Skleros’s men took the opportunity to attempt scaling the walls.

  Comnenus stood in the tower above the main city gate, sending rapid-fire orders to men along the walls. He was sweating in his armor despite the cooler fall weather. His stomach churned at the sight Skleros’s men approaching the walls, ready to climb. He sent Poulades to lead the men on the northern walls, then called to another soldier.

  “Maniakes,” he said to one of his lieutenants, “see where the ladders are to the south? Get the siphonatores along the walls nearest to them. Once Skleros’s men are halfway up one of them, they should start their attack. But make sure our archers are giving them cover; we can’t afford to lose even one of them. Understand?”

  The soldier nodded and disappeared to relay the instruction.

  The siphonatores had a cold, unnerving efficiency about their business. They lobbed the clay pots they had prepared onto the men scrambling up the ladders. Their venomous concoction, secured in the pots, ignited with relentless flames when it broke on impact with a man, a ladder, or the ground. Men spewed with the burning liquid fell screaming to the ground—dying or wishing they were dead. By midday, the attack had subsided.

  Poulades appeared at his side to report on the fighting north of the gate. He grimaced at the gruesome howls of their burning attackers while Comnenus surveyed the field.

  “I’d feel bad for the poor bastards ’cept I lost two of my best men to their arrows.” Poulades held up a handful he’d retrieved from the ground before shoving them into his own quiver to be reused. “One thing’s certain—if they keep this up, our archers’ll never run out.”

  “Looks like we have the day,” Comnenus said with an exhilarated grin. The rebels scurried to drag their injured or dead comrades from where they lay while Skleros’s archers gave cover but could do nothing more. “Skleros had the better position with the sun behind him in the morning. Don’t suppose we could induce him to attack in the afternoon,” he added drily.

  Poulades shrugged at the sight of the receding troops. “No, I don’t think so. But just because we have today don’t mean there’s not a lot of tomorrows.” The man’s relentless anxiety brought Comnenus the bite of reality he needed.

  The acrid stench of sulfur, pine resin, and burning flesh blew through the narrow arrow slit windows of the tower. Comnenus was grateful he knew none of Skleros’s men. It would have been worse to do this to men he knew; but they all knew the cost of war.

  This first sortie against Nicaea had been a test of the city’s ability to defend itself. Next time, Skleros would do better, seeking out any flaw they might have discerned today. But at that moment, looking out over the tiled roofs of Nicaea, Comnenus felt only the euphoria of a battle won.

  For the next few days, Skleros’s men continued to try scaling the walls, a few making it over before their capture at the guarded points on the walls without siphonatores. The siphonatores raced between towers, repelling the rebels with their noxious weapons. A few accidents with the clay pots occurred when carelessly handled, spewing their contents onto soldiers before the sand kept ready for such events doused the flames before they spread.

  After a week, Skleros gave up on the ladders and brought out the siege engines. Again, the siphonatores proved invaluable. They switched from their clay pots to the long katakorax tubes that sprayed the Greek fire the longer distance to the engines, incinerating them and any who lurked near them. Skleros would have been better off using the wood he built them with for kindling, as it left behind only ashes and splinters.

  After about two weeks of fruitless attacks, Skleros realized he could not take the city by force. Instead, he would starve them out with a blockade.

  Comnenus soon realized the animals and foodstuffs the farmers who crowded into Nicaea had brought with them would not be enough. Even with strict rationing, with almost nine thousand people to feed, including soldiers, it could not last long.

  People grew hungry. Chill autumn winds from the north blew in, and without regular deliveries from woodcutters outside the walls, fuel for heat and cooking grew scarce. Each day, Comnenus circulated throughout the city, trying to bolster the mood while keeping an eye on Skleros from the wall’s ramparts.

  “How long d’you think we can hold out?” asked Poulades at the end of October, about two weeks into the blockade. The two men strode down a narrow street to the next tower where soldiers stood watch.

  Comnenus shook his head. “Not much longer.” He glanced at a pile of leaves, blown into a neglected corner against the city wall. The old brown leaves must have been there for some time, dry and crackling and now covered with newly fallen bright red and yellow ones.

  “What are we going to do? Will the emperor send an army to relieve us?”

  Comnenus had no expectation of that. He had been sent because there were no others available. As he shook his head, the bright leaves on top of the pile sparkling in the sunlight distracted him.

  The two men were returning to their quarters when Comnenus noticed an intense discussion going on at the city eparch’s office, where rations were being distributed. A thin man held a small blond boy as he begged for more food.

  “My wife has just given birth. Don’t you understand, she can’t come for her share and she needs food for herself and the child,” the man said

  “Rules is rules. Everyone has to come for they’s share. No exceptions,” said the gruff official. He turned to the next supplicant, ignoring the man’s pleading.

  The small boy was thinner than he remembered, but Comnenus recognized the child he had seen the day Skleros had camped outside the city walls, burning the surrounding villages. The rationing had left him listless, although he glanced briefly at Comnenus, smiling halfheartedly.

  “Soldier,” Comnenus said to the of
ficial divvying up the foodstuffs.

  The man glanced up at him briefly, and then went to attention. “Sir, what’s it I can do for you?”

  He gestured to the man with the boy. “You can make sure this man has food for his wife, who just had a baby.”

  “But, sir, if I—” the soldier began.

  “Soldier,” Comnenus growled at the underling. “Do you really expect a woman who’s just given birth to crawl to your desk? Give the man her portion.”

  “No, sir. Yes, sir,” he agreed with some reluctance.

  The man with the boy looked at the city’s commanding officer, confused at the unexpected intercession. Comnenus tousled the child’s hair as the father thanked him.

  ***

  Comnenus brooded over his choices as he tried to sleep that night. They could wait for the emperor to send troops to relieve them. Not likely. They could stay and slowly starve to death. Most likely, as things stood, but not good.

  There had to be another way. Comnenus thought back to the lad he had seen in his father’s arms and the pregnant mother. They reminded him of his own parents and the terrible time when war had driven them from their home with small children, his mother pregnant with him. His mother would never speak of that rough time, and it was a faded memory for his brothers. But there was that day he and his father had been alone at dinner and his father had told the story of fleeing in the night, fearful of the Bulgarian army passing close, without food for days. It was a small shadow on an otherwise untroubled childhood. That small boy and his parents reminded him of his own family then.