Tales of Byzantium

by Eileen Stephenson

  Crickets chirped outside, and his mind drifted into happier childhood memories, recalling the trouble he had gotten into as a boy—always playing tricks on his mother and brothers. He chuckled at the thought of how riled he could get his brothers and how he somehow managed to be some distance away when that anger erupted. They had called him “the Red Fox” in those days.

  Thoughts of the city’s troubles returned. His soldiers needed to get out of the city, and so did the people. Boats moored in the harbor could do it, but there were not enough for nine thousand of them, and they wouldn’t get far with Skleros’s archers out along the lake’s perimeter beyond the mole walls.

  Restless in the stifling air, Comnenus rose from his bed in frustration. He opened a shutter to let in fresh air. A handful of leaves blew through the window, some dried to brown, some still bright gold, spinning and tumbling in the moonlight. He looked down at the leaves, tired and confused, before returning to bed. Wrapping himself in his blanket, he fell into deep sleep.

  ***

  Comnenus opened his eyes at first light, alert and with every nerve in his body tingling. He knew now what he would have to do. It would be the biggest trick he ever played, but he knew it would work. He had not felt this sure of anything since they had arrived in Nicaea. He rose from his bed and went to the door.

  “Gregory,” he called out. “I need carts full of sand tonight.”

  He spent that day arranging for the carts and sand to be delivered to the warehouses under cover of night. Gregory Poulades had looked skeptical when his senior officer explained his scheme.

  “Skleros is not some kid. He’s been around and is not easily fooled,” he said.

  Comnenus shrugged and grinned. “So he’s cocky. Thinks he knows all the tricks. Might make it easier.” He had fooled his own brothers many times, and they should have known better, too.

  Two days later, the trap was ready to be set with the bait. Comnenus sent for a couple of prisoners taken when Skleros had tried to come over the walls. The men approached him warily, chains still on their wrists. One wore the insignia of Stratore, the commander of a fifty-man unit, while the other was a more junior officer. Comnenus made sure the door was closed, sat down with them, and poured wine into three cups. Warm loaves of bread on a platter and bowls of olives sat next to the jug. Now came the tricky part.

  He gave them an embarrassed smile before speaking.

  “I’m really sorry to have kept you in chains these past weeks. I hope you haven’t been treated badly.”

  The men glanced at each other over the rims of their cups as they drained them, looking perplexed at the unexpected solicitude.

  “We’re well enough,” said the stratore, a few gray hairs threading his beard. He put his cup down, his chains rattling as he did so.

  “Ah, I’m glad to hear that. And you, my friend,” Comnenus said to the younger officer, a brawny man with dark hair making short work of one of the loaves, “have you been getting enough to eat? You look like you have a healthy appetite. We’ve got plenty of food if you’d like more. I reckon the city can hold out maybe two years with what’s in the city’s warehouses.”

  Comnenus smiled, showing two mostly straight rows of teeth.

  “Well, maybe a bit more would not go amiss,” said the young man through a mouthful, venturing a smile back at his captor.

  “Of course, of course, I’ll take care of it today.” Comnenus took his own cup of wine and drank it down with gusto. “Even if we fight on different sides of Nicaea’s walls, it doesn’t mean we are truly enemies.” He refilled the three cups.

  “How’s you mean? We fight for Skleros; you fight for the emperor,” said the older man, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  Comnenus snorted. “Just because I fight for the emperor doesn’t mean I’m his man. My ma’s family came from Skleros lands; that’s where my loyalty is. But the emperor and that uncle of his have my younger brother under lock and key at the palace. They said he would be their ‘guest’ while I am fighting, but we know better, don’t we?” he said with a disgusted frown.

  The older man shook his head as he popped an olive into his mouth. “Bad luck for you.” A moment later, he spit the pit onto the floor.

  The younger man nodded agreement. “Too bad you couldn’t jump over to our side.”

  Comnenus sighed and gave a small shrug. “I could never abandon George; he’s my only brother. I’ve thought over and over about how to get out of here, find some way to get him out of the palace, and join up with Skleros, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to do it.”

  He poured more wine into empty cups.

  The older man had a sentimental look on his face. “Had a younger brother named George meself. We was always fighting, but anyone try coming ’tween us, they got the worst of it. He died fighting the Persians, maybe ten years back.” He tore off a corner of bread and began to chew.

  “So you know how I feel,” said Comnenus in an appropriately somber voice.

  “That I do, sir, that I do.”

  The conversation lapsed as the three men sipped their wine in contemplative silence.

  Comnenus slapped his cup onto the table, startling his two chained companions.

  “I’m so glad we had this conversation. Talking with you has made me realize I can’t continue this way. I have to find a way to get my brother free and join General Skleros. I can’t spend my life fighting for that prancing eunuch and the green child he’s put on the throne.”

  The older man belched softly and frowned. “Not sure how’s to be done.”

  “I think I’ve an idea that might work. Tell me what you think. How about if I let the two of you return to Skleros and you tell him I’m willing to leave Nicaea with my men—just let him have it—if he lets us leave undisturbed. Then, once I’m back in Constantinople, I’ll get George free from the palace and be back here, reporting to General Skleros.”

  “Won’t the emperor wonder why you gave the city over?” the younger officer asked skeptically.

  “You’re right. He will ask. Maybe my plan won’t work.” Comnenus, deflated, put his head in his hands and bent over, elbows on the table, the problem defeating him.

  “How’s ’bout you tell him the city ran out of victuals? By the time truth comes out, you’ll have George and be gone,” the younger man suggested helpfully.

  “That’s right,” said the older man. “And you’ll do General Skleros a good turn, too. He’s got men to feed, and he’ll be glad of the grain you’ve got stored. Once you’re back, he’ll be sure to show his gratitude.”

  Comnenus was elated at the suggestion. The conversation could not have gone better.

  “I wish I’d known you two all my life. That’s a brilliant idea,” said the man known as the Red Fox in childhood. “But the general will have to let me and my men leave in peace and, of course, anyone in the city who wants to go with us. Otherwise, the emperor will figure out my trick. D’you think Skleros’d be willing?”

  The two soldiers nodded in earnest.

  “You send us out to him, and we’ll be sure he gets the word. You’ll have your George afore Advent comes.”

  Comnenus sat before the two men, brow furrowed, seeming to give their words grave consideration. Then he shook his head.

  “Can’t do it. Too chancy. S’pose Skleros doesn’t believe you? S’pose his army slaughters us on the way out? My friends, I can’t take the risk. Better to sit here for the next two years until the food runs out.”

  The two men protested, seeing their chance of freedom slipping away. “No indeed, sir. We’ll vouch for you.”

  “No, I can’t. He won’t believe you.” Comnenus looked crestfallen. “My men trust me. I can’t risk their lives.”

  “I know,” said the younger soldier. “You send us back to the general with a few sacks of grain. It’ll show him you have food to last years. And he’ll be glad to pull a trick on that eunuch in the palace. He can’t stand the bastard.”

  The grizzled
stratore scratched the side of his face, considering his subordinate’s suggestion, before giving a nod of agreement.

  “He does hate the fellow, makes no secret of it. General’d be happy to pull one over on him.”

  Comnenus painted a dubious look on his face before seeming to come around reluctantly. “I guess we can try it; see what happens.”

  The two men relaxed, looking pleased at their ability to persuade this erstwhile enemy. Comnenus almost felt sorry for them, knowing this trick would end any hopes they might have of promotions.

  Within a few minutes, the two men were unchained and out in the city’s narrow winding streets, following Comnenus on a circuitous path to the grain warehouses.

  “I don’t want to arouse any suspicion, so we’ll go to three different warehouses and get a sack from each,” he confided to them.

  The men waited outside while Comnenus retrieved the sacks. Even from the outside of each warehouse, their eyes bulged at the sight of the large wooden bins filled to the brim with tawny grain.

  Comnenus clapped a hand on each of the men’s shoulders at the city’s main gate.

  “Be sure to tell the general everything I told you. He can signal for a parley, and I’ll come out to make it official. If he agrees, of course.” Comnenus looked apprehensive.

  “Not to worry, sir. He’ll agree,” said the younger man, full of the wineskin’s confidence.

  Comnenus nodded and closed the gate behind the two burdened men. He stared at its heavy oak beams with an excited gleam in his eyes.

  Poulades stepped out of the shadows where he had watched this part of the performance, shaking his head. “They seem convinced.”

  One side of Comnenus’s mouth twisted up as he glanced at Poulades.

  “I think so, too, but we’ll know better tomorrow.”

  ***

  At sunrise, a message arrived for Comnenus asking him to meet with Skleros in the field between the camp and the city walls. A cold rain drizzled when the two men rode out for their meeting.

  The general, a burly man in his mid-forties, wore a heavy cloak over his polished armor. He gave a curt nod at his opponent, sizing him up. Comnenus saluted, pasting an anxious look on his face.

  “My men tell me you have family from my lands.” Comnenus knew Skleros had to first ascertain whether he really had any connections.

  “Yes, my mother’s family was Erotikos. Perhaps you’ve heard of my uncle Isaac? He sponsored me when I joined the Exkoubitores. We were close,” he said, mentioning the only relative he knew from that side of his family, who was fortunately deceased.

  “Ah, yes. Isaac Erotikos was a good man,” Skleros said with the air of a man who barely recalled the avuncular Isaac. He pondered Comnenus for a moment, the leather creaking as he shifted in his saddle. “How is it your brother found himself as a guest in the palace?”

  “We’ve no other family left but each other. My parents wanted him to enter the Church, and he’s only fifteen, so I got him into the Hagia Sophia’s school. That cursed eunuch has spies everywhere; George was snatched away to the palace even before I knew I’d be sent here.” No harm in spreading the aroma of incense around.

  Skleros chewed on the side of his mouth, thinking. “How much food is left in Nicaea?”

  “I reckon we have enough to last through a siege for two years. Your men saw our grain bins yesterday.”

  Skleros squinted at him, weighing his choices.

  “So you want to leave the city to me, with warehouses full to bursting, so you can extricate your brother from the bastard’s claws. And then you’ll return to fight for me?”

  Comnenus’s voice cracked with a soft, desperate moan. “It has to. I need to get him away from the palace. I just need a little help from you.”

  Skleros’s brow furrowed at this show of emotion before coming to a decision.

  “You, your men, and whoever wants to go with you can leave tomorrow at first light. Take only what you can carry; I don’t want a city stripped of provisions. Once your brother is free, be back here with him. I’ll have a place for you both.”

  Comnenus’s face broke into a relieved smile.

  “Yes, General. You can be sure I’ll be back as soon as I have him. Thank you.”

  The two men parted as the rain grew heavier, both eager to reach shelter. Comnenus would not look at Poulades until he stood with the city’s gates shut behind him. Then he dismounted and leaned against the rough stone city walls, laughing exultantly.

  Poulades stared at his commander, incredulous at what he had just seen.

  “You have balls made of iron.”

  Comnenus wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Did I ever tell you I grew up with three older brothers? I pulled tricks like this on them all the time. I haven’t had this much fun since my brothers fell for them.”

  “Hmm. It’s a miracle you survived.” Poulades looked around the street leading from the gate. Only a few forlorn souls had ventured out in the cold rain. “I guess I need to get word out to leave tomorrow.” Poulades pulled up the hood of his cloak and started toward the barracks, shaking his head in amazement.

  ***

  The first gray light of day saw the streets of Nicaea thronged with soldiers and the multitudes seeking to leave before Skleros’s men arrived. Poulades and a few men were doing their best to keep order among the confused and frightened civilians while Comnenus made sure the fighting men would be ready should Skleros turn the game around.

  He was shouting orders to the siphonatores when he noticed the young family he’d seen that day in September when the rebel army arrived. The small blond boy was yawning in his father’s arms while the young mother, holding a tiny bundle close, looked exhausted. Still weakened from childbirth, she would not have the stamina to walk as the others would.

  He whistled over to Poulades. “We need a cart for the women with babies.” Poulades gave his commander a harried look and nodded.

  “And one for the old and sick,” Comnenus added, noting several stooped elderly people walking with their canes.

  Poulades sent a few soldiers looking for mules and carts, and within an hour, the exodus from Nicaea began.

  The road out of the city was blessedly paved for about a mile, relieving the procession of the need to slog through mud. On either side of it, Skleros’s army stood watching them, his men calling to the imperial soldiers to join them. Comnenus’s men made the same invitation back.

  Comnenus rode at the front of the cavalcade, his face a mask of defeated military formality. The victorious Skleros, wearing a black leather corselet embossed with gold eagles, watched the departure from astride an armored gray stallion. The animal snorted and pawed at the ground in the morning mist. Comnenus saluted respectfully to the triumphant general and nodded to his two recent prisoners, who stood close by Skleros, looking pleased with themselves.

  As they passed General Skleros, a few of the emperor’s soldiers were heard loudly grumbling about why they were abandoning the city when it was so amply provisioned. Comnenus looked back in time to see Skleros give a nod of satisfaction on hearing those complaints. The procession out of Nicaea went on until mid-morning before finally passing out of the rebel army’s sight.

  ***

  Poulades spurred his horse forward to join Comnenus when they reached the unpaved road. Already some of the braver civilians had begun peeling off to return to their homes—or what was left of them.

  “How long before Skleros realizes what you’ve done?” he asked.

  Comnenus peered at him, the side of his mouth twisting up while he considered. “Maybe a day or two, if we’re lucky. Unless those two soldiers have the instincts of a hunting dog, it’ll take them that long to find the warehouses. I’m not sure I could find them again myself after the labyrinthine path I took them on. So we’ll have a decent head start.”

  Poulades still looked anxious. “Aren’t you worried about the palace? They expected us to hold Nicaea.”

  “That�
�s what they said. But what they really wanted was to stop Skleros from reaching Constantinople. We held him for over a month, past the end of the fighting season, and now all he has is an empty shell of a city. Won’t do him much good. And the whole of the empire will be laughing at him. What could be better?”

  Poulades shook his head. “Hope you’re right. If ya aren’t, we may need to look for another profession.”

  ***

  Manuel Comnenus stopped speaking, interrupted by servants lighting lamps as sunset approached.

  “So what did you show those soldiers?” asked the emperor.

  “The usual grain bins. But I had them mostly filled with sand, then we covered the top of them with a little grain to make it look like we had plenty. I didn’t let them get too close.”

  The emperor and the parakoimomenos glanced at each other, their mouths twisting up before breaking into hilarious laughter. Comnenus thought he would never get used to the sound of the eunuch’s girlish guffawing, but had the wisdom to keep his face blank.

  “No one will want to join Skleros now that he’s been made a fool of,” the parakoimomenos said.

  The emperor grinned at the two men.

  “You’ve done me and the empire a great service, and I’m grateful. You must join me at dinner this evening and tell me more about the siege. I wish I’d been there.”

  “We’d be happy to join you,” said Comnenus.

  “Oh, and bring that famous younger brother, George, too,” said the emperor in afterthought.

  Comnenus’s eyes sparkled playfully before he confessed, “Sire, that would be impossible. You see, I have no younger brother.”

  Author’s Note:

  Emperor Basil II reigned for almost fifty years and became one of the most militarily successful Byzantine emperors. The elder of the two grandsons of Constantine Porphyrogenitus and his wife, Helena Lecapena, he left the empire with strong borders and a full treasury. His one great weakness was a lack of good, or even any, succession planning, and he was followed by a string of greedy and/or incompetent rulers.