Storms of Retribution

by James Boschert

  Zenos nodded. “Very well, try me.”

  “I am here because of the gold that disappeared from the treasury in the City,” Aeneas said, watching for a reaction. Zenos didn’t disappoint him; he sat forward and looked shocked.

  “Are you… are you telling me that the gold we are getting from this Talon fellow is the gold from your treasury?” he whispered.

  “It is very possible. Didn’t anyone tell you that Pantoleon emptied the treasury before he disappeared? How it managed to find its way to that castle on the hill is anyone’s guess. That is, if it is indeed the same gold. We—you need to check up on that. I can show you how it is marked, and you could verify it.”

  Zenos leaned back, looking very thoughtful. After a long pause he said, “First steps first. I shall verify the markings. I have the authority to do that.” He paused. “Then we talk, you and I.” His tone was ominous, as was his expression.

  “Yes, we should talk,” Aeneas retorted. “I will tell you then what else I know about Pantoleon.”

  Zenos wondered impulsively whether he should just arrest the man then and there and extract that remaining piece of information from him in the dungeons, but then that would mean the senior advisers and the Emperor himself would be party to the news. So instead he simply glowered at Aeneas and said, “Very well. We will meet again to discuss this, and I shall know by then from where the gold originated.”

  Aeneas sketched an image of the markings he might find on the gold bars for him, and they took their leave of one another, eyes locked and distrust written all over their faces, rather like two hyenas backing off a kill but with the promise they would be back. If Zenos could have worn a snarl and bared his teeth he would have. Aeneas just looked apprehensive.

  *****

  Dimitri was informed of the visit by his men who were scattered around the villa. Khuzaymah, one of Dimitri’s best hoods, reported.

  “It’s just like old times at the villa, but this time there are not as many guards, and the two that I have seen are half-wits,” he informed Dimitri. “But who is this Zenos, and where does he come from?”

  “Well, his father is a moderately wealthy merchant who has been sucking up to the Emperor ever since Isaac got here. Every time Isaac picks his teeth he is picking that man’s nose!” Dimitri said contemptuously.

  “The new Chief of Information is not a complete cipher.” he continued thoughtfully. “I heard from Boethius Eirenikos of Paphos”—another of Talon’s spies—“some interesting things about the man. As a merchant, he has extensive contacts along the eastern seaboard, from the great City itself all the way past Armenia, Beirut, Tripoli, Tyre, and on down to Jaffa. They have informed him that Zenos is a native of Larnaca and spent much of his youth in Beirut acting as an assistant agent for his father’s business there. He got a reputation as a big spender and a man who indulged his tastes without much care. We should keep a close eye on him.”

  Both Dimitri and Boethius knew that Beirut enjoyed a flourishing illicit trade with Damascus. It was a city teaming with out-of-work mercenaries of all stripes rubbing shoulders with spies who served the interests of anyone who was willing to pay them in gold. This included pirates and the notorious Batinis, the Assassins who lived deep in the Lebanese mountains. Life was very cheap in Beirut, for there was no strong man to keep the peace. Hence it was with some trepidation that Dimitri and Boethius viewed Zenos in the position of Chief of Information. Isaac had simply returned from one of his trips to Larnaca with Zenos in tow and informed everyone of the new appointment.

  *****

  Glancing back at the villa, Zenos began to formulate a plan. He hastened to the palace and was admitted by the armed guards, after which he scurried down the steps to the labyrinth of corridors below ground. Walking down the steps to the cellars was not the most pleasant experience. The corridors were gloomy, some led to dungeons, others to storerooms like the treasury, and still others led to dead ends. They were for the most part unlit since the departure of Pantoleon, who had kept torches everywhere. There was an unpleasant smell of damp, but also something else that had permeated the walls. Zenos shivered. It was the taint of terror and residual stink of blood and feces. The horrendous stories that had percolated out of these dark chambers had spread far and wide. He knew of them, and felt cold.

  He steeled his nerves as he approached the doors which led to the treasury. There he demanded entrance to the rooms where the loot of Isaac’s empire was kept. The guard was respectful and permitted him passage into the inner sanctum of the treasury.

  Zenos took an already lit torch from a sconce outside the chambers and walked down a short corridor to another locked room. He had the sentry open the door, then told him to go back to his post. Alone, he entered the dark space and looked around.

  The room was not large but it seemed so, because the open chests, sacks and barrels of silver or copper coins did not in any way fill it. A trio of small, closed chests against the wall caught his eye. He raised the torch on high and strode over. Each small chest bore a seal similar to the image on the sketch Aeneas had given him. He tested one; there was no lock on the latch and it opened readily enough. He placed the torch in an iron sconce on the wall and returned to the chest. Lifting its lid, he gave an involuntary gasp.

  Inside, lying packed close together, were bars of metal; he had heard of but never before seen gold in this form. He was immediately drawn to their dull glitter. By his estimate they numbered somewhere between twenty-five and thirty bars, each one a full hand’s span long, two fat fingers wide and a knuckle deep, with rounded ends. They had all been cast from the same kind of mold. Zenos stared for a long time at the open chest, then reached down and opened the other. It, too, was almost full of gleaming bars. His heart began to pound rapidly. For anyone other than an emperor, who was supposed to spend it on his people, this represented a massive fortune! But then he remembered the words of the Ambassador. Almost the entire treasury of the Byzantine empire had been emptied out by the man Pantoleon. Zenos could barely imagine how many chests that must have been. They were clearly not all here. Just three chests!

  He bent down to examine the stamps on the top bars. The sketch was very accurate: the twin heads of the eagle were clearly marked on each bar, followed by a stamp that denoted weight. He lifted one of the heavy bars out of the chest. Its feel was unlike any other metal he had handled before. Involuntarily his hand gripped it. He stroked the bar with trembling fingers, which tingled with pleasure. On impulse he slipped the gold bar into his sash. One for a keepsake to hold. Why not? he thought. No one was going to challenge him for being down here. They would not know if just one was missing. He repositioned the remaining bars to even out their spacing.

  He realized that he could not tarry for long; the sentries would become inquisitive and come looking if he didn’t leave soon. Closing the chests, he took up the torch again and backed out of the chamber, shutting the door behind him. His mind in a fevered dream of imagined riches transported from Constantinople to this island, he exited the dungeons and made for his chambers. There he placed his newfound wealth in the back of a cupboard and sat down to think.

  His hands were shaking and his breath was short. The big question now was, if these were the tribute that man Talon paid to the Emperor, how many other chests were to be found up in that castle? Zenos was sure it was a fortune beyond imagining! The gold was without any doubt the property of the Empire of Byzantium; however, he was beginning to formulate some ideas of his own about its disposal.

  *****

  It was midmorning when Diocles knocked gently on the door to Tamura’s apartment. After a brief pause it was opened by her eunuch Siranos, who, upon seeing Diocles, immediately bowed very low. “My… my Lord! Er, her ladyship is still abed, my Lord,” Siranos stuttered weakly.

  “Who is it?” Tamura called from the bed.

  “My Lady, it is the Chief Minister,” Siranos called back.

  “Ah, my Lord Chief Minister, do come in,” Tam
ura replied, sitting up in the bed. “Siranos, go find Martina and tell her to bring some wine for the Minister, at once!” she commanded.

  Siranos vanished, and Diocles walked into the room almost gingerly. He felt he had cause to be wary. The stories that emanated from this chamber were tales of bloodshed, poisonings and other bizarre occurrences, which the rumor-mongering and very bored inhabitants of the palace, women, eunuchs and even the lethargic guards, shared in whispers.

  After bowing ceremoniously, Diocles began. “Dear Lady, I have come to discuss our new ambassador with you.”

  Tamura’s eyes widened with surprise, but she quickly regained her composure and smiled at him. “I am very honored to be of what assistance I can. Please make yourself comfortable.” she motioned him to a fabric-covered stool nearby.

  Diocles had just seated himself when the maid slipped into the room, carrying a tray of silver cups brimming with wine. He took one and silently regarded Tamura for a few minutes. The wine, he knew, originated from Lord Talon’s vineyard. Diocles had seen no reason why he should not share some of the wine with this very beautiful young lady, whom he regarded with real respect. She had, after all, managed to see off several Chief Information Gatherers, although the details were not clear as to how. He was almost sure that she had some kind of contact with the people on the mountain. He suspected Siranos, who was as slippery as an eel, might be her messenger; no one had yet been able to find out where he went during his infrequent forays to the city.

  She was aware of the scrutiny, but smiled at him in a friendly manner. “You are always a welcome visitor, Chief Minister,” she said.

  “Please, my Lady, call me Diocles. We are not on ceremony here,” he replied.

  “Very well, Diocles, what do you want to discuss regarding the Ambassador?”

  “I think that we have both decided that he is not to be trusted, and that his role is probably a front for something else,” Diocles said in a low tone. She nodded emphatic agreement. “Yes, a sly one, that’s for sure.”

  “There appears to be another angle to ponder,” Diocles said, sipping his wine slowly and watching her over the rim of his cup.

  “What would that be?” she asked, her eyes questioning.

  “My, er, my people noticed that our new Chief Information Gatherer went to the ambassador’s house yesterday and spent some time there.” Diocles put a hand up to forestall the exclamation on Tamura’s lips.

  “It is not a crime to do so, as he is well within his rights to investigate newcomers to this city, this kingdom, including ‘Ambassadors’. But… when he came back, he went below the palace and visited the treasury.”

  “Why would he do that?” she asked, sounding puzzled and intrigued at the same time.

  Diocles sipped his wine and paused before speaking again. “I asked myself the same question, my Lady. Do you remember the chest of gold that Exazenos brought to the Emperor that very first day?” he asked her.

  “I certainly do!” Tamura remembered only too well that remarkable day when Pantoleon crawled all the way along the carpet of humility while his two minions dragged a small chest along behind him. She remembered also the exclamations from the watching nobles and merchants as the chest was opened, and the more restrained shock and surprise of the Emperor himself. “I think the gasp of awe was heard all the way to Paphos!” she retorted. “What has that got to do with…?” Her expressive eyes opened wide as it dawned on her.

  “The ambassador is here to find out about the gold?”

  Diocles nodded, his eyes squinting thoughtfully. “It is very possible. For some time now I have known that the gold was stamped with the mark of the Empire. It wasn’t hard to figure out that Exazenos might have stolen it, and indeed the rumors coming from the City tended to strengthen that theory. But the second and third chest definitely came from the man on the mountain. Talon!” he said with emphasis.

  “So soon after the disappearance of that dreadful man, too.” Diocles was pensive. “A couple of chests of gold is one thing, but if there were more… much more, that is another matter altogether.”

  “Where could it be, if there is indeed more?” Tamura asked, sounding skeptical. “You have just implied that there isn’t much of it here in the palace, just three chests? Does that mean…. No! Lord Talon has the rest?” She put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh my good God!”

  Diocles nodded the affirmative. “It is just possible that those two, Zenos and the Ambassador, put two and two together and came up with the same answer,” he responded. “Or they are about to do so. Lord Talon needs to be warned.”

  But neither volunteered the information that they had a direct line to the man on the mountain; they looked at one another with an awareness that they were now perhaps allies in this affair.

  Diocles looked very pensive, as though he wanted to say something else but was hesitant. Tamura, observing his expression, asked him, “You have something on your mind, Lord Diocles. What is it?”

  “I was just wondering… no, perhaps not. It is too dangerous.” He sighed.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded, her curiosity piqued.

  “This Ambassador might be more likely to impart information to a woman than a man. We need to be able to incriminate him with his own words somehow,” Diocles said slowly. He raised his hand. “Of course I don’t mean you, my Lady.”

  By now thoroughly intrigued, Tamura pressed him. The old man took a swig of the wine and pretended to be reluctant to go on but finally said, “He appears to be shy. Most visitors, male visitors you understand, would have visited a house of… er….”

  Tamura laughed. “A whorehouse, Minister?” she asked.

  “Um, yes, but there has been no indication of that kind of behavior, not as yet anyway,” Diocles said. “So I wondered if he might just open up to someone of the fairer sex if it could be arranged… very discreetly,” he finished. Tamura laughed again. It was a pretty sound.

  “Ha ha! A woman who just happened to encounter him in the street, perhaps?” Tamura leaned forward and patted the back of his hand. “You leave it with me and I shall see what can be arranged,” she told him.

  “I urge you to use the utmost discretion, my Lady,” Diocles cautioned her; then he retired to his rooms, well satisfied with his mission. Tamura was still naive enough to be maneuvered. However, he warned himself, she was not to underestimated. He was fairly sure that she’d had murdered at least two people who’d crossed her, including a previous Gatherer of Information. That made her someone to be wary of.

  _____________

  Chapter 7

  Palace Games

  Wild nights—Wild nights!

  Were I with thee

  Wild nights should be

  Our luxury!

  —Emily Dickinson

  Zenos didn’t waste any time after his visit to the treasury. He took an escort, as the streets were no longer safe for a lone man dressed in palace garb, and arrived at the gates of the ambassador’s villa late in the afternoon, where he demanded entrance. He more or less stormed into the main living chamber, where he found Aeneas eating supper.

  Overcoming his initial fearful reaction to the manner of Zenos’s entrance, Aeneas played the diplomat and beckoned his visitor to the table. “Join me, Chief Information Gatherer, I am once again enjoying the food of this country.” He waved his hand over the table, strewn with chicken bones and other detritus. “I have never tasted such figs in my whole life!” he exclaimed enthusiastically.

  Zenos was not in the mood for niceties, so he ignored the comments and the food and addressed Aeneas sarcastically.

  “So, Mister Ambassador. You are here to further the relations between our countries?” His loud voice brought one of Aeneas’s dangerous-looking men, who had been hovering nearby, to the entrance.

  “Is everything all right, Master?” he inquired.

  Aeneas looked a little pale but kept his calm and waved the man off. “It’s all right, Macrobius; we are just ta
lking,” he said. The man nodded and withdrew, but remained near the door. Zenos shot him an irritated glance.

  “As I said earlier,” Aeneas said calmly enough, although he had stopped eating. “I am here for another reason. I am here for the stolen gold.”

  “I could arrest you here and now as a spy and lock you up in one of our dungeons,” Zenos hissed.

  “Yes, you could do that, but sooner or later the word would get out, and then what? The Emperor is very interested in this matter; if I do not return, he has other people who would hear about my incarceration. Imprisoning an official envoy, even such a humble one as myself, is a mark of contempt for the Emperor who sent him. That would annoy Emperor Isaac Angelos, possibly even provoke him into contemplating, shall we say, punitive actions? Even a small naval fleet would overpower your puny little forces, and pop! The whole island is back in the fold and you are a guest in one of his dungeons. I don’t recommend that approach, but…”

  Zenos was silent for a long moment. Taken aback by this unexpected show of teeth, he was forced to rethink his plan. He had thought to simply get rid of the one man who could impede his scheme, but now it didn’t look so simple.

  As though reading his mind, Aeneas said in a very low voice, “There are other ways to do this, but only if we put our heads together—and trust one another.”

  “I’m listening,” Zenos growled.

  “Firstly, I take it that you have identified the bars and they do belong to the Emperor?”