I wonder if the chapters are getting too long. I'd like some longer updates in the future that cover more events, but I'm worried they'll get tedious.
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Thanks for the new chapter. Compelling. Eudokia is quite the character. She seems quite good at navigating the currents of power.
I agree with the others. The chapters are fine at the current length. For me, there is no problem with chapter length if the narrative or characters propel me forward.
But then again, I like writing long chapters....
I agree with the others. The chapters are fine at the current length. For me, there is no problem with chapter length if the narrative or characters propel me forward.
But then again, I like writing long chapters....
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Eudokia has a commanding voice and tone when she needs it.
So Kiev is turning into something more organised as well. Will be interesting to see how the two threads interweave
And the chapter length is fine
So Kiev is turning into something more organised as well. Will be interesting to see how the two threads interweave
And the chapter length is fine
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Chapter 3: Plebeians
Year of the Lord 867, April.
Constantinople, Eastern Roman Empire.
Year of the Lord 867, April.
Constantinople, Eastern Roman Empire.
The servant's hands, white and delicate, offered her the wine cup. For a moment, she felt tempted to be ashamed of her own. She looked at her arms, tanned by the sun, and her hands, strong from working the fields in the Macedonian mountains. No title could erase a lifetime spent cultivating the earth.
The empress mother smiled at the boy as he took the cup from the tray. Beside her, her husband busied himself carving a piece of quail. She took the cup without lifting her gaze from her plate. The servant stepped back a few paces outside the silk pavilion in the garden:
"You may stand here, lad..." said Iouliane, pointing to the shadow of the tent.
"If you do that, you'll ruin his life," said Bardas, her husband, masking his words with the cup at his lips. "Boy! Bring more quail."
The empress mother smiled at the boy as he took the cup from the tray. Beside her, her husband busied himself carving a piece of quail. She took the cup without lifting her gaze from her plate. The servant stepped back a few paces outside the silk pavilion in the garden:
"You may stand here, lad..." said Iouliane, pointing to the shadow of the tent.
"If you do that, you'll ruin his life," said Bardas, her husband, masking his words with the cup at his lips. "Boy! Bring more quail."
The servant halted halfway and, after a bow, withdrew to fetch the quail from the large table by the pond.
"Ruin his life... that's a bit much..." Iouliane had no intention of contradicting her husband in front of others, but she was irritated.
"Knowing you, you'll end up taking a liking to him. You'll do him a favor, and then another, and another..."
"What's wrong with helping someone?"
"That someone already has their own life, with friends and enemies. I don't want us getting mixed up in those things. What matters is that ours are well. And we are well now," he said, spreading his hands to show his purple tunic.
Iouliane looked at the pond. Carp stirred among the lilies as a statue of Poseidon spouted a stream of water. Time had weathered the marble slightly, but the half-naked figure still looked alive. The tense muscles of the arm held a trident pointing towards the emperor. Dressed in purple, he walked on the other side of the pond accompanied by generals, courtiers, and servants. Iouliane stared into the statue's eyes, covered in withered moss. It seemed to her that the demon was staring at her from within. She crossed herself.
"How could great Constantine allow pagan statues in the city of God?"
"He was pagan... at least at the beginning, Sebaste," said Konstantia.
She had come with her son to Constantinople. It had been a long journey from the Thema of Paphlagonia, north of Anatolia. But her son had received confirmation as the emperor's strategos. It was something she felt proud of. She looked towards the emperor and could see Andronikos a few steps behind the imperial marshal, at least for now... she thought to herself.
"He was a virtuous pagan... if such a thing exists," she continued her discourse. "So much so that in the end, he saw the light of Christ, but many of his artists did not."
"Couldn't the other emperors just tear these things down?" asked Iouliane. She had met Konstantia during the ceremony a few days ago, where Eudokia had been proclaimed Augusta. She had been struck by their similar hands. She was surprised that the woman had managed to educate herself despite her origins. Both had married minor nobles, poor enough to intermarry with peasants. But apparently, Konstantia's husband had allowed his wife to pursue that hobby of hers and paid for the books.
"I imagine the other emperors were not very pious Christians," Konstantia smiled. "None dared to strip the city of its pagan remnants..."
"Pagan remnants are valuable... They are what's left of Rome," Bardas looked at Konstantia over his cup. "And it's the emperor who decides what stays and what goes in this city. I suppose everyone has always understood that..."
"Yes, most of the time... though it's not uncommon in history..."
"Dead people? Yes... not uncommon."
Konstantia felt unsettled. What was wrong with that man? She gave him a smile and returned to her food.
Neophytos had been rising through the ranks of the imperial bureaucracy for some time, but the rebellion had catapulted him to the top. The emperor requested reports, seals, and letters. Many things had been lost in the fires. He had been there, by chance, in the archives. Since he was a child, he could memorize anything he read; it was natural for him, requiring no effort. When others couldn't find something, he remembered it. Now, he was the chancellor of the empire.
Every time he looked at the empress, he couldn't help but feel desire stirring inside him. Eudokia had received him in her private chambers; her high forehead adorned with a tiara. She made him stand, but that didn’t bother him. He liked talking to that woman.
—That girl... someone must have urged her to say those things. Her husband is always meeting with Marshal Konstantinos... That man is an intriguer, you can be sure of that...
—Konstantinos is the marshal of the empire, and the girl's husband is working very efficiently to locate the Tunisian fleet...
—I would appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt Augusta while she is speaking.
—I’m sorry, Augusta. —Neophytos noted that response in his mind.
—That... that girl... I’m sure she didn’t come up with that nonsense on her own. I want you to find out who put those ideas in her head.
—Wouldn’t it be better, Augusta, to put this matter in Stylianos' hands? He’s the Mystikos of the emperor. His network of informants is broader, and he’s more...
—I’m asking you.
—I would have liked to end by saying that Strategos Stylianos' network of informants is more effective for these matters.
Eudokia raised her eyebrows, surprised. Neophytos also noted that in his mind. The empress seemed to hesitate for a moment.
—Will you do it?
—I will... Augusta... —Neophytos looked at the woman. He felt that burning sensation moving once more. —I’ll do it because doing something for you is like doing it for the empire.
Neophytos could see the satisfaction, and also a certain relief, on Eudokia's face. He decided to take advantage of the moment:
—May I add something, Augusta?
—You may.
—Sometimes, the best thing is to let go of these things. If someone instructed the girl to say those things... then they have no weapons but the mind. The mind is a curious thing; one can think one thing today and another tomorrow. We Greeks are strange, prophecies are only understood when they come true... If you let it go...
—I’m not asking you to find out whether the prophecy is real or not, just who wrote it.
Eudokia stood up and extended her hand for him to kiss. Neophytos hurried to take her hand and allowed himself to hold it for a moment. He left the room thinking that he had agreed out of pure lust. It wasn’t that she was an especially striking woman, not without her jewels and silk. It was... that... power... and Neophytos was an ambitious man.
He knew why the empress was so displeased with the marshal. He also knew why she was so willing to believe that the marshal had come up with that. Anyone in Constantinople who was no less than five years old could know that. That prophecy... it was a good political reading... accompanied by the usual mysticism... Sometimes it was easy to see the feelings beneath. The problem was the proof.
How could he prove that? First, he had to clear his mind, because the image of Eudokia, shedding the silk and tiara to kneel at his feet, had stirred him too much. He entertained himself thinking that, although he adored his new position, he missed being able to slip away. That led him to another quick thought. All men let their guard down in bed, even him. That place... was the type of place where someone like the girl’s husband might go. The kind of place that, for Niketas, with his well-known piety... Yes... all men had a pig hidden inside them... If Niketas let the pig out for a walk... there was only one place where he could wash it immediately, the man was known for his piety... Constantinople could be too holy, at times.
Kalanna could not wear purple; that was reserved for the imperial family. She wasn’t a foolish girl either; she knew that, no matter how much she desired such a dress, simply attempting it would have made her a traitor to the empire. But the diadem, the diadem was something she was allowed to copy.
First, she tried to convince her husband. Thomas was the only male child of the imperial marshal Konstantinos. When the man refused, Kalanna was overtaken by a fit of rage. She ran through the room, destroying furniture and threatening to kill him. In some strange way, those episodes always ended up convincing him. That’s how it had been when she asked him to marry her. The son of an illustrious house had refused in the darkness of the room. Kalanna exploded in fury.
Now she was sitting, having lunch with the Maniakis family. They had moved to the Blachernai district. Her father-in-law had made the decision. Konstantinos had to organize the defense of the Theodosian wall. The threat of the Tunisian fleet was becoming more pressing every day, and Konstantinos insisted that they would fall upon the city at any moment, most likely combining a land attack. Blachernai had its own wall, built as an extension of the Theodosian walls. There, according to her husband, they would be safer. Her father-in-law ate fish; the rest, vegetables. It was Friday, and her mother-in-law had agreed to break the fast, for Konstantinos had to be prepared if the infidel arrived in the city.
"After lunch, I want to go to Hagia Sophia," said Rhodokalle, eating and feeling guilty. "I want to pray—for victory and for our family."
"This family needs your prayers now more than ever, but it’s best if you don’t leave the Blanqueran walls," replied Konstantinos, worried. He assessed his forces. He had placed enough of his men in the right positions. If something went wrong...
The Blanqueran walls surrounded the Blachernai district. A fortress within a fortress. Very few aristocrats lived there; he had convinced Andreas and Niketas to move there as well. He looked at his son, wondering if he should tell him. Very few people knew about it. He would have to eventually. Better to take him to today’s meeting, better to inform him so he wouldn’t make any mistakes.
Rhodokalle nodded toward her husband; it wasn’t her habit to argue with him. Konstantinos was afraid everything might go wrong. Everything was so well planned—this would be his rise to the top. It couldn’t fail. He looked at his two daughters and smiled at them.
"Perhaps after lunch we could pray together in the chapel," suggested Kalanna, smiling at her mother-in-law. She wanted to earn her favor. When Thomas asked Konstantinos for the money for the jewels, despite appearances, it was Rodokalle who truly ruled the family.
As usual, Rodokalle gave her a smile and no reply. She had supported her son’s decision to marry, even if it was a commoner, because that was what God’s law dictated. She could not risk the soul of her only son being damned to hell. But when she saw the girl—she was a dwarf. That had wounded her too deeply; she felt like the object of her peers' ridicule. She chose to nod and speak to her as little as possible. How much humiliation this family had endured. She looked at her two daughters. It had all started with Maria, the eldest.
Miguel the Drunk had insisted on making her his mistress. That girl who barely spoke, and who had been so thoroughly instructed in the importance of chastity, had once dreamed of making her daughter a nun so she could pray for her parents' souls when they were gone. The harassment was so intense that Konstantinos feared Emperor Miguel might take her by force. Rhodokalle opposed it with all her strength. She loved her husband, but at times, ambition could overwhelm him. She was terrified that he might agree to that aberration. Eventually, she got him to promise he would not turn their daughter into a harlot. He was an honorable man. He kept his word: he had appeared with that peasant who was Miguel’s favorite—the depraved one whom all of Constantinople whispered about, saying he joined the emperor in orgies and drunken revelry.
He had taken their daughter to live at the imperial palace, near Miguel. Maria had three children with Basilius—Rhodokalle’s grandchildren. Humiliated as she was by the situation, Rhodokalle refused to visit the Imperial Palace to meet them. And then, as if that weren’t enough, one day Maria returned home—without the children, divorced. The emperor had married his favorite to a barbarian woman who, it was said, was more open to common depravities. That man was now emperor—a man willing to use the sacred sacrament of marriage as a mere political coin.
Rhodokalle remembered to pray for her two grandchildren, Anastasia and Konstantinos, who had grown up under the care of that barbarian woman. The end of lunch interrupted her thoughts, and she rose to go pray. She heard the small hop her daughter-in-law made to follow her and walked on, listening to the little footsteps. They left the dining room and gardens behind. She knelt before the sacred icon of the Theotokos:
—You who are a mother, you who saw your son humiliated for the good of humanity... Save my children from this burden, allow my family to walk with pride and proclaim your name.
As she prayed, Kalanna asked for jewels like those of the Empress. She also asked that her mother-in-law speak to her. But at least the latter would not come anytime soon, because her mother-in-law stood and walked away quickly without saying a word to her, as usual.
She spent the rest of the day wandering through the halls. Her husband and father-in-law had gone out to visit the strategoi Niketas and Andreas, who had recently moved to the same neighborhood. She ran into Maria a couple of times, but Maria merely ignored her and walked past. Finally, after circling around, she reached the half-open door of Theodore’s room, the youngest daughter of the family.
Theodore had left the door open because she knew the dwarf would arrive at any moment. She was lying in bed, as usual. She had been born with a weak constitution, and her parents had the doctor examine her at least twice a week. She was also required to rest in the afternoon, when the sun was strongest. The illness hadn’t affected her spirit. Her pride remained intact; she quickly realized she was her parents’ last chance at having a properly married daughter. Still, seeing her thin body and enduring constant illnesses, despite her mother’s nightly prayers, made her view life with cynicism, despite her youth.
"You may come in," she said when she saw the small shadow cast. "If they just sent you to check whether I’m alive, you can confirm that I am."
Kalanna entered with a smile. Her father-in-law was too big a man, too busy with his own affairs. Apart from her husband, Theodore was the only family member she could speak to.
"I'm still alive," said Theodore.
"I'm glad to hear it. I’ve been wandering around, and I’m tired of embroidery."
"I'm not surprised. I don’t think commoners are very skilled in the art of embroidery."
"You’d be surprised… I’m bad at it, but I once saw a seamstress in Nicaea… That embroidery was from another world."
"Is it nice over there?"
"Depends on where you were. Where I was, it wasn’t very nice."
"And where was that?"
"In a monastery. You know that well enough."
"Yes… you were a servant in a monastery, and one day, while carrying water, my brother saw you and deflowered you. One day I’ll get the full story out of you. I can’t imagine my brother visiting many monasteries. Maybe I’ll visit it one day. My father and brother went to meet with Andreas. He’s the strategos in command there. A kind man, so they say."
Kalanna walked around, waiting to be invited to sit. She felt tempted, but chose to keep talking.
"Your brother doesn’t talk much…"
"No. He’s more into hitting things, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Or maybe you’ll be the one hitting him. There’s all kinds of people in this world."
"For someone so noble and—"
"—I know too much for someone so noble and delicate?" Theodore sat up in bed and gestured for Kalanna to sit down. The dwarf climbed into the chair, eager.
"Actually, I only know what I’m told."
"And who tells you?" Kalanna stroked the silk of her dress.
"The servants, the people at receptions…" She let the words hang to grab Kalanna’s attention. The girl was hungry for information. "The little liars who say they carried water in a monastery…"
Kalanna squirmed in her seat.
"I told you that’s the truth!" When Theodore said things like that, rage bubbled from deep inside her. She wanted to leap on her, but restrained herself. She knew she couldn’t risk upsetting her. She thought of the jewels she wanted.
"Too much fury in such a tiny body," Theodore let out an amused smile. "If you kill me, I won’t tell you what my father and Thomas are doing at Niketas’ house."
Kalanna leaned forward. Her husband had left without telling her. He never told her anything. Not even in bed. She remembered the first time he said something—she’d been startled, thinking he was mute.
"Tell me… tell me what they went to do…"
"I don’t know." Theodore burst into laughter and kept laughing as Kalanna stood, red with anger. The dwarf took a few steps toward her, then veered toward the door.
"Come… come… don’t be like that. I swear I’m telling the truth."
"I don’t know why you like torturing me."
"Because I like having an audience. I’m rarely allowed out, and when I am, and hear something, no one in this house cares to listen. Oratory is an art, since the days of Rome."
"You drive me mad."
"All right, all right. No more lies. The truth is, I don’t know. But I can imagine. The most obvious reason is they went to discuss defense details. You know strategos Andreas of Opsikion, in addition to being lord of the County of Nikeas, where your famous monastery is… he’s involved in the matter. Seems my mother’s prayers to God to save us from the Tunisian fleet aren’t enough."
"Is he single…? Are they looking for a husband for you?"
"Could be…"
"And Niketas?"
"Married… and what a woman."
"Was she at the Imperial Palace reception too?" Kalanna tried to steer the conversation back to the Empress’ jewels. She wanted a clear mental image for when she commissioned hers.
"Yes… she was there, as were all the great ladies of the Eastern Roman Empire. You weren’t there because you’re small, and my mother is ashamed to take you out."
Kalanna stood, trembling with rage again. She’d love to slap that skinny little girl.
"Okay, okay… forgive me. Ever since my father brought us here for greater security, I’ve been in a worse mood."
"I’m tired of your humiliation. I’m leaving before I hit you."
"You have small fists, but strong ones. You could break me into pieces without effort."
Kalanna turned to leave, not wanting to ruin her life completely.
"If you leave, I won’t tell you about Niketas’ wife… Turns out she said something to the Empress… something that made her take off her crown and hit her with it… the sweet and delicate crown of the Empress…"
"The Empress hit her? In front of everyone?" Kalanna stopped in the hallway, still facing away from Theodore.
"Not in front of everyone. They say she took her to the garden to do it."
"Did the crown break…? You told me it was very delicate, shaped like a laurel wreath."
"Laurel leaves, made of gold and small diamond inlays. They say the crown bent from the force of the blow. But people exaggerate all the time." She looked at Kalanna’s figure, her short hair tied in a bun. "I exaggerate all the time."
Kalanna leaned against the doorframe, exhausted.
"What did she say?"
"A prophecy… a prophecy about a widow and the Empire…"
"What? What did she prophesy?"
"I don’t know. It caused a small scandal. They took the girl out the back door… I mean the rear entrance, don’t get mad… But those things always come out in the end. My father will surely find out when he speaks with Nikeas. And Thomas too, not because he cares, but because he’ll have to listen. These things happen when you go visiting."
Thomas came back late at night. He’d listened to his father the whole way back, escorted by trusted soldiers. He was nervous, he had to admit. He thought it was just a meeting to review the defense of the Theodosian Wall. But after the meeting, they began speaking in hushed tones, and the topic of Niketas’ wife… that made him truly uneasy. As usual, he washed before going to the room. Let the servants massage him to ease the night’s tension, but he still felt uncomfortable. He locked the door behind him for safety. He saw his wife, seated, half-naked in the candlelight, ignored her and headed to bed.
"What did Niketas’ wife say?"
The question startled him. He walked straight to the bed and slid under the sheets.
"What did Niketas’ wife say?"
Thomas got under the covers and closed his eyes.
"Wat did Niketas’ wife say?!" Kalanna had had a very long day. She grabbed a chair and struck her husband, hidden under the sheets.
"Tell me what she said!"
Niketas stood up, aching. He moved toward his wife, lifted her, but Kalanna’s body was pure muscle. She kicked him hard, knocking the wind out of him; her dangling legs had hit his stomach.
"Speak, damn mute bastard!" Kalanna had fallen to the floor and was crawling toward him. That sight stirred his passion.
He rarely got aroused. He advanced with lust. Kalanna grabbed his legs, pulling hard. She climbed on top of him and began to hit him.
"Tell me what Niketas’ wife said!" She punched his stomach, knocking the air out of him. "Speak, degenerate! Speak!"
The sex was short and intense. Thomas was breathing heavily. He checked for visible marks. He had warned Kalanna that the day she left a visible mark would be her last; he’d warned her from the start. The girl was sobbing, biting her fists, lying beside him with her hair a mess. Niketas stood and slid under the sheets. Since the sound of her crying wouldn’t let him sleep, he decided to speak:
"My father won’t give me the money for the tiara. It’s too expensive…"
Kalanna cried harder. Thomas waited, but she didn’t stop. He needed silence. He needed rest.
"You know I manage the family’s accounts. I’ll do it for you. I’ll steal the money from my father. Little by little… It’s too much to take all at once… I’ll do it little by little…"
Kalanna lay naked on the floor, unsatisfied. She wiped her tears and looked at her husband, already asleep. She thought it would be easy to press a pillow over his head.
He opened his eyes, startled. He saw the contained rage:
"You’ll have a tiara like the Empress’… even if you’re .... a plebeian."
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I'm glad to hear it, and I'm also glad that Eudokia has an audience. She started out as just a character to introduce the world.
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Welcome!! kyiv will be around, but not in the near future, I must say. The original plan was to go there, but in the end, I settled on Constantinople.Eudokia has a commanding voice and tone when she needs it.
So Kiev is turning into something more organised as well. Will be interesting to see how the two threads interweave
And the chapter length is fine
Well, I've expanded more in this chapter. I hope it's not tedious. Your comments are always welcome and appreciated!
A great deal of politicking. Both more traditionally political and interpersonal. What a truly poisonous place Constantinople is
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Not at all, as long as you don’t update too often.
It was very interesting to read.- 2
Chapter 4: “The Feast of Saint George”
Part One – Year of Our Lord 867, April
In the third century, Emperor Diocletian had persecuted the Christians. In Cappadocia, a legionary named George—who, according to tradition, had saved a city and its princess by slaying a dragon—refused to renounce the faith. Tortured and mutilated, he earned his place in heaven through martyrdom. Since then, Saint George “Dragon-Slayer” had become the patron of soldiers. With the heretical Paulicians ravaging Anatolia and the threat of the Tunisian fleet looming over the city, the celebrations were especially grand this year.
The day began with a solemn liturgy in Hagia Sophia, where the new Patriarch read aloud the life and miracles of Saint George, reaffirming his ascension to heaven and proclaiming him Triumphant. The entire imperial family attended, as did the strategoi of the Empire, gathered in the city. The Emperor distributed alms in the streets, and the Empress visited monasteries accompanied by the Empress Mother. At midday, the Patriarch paraded along the city walls, carrying Saint George’s icon and sprinkling holy water.
The days when he had raised the imperial banner in the Hippodrome to rally the loyal were long gone. His brother had harshly scolded him for having left his wife and daughter at the mercy of the revolt. Now, he stood before the Emperor, enduring another barrage of reprimands:
—I'd like to know whether you left them behind simply because they were women, or if you would’ve done the same had it been my firstborn son.
—Your firstborn was in Macedonia with our parents.
The Emperor looked at his brother. His spies had assured him he’d had nothing to do with the revolt, but he still had doubts.
—What would you have done if he’d been in the city?
—I don’t know… I would’ve looked for him… I would’ve trusted that our brother Marinos…
—Trusted Marinos to collect the scraps, as always?
Symbatios remained silent. He was the youngest of the three brothers. Basilios had always been the leader, ever since their days working the farm. Marinos, more reserved, was the second: he had settled for very little ever since Symbatios was born. Symbatios, too, had resigned himself to living in Basilios’s shadow… until that day, when he saw the imperial banner waving and the men following him. Now, he hungered for glory.
—I made sure nothing happened to my nephew. I pulled back when the time was right.
—You decided not to take a risk, as always —Basilios replied, eyeing him. He didn’t like his brothers. He’d brought them to Constantinople at their father’s request, along with their cousin. But none of them could help him hold the city. They lacked courage.
—The Empire’s treasury won’t last forever, and armies won’t wait indefinitely. If the Tunisian fleet doesn’t arrive within a week, I’ll have to march east again.
Symbatios couldn’t help the glint in his eye. A regent would have to be appointed. His brother looked at him, smiling faintly, eyes narrowing.
—No… it won’t be you. I’ve already rewarded you for what you did. Eudokia will take the regency in my absence.
—Her!?
—Yes, her! —Basilios stood. He wanted to strike him but restrained his hand—. The barbarian will rule the city! I am now Emperor of the Romans! I won’t tolerate being contradicted ever again! You will speak to me with respect. And while I am gone, you’d best grovel properly every time the regent says a word to you.
—Yes, my Emperor.
After the argument, Symbatios went to complain to his mother. He had always done so, and she had always taken his side. But this time, Iouliane was not so sympathetic.
—Your brother is right to be angry. You should’ve protected the whole family.
—What do you think I did? If the city had fallen, that barbarian wouldn’t have had anywhere to hide. They would’ve dragged her from the Varangian quarter by her hair.
—The barbarian is the mother of your nephew. She is your brother’s wife.
—The barbarian will be regent when Basilios leaves for the east. She’ll rule over us.
The Empress Mother looked out over the gardens, so vast. The family farm could have fit in them many times over. She felt lost in the middle of it all… not her sons, though, or at least not all of them. It was, once again, the old childhood rivalries she’d had to mediate so often. She watched the servants moving across the lawn, setting up tables for the evening reception, laying white linen cloths, golden candelabras by the lake’s edge… and that dreadful statue of Poseidon.
—Your brother was chosen by God to bear thise burden that is the Eastern Empire...
—My brother slit Emperor Michael’s throat, and everyone hated the drunkard enough to go along with it.
Symbatios immediately regretted saying it. He saw the change in his mother’s face. The way the family had come to power still filled her with guilt.
—I pray God forgives him for that. I pray every night that He forgives him… and that our family doesn’t suffer the same fate.
Symbatios drew close, placing his hand on his mother’s shoulder, gently stroking her hair to calm her. He looked at the servants now raising the pavilions and lighting the candelabras as night began to fall.
—I’ll speak to her —Iouliane said, resting against her son—, so that you are treated fairly.
Eudokia hadn’t been alone since the day of the revolt. She had received her husband’s permission to appoint a Varangian man she’d recruited in the city as her personal bodyguard. His name was Bo. He was a man of few words, always in armor, with an axe hanging from his belt.
Bo waited outside the room when Iouliane arrived. The man especially disgusted her, more so after learning he was a pagan.
—I need to speak with my daughter-in-law.
The man didn’t bother to answer. He simply disappeared, closing the door behind him. A few seconds later, he reopened it and gave a guttural grunt to indicate she could enter.
Eudokia was in front of the mirror, smoothing her hair. Her skin was pale, freckled. Iouliane looked at her hands—delicate and firm.
—You could’ve picked a guard from the palace if you wanted protection.
—Half the palace guards tried to kill me in the very place where the pavilions for tonight’s banquet are now being raised. I know Bo won’t try to kill me… at least not until he learns the language and can understand when someone’s offering him a bribe.
Emperor Basilios looked at the rotating throne in the middle of the giant model. The device had made him dizzy during the first few days. Now he could move around the Empire with ease, watching the little white ships that marked where the Tunisian fleet might be. There were also the red soldiers in Anatolia: the heretics.
The Emperor could only be in one place. He needed the Church’s support… that pack of hypocrites who had prayed so long for someone to remove Michael from the throne. He’d done it, despite being his drinking companion. Now they were all horrified. Making up old wives’ tales—like the prophecy from Niketas’s wife. She had simply overheard her husband speaking with other nobles, and her wretched imagination filled in the rest.
It was always the same in Constantinople. The Empire had declined too far. Too much had been lost since the desert men rose and since the Bulgarians—now claiming to be Orthodox—came nearly to the gates of New Rome.
He could do it. He wanted to do it. First, march east and secure a new frontier. Then turn against the Bulgarians and, who knows, perhaps cross into Italy and reclaim the old city. It was a titanic task, but he felt young. He only needed that nest of vipers swarming the city to stay quiet.
Behind him, he heard a servant enter:
—My Emperor, the Mystikos Stylianos is here.
—Let him in —Basilios replied, not taking his eyes off the model.
Stylianos slipped in silently. He saw the Emperor observing the model with shining eyes. He had risen to chief of spies thanks to his ability to do what was asked and never speak of it again. He waited for the Emperor to address him.
—Everyone thinks I’ll leave in a week, but I’ll depart the night after Saint George’s feast —said the Emperor, handing him a bundle of sealed documents—. Appointments. I’m naming you castellan of a section of the wall. My brothers too.
—And your cousin?
—I’m taking him with me tonight. He knows nothing yet. Eudokia will remain in charge of the regency.
Basilios looked at the spy master’s face. He found no reaction.
—But the matter of… my ex-wife is for your ears only.
—So it shall remain.
—Have you found someone for the wedding?
—Yes. A minor official. Eager to marry into the imperial family and even more eager to be rewarded.
—Was it expensive?
—Not too much. Just enough for this kind of arrangement.
—And our little group of prophets?
—I’m investigating, but it will take time.
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I hope you enjoy the new chapter. For easier reading, I've divided it into parts. Your comments are always welcome!
I would say his parents did also not enjoy very much long talks ... or names...
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It's a very Swedish name. Say no more.
Excellent chapter @Ernain1111 .
I feel like the Basileus' dreams might be a tad lofty, but one can hope.- 2