Tales of Byzantium by Eileen Stephenson

Author:Eileen Stephenson [Stephenson, Eileen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781511741507
Published: 2015-04-28T04:00:00+00:00

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

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