54.
54.
"Uahahaha! All the heroes of this battle have gathered in one place!"
Basil strode into the emperor's tent with great energy and exchanged a reasonably cordial greeting with Basilikinos before accepting the cup I offered and lightly wetting his throat. He had plastered his face with the kind of hospitable smile that only the sharp-eyed could distinguish from sincerity, and as he clasped my arm, a stranger would have sworn he and I had been acquainted for years.
Whereas my armor looked as if it had been freshly dyed in human blood, and Basilikinos's bore a few splatters of enemy gore, Basil's gilded panoply glittered as brightly as when we had marched out, yet no one doubted his mettle. After all, a commander was supposed to look precisely that way.
Of course, we Norsemen, who gave little thought to that sort of rational command and tactical system, let subtle expressions that only we could read flicker here and there, but no one stirred up any trouble.
We exchanged pleasantries—how hard you fought, I witnessed that legendary breakthrough, and so on—and about the time we had emptied a second cup of wine poured by the attendants at Basil's gesture,
Michael emerged from the inner chamber of the vast pavilion with Rentakios's help, having shed his armor, and approached the three of us with a radiant smile.
"Your Imperial Majesty."
"Majesty."
Basil and Basilikinos offered their respects as sharp as blades, but I was no vassal of the emperor, so I merely replaced the formality with a brief silent bow, and no one pointed a finger at my manner.
On the contrary, Michael gave the two Romans only a cursory acknowledgment before approaching me and clinking his golden cup, brought from the inner chamber, against mine.
[Chaeng—]
As his cup, studded with every kind of red gem, met my relatively plain one, the clear ringing sound caused the wine within to sway gently. A fragrant aroma rose from the rippling surface, and Michael, already drunk on the fumes of victory, lifted his cup high.
"Today I shared a battlefield with a hero destined for legend! To our victory, to the glory of Helgi Konungr! Let us empty these cups!"
"A fine notion."
"But of course!"
"... I thank you."
Being acknowledged is a pleasant thing, but I was the type who felt burdened when the stage was set so openly... Still, for once all three of these Romans in their delicate relationship appeared to be in good spirits, so I could hardly spoil the mood. I raised my cup and downed the wine in one gulp alongside them.
Basil and Basilikinos stopped after barely wetting their lips. But the emperor, a hardened drinker second to none, and I emptied our cups at once and lowered them so the waiting attendants could refill them easily.
[Jjoreureureuk—]
"Good. Helgi Konungr, I shall decide on a gift for my true friend separately later. First, I must commend my proud cavalry commanders...!"
Michael gave me a mischievous smile and then turned his gaze to the two cavalry commanders standing quietly.
"First, Basil, my proud co-emperor! My longtime friend and vassal! You shine brighter with each passing day!"
"I merely did what had to be done, Your Majesty."
"Hahaha! That is the hardest thing of all, Basil!"
Michael clapped the reverently bowing Basil on the shoulder and immediately began speaking to him in a lowered voice about all manner of privileges.
The rights to Macedonia and the adjacent Strymon, a new palace for him, even plans to hold chariot races in his name... Gifts that would not be an overstatement to call the pinnacle of honor for any Roman, yet Basil's broadly smiling eyes still craved something higher. Something greater.
'Rentakios. As expected, you seem to have been right this time too.'
The contents of the note the emperor's chamberlain, the eunuch Rentakios, had slipped to me came to mind.
[Symbatios, Basil, Thekla (Thekla, Michael's sister). Keep an eye on these three.]
I had confirmed the traitor Symbatios and the would-be rebel Basil, so now did I just need to look into the family drama? I could kind of understand why Michael had plunged into wine. In his youth he had been forced by his regent mother to marry someone he did not love and lived as a puppet, until he drove her into a convent with the help of his uncle. Even that uncle, unsatisfied with the lofty glory of Caesar, had meddled in the succession and was eventually purged. And now he had even crossed swords with Symbatios, who had helped him drive out his uncle.
It was pitiful, if pitiful, but I saw it as the fate of the one who sat upon the throne of Constantinople. In return, could he not drink this fine, priceless wine to his heart's content?
'That, too, is only while he's alive.'
Michael finished his praise of Basil and immediately moved on to Basilikinos, promising him the honor of standing at the head of the triumph, directly behind the emperor, as well as the position of Strategos of Thrakesion, originally Symbatios's seat. It was after Basilikinos had bowed deeply to express his thanks that Basil's lips parted.
"When the Domestikos of the Scholai (Basilikinos) charged, the rebels Symbatios and Peganes were already fleeing the battlefield."
Come to think of it, Symbatios was still alive. Michael's grin, which had stretched from ear to ear, crumpled instantly at those words.
"Yes, so that was it. The bastard still remained..."
"According to my scouts' reports, he fled along the road below Adramytios with a small escort."
"The soldiers of Thrakesion and Opsikion will protect him no longer. I cannot forgive those who dared defy me on the word of a rebel. But enough Roman blood has been shed... Even now, I will not hold charges against those who lay down their arms and surrender. Rentakios!"
Without being swayed by emotion, Michael made a rational decision and summoned his secretary and chamberlain, Rentakios. The emperor's shadow, who had entered the tent from outside with silent movements and bowed his head dutifully, immediately received his orders.
"You called, Your Majesty."
"Record what I have just said and let the people of Thrakesion and Opsikion know! And deliver my words to the themes of Anatolia and Armenia as well."
Michael's gaze was so cold and calculating that it was hard to believe he was the same man who had been laughing and chattering moments before.
"It shall be done as you have spoken, Your Imperial Majesty."
Rentakios bowed deeply to show his respect to the emperor, then withdrew from the tent once more. Now, in the tent where only a few cupbearers and guardsmen stood like stone statues, the emperor sat in a chair, bade us all be seated, and broached the matter in earnest.
"So, Symbatios and Peganes. Where do you suppose they have gone?"
*****
Opsikion and Thrakesion surrendered. In truth, to call it a surrender was laughable—their Strategoi had fled, their army was broken, and the citizens of Nicaea and Chonae, the two most strategic strongholds of the themes, had already welcomed the imperial army, so no real resistance had taken place. The emperor, having vented his fury against Symbatios and Peganes, at last roused his heavy backside from the chair. Based on Basil and Basilikinos's step-by-step deductions of their escape route, he moved the legions of the eastern Anatolian Theme and the imperial navy to block the sea lanes and tightened the noose around southern Thrakesion.
Another week passed amid the net of encirclement that accompanied the clearing of the battlefield.
866 AD. The second month of winter. Julian calendar, December 16th.
With nine days until Christmas, Symbatios and Peganes were unable to cross over to the island of Samos and were captured by informants.
"Symbatios, did you truly not understand what the post of Strategos of Thrakesion meant...? Do you know how many men would sacrifice everything they have to sit in that seat you deemed inadequate?"
The emperor's rage, which had burned like an erupting volcano, cooled in an instant when the captured Symbatios fell to sniveling and weeping and pleading. Symbatios, once a comrade in political conspiracy and a good friend. The emperor's gaze upon him, now a traitor, held a weariness, sorrow, and pity that had been absent before. But as always, a ruler's emotions had to differ from a private man's.
Whatever Symbatios's true feelings had been, he had failed, and the emperor could not forgive Symbatios for challenging his authority as if nothing had happened. Symbatios, realizing at last that the emperor would not pardon him, was bound alongside Peganes, who had long since shut his eyes in resignation.
The emperor's trust in Basilikinos, who had proven his competence once again in the pursuit of the rebels, grew day by day, and his favor toward the young cavalry commander was so plain that those around him could see it clearly.
Now the rebels had been caught, the agitated hearts of the eastern populace had been soothed... Yet, contrary to the crowd's mood, which seemed all but blissful, the disquieting feeling that had reared its head even before we set out grew only stronger as time passed. The problem was that I alone seemed to feel it.
The civil war had been officially declared concluded under the emperor's proclamation and the rebels were in chains, yet the emperor insisted on returning by land even with Christmas approaching. According to his wishes, those who could move swiftly split off from the main force, rounded the northern coast, and took the road toward Constantinople.
Our company was composed of: first, the emperor's personal guard and co-emperor Basil; then Basilikinos, around whom rumors already swirled that he would soon be elevated to the rank of Caesar; and finally me, Helgi Ragnarsson, whose name would now be known to every soul in Rome. The emperor gifted me a fine steed, large of frame and thick of bone, and offered to personally teach me to ride if need be. But when the proud black horse, whose pride matched its bulk, began fawning on me like a puppy and assumed a docile posture, the emperor's expression turned strange. Soon after, when we rode together, he could not stop praising me, declaring that I rode like a man of the Bulgars or Khazars.
Basilikinos, with whom I had become remarkably close, and Basil, who seemed the very paragon of aloof Roman dignity, both joined the emperor's acclaim, and just about when I began to feel embarrassed,
our party stopped at a city called Cyzicus, where we indulged in a rowdy banquet that got us drunk.
*****
By this point, I had a reasonable suspicion.
"Come, come! Pour the wine for everyone! And drink it down! Uahahaha!"
"Long live His Imperial Majesty! May his wine flow forever!"
"O Rome—! Roma Invicta—! Goddess of Victory! Sing victory forevermore!"
This damned emperor had insisted on taking the overland route back not to soothe the people of Thrakesion and Opsikion, but because he himself was thirsty for drink.
"Come, come! Let the mayor of Cyzicus step forward and receive his cup! He has governed this city so admirably, how can I not pour him at least ten cups?"
"Hwik—! Hwik—! Cyzicus! Cyzicus!"
[Jjak jjak jjak!]
A raw, unrefined banquet hall that was unbelievable as the presence before the emperor. Those sprawled all around were the guard commanders whom the emperor himself had plied with drink, and the dapper old fellow staggering out before the emperor was the hapless mayor of this city.
'That man... already looks half out of his mind.'
Very well, I could grant with a great deal of leeway that a city mayor might get that drunk. The problem was that the emperor, who at a glance seemed perfectly sober, was already halfway gone (?) himself. There is a vast difference between liking drink and holding it well.
[Ggolgolgolgol—]
'What do I even call this? Alcohol leadership? Should I learn this too...?'
Watching the emperor pour wine to near overflowing amid great laughter and the surrounding cheers, a hollow laugh escaped me as I wondered if this was reality.
'Well, it's not bad, though.'
As I quietly enjoyed the spectacle, which even stirred an oddly familiar feeling within me, an unexpected voice suddenly sounded beside me.
"It is truly a fine sight. Don't you agree, Helgi Konungr?"
Basil. He addressed me in a friendly manner, a cup in one hand. The same smiling lips. The dignified bearing and lofty grace. An exceedingly amiable attitude. Yet with the one thing he could not hide at will—those cold eyes.