Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

He turned and walked out of the chamber, ignoring the grisly remains of other prisoners who had had the misfortune to be his entertainment that evening.

  “Come, Exaz. We shall go and feast, then I shall enjoy the little present you have brought for me. You did bring her, didn’t you?” he asked sharply.

  “Of course, my Lord. We should talk just a little bit about those two officers I mentioned. My men have reason to believe they are conspirators.”

  “Arrest them, and we can deal with them tomorrow. Now I want to have a bath and prepare for the evening. No more business. I am tired of it.”

  “Yesss, my Lord, of course.” Exazenos responded. He dismissed the two sweating jailers and followed Andronicus out of the room. They walked along dimly lit passageways, Andronicus in the lead and talking all the way.

  “I have decided that the University is a bureaucratic mess. That High Principal was a corrupt and useless person, completely dysfunctional. I am sure that he was involved in a plot.”

  Exazenos smiled as he listened to his master rambling. It was as if he were two people, the one very efficient and concerned about how the government operated. Without doubt he had done much good in the early days, rooting out corruption and graft in the despised ranks of the eunuchs who’d had a throttle hold on the administration under the former emperor, Manuel Komnenos.

  However, his methods of correction were violent and brutal. His paranoia appeared to have grown worse in the last year, but Exazenos didn’t mind in the least. He had his own agenda, and it fitted very well with the emperor’s. The terror that had been steadily building was as much his work as that of his master.

  “I shall be hunting tomorrow, Exaz, so you are free to do as you please,” the emperor told him as they parted.

  Leaving the emperor in the care of his groveling servants, Exazenos took himself off to his own apartments to eat and think about events that had led up to the arrest of the High Principal of the College of Medicine.

  They had targeted almost every strata of the aristocracy for offenses real and imagined—it mattered not to Exazenos. If the emperor wanted to destroy the senator class, that was fine. He himself came from that strata of society, but his hatred of the aristocrats who had destroyed him was like a deep white-hot fire. His abandonment at Myriokephalon and the shame of his father’s death had fueled his hatred for his own kind. They would feel the full measure of his vengeance. It had not only been the senators; the upper ranks of the army and the navy had also been targeted at his instigation. Now it was the turn of the academic society. Exazenos’ lip curled in a snarl; he’d see to it that Andronicus showed them as little mercy as he had any of the others.

  As he entered his own apartments he was greeted by his henchman, Gabros, who was his most trusted aide. Together they had survived many hardships, and Gabros had saved his life on more than one occasion, including that all-important first time. He had no fear of betrayal, so he could let his guard down here.

  “How did it go, Master?” Gabros asked, as he helped Exazenos off with his blood-spattered tunic, then knelt to take off his sandals. His master watched him reflectively as he did so.

  “We will have to find a better reason to bring in the next person from the medical society. I know they are a snake pit of treason, but I couldn’t get this one to confess to anything. It was almost as though he knew nothing,” Exazenos complained.

  “I am sure that the informer can be persuaded to point to someone who is involved in treachery, Master,” Gabros said as he stood up. Exazenos handed him his wig, revealing a scalp that was hideously disfigured by scars.

  “Your bath is prepared, Master.” Gabros led the way to the pool. Later there would be a massage, followed by an exhibition of erotic dancing and copulation. Exazenos enjoyed those displays; on those rare occasions when he was highly aroused he would take the girl with cruel ferocity, impervious to her cries of pain while he strove to climax, and ignore the weeping creature as Gabros hustled her out of the room. He would then beat his fist on the pillows and grind his teeth with rage at what cruel fate had done to him. Exazenos had been castrated, and this fueled his white-hot hate of all men who were capable of normal sex.

  Tonight, however, he bathed absently and ate a sparse meal. He watched the evening’s entertainment with indifference, because his mind was elsewhere. He had noticed on the list of physicians a name that was familiar to him: that of the female physician Theodore Kalothesos. Very familiar, because Exazenos had been instrumental in the downfall and execution of the Senator Damianus Kalothesos and the imprisonment of his son Alexios on trumped up charges of treason.

  Exazenos had appeared in Constantinople almost at the same time the emperor had been crowned in a frenzy of popular adoration, after having ensured—by a process of imprisonment and murder—that no one could by birth or force displace him. Exazenos had proved adept at ferreting out senators and officials who harbored thoughts of sedition. He had quickly established a network of spies who were faithful to him and him alone as he pursued his vengeful path to power as the emperor’s fixer and procurer. As the victims were denounced, their villas were looted and he took his cut. It had astonished him to find that Theodora was still at the university and was now a well respected physician. How had she survived? Usually the families of the denounced and executed were thrown onto the streets to become beggars and prey to all manner of deprivation.

  He resolved to take a look at her and see what she had become before he destroyed her and any remnants of her family. He would enjoy toying with her. It would be a most fitting revenge.

  The next day dawned with a stiff breeze blowing in from the northeast. Gray clouds scudded low overhead, darkening the already gloomy atmosphere of the city. Theodora rose early, bundled up with her warmest clothes, and left the house before her mother was awake, pausing only to give last minute instructions to her maid regarding Damian. The boy no longer had a tutor, so Theodora had contrived some lessons for him to complete each day. Those who were family of someone who had been proscribed—an interesting word that dated back to ancient Rome, it meant to be denounced and executed without trial—had no rights, nor did their children; they could be denounced, even killed without consequences by anyone seeking a reward. The boy was often rebellious but Theodora was adamant about the homework, and Ariadne tried her best to keep the boy occupied while his mother was away. “I shall not be away long,” she told Ariadne, “so tell him to behave, and we can go for a walk later.”

  She departed via the front gates, turned left and walked up the hill to where her street joined with the Grand Mese. In her preoccupation she failed to notice the man who left his position next to a plane tree just down the street and began to follow her at a distance. It struck her as she walked along the main street how sparse the number of street booths had become. Normally the markets were busy at this time of day, but then she saw the reason why. The Veragnian guard were out in more numbers than usual. The tall, burly, and mostly blond, bewhiskered men from the far north were hustling people off the main streets, and none too gently. They pushed the complaining citizens off the road with the hafts of their spears, then turned and stood to attention, waiting for the parade to go by.

  Theodora hurried along the side of the street, hoping to be able to get to the Medical Academy before the emperor’s entourage closed the entire street down for hours. The legendary Varangian soldiers were the personal bodyguard of the emperor and enforced his will, but formerly they had had a reputation for protecting the citizens as well. This was no longer the case, and people resented it. Although they were considered virtually invincible, they were not from Byzantium, and xenophobia was strong in this city these days. People complied, but they glowered at the Saxon and Viking guards behind their backs.

  Theodora had a class to teach, so she hurried along the narrow streets that ran parallel with the grand Mese, passing the enormous church known as the Hagia Sophia. Its towers and domes had always awed her, but she barely glanced at the beautif
ul structure today. She continued past the baths of Zeundpas, then down into the warren of old palaces and newer buildings to the college of medicine, which itself had once been a palace: the classrooms had once been bedchambers or conference rooms. For many years the Academy had been at the centre of a thriving medical community. Now classes were sparsely attended by a dwindling number of students who wanted to follow the profession of physician.

  She looked around at the huddled group of students who were there to listen to her talk about sinews and bones. Theodora greeted them, then wasted no time in getting down to the subject. She left her cloak on while she talked, as the wind had found a way into the old building and created a low moaning sound as it wound its way under doors and cracks in the windows, rustling papers and chilling feet.

  Here at least she could lose herself in the science of her work and forget for a short while the troubles and worries at home. All too soon it was time to leave. The students gathered up their slates, pens, ink and paper and filed out of the door, leaving her to gather up her papers before she, too, would leave for a sparse meal at one of the stalls that lined the Mese before the afternoon classes began.

  Just before she left, a messenger arrived to tell her to report to the new temporary principal.

  Somewhat surprised, she approached the door and knocked. A voice answered, so she opened the door and walked into the gloomy room that housed the administration area of the college. The temporary principal, one of her former professors, gave her a distracted smile as he shuffled some papers on his desk.

  “Thank you for coming, Theodora,” he mumbled. “I just wanted to know how you were doing?”

  Theodora gave him a very slight frown. This was somewhat unusual; he had shown little interest in her activities of late. She had assumed this neglect was of a piece with the apprehension and fear that pervaded the academy. After the recent loss of the principal, everyone was looking over their shoulders and trying to keep a very low profile. Few had any doubt that he had been arrested.

  Forcing herself to sound cheerful she said, “All is well, Professor. While I am not very impressed with the current batch of students, a couple will go far, I believe.”

  “Good, good.” He nodded absently. “Do you know a man called Exazenos, by any chance?”

  Theodora shook her head. “No, Professor, I do not. Who is he?”

  “He sent a messenger to me today, asking for you to report to the palace of Blachernae in two days’ time. You will be escorted there by the same messenger, who will come to your house to collect you with some form of transport, I presume.”

  “Why... why am I to go there?” Theodora demanded, a cold chill creeping down her neck.

  “Ah, yes.” The professor peered at a letter in his hand. “There is a problem with his vision, and you are known as a Physician, an Assistant Physician,” he corrected himself pompously, “who understands eyes better than most. You are commanded to go and see what can be done about a problem this er, Exazenos has with one of his eyes.” He looked up. “I would have recommended one of the other professors, but he asks for you by name.”

  “An optical exam of one of the senior servants of the emperor?” she asked, not fully understanding the order.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he answered, sounding brusque, as though he wanted to drop the matter, having delivered the message. “I am sure all will be explained when you get there.” He waved her dismissal.

  That was the part that worried Theodora. Rumors abounded these days about the Blachernae palace being a center of debauchery and horrible tortures. No one would go there willingly, but she dared not refuse either.

  It was with a heavy heart that she greeted her mother that afternoon and absently played with her son.

  Two days later, the old guard came banging on the main door of the villa and told Theodora that a litter was waiting with an armed guard, of Verangians no less, at the gates. She hurried after him as he limped back along the path to his station, where the old dog was barking and growling at the silent men standing outside the gates.

  Theodora bade the old man goodbye and walked through the gate towards the soldiers. The leader greeted her with a gruff, “Good day, Madame Physician,” in a heavy accent and saluted her. Theodora merely inclined her head. The temptation to correct the officer surfaced, then died away. What did it matter what they called her these days? Her throat was too dry to say anything. She did register that at least they were treating her decently.

  She was assisted into the litter, then they set off at a trot for the palace. It took almost half an hour of being shaken and rocked in the closed, stuffy interior of the litter before they finally came to a halt. The men carrying her were puffing loudly, but she clearly heard the leader of the troop announcing them. There was a clatter of metal on metal as gates opened, and she peered out of the curtains to see that they were now entering a large cobbled courtyard where men and horses were standing about.

  The litter was placed on the ground and the door opened by the troop leader. “Follow me, Madame,” he said in a deep voice.

  She picked up the small case that she had brought with her and stepped out onto the courtyard, then followed the tall, blond warrior as he entered the palace doors. He directed her to wait in a large anteroom with guards standing rigidly at attention before two large doors while he went off to find the right person.

  Finally the blond officer returned and gestured her to come with him. They went down a maze of corridors until she was quite lost before they arrived at a door, where he stopped.

  He knocked, and the door was opened by a man with hard, swarthy features who looked her over rapidly and then, without talking to the officer, beckoned her in. He dismissed the officer with a gesture, then shut the door in his face.

  “You are?”

  “Theodora Kalothesos,” she replied using her maiden name, as she had since the death of her husband.

  “Come with me, only speak when spoken to, and keep it short,” the grim-looking man told her, and he turned away before she could do anything more than duck her head.

  They walked into a chamber that was full of rich furnishings, from the drapes of golden silk at the windows to the ornate chairs and cushions strewn around the carpeted floors. It had been some time since Theodora had been in a room that was so luxurious, but her attention was drawn to the man standing facing her with his back to the light coming in from the window, thus making it hard to see his features clearly. She stopped and curtsied without speaking.

  “Thank you, Gabros. I will speak to the lady... alone,” the man said. Was there something familiar about the voice? Theodora blinked, trying to recall, but then he spoke again.

  “Pleasse sit down. By that table, as I sssee you have brought your... tools,” the man said. His voice had a sibilant timbre to it.

  She did as she was told and sat in silence, waiting. He appeared to hesitate, but then he said. “I have a problem with my right eye. It was damaged in a fire some years ago, and sometimes it is blurred and painful. I heard that you were one of the best in the academy, which is why I sent for you. I trust you were treated well while on your way here?”

  He shifted slightly, so that light from the window fell on his face briefly, and Theodora was able to see that the right side of the man’s face was badly scarred. She nodded her head politely. “Very well, my Lord. Thank you.”

  “Pleasse... call me Exazenos,” he said with a grimace that Theodora took to be a smile.

  “Very well, Exazenos. Do you wish for me to examine your eye? Is this why I am here?” she asked, beginning to overcome her initial fears.

  “Yess, yess, that is right. How do you want to do this?” he asked.

  She looked him over. He was a strong man, well muscled; his thin robe was open at the chest as though he had only just come from bed. His pantaloons were of blue silk with a wide sash of yellow silk wrapped around his narrow waist. Subconsciously her feminine side registered that he was a good looking man, apa
rt from the disfiguration, but her professional side took control quickly enough.

  “You should sit opposite me in good light; you must face the light. Then I can check both eyes to find out what is troubling you,” she stated, and stood up.

  Exazenos took two chairs and moved them into the well lit area of the window, then sat facing her as she too seated herself and opened her box. He leaned forward, his face impassive and his dark eyes staring at her. Theodora had the distinct impression that he was examining her while she performed her own examination of the two eyes in front of her.

  Exazenos was indeed examining the woman in front of him. For the briefest of moments before she told him to keep his eyes still he rested them on her breasts and her neck, roving over her, assessing everything. He saw an attractive woman with a slim neck and regular features, striking but not beautiful. The jaw and cheekbones were a little too strong, but the large, widely spaced eyes were full of intelligence. Her eyes were concentrating on his, so he could see deep into them, but he detected no sign of recognition. Deep inside he was disappointed, but at the same time he reveled in the thought that he would enjoy making her know who he was—eventually. Not just yet, though. She reached up with her hand and he flinched.

  “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I just wish to verify the condition of the area around your eye.” He relaxed, and felt a cool touch on his right cheek as she moved the skin around the eye. Then she opened the lids and peered at the sclera. Her expression told him that she appeared satisfied with what she had seen.

  “There was much damage to your face when you were burned. How long ago?” she asked, as she took her fingers away. Exazenos wanted them to stay where they had been.

  “About six years ago, now,” he muttered.

  “It is clear to me that you did not have a good physician to aide your recovery,” she commented dryly, as she took out a glass lens and again peered into his right eye. “Mmm, the interior is a little cloudy compared to the other; it could mean you have a cataract, er, Exazenos,” she stated when she had finished.