Legion’s momentum flung the door several feet beyond the now empty portal as he disappeared into the night. The trio ran down the smoke-filled hallway in pursuit. A moment before Maarika emerged from the building, Legion bellowed. She recognized the bellow. Legion only made that sound for one reason, the damned are near.
Chapter 40
An Hour After Sunrise, September 29th 636, Damascus, Syria Province, Byzantium
The Celebration
Constan, Athos, Liana, Athea, and the other surviving members of Constan’s original Kontoubernion walked to the Governor’s palace at his behest. They followed behind the litter being carried on the shoulders of six stout slaves. The slaves, all well-muscled men, wore a simple white wrap around their midsection. With the exception of their sandaled feet the rest of their bodies went uncovered.
Despite the early hour, the slaves, bearing Governor Maurice, perspired, as they labored to carry his immense bulk down Straight Street toward the palace. Arriving in front of the opulent structure, the slaves gently lowered the Governor’s litter to the ground. One of the men moved out of the formation over to the exit point of the litter. He then dropped to his knees in front of the litter’s door. Only the Governor’s outline could be discerned through the white drapes surrounding him.
As soon as movement could be detected within the litter, the slave, already on his knees, lowered the rest of his body onto the ground. Using his elbows and knees he held his back evenly forming a stair at the bottom of the litter’s exit. The Governor pushed back the white linen curtains and placed a foot upon the back of the prone slave. The onlookers inwardly winced as the Governor’s weight was fully borne by the slaves back. As the Governor’s other foot stepped onto the ground, two other slaves from his bearers helped him keep his balance. Exhausted by the effort of lifting his own immense bulk, the Governor’s chest expanded and contracted rapidly from his heavy breathing.
The oaken door of the palace was immediately opened to the Governor, and he barked orders to his servants, “Our glorious army has been victorious in repulsing the damned!” He brought his meaty hands together with a loud slap, “Prepare a feast for our heroes in the banquet hall!”
Governor Maurice turned back to face Constan and the others. He smiled broadly and said, “Follow me my mighty warriors. We must celebrate!”
Governor Maurice walked out into the courtyard and headed toward the oaken door that opened onto the interior hallway that led to the banquet hall. Constan, having met with the Governor every morning since he took command of the 5th Parthica, knew the way. Athos, only had dim recognition of the palace, as he was still suffering from a head injury during his previous visit. Athea, and Liana, looked upon the riches being displayed with wide eyed wonderment.
Both ladies paused in front of each of the tapestries denoting the life of Jesus and marveled at the craftsmanship, “Where did they get the dyes for all of these wondrous colors?” Liana asked.
Athea replied, “The purple comes from Tyre. From the murex shellfish if I recall correctly.”
“You’ve been to Tyre?” Liana asked
Athea nodding replied, “Aye, my father was a merchant. He purchased a variety of goods that flowed into the port there from all over the Empire.”
Athos walked up behind the two women and placed a hand on their shoulders, smiling, he said, “Tapestries are great and all, but you should see this room over here.”
Not wanting to be torn away from the tapestries, Athea asked, “What’s so special about that room?”
Athos smiled, walked up to the door, turned his head, looked over his left shoulder, and smiled mischievously, “You’ll just have to see, now won’t you?” He opened the door just enough to slip into the room without revealing its contents.
Both ladies turned away from the tapestry they were admiring, stepped across the hall, and opened the door. They were greeted by the sound of running water. In the room were three circular openings set in the top of what appeared to be a marble slab.
Athea pointed to the slab, “It’s just a marble slab with three holes. What’s so special about that?”
Liana smiled, “Don’t you hear the running water?”
Athea also smiled, “I do. What’s so unique about that?”
Both of the ladies stepped across the room, and went around Athos. They pointed toward the holes set in marble slab. Liana exclaimed, “The sound of the water is coming from the holes!”
Athea peered into one of the holes set in the marble slab, “This isn’t really a solid marble slab, its hollow. What’s the purpose of this room?”
Athos smiled, “It’s an indoor latrine.”
Athea and Liana shared a look and then each took one of Athos’ arms. They smiled at Athos and led him to the door. Liana let go of his arm, and opened the door. Athea placed a hand in the small of Athos’ back and gently pushed him into the hallway. Before Liana could shut the door, Athos turned around and asked, “Why did you push me out of the room?”
Athea laughed, “So we could use the latrine. We’ve never seen one much less used it!”
Athos rolled his eyes as the door closed in his face. He heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. Athos turned and saw Constan’s one eyed, scared faced visage grinning, “Got ye by the ball that one does.”
Athos shook his head from side to side while saying, “No she doesn’t”
“Don’t be daft lad. I’ve seen the bulge in her pocket.” Constan said.
Athos, looking confused, asked, “What do you mean?”
“Ye know, the one where she keeps your wee little balls.”
Athos’ face reddened at the jibe as Damon, Jirair, and Scarius started laughing. Behind Athos, the door opened and Athea stepped out into the hallway, “What’s got you all in stiches?”
It was Constan’s turn to blush as he stammered, “Nothing lass, nothing at all.”
“Well in that case, why are we wasting time here? You boys show me to the banquet hall.” Athea clenched her hand into a fist and jabbed her thumb over her right shoulder toward the door, “She’s going to be a bit.”
Athos extended his arm to Athea. Athea smiled and took his arm in hers. Athos smiled back at her. The glow in his eyes when he looked at her, showed the depth of his feelings for her, “This way luv.” He said.
Damon observed, “That’s not the direction of the banquet hall.”
Constan laughed, “Aye, I think he is hungering for something other than food lad.”
Athea’s nostrils flared and her cheeks turned a deep crimson. Before she could speak Athos said, “Sorry luv, I wasn’t feeling well the last time I was here. You remember, it was the first day I woke up from my head injury. I seem to have gotten my bearings mixed up.”
Athea relaxed, turned Constan and Damon and said, “Perhaps you should lead the way gentlemen.” Athos let out a sigh of relief and Athea added, “Why Athos, you seemed a bit nervous.”
Athos pointed at the gladius in the scabbard on Athea’s left hip, “I would never want to give you cause to draw your blade. You are quite accomplished with it.”
Athea’s eyes twinkled, “Indeed sir. You wouldn’t want me to be forced to snip your manhood.” She smiled and patted her purse, tied to the brown leather belt that also held her gladius, “I think figuratively is enough yes?”
Athos’ face reddened, “Indeed it is, my love.” Arm in arm, the pair followed Constan and the others to the banquet hall.
As they entered the banquet hall Athea eyes went wide in wonderment, “I’ve never seen such a large room outside of a basilica.”
Despite Athos’ fuzzy recollections from the day he was last in this room, it was situated much as he remembered. The room was dominated by a lengthy oak table, with long benches on either side of it, also of oak. On the far side of the hall at the head of the table was Governor Maurice’s throne. It was made from a local stone that gave it a very light tan color.
Carved into the throne at the top
center of the back support was a cross. Below the cross was the eagle of Rome its two talons were extended and grasping a dye pot and a date tree representing the province of Syria. The eagle had two blood red rubies for eyes embedded in the throne. The armrests were carved to resemble wolves and ended with their bared teeth forever snarling. The wolves had black as midnight opals set into the throne for their eyes.
The banquet hall was lit by three large round black iron chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. Each of the chandeliers were attached to the ceiling by three chains and had forty candles burning. The walls were decorated with the standards of the Empire’s enemies. Each was captured in battle by a unit from Syria. Trying to impress the ladies, Constan identified them. Most were from the Empire that became Persia, Parthia. Others came from various rebellions over the centuries.
Athea pointed at a ragged standard made out of homespun. In the center of this standard were two faint triangles. What once must have been a nice contrast between white fabric and black triangles had faded over the years. The triangles crossed over each other with points in opposite directions. One had its base toward the floor and the point toward the ceiling. The other had the point toward the floor and the base at the top. Together they formed a star. She asked, “Where did that one come from?”
I have no idea where that one came from. Constan started to draw a breath to answer when Governor Maurice chimed in, “That my dear is the standard of the Jewish Rebellion led by Joseph Ben Gurion. They were defeated by Legio XII Fulminata which was based in Syria at the time.”
Athea searched her memory trying to dredge up the context she had heard that name before, and then it hit her, “That standard is nearly six hundred years old!”
The Governor smiled and extended his arms to indicate the standards around the room, “All of these were lost when the Persians took Damascus, but at my request, they were brought back from their capital of Ctesiphon when we captured the city.”
Athea asked another question, “How old is this palace?”
Governor Maurice replied, “It was built about three hundred years ago. Empress Zenobia of the Palmyrene rebellion had the original palace and forum of Damascus leveled. She despised Rome and wanted Syria cleansed of any reminders of it.”
“A woman led an empire in battle against Rome?”
The Governor drew a breath to answer Athea’s question, but before he could do so, the double oaken doors of the hall were opened, and servants rushed in. Each carried a steaming plate in both their right and left hands. They gathered behind each of the soldiers seated at the immense banquet table, one per two diners.
Once the servants were in position surrounding the table, in tandem they set a plate in front of each diner. The Governor had one servant appointed to the task of carrying his plate. The fellow needed both hands to hold his larger plate piled high with enough food to feed five people.
Constan looked upon the dish in front of him. In addition to a normal assortment of vegetables including carrots, radishes, beans, and cabbage that had been boiled. The main course was strange. It appeared to be the size and shape of a chicken but it was covered in an unusual brown covering, He pointed at the chicken, looked up at the Governor, and asked, “What did ye do to the chicken?”
The Governor hadn’t stood on ceremony and was already devouring the immense plate of food in front of him. Little particles of the food, thanks to his habit of chewing with his mouth open, had come to rest in the hairs of his black beard. Pausing his feast, he took a drink of wine, and then said, “It’s a new dish that is beginning to catch on in the Empire called fried chicken. Try some, it’s delightful.”
Constan frowned, and poked at it with his fork. He penetrated the brown outer covering with the utensil. When he did so steam issued forth from the holes. The smell of the steam made his mouth water. Trying to be polite, he dug in his fork in an attempt to work a piece loose, but the fried outer covering made this difficult. He looked back at the Governor with a confused look upon his face.
The Governor laughed at Constan, “My brave Tourmarches. You won’t hesitate to charge into the maw of fifty thousand damned, but you are laid low by a mere entre? Observe, eat it like this.” The Governor picked up a thigh off of his plate with his fingers, two from each hand. Each hand grasped an opposite side of the piece. He then bit down into the chicken and tore off a large piece of the fried skin and the juicy meat below.
Mimicking the Governor, Constan picked up the piece in front of him with his fingers, it was a leg. The fried skin felt both, warm and greasy to the touch. He slowly brought the chicken up to his mouth and took a small bite. The flavor was like nothing he had tasted before. His taste buds immediately signaled their pleasure at the greasy goodness. Constan chewed for several moments as he savored the taste of the chicken in his mouth.
Everyone else sitting at the table, sat silently and watched as his face relaxed into a look of ecstasy. Swallowing Constan said, “Digg in lads! I haven’t tasted anything this good outside the mouth of me favorite whore the moment before I spill me seed into her!”
Scarius, one of the 5th Parthica’s original surviving members from the Battle of Yarmuk and an old friend of Constan retorted, “That would be a first. Most times your sword is quite wobbly.”
Constan laughed, “Dost thou speak ill of my little soldier?”
Scarius grinned back, his bald head crinkled as he did so, “Indeed I do. I hear tell it that the last lady you laid with, was most unpleased.”
Constan winked, “That’s funny because you seemed to enjoy my prick in your arse fine enough, before I was summoned to the battle!”
The room erupted into laughter after Constan’s retort. Before the two vulgar older men could continue insulting each other, Damon jumped up on the table. He started dancing in front of one of the surviving ladies of Athos’ Kentarchia. Assala, a swarthy beauty of Sassanid stock. She smiled up at Damon’s attempt at dancing. It quickly became evident that he wasn’t very good at it. Oblivious to this fact, he made up for his general lack of skill and balance with drunken enthusiasm.
Noticing Assala’s eyes upon him, Damon began swaying his legs in what he believed to be a provocative manner for the lady. Liana, sitting to Assala’s left, whispered something into her ear that Damon was unable to hear. Assala giggled in response. Damon, deciding to make use of more of the table, began dancing his way down to the end opposite the Governor. As he did so, he inadvertently kicked over several empty wine goblets.
One of the servants somehow materialized with a drum, and began beating out a rhythm with his right hand. Damon began to sway to the rhythm provided by the enterprising servant. He made his way back up the table toward Assala. On his first step, he put a foot directly onto a plate. The bronze plate, covered in chicken bones, caused him to lose his balance. As fell the plate shot out from underneath his foot and flew in the direction of Governor Maurice.
Startled by the sudden turn of events, Governor Maurice froze as the plate flew directly toward his face. With amazing dexterity, Assala snatched the plate out of the air, and flung it Frisbee like toward Damon’s rump. Damon’s posterior was jutting up in the air as he struggled to regain his feet. Completely surprised by the unexpected impact of the plate, he broke wind in tremendous fashion.
All of the ongoing reverie immediately ceased. Those nearest Damon began coughing and covering their noses to try and escape the putrid stench. Jirair, who fanned his hand in front of his nose, said, “By God in Heaven, your bowels must surely be rotting as if beset by the foul plague of the damned!”
Everyone once again paused what they were doing and looked at Damon. The servants, taking advantage of the distraction, switched out everyone’s plates with new ones piled high with more fried chicken.
Damon stood, calmly turned to Jirair, and said, “Aye they have. I put me prick into Fonda’s rotted honey pot, before I cleaved off her head. The foul bitch cursed me and died before I could have my fill.”
C
onstan countered, “Not very bloody likely lad. Why don’t you tell them the truth?”
“The truth?” Damon asked.
Constan smiled, “Aye the bloody truth, instead of that fantasy you just spun. You know, where that big bastard Vadim, looking for revenge on his Kentarches after becoming damned, took hold of you by the arse.” Noticing that the entire room had fallen silent and were watching him intently he paused for effect before saying, “Slid his prick into ye, and broke it off inside!”
The entire room erupted into laughter at Damon’s expense. Noticing Assala’s eyes upon him, Damon deftly swept up a chicken bone, bent over, pointed his posterior at Constan and said, “Aye he truly did the big bastard.” The moment he finished his statement he broke wind in immense fashion in Constan’s direction, groaned in relief as if a mighty burden had been relinquished, and tossed the chicken leg from between his legs at Constan.
The chicken leg struck Constan in the forehead just above the eye patch covering his left eye. As it bounced off, Constan grabbed it with his left hand and said, “If this is all the manhood that big bastard had, no wonder he be in a foul mood all the time!”
Following his crass statement, Constan noticed his replenished plate, tossed Vadim’s alleged manhood over his left shoulder, and tore into it with enthusiasm. Athos, Athea, Liana, all famished from the long night of fighting, tore into their meals with reckless abandon. The room fell silent again as they each ate the food, and drank deeply of the wine. The servants kept coming and going from the banquet hall in a steady stream fulfilling all of their requests, until appetites were finally sated.
Byzantium Infected Box Set Page 55
