Task complete, they made their way back to the kitchen. They found a larder that was full of food. This immediately cheered everyone up, as they were becoming tired of oranges. Their mood brightened as they began to prepare a magnificent feast and the room filled up with the smell of cooking food.
While everyone worked on making the meal, Constan poked around until he found what he was looking for. Inside the larder, beneath several sacks of grain, lay a trap door. This has got to be where they keep the wine, he thought to himself.
He opened the door, and saw a stone staircase that led down into darkness. Better not chance it. I need to find a lamp. Constan closed the trap door and walked briskly through the kitchen toward the exit.
Damon, stepped into Constan’s path and asked, “What’s the hurry old man?”
“I need to find a lamp.” Constan replied.
Damon smirked and asked coyly, “Whatever for?”
Constan’s eyes narrowed as he said, “I’ve found a cellar. I’m hoping I can find a cork for ye arse.”
Damon laughed. Constan ignored Damon and turned to the rest of the group, “Does anyone remember spotting any oil lamps while ye cleared this villa?”
Maarika smiled as she replied, “Yes, check the master’s suite. I remember seeing several of them in there.”
Constan nodded his thanks to Maarika and pushed past the still chuckling Damon. He emerged back in the villa courtyard. He paused for a moment, and looked at the doors. He was trying to determine which of them led to the master’s suites. It took an additional moment before he spotted a pair of oaken double doors with some scenes carved into them. He couldn’t quite make out the scenes from where he was standing. I should have asked Maarika for directions. Those doors look like the best possibility of being the master’s suite. I doubt they wasted good coin to pay an artisan to carve a relief on the entry to the slave’s quarters. Most do not reserve such extravagance for slaves. Constan thought to himself.
He approached the pair of ornate double doors. Carved within the doors were scenes of farming life. Each door held two panels for a total of four. They displayed each of the four seasons. Spring planting, summer tending of the growing plants, fall harvest, and the field lying fallow during the winter rains. Constan paused for a moment to admire the craftsmanship that went into these carvings. These people must have been wealthy to afford such extravagance on a mere door.
Opening the double doors Constan walked into room. The first room was a sitting area where the lady of the house spun cloth, or perhaps oversaw her slaves as they spun and weaved cloth. The floor consisted of a mosaic depicting a large gray elephant. The elephant used glass tiles that were various shades of gray and were contrasted with white tiles. This has got to be the master suite. This mosaic wouldn’t be out of place in a senator’s villa or a public building in Constantinople.
In addition to the spinning and weaving equipment the room had three doors. Constan decided to try the door to his right first. He noticed immediately that the interior doors were made of a different wood than the exterior doors. Constan didn’t recognize this kind of wood, but it seemed to be lighter and less stout than the oak used on the villa’s exterior doors.
As he ran his fingers experimentally over the door feeling the difference in the grain, he noticed that it seemed to have a red tinge to it in places, I’ve never seen a door like this before. I wonder from where it came from?
He reached down and pulled on the door ring to open it with his right hand. As the door opened, it came within a few inches of his nose. Constan detected a faint musky smell coming from the wood that he did not recognize. The door opened to reveal a flight of stone stairs leading up. The stairs ended in a single oak door. If yon door continues to follow their pattern, then that door leads to the exterior, Constan thought to himself.
Curious, he ascended the stairs and opened the door. Laid out before him was a well-appointed and spacious patio. Wooden beams overhead supported by ornate pillars made of the local tan stone with red highlights, had a burlap like cloth affixed to it overhead. This cloth helped to dull the intensity of the sun, while letting enough light through to comfortably see by.
There were several comfortable looking couches arrayed on the patio. Constan examined the couches, and noticed that they each contained small stains of wine, and other food items on the white fabric. They should have chosen a better color for their dinning couches. Constan thought to himself.
In between the couches at their center was a large bronze brazier. The brazier, consisted of three legs holding up a giant bowl. Within the bowl were evidence of burnt wood and ashes from previous fires. The masters of this villa must have taken their meals up here, and used this brazier to stay warm in the cool fall evenings, Constan thought to himself.
He paused and took several moments to admire the panoramic view of the valley. In addition to the valley itself, there were mountains visible beyond that could be seen from his vantage point on the balcony. Turning to head back down the stairs he spied two lamps sitting on small tables that were situated on either side of the door. He picked one up and shook it. Hearing the sound of oil sloshing around inside, he smiled and headed down the stairs, lamp in hand.
Reaching the bottom, Constan ignored the other two closed doors in the sitting area, and headed back out into the courtyard. As he crossed the open space, his nose picked up the scent of baking bread. This made him acutely aware that he hadn’t eaten since that morning. As he opened the door back to the kitchen, his nose picked up the additional smells of garlic and onions. The combination of these wonderful aromas made his mouth water.
Walking into the kitchen, Constan saw that dinner was well in hand. Liana stood in front of the ovens monitoring the progress of several loaves of bread. In a large iron pot suspended over a roaring fire in the fireplace, Athea stirred what appeared to be soup. She withdrew a large wooden spoon from the pot and sniffed the steam wafting off the soup. She then added what appeared to be a spice to the mix.
Constan stood transfixed watching Athea as she stirred the pot of soup with her wooden spoon several more times. She then stopped and used the spoon to collect a sample. She raised the spoon to her lips and blew on the steaming liquid contained within the spoon. After several more moments she tasted the soup and smiled, “The soup is just about done. How comes the bread?”
Liana turned to face Athea and replied, “Just about done.”
The other members of the group Athos, Baltazar, Nasir, Damon, and Maarika sat at a large wooden table in the middle of the kitchen on long wooden benches. Athos and Baltazar were busy grinding grain into flour using a mortar and pestle. On the other side of the table Nasir and Maarika were happily kneading and shaping the flour in preparation for baking. Damon turned, saw Constan and asked, “Did you find your lamp?”
Constan nodded and said, “Aye.”
“Good, if this meal tastes half as good as it smells, the only thing that could possibly improve it, is some wine.” Damon replied.
“Well then, get off ye arse and help me with the cellar.” Constan replied gruffly.
Damon stood and gestured toward the trap door that led to the cellar, “Lead the way old man.”
Constan walked over to roaring fire, reached in and took a long piece of wood whose end was burning. He held the flaming part to the open spout on the lamp he was holding. With a soft whoosh, the oil ignited. Constan, with a look of satisfaction on his face, turned to Damon and handed him the lamp, “Here hold this while I open the door.”
“Do you think a genie will emerge if I rub it?” Damon asked.
Constan rolled his eyes and said, “Bah, children’s tales.”
Not waiting for a response from Damon, Constan walked over to the trap door and opened it. The light from the kitchen illuminated the stone stairs that led down to the cellar, but the bottom remained steeped in darkness, “Follow me.” Constan ordered as he drew his Spatha.
Constan began descending the stairs. Ab
out three steps down he noticed that the light, and therefore Damon wasn’t following. Fearing a surprise attack Constan kept his Spatha in front of him in a defensive posture and said, “Care to join me lad, or shall I find ye mum to hold hands with ye?”
Damon’s cheeks turned a deep crimson at the jibe, Why did I just freeze? It’s only a dark cellar. Damon took a deep breath and without responding stepped down two steps until he was immediately behind Constan. He then held the lamp high over Constan’s left shoulder. The light revealed a total of seven more steps before they reached the bottom. The light exposed the faint outline of several shelves and barrels.
More confident now that he could see where he was going, and with no apparent undead legion lurking in the basement. Constan walked down the seven stairs in quick succession. Damon, still not entirely confident, followed more slowly. When Constan reached the bottom, he dropped into a fighting crouch and said, “Come on out ye wee beasties.”
Damon froze on the bottom step and slowly moved the lamp from left to right. This motion shifted the light around the room so that the pair could see, a piece at a time, the entirety of the room. The light from the lamp illuminated about a dozen feet beyond where Constan stood at the ready.
The cellar appeared to be about twelve feet in width and reached beyond the distance that the lamp cast light in both directions. Ignoring the contents of the shelf directly in front of him, Constan’s eyes settled on the outline of twelve shapes leaning against the wall beyond it. As the shapes registered in his mind Constan’s face broke into a large grin, wine amphorae.
Constan turned to Damon slapped him on the shoulder and said, “We’re getting drunk tonight laddie!”
Without waiting for a response, Constan sheathed his blade, turned to face Damon, and took the lamp from his hand. He then used the light from the lamp to examine the Greek writing on each of the amphora in turn, “Quite a selection we have here. There are wines from all over the Empire, such as, Cappadocia, Cyprus, Greece, Macedonia, and Thrace.” He paused for a moment in front of the final amphora. It was shrouded in a thick layer of dust. He bent over and blew the thick dust off of the amphora, “This label appears to be in Latin.”
“You can read Latin right?” Damon asked.
Constan replied, “Aye, though ye younglings have forgotten the language of our Roman Forefathers, the language was still in use in the isolated area in Thrace that I grew up in.” Constan paused for a moment and took in a breath sharply before continuing, “By Emperor Heraclius’ hairy balls, this here is an amphora of Falernian!”
“What’s Falernian? I’ve never heard of it.” Damon asked.
“Only the best wine ever produced. It comes from Italy and its grown south of Rome between Latium and Campania. Ever since the damned Lombards invaded they’ve had a hard time trying to produce it. Dumb bastards like to burn good vines and replace it with rye and barley for their beer. Pure savages, no bloody taste whatsoever. They say the vineyards that made it date back to the Roman Republic.”
Damon smiled, “Sounds expensive.”
Constan chuckled, “Expensive is an understatement laddie. This here amphora is probably worth more than the rest of this villa and everything in it!”
Damon’s eyes bulged, “Should we drink it?”
“Don’t be daft lad, what’s the point in keeping it? It’s not like we can carry it with us, and the damned won’t buy it from us. They’ll just ignore it, eat us, and trod all over it, releasing this sweet nectar into the ground.” Constan smiled broadly before continuing, “In my mind that leaves us one choice.” Constan turned and held up the amphora with both of his arms, and grinned.
“What choice would that be?” Damon asked.
“Don’t be daft! We drink this until I see four of ye, and pass out in a pile of me own vomit and piss!”
“Is there another choice?” Damon asked.
Constan rolled his eyes at Damon, “Aye, ye can run back to ye mum’s skirts while real men drink!”
Chapter 47
Morning, October 4th 636, Villa near Heliopolis, Syria Province, Byzantium
Emessa
Dim awareness came to him. What happened? I feel like a wee little gnome is pounding on me head with a smith’s hammer. As awareness slowly set in, he realized that he was laying on a hard-cold surface. A wet cold hard surface at that. Taking a deep breath, he cocked his eye open. The sudden onrush of light made his head spin, and brought on a wave of nausea.
He closed his eye quickly. After several minutes of listening to his own heartbeat which sounded something akin to a dozen drummers pounding away next to his ears, the feeling of nausea ebbed. Steeling himself, he once again opened his right eye. The cold gray surface of a stone floor greeted him. Where am I? He thought to himself.
Ignoring a new round of nausea, he sat up and groaned. The room seemed to spin for several moments, and then settle down to a gentle swaying. He grimaced at the foul smell permeating his nose, and looked around to determine the source. As he did so, Constan noticed Damon a few feet away. He was passed out on the floor and appeared to be laying in a puddle. His tunic was covered in the partially digested remains of last night’s dinner. He chuckled lightly and said, “Poor bugger.” His voice came out as a faint croak.
It was at this point that he became aware of the wetness on his posterior. He looked down and saw that he was sitting in a puddle of urine. Noticing the horrid smell again, it was akin to a cross between excrement and sulfur he finally spotted the source. Seeing that his own tunic was covered in vomit he tilted his head back and laughed, “Mission accomplished laddie!”
With a groan Damon began to stir, “No missions, my head hurts too much to do anything right now.”
Constan looked around the room. He noticed two amphorae sitting on their sides on the floor over by the fireplace. He could see the faint glow of embers burning out their last. The fire had clearly not been tended in some time.
“I wonder were the others have gotten off to?” Constan asked. He winced at the sound his own voice made.
Damon replied in a faint whisper, “Ugh, why do you have to be so loud? I have no idea where the others went.”
The door to the kitchen swung open and Athea sauntered in with a smile on her face. She looked down at the scene of human wreckage before her, wrinkled her nose at their stench, and said in a loud voice, “Good morning gentlemen.”
Both Constan and Damon groaned at her loud voice. Squinting at the light from the open door, Constan looked up at Athea and said, “Lass, there’s no need to be so sodden loud.”
Ignoring the two pitiful examples of humanity on the floor, Athea walked over to the fireplace. She picked up several pieces of dried dung and tossed them onto the embers. She then stoked the fire with an iron poker. After several minutes of effort, the blaze had grown large enough to cook with.
As Athea set to work mashing some of the grain into a fine paste, Liana walked into the room. She glanced down at the two men sitting on the floor and said to Athea, “What can I do to help?” In a loud voice.
Both Constan and Damon groaned at this. Constan raised a hand to his eye to shield it from the glare of the sunlight coming in from the open door and said, “Could ye ladies please keep it to a more civil volume? Me head feels like it’s going to explode.”
Athea turned toward Constan, put her hands on her hips and said, “No one told each of you, to drink an amphorae of wine.”
Constan smiled back up at Athea trying to look innocent, “Just trying to make up for lost time lass. We hadn’t had, so much as a wee dram in days.”
Athea’s expression contorted into disgust, “So that gives you the right, to drink until you pass out in a pool of your own vomit and piss?” Constan started to open his mouth to respond. Before he could speak Athea pointed toward the door, “There is a bath house in the villa right next to the door that leads to the master’s suite of rooms. If by some miracle you can still remember what happened yesterday you should have no
problems locating it. Find yourselves a change of clothes and then wash the filth from your bodies. When you finish doing that, there is a well you can use to draw water from outside near the stables. Use the water to clean the vomit from your uniforms. You may still have need of them later. After all, don’t you think it might come in handy for you two idiots to play the role of Tourmarches, and Kentarches again?”
Constan shook his head in disagreement, “Athos is also a Kentarches and his uniform is in fine shape. He can play the role.”
“Athos hasn’t seen his twentieth summer. How many Kentarches that haven’t shaved yet have you met?” Athea responded back sharply.
Constan effected his most charming smile toward Athea, “Times are tough with the damned and all. Battlefield promotions are common.”
Athea’s face turned crimson and she yelled out in her best imitation of Constan’s own marching voice, “If you grubby sluggards want to break your fast with my meal, you’ll do as I say. Now get your filthy arses out of my sight, and don’t come back until you are cleaned up!”
Both Constan and Damon grimaced at Athea’s loud voice. Surrendering, Constan nodded in submission and stood. His legs wobbled under him slightly as he did so, but he managed to keep his feet. With a groan Damon also stood up. The two hungover veterans leaned on each other as they slowly made their way out of the kitchen. Emerging into the courtyard, the pair slowly walked past Athos without so much as looking up at him.
Athos frowned at the two men as they slunk by him. Walking into the kitchen he asked, “What’s with all the yelling?” Before anyone could respond he wrinkled his nose and asked, “What’s that awful smell?”
Athea, who was busy placing a large iron pot over the fire, so that it could begin to cook said, “Those two idiots on both counts.” She pointed at the two amphorae laying on the floor, and said, “Those morons drank an amphora each of wine last night.”
Byzantium Infected Box Set Page 68
