Chapter XV
General Petron
The days had dragged since the Vision Quest; Arzealous sat by his desk looking out of the window, the drapes fluttered carelessly in the soft breeze; the air was soft; a gentle pull of mild fragrances flowing from the flower garden distracted him a moment, the evening sun shone through; its layered veiled light eased its way into his chambers creating a halo that reached out to caress his feet; Arzealous watched the light as the drapes moved, it softly shimmered faded and came again, his hands were clasped tightly together beneath his chin. He was still no closer to finding the reasons why the Merovingian had chosen such a course of action as to side with Charon; this was a question that had troubled him since he had first learnt of it, and yet it remained puzzling to him. Who would stand against the Angelos other than the Dragon and those with the power of the Mages; and worse who would dare make the Djinn their enemy; it was conceivable thought Arzealous that the Watchers strange course of action had been influenced by the Staff of Darkness that had been entrusted to him. Was it the Staff that had corrupted him or rather made him act irrationally? It was an instrument of immense power but that power had always been kept in a state of balance by the Staff of Light; the Byzantines surely would not have realised the significance of the Codex and maybe even the Watcher did not fully understand what had been ceded to him. The likelihood is that it had passed down to him, a generation or two before and he had thought nothing of it until the intervention of Charon, who may have realised its true nature; or was it the Watcher that had contacted Charon after discovering what was in his charge; and realising the extent of the power at his disposal had become enamoured by it.
One thing was certain, the race to get to the main body of the Codex would be hard fought; and he needed somehow to aid Gabriel and Uziel in their quest but at that moment such an opportunity had not presented itself. At least one thing was apparent, the Rageon and many others, Charon included, thought the Byzantines had the Codex and why shouldn't they, they had used the Staff of Light on the Rageon whilst in the Catacombs beneath the City; another matter of importance was that their enemy had a reasonable assumption who it was that held, in their keeping, the Sacred Seal, and they would have the advantage of knowing that the Angelos would not directly interfere with the Romans, as that would break the Laws of the Equilibrium. The Merovingian and his Frankish cohorts would not rest until they had fulfilled their purpose. But then what part did the Djinn have to play in all this and exactly what pact was struck with them by their erstwhile allies. Surely they would not cease attacking the City of Constantinople until their aim was achieved; getting hold of the essence of War was a great prize to be had. And its recovery was a main concern to one and all.
Arzealous at least felt rested and though the days had lingered without any mishap or machination of the enemy materialising, it was such inactivity that merely added to the uncertainty of their situation. The attack on the walls had been a ruse to get the Stegions into the city, perhaps they had thought that they might get their hands on the Codex, if that was their purpose, fortunately their attempt had proven unsuccessful, but that surely would not have deterred their foe, which meant, why the pause, what was going on in front of their walls? Arzealous’s back stiffened as a plan developed: what if he and another sneaked out of the city and into the enemy camp. They had plenty of gear and armour from the last enemy raid to hide behind, and not all the Saracens were Arabic in origin some were Greek, probably from Syria, Egypt or Cyprus which were once Byzantine principalities. And as he was an Angelos he could certainly speak the language and pass as a Saracen if he wanted to.
There was a heavy banging at his door; Arzealous startled, jumped out of his chair, and then remembering that if it had been any number of adversaries, they would have come through the window, he smiled to himself and shook his head, plainly the last incident had put him on edge; reassured that it was not the enemy, he answered the door. Callinicus was standing there with an ingratiating smile. A cloak of grey fell from his shoulders his green silk shirt hung willingly on his robust frame, he was wearing long breeches that reached down to burnished dark leather shoes. Taking a bite from an apple he handed Arzealous one, who took it and smiled.
“I’m going into the Saracen camp.”
Callinicus immediately lost his smile, “What, are you insane, I thought the Emperor had put off such a course of action indefinitely?”
“I know but we need to know what they are up to; I can get in and out without being noticed.”
“Well in that case I’m coming with you.”
“I will be able to speak their language and move as one of them.”
“Ah! As you are more than aware, I still have in my possession the Seal taken from Leif Erikson which will help me in that regard. I’ll just need a little time to prepare myself,” said Callinicus. “Anyway; we can talk about this later; the Viglator wants to see us. He’s in his chambers.”
Rain spattered as they walked from the palace; there was a keen freshness in the air; harsh nights were no longer threatening cold days; the wintry months were finally passing. The new season always brought the promise of an end to the Saracen invader. After so many years one of the legionaries had remarked it was strange how the Saracens came on in the same old way, and were always beaten off in the same old way. The war had become predictable and the hours less desperate more soporific. Perhaps, the men had said, that it was a new tactic of the enemy to bore them into submission. The Emperor had not minded, except for one thing, food was becoming a premium. And after spending so much energy on the defence of the city his humour had altered to one of melancholy.
Callinicus had worked out that the script he had brought back from the realm of the Rageon was the recipe for something particularly nasty. He had locked himself in his dungeon, as Arzealous had called it; to everyone else they were the Archives, and would often not be seen for days. He had even had a small bunk laid there for him, and so had turned one of the chambers into a study area that he could sleep in; which saved a lot of time, as he would rise from his desk travel the short distance to his bed and then back again once he had had a nap.
As they walked across the forum, stall holders were beginning to put their goods away. The Emperor had passed a decree that all food stuffs were to remain at the same price during the period of occupation; there was to be no racketeering or any profiteering by any unscrupulous brigand who might take advantage of their current circumstance; the penalties for such things were harsh, people needed to know that order and the rule of law would be maintained.
They stopped by one of the stalls, a woman approached Arzealous and handed him a loaf of slightly stale bread.
“This sir is for the kindness you have shown, in protecting our city.”
“It is my duty to do so and I would be ashamed to do otherwise. Let me give you something.” Arzealous handed her a large silver coin, known as a Hexagram.
“We’re all hoping that you can drive the barbarians from the gate. If we can see off Hannibal, we can see off these heathens.” She rummaged around for change but Arzealous stopped her; seeing her frailness and her worn dress mixed with her pride and resolve, made him realise the determination of the people, and how much they had thus far endured.
He became more determined than ever to infiltrate the enemy camp and bring an end to the siege. The two continued passed taverns of raucous revellers; across the long concourse that was guarded by marble statues and through open gardens of laburnum and rose. The air was clearing and there was a reassuring friendly aroma to it, not the usual choking fume. The Barracks were a set of buildings constructed in the neo classical style of Constantinople, a tall building made of large blocks of sandstone with columns that stretched along the front and held up a canopy of clay tiles, some of which appeared broken. They climbed the stairs and strode through the entrance. When they arrived the Viglator was in discussions with an advisor, the two were leaning over a map laid out on a large desk,
and there was a candle next to it for extra light. A picture of the Emperor hung from the wall, and a standard of the Empire stood in one corner of the room. The Viglator greeted them, he wore a light tunic of white with red trim, the thick leather belt round his waist was pulled tight but not so that it would cause discomfort, his breeches were tucked into long leather boots that had mud caked to their souls; he had a determined look on his face, and his penetrating eyes were attentively scanning the paper in front of him. The man he was with was in his early thirties; tall with cropped brown hair, he had keen dark eyes that seemed to be cavernous; he stood tall for a Roman, probably of Thracian origin, his weathered torn clothes indicated that he had recently been in a skirmish; he held a small bandage to one side of his face, acknowledged the new arrivals with deference when they entered the room; at his side hanging from his belt was a short sword that by all appearances must have also seen battle, the hilt was well used and muddied.
“Gentlemen at last you’ve come, this here is General Petron, he has recently been smuggled into the city, he informs me that the Saracens are bringing up reinforcements; they are obviously plotting something big, what it is, we cannot be sure of. I’ve briefed him on what we’ve already been up against and to be honest, if I hadn’t been party to some of the things myself, I wouldn’t have believed them.”
“We can assure you Petron everything the Viglator has told you is quite true.”
“No doubt, but you must admit the story is a strange one.”
“You have no idea,” responded Callinicus turning back to the Viglator, he eyed him carefully, “Arzealous has been thinking about going down to the enemy camp and finding out what exactly is going on.”
“Oh he has, I thought we'd been over this, are you insane; what makes you think that such a thing would work, you’re sure to be captured.”
“I’m going with him,” said Callinicus.
“I see, so you are both insane, you’ll be caught and then the Emperor will have me strung up for letting you go on such a foolhardy mission. Petron perhaps you could talk some sense into them.”
“It’s what we need to do, in fact I should go with them. I’ve made a study of the layout of Saracen encampments and know where the Emir would be situated, also I know more than most about the Saracens, having had dealings with them over a number of years and I can speak their language.”
The Viglator looked astonished and fell back in his chair, “So it's confirmed, all my senior staff are crazy?”
Petron also pulled up a chair with a wry smile on his face, and a distinct look that suggested a certain eagerness for the suggestion. “If we were, then we’d be perfect for this mission.”
“And besides," interrupted Arzealous, "they keep paying us a visit, it’s only right that we paid them one in return. It’ll give us a chance to find out what they are up to, and the Emperor did say he wanted to find out their design.”
“Very well, I hate to say it, but you’re all probably right; the reason why I had you called here is that Petron has some important information.”
“The person taking over the attack on the city is a nephew of their Prophet apparently,” continued Petron. “He’s quite well regarded among his people. He crossed over by cover of dark nearly two nights ago with a fresh army, and if our intelligence is correct a large naval force of maybe four hundred ships; I think you could say they are tired of siege warfare and instead are going to make a full scale assault. They may now have the manpower to succeed; what we need to do is to find out when they intend to strike; if we can deal them a heavy blow and defeat them, then I believe it will deter them from a venture like this for some years.”
“And if not?”
“Then my dear Callinicus by next spring we’ll all be speaking Arabic and quoting from the Qur’an.”
“What is it about us Christians that upsets so many others,” said The Viglator.
“Perhaps it’s the fact that we defend our faith so passionately that our neighbours become our enemies. It's quite strange when you think about it, when we were all pagan we just fought over the fact that we wanted to make the world Roman, now we fight to make it Christian or to maintain it as Christian. But perhaps the real truth is that we have a city that is considered to be the jewel of heaven and that it is our foes greed and jealousy that provokes their actions and not their faith.” said Petron.
“I fear that even in a thousand years or ten thousand years for that matter, such desires will not cease,” said Arzealous.
“And people think I’m cynical,” replied Petron.
“I don’t think we Romans are especially pious, we like to think we are, but our Empire was built on subjugating and making slaves out of others. The problem here is we weakened the Sassanids to the extent that Islam was able to take over their empire with some quick and easy victories. And now we have a more aggressive, vigorous, younger and ambitious empire to deal with than the one we destroyed, and unfortunately it has all the wealth and knowledge of the older one at its disposal,” responded Callinicus.
“Other Empires come and go, theirs will be no different,” said the Viglator.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong; this one will be very different; very different indeed,” said Petron. “These people are fanatical with a righteous zeal any Roman would be proud of. Islam isn’t a religion that springs from an oasis, that when threatened by the midday sun, just dries up. It has strong foundations; strong roots and we had all better be prepared for the fact that it is here to stay.”
“I’m curious Petron what makes you think that.”
“I’ve had dealings with them; traded with them. They are always looking to convert others to their way of life. And the religion is built around obedience to the teachings of their Prophet, who was said to have received divine revelation from the Angel Gabriel no less. So I wouldn’t so quickly dismiss them, they are rapidly growing and in just over a generation, they have gained much.”
“They have gained out of our ineptitude, after the destruction of the Persian Empire we were too weak to prevent them filling the void that that war left behind. It was an easy matter for them to walk into the unguarded Persian house and take what they wanted,” responded the Viglator. “And they did it at a time when after years of war our Empire needed to rest and consolidate.”
“And should they break us, then it won’t be long before they move west and north into the lands of the Lombards, the Franks and the Avars, and those peoples certainly would not be able to resist them,” said Arzealous.
Petron smiled ruefully, “Well, if we are overrun, we should be thankful for small mercies, especially if they actually put an end to the barbarians. The question is what do we do if we defeat them, we’re a more exhausted Empire than ever and we need time to recover; and I don’t think the Saracens are going to be accommodating enough to let us be; not for the hundred years or so that we need to regain our strength.”
“Then we do what we’ve always done, we divide to conquer, and we find others that are willing to fight our enemy for us, while we cannot,” replied the Viglator.
“As I said how pious are we?”
“Not piety but pragmatism or perhaps you’d rather we all started learning Arabic.”
“I think I’d rather go with the politics; Arabic’s way too complicated for the ordinary Stratiotai to learn, and we’d be forever at prayer, nothing would ever get done.”
“I don’t know, seems to work well enough for the Saracens.”
“It’s strange, if we ever crossed into their lands, the way they’ve crossed into ours, you can be sure they’d paint a really bad picture of us.”
“We did cross into their lands; where do you think the final battle took place to defeat the Persians and how do you think we got to where we are,” said Arzealous. “People didn’t just give us their land. And if someone tells me that the idea of making the world Roman has been successful, then I’d ask them to take a look outside our walls, that same type of idea has come back
to us with a vengeance. You could say these Muslims have learnt from the very best; us. In fact the Persian Empire was some five hundred years older than ours at the time of its end, we’ll be fortunate with this new threat, to last as long as that.”
There was a sullen silence in the room, the Viglator who had been doodling something on a piece of paper threw down his pencil and sat forward in his chair, “When do you intend going on this foolhardy quest.”
“I think Petron could do with freshening up, and having a bite to eat, so I would suggest tomorrow night at sunset.”
“Very well, I’d ask that you do nothing stupid while you’re over there, but since you already appear to have that part covered, I don’t think I need to. So I’ll wish you well and hope to see you back within say two or three days from when you leave, and whatever you do, don’t tell the Emperor about this; how I’m going to explain your absence is anyone’s guess; you do realise joking aside, if he finds out, he might have us all strung up and reduced in rank to mere Legionaries.”
“Well you always said how much simpler life was when you were younger, if he does find out, you’ll at least get the chance to relive your youth,” responded Petron.
“Very funny, get out and good luck, believe me you’re going to need it. I'll make the necessary arrangements, your provisions will be waiting for you nightfall tomorrow at the harbour gate, and Petron you know where the baths are, would you wash, you smell like the proverbial dung heap.”
Petron lifted his arm and smirked, “I am a little ripe; that's the smell of good honest hard labour.”
“Then take your honesty and your hard labour and would you go and plant it elsewhere.”
The three strode from the room and arranged to meet at the harbour entrance at dusk the next day.
Callinicus went to prepare himself for the journey ahead, while Arzealous took the opportunity to rest for a few hours. General Petron had a bath, and put on more comfortable attire, before visiting a local tavern he knew; where the ladies were salacious, the beer plentiful, and the food abundant. It was his favourite place of worship; after realising that he had had quite too much of everything, he went back to the barracks for another bath and a nap and found that once his head hit the pillow, he was out.
Callinicus took the Seal and began bending it to his will, he seated himself on the floor in his chamber staring into a candles flame, his breathing had slowed to such an extent, if anyone had walked in on him, they would not have known if he were alive or dead. As Watcher he could disappear within his mind and open himself up to different realms, the Sacred Seal enhanced such abilities as he had; so as he entered the dream state what seemed only an instant in real terms; a few hours; was an age in the Vision Realm he had gone to; it was there that he learnt Arabic and much more concerning the ways of the Saracens.
Arzealous had gone to his room, eaten something that had been laid out for him, stood on the balcony and looked out over the city. Soon they would know the machinations of their enemy. Perhaps he would find out to what end the Merovingian and Charon were working to. They were after the Codex for War that much was certain, but was it to wage war or so that if the War ever came to them, they could protect themselves from it, or was it to ally themselves to whomever they thought would offer them the best terms, perhaps they were even after their own Universe to lord over. It also crossed his mind that if the Merovingian was willing to act for his own self-interest, maybe other Watchers had done the same and perhaps some had sided with the Dragon without his knowing.
After having enough of gazing at the city, he re-entered his room, sat back on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. There were some small hairline cracks that age had made; he noticed a spider scuttle across to one of them and enter in, two legs hung out before the little intruder disappeared fully inside. A large bee buzzed through the drapes; its brown body a sharp contrast to the white washed room, it hovered a moment, before settling on the ceiling; slowly it crawled along; its small antennae feeling their way; it stopped where the fracture was which was now home to the spider; the spider suddenly shot out but it was too slow the bee sensing something was amiss, fell back to make its escape; the spider turned one way then the other and once more retreated into its secure lair. The Bee bounced off the small chandelier twice that hung from the ceiling, turned and made its way out of the chamber, into the cool air of the day, none the worse for its close encounter.
Arzealous sat back on his bed, they would be fortunate if their encounter with the Saracens had such an end, he closed his eyes, he would sleep a while; and prepare himself for when dusk of the next day arrived, then he and his companions would pass into danger.