Re: Stories Thread
Constantinople, 1081
As the sun was setting on the first day of Senate deliberations, Markianos Ampelas left the Magnaura and headed toward the inn where he was lodging during his stay in the city. Though the merchants were closing up their shops, the fishermen returning to the docks, and even the city garrison preparing to retire for the night, it seemed the tireless bickerers in the Senate would continue through the night. The sun had set by the time Markianos reached the inn, but it was still light out, and the streets were still fairly active. He picked up his mail from the inn keeper, and went to his room. The room was small and simple, containing only a bed, a chair, and a table. On the table was a mass of papers, and on the chair and the floor were scattered his clothes. The only decoration was a pair of small icons on the east wall, one of the blessed Theotokos and one of Saint Demetrius of Thessalonike. Markianos changed into plain clothes, and did not even bother to read his mail, but only sat on the edge of his bed and waited. After about half an hour, he donned his heavy, military cloak, under which he hid his sword and some money. He looked at the wall with the icons, made the sign of the cross, and left.
Much to Markianos' relief, the street was nearly deserted. While the sky was still a light pink, not much light reached the street level. Although the street was lighted by torches, they were weak, and one could easily go about clandestine business. He headed west, away from the rich areas of the city, passing through a succession of neighborhoods, each of greater ill-repute than the last. He finally arrived in the neighborhood he seeked, a few miles away from the center of the city, though still within the Wall of Constantine. He got off the main road, and navigated a labyrinth of narrow and poorly labeled streets. At each small intersection, he would stop and look at a small piece of paper he held in his hand, which probably contained directions. After another half mile or so, he arrived at the place.
From the outside, it was but a door in large, two-story building, with the only feature distinguishing it from the other doors being the letter μ painted upon it with white paint. Beyond the door and down the stairs was a fairly large room with about twenty tables, some half of them occupied. Markianos took a seat in the corner, and almost immediately a waitress, a pretty, blue-eyed, Rus' (probably Rus', from up north certainly) girl, brought him the only item on the menu: a large cup of beer.
Markianos was on his third beer, though it may have been the fourth, when it was announced that the tavern was closing. He did not react. Soon, he was the only person remaining in the tavern, and was approached by a short, Greek man, probably the owner, who reiterated that the tavern was closed.
"I am looking for Spyridon Mikellides," said Markianos without ever looking at the man.
"What?" responded the other, "I don't know who that is. You need to get out."
Markianos stood up and left. He stopped outside of the tavern, and stood near the door. A few people from the tavern remained near by, most engaging in pointless drunk conversation with their friends, though some occasionally casting glances in Markianos' direction. After a short time, the Rus' girl (yes, she might have been from further north, perhaps from the land of the Varangians, but that really is beside the point), came by.
She came up to him, put her arms around his neck, and said, "Would you like to come with me for some fun?" Her Greek was decent, with a slight hint of a Russian accent. Or perhaps Varangian. It was too light to tell, in any case.
"Yes," he said, without showing any emotion. He then followed her away from the crowd without drawing any attention. He followed her through the labyrinth until they came upon a building which was not in any way distinct from the other buildings, and entered a door which resembled most other doors. He followed her up the stairs, and she led him into a room lighted with a lamp, and when she had led him thus, she left, closing the door behind her. The room was clean, neat, and utterly ordinary and inconspicuous, except for the man in a dark blue cloak with a hood, sitting at a table and looking at Markianos.
Markianos sat across him, and asked, "Are you Spyridon Mikellides?"
"I go by many names," said the hooded figure.
"Well," said Markianos with a slight hint of annoyance, "is Spyridon Mikellides one of them?"
"What is it you want, Comes Ampelas?"
Startled a bit that this man knew who he was, Markianos started making his request: "There is a certain man who goes by the name of Apionnas Vringas. A Senator, of the rank of Strator. I shall tell you all I know of him, and you shall tell me everything else. He claims to be descended from a noble Roman family, and claims to have been taken a slave by the Mamluks and was an officer in the Manoso... Manosourioi--"
"Mansuriyya."
"Yes. Indeed. He now comes to the Roman Senate dressed as a Saracen. His family connections check out, and he was allowed in, and did participate in the debate, but there has been no proof, nor any show at all, that his allegiance lies with our Basileus Alexios and our Lord Christ. It is his allegiance, in both the temporal and spiritual realms, that interests me the most, but any information past what he has provided, and the accuracy of that which he has provided, would also be useful."
"It is possible that I can help you," said the man who sometimes goes by Mikellides, "but since the target is a Senator, and the punishment therefore high treason, it will cost money. Perhaps one hundred and twenty florins, up front."
Markianos tossed a small sack on the table, which landed with the distinct sound of ringing coins. "Fifty florins there, expect seventy when I have good information. And if this fellow should be uncovered a spy, then perhaps expect great rewards from the Emperor."
The two men then discussed the logistics of how they will contact each other and pass information and money. Satisfied, Markianos left the room, and found the Rus' girl waiting for him downstairs. She was to take him back to the tavern so he could find his way back. He did ask her where she was from, but she only smiled at him and said nothing. Typical cloak and dagger types, never reveal more information than is absolutely necessary, even if it is just to satisfy a simple curiosity. She was very pale, with light hair and bright, blue eyes, definitely from the far north, possibly from Novgorod or Rostov, if not from the lands of the Varangians.
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