(more to come)

Rodos, 1086

Ioannis Kalameteros twists and turns on his field bed. He has not been sleeping well, the strains of a stretched siege wrecking his nerves and keeping him awake for hours most night.

He lies in the dark, trying to be calm, trying hard to purge his mind of thoughts, to overcome the anger welling up in him, anger at not being able to sleep, at the stupidity of the defenders of Rodos, at this whole damned island. His blood is pulsing in his ears, spots are flashing before his eyes, sweat is dripping from his face as he finally falls into an uncomfortable sleep.

A flash. It is summer. His eyes are closed, but he can feel the warmth on his skin, perceive the light just beyond his eyelids, smell the flowers and the grass, bathe in the tranquility. He opens his eyes.

Around him is a small garden, shining serenely in the afternoon sun. The image is not clear, the edges of his vision seem blurred and flicker but whenever he turns his head, the flickering moves with it. He notices two girls chatting in the grass off to his right. Their faces tickle his memory, but he cannot name them. This place, this moment, he knows it, but just as he seems about to remember, memory eludes him again.

A man enters his vision from the left, walking along a small stone path that winds its through the garden. His clothes are of good quality but plain. The man is tall, with arms slightly too large for his body, the lines of his face obscured by a well trimmed beard. That face, it is...it is...it is his face, it is him, only older, much older. He springs to his feet, an urge to run to the man with his face, to himself. The man turns, a warm smile on his face. As he speaks, the blurred edges of Ioannis' vision expand and expand until at last they obscure it all.

"He has become emperor, my boy!"

A flash, and then there is darkness. Back on Rodos, Ioannis starts breathing more deeply, two words resonating in his head: "My boy, my boy, my boy..."