Ceyhan River, Armenia, 1176 AD
They were late.
The messenger had been waiting at the crossing for six days. The meeting was supposed to have taken place on the first of the month. That was four days ago.
Trust the crusaders to be late he thought crossly to himself, only showing up when they want to. The messenger smiled, not that they're going to like this message. He had secretly read the message while he had waited. The Basileos was insane if he wanted the Latins to follow Roman orders. He had also wanted the Latins to take the western part of Armenia, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was the most heavily populated, spread out and defended part of Cicilia. They'll never agree to that unless the Basileos has offered them something in return the messenger thought to himself, something big. He had thought a bit on that subject, but could think of nothing that the crusaders would want in return for giving half of Armenia to the Empire.
"Obviously I wouldn't make a good Basileos," the messenger said out loud to himself with a smile.
"You don't even make a good sentry," snarled a deep voice from right behind him.
The messenger jumped a foot into the air and whirled around, clutching for his sword.
"Looking for this?" a pale, gloating face said, waving a sword around.
The messenger's hand reached his empty scabbard. How the hell...?
The pale-faced man laughed out loud as shock and surprise filled the messenger's face.
The messenger flushed darkly. How dare this pig laugh at a Basileos's message-bearer?
The man noticed the deepening colour. His laughter from before vanished and an ugly expression arose. Waving the sword at the messenger, he said "We've been watching you for a few hours now, so come on. The Count and the Lord are waiting," and started to walk back through the trees.
The messenger gathered his case, anger still flowing through him. THEY'VE been waiting?! What about me?!
"Come," the man said again, not looking around, "we've got much to discuss."
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