Croatian Gold
Northern Epirus border, July 1089.

A hot wind gusted through the mountain passes of Northern Epirus, blowing drifts of dust, twisting its way around the pine trunks that dotted the slopes.
The riders were huddled in their capes against the wind, the dust clinging to the sweat running on their exposed skin, making their way across the path that crossed the mountain range.

Methodios was riding in the lead, letting the reins rest on his horse’s collar, the horse knowing its way, having trodden it so many times over the last year.

It was almost a year now since Methodios had left Dyrrakhion to oversee the Venetian border. The defeat of the Italian-employed mercenaries had him thinking that retaliation would soon follow from the Venetians but until now, there had been no gathering of forces at Ragusa, no landings by the powerful Venetian navy though their ships still plied the trade routes of the Adriatic.

“I thought they would use Dyrrakhion as an excuse for waging war on us… That their pride would talk… Seems they have learnt the virtues of patience…” thought Methodios “Now we’ve patrolled these passes over and over and even went down to the Ragusa countryside and have yet to see a threatening move on their part. It may be time to get back to Dyrrakhion. Though I had pledged to give it to the Emperor after capture, and true to my word I forswore all claims on it, perhaps the Basileos will deem me capable enough to appoint me as governor to the town…”

Methodios’ reverie was broken suddenly by a metallic ringing coming from the valley that opened a bit further down the mountain road. There was no mistaking it : it was the clangour of battle…

Thinking at first that his mind was playing tricks on him, Methodios turned in his saddle, seeing that all of his men were standing erect in their saddles, oblivious to the cold seeping into their cloaks, clear indication that he had not been imagining the noise.

Methodios was now sure there was a battle somewhere down there, though the echoes on the rocky faces of the mountains prevented him from guessing the number of fighters involved.

“Forward !!” he called to his men, unsheathing his sword at the same time. Setting a brisk pace, guided by the noise of ringing metal, Methodios drove his horse down the slanting road.

Finally, a bend in the road revealed the origin of the noise.

A merchant train was being attacked by a small party of what seemed professional soldiers although they did not wear any identifiable colours, though their arms and armours had a distinct Italian feel.

Several of the merchant guards lay dead on the ground, while only a few of the brigands seemed to have suffered light wounds. Soon, the last defenders would be overwhelmed.

The numbers were slightly against Methodios and his men but their sudden appearance should provide enough of an advantage to prevail.

His decision taken, Methodios spurred his charger, signalling with his sword to his men, who as one followed him down the slope.

The horses’ hooves striked sparks on the rocky ground of the slope, an avalanche of noise that soon reached the brigands. Heads began to turn, shock leading to terror…

The leader of the brigands soon realized that there was no way to win that battle and a quick order called in a language unknown to Methodios (“Definitely not Italian” thought Methodios), sent his men running up the mountainside where only goats could follow, rocks and trees barring the way to the horses.

The merchant guards maintained a vigilant posture, tightening their position around the two wagons that made up the merchant train. Their horses had wandered away, putting them at a disadvantage to the approaching riders. Methodios called his men to halt and ordered them to sheath their weapons, after making sure that the robbers had fled far enough not to cause any more mischief.

Keeping their weapons drawn, the guards nevertheless didn’t relax. One of them, seemingly the leader stepped forward.

“Shall we thank you ? Or are you just frightening the competition ?” he asked, defiantly, in a strongly accented Greek.

Before Methodios or any of his men could answer, a fiftyish man of wide girth stepped down from the front of the lead wagon.

“Hush now, Goran… These men have just saved our lives… No need to be aggressive…Better see to our wounded…” the man said, talking to the leader of the guards, in a slightly less accented Greek.

The man was dressed in a black tunic of dark brocaded silk over which he wore an old-fashioned leather breastplate. He wore high boots of fine leather and a foppish black hat with a white feather. His face seemed jovial enough, ruddy and lined like an old apple, a wide graying beard covering the lower part of his face.

Walking towards Methodios and his men, seeing that his own men had sheathed their weapons and were going to the wounded to tend to their wounds, a smile lit up the man’s face.

“Let me introduce myself…I am Milos Kovacs, miner and trader, from the free city of Zagreb, a hundred leagues to the north. Who shall I thank ?”he asked “I take it by the looks of your armours and weapons that you are kataphraktoi, hence in the service of the Roman Empire, no ?”

“You’re right” Methodios answered, instantly liking the man. “My name is Methodios Tagaris. These are my companions. May I ask what brought you to these barren country , Master Kovacs ? Not much in it but rocks…”

“Exactly, my Lord… Exactly… Rocks… Beautiful rocks…” Kovacs answered, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “There are all kinds of rocks, my Lord… Some more valuable than others… Let me show you…” Walking to the back of one of the wagons, Kovacs climbed in and was soon back out with a small pouch. Handing it to Methodios, he said “Here… Take a look…”

Open the pouch and pouring a bit of its content on his hand, Methodios was surprised to see a few golden stones, the stones casting a warm glow from the sun beating on them.

“Is that what I think it is ?” Methodios asked.

“Yes, my Lord… Gold… Pure gold, plundered from Earth’s bowels…”

“And I suppose there are more of these in those two chariots of yours ? What’s to stop me from killing you and taking all that for me ?” Methodios asked, matter-of-factly.

“My Lord, I pride myself in being a good engineer but also a good judge of character… I can feel we are in no danger from you or your men… Anyway, take this pouch as a gift for saving our lives and our shipment. You’ve earned it…” said Kovacs closing Methodios’ hands over the pouch.

“But we didn’t even fight any of your aggressors…” Methodios argued. “I cannot accept…”

“Then perhaps will you accept to answer a few questions for me in exchange ? Or provide some help ?” Kovacs asked.

“What do you want to know ?” Methodios asked, getting down from his horse. Seeing that his companions had done the same, helping the guards tend to their wounded comrades.

“May I ask what a Byzantine knight is doing so far away from the Empire ? Is this not Venetian territory ?”

“True… But Durazzo has fallen to Empire arms and we are here to prevent any move by the Venetians to reclaim it.”

“Ah… I see… My Lord… Forgive me if I seem too forward but I would ask a service of you… As I stated earlier, I hail from the fair and free city of Zagreb. Though it is now free in name only…Until a few years ago, we owed no allegiance to nobody but ourselves. We traded with all the neighbouring kingdoms… It was a heaven for men such as me… But Heaven often lures the Devil… This time he came in the guise of one Captain Gulya and his men. They pretended that the Venetians had plans to claim Zagreb as their territory and convinced the city Elders that they should hire him and his men for our city’s protection. The Elders complied but the threat has not come true in the meantime nor does it seem to be on the verge of becoming true. Nevertheless, Gulya and his men are still getting tribute from our city, indulging in feasts and orgies. His men are not much better than rogues, preying on our merchant trains. See… The men you put to flight are Gulya’s men.”

“So what service would you ask of me ?” Methodios asked, with a smile. “Surely not to escort your wagons to safety ?”

“No… I had in mind a mission more fitting of a Byzantine knight… See… These mountains around us you are full to the brim with gold… Only thing is the roads are not safe out of these mountains… So until we get rid of Gulya and his men, there is no exploiting it… What you’ve just seen in that pouch is nothing compared to what we could scour from the soil with the proper engineering… But setting something like that up requires money… More money than I or even all of Zagreb traders put together could muster… Now, if you would help us get rid of Gulya’s yoke, I could put in a word with the Elders and have them declare themselves for the Empire. Then we could use funds from your Basileos to set up a series of mines in these mountains. They would pay up for any investment in no time, my Lord… What say you ?” asked Kovacs, an expectant look on his face.

Methodios thought a while. Kovacs was a good man, of this he was sure. He would prove true to his word. But marching on that town without knowing the strength of his opponent could be suicide. Plus, it would mean abandoning Dyrrakhion, though apparently the town was safe from Venetian assault. And the House of the Tepaki had been en route and could take over the governing of the newly conquered city. He’ll be out of reach to the Empire for some time until he reached Zagreb.

“Are you sure your countrymen are ready to come under Empire rule ? There will be no turning back…” Methodios asked.

“Surely, it will not be easy… Though the majority will gladly be rid of Gulya, some have risen to power since his arrival… They have supporters, but nothing that wealth pouring in can’t overturn”, Kovacs replied, frankly.

Having reached his decision, Methodios put his arm on Kovacs’s shoulder. “Walk with me… We have some plans to make…”

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