Stories Thread

[econ21]

Byzantine intrigues.


It was a quiet tavern, outside the bustle of the capital. On a main highway, it was frequented by many travellers but typically such folk were too tired and too solitary to make much noise. And with its lowly décor, it was certainly not the kind of establishment to attract two members of the Conseil du Royaume.

Hermant handed his horse, Bayard, to the stable boy and waited for Gaeten to do likewise.

“Don’t talk.” Hermant pleaded. “Let me say what I have to say first.”

Gaeten looked at Hermant with a wry smile, as if the desire to talk was far from the utmost thing in his mind.

They walked silently into the tavern and looked around.

Hermant began: “We first met in such a place. Do you remember? There you rescued me from a stupid confrontation. Now it is my time to return the favour.”

Gaeten raised an eyebrow.

“Sit” encouraged Hermant. “I will bring you your ale.”

Gaeten sat and watched the other customers: weary merchants catching a breath before entering the big city; worried travellers excitedly discussing the latest news from Staufen and Caernarvon. Hermant returned carrying two large tankards.

“Drink” he intoned and the two men drank silently, as if observing some religious ritual.

“If you duel the entire House of Aquitaine, you will die.” Hermant said suddenly.

Gaeten showed no reaction.

“Suppose you best de Perrone - then what, will you put him to the sword? Kill a defenceless man? Break the Oath? And kill him for what, for defending his Prince’s honour?”

Gaeten did not respond.

“No, I knew it. And the de Perrone probably knows it too - he’s a wily one. Yes, maybe you will strike him dead with a chance blow. But he’ll be counting on your chivalry to save him if you overpower him. And if your chivalry does fail you, I suspect the twisted freak will take some satisfaction in his death bringing you down to his level.”

“You may be stronger than de Perrone, but he’s a sly one. I’ll wager he’ll cut you even if you do beat him. And then you have to face Yvon, then Gontran. And if you still prevail, doubtless other Aquitanians will stand up to strike further blows at you. Perhaps even the Prince himself, or more likely a champion. You’ll either have to kill the entire House of Aquitaine or you will fall. And of course, if you fall, not one Aquitanian will show you the mercy you’d show them. Mercy really isn’t their thing, is it?”

Gaeten looked at Hermant with a blank “tell me something I don’t know” look.

Hermant sipped his ale. “What were you thinking?! The Prince, no less? What has he ever done to us? We are an Order devoted to fighting for the King, he will be King … oh Christ, what were you thinking?”

“Listen, you can’t fight. Yes, I know every bone of your body is screaming that you must fight. I know you would like nothing better than to pound Perrone into the dirt. But you can’t fight.”

“You remember what you told me about our duel in the tournament? How your old tutor had told you about Socrates? About how sometimes you must make a sacrifice for a greater good? Well, your sacrifice is to live. For the greater good, Socrates chose to die rather than run. For the greater good, you are going to run rather than die.”

Gaeten stared at Hermant impassively, although his lip betrayed something close to a snarl of disbelief.

“You are a righteous man, Gaeten. The world is short of those. It needs you. France - France does not need you. You are done here. That ship has sailed. But France is just one country and there are many others where your qualities will serve God.”

Hermant cast a nervous glance at Gaeten. “No, no, no. I am not asking for you to become a monk on some island rock. I am thinking of…”

Hermant paused for dramatic effect. “Constantinople.”

Gaeten looked at Hermant incredulously.

“Yes, yes, Constantinople. Sure, we have our differences from the Greeks, but they worship God in their own way. And they are sorely beset by the Mohammedans. They are always looking for Frankish knights to serve. I have a … friend … who has good contacts there. I reckon I could get you into the Varangian Guard. You’d have to put on a display, show them your stuff, but with your duelling skills, that would be no problem.”

Hermant was getting carried away: “Imagine, a new life, a fresh start. Away from all this politics and intrigue. Warm seas, white sands. Just you and a two handed axe, cracking Mohammedan skulls. And those Greek women, Gaeten, let me tell you…”

Hermant stopped short. Gaeten’s eyes seemed to be blurring over. Hermant reigned himself in and then asked nervously, as if proposing to a young woman:

“What do you say, Gaeten?”

“No.”

Hermant looked downcast. He rubbed his forehead and looked at his shoes.

“No? That is all you have to say? I spend the last half hour trying to charm the socks off you - to save your life! - and all you have to say is “no”?!”

“No.”

Hermant raised his head to heaven and exclaimed.

“Great maker, I was afraid it would come to this.”

He starred again at Gaeten, who appeared to have gone green around the gills. Hermant sat back and crossed his arms. He paused, watching Gaeten observantly and then slowly spoke:

“Look, old friend, you really don’t have a choice. I am sorry, but it is for your own good.”

Hermant ostentatiously waved a large hankerchief in the air. Moments later, four sergeants of the Order entered the tavern. They approached the two drinking knights. Somewhat sluggishly, Gaeten looked up and tried to stand. The effort was too much and he slouched back onto his chair. Hermant came over to him and whispered conspiratorially in his ear:

“I am sorry, old friend, I spiked your ale. When you wake up, you’ll be on an English ship bound for Constantinople. You must never come back. They won’t understand your leaving and will kill you on sight if you return. I am sorry, it’s for the best. Take care, old friend, and may God go with you.”

Gaeten’s eyes closed and the four sergeants lifted him out of the chair.

Awkwardly, but with an air of finality, Hermant touched his brother knight on the shoulder.

“God go with you.”