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While I was still euphoric from having escaped Bulgaria, I noticed a group of riders approaching.
This time they wore completely different armor. They used padded cloth protection combined with mail.
"What are you doing here, pagans?" one of the guards asked, watching us closely.
My father was about to speak, but I raised my hand to silence him.
"To trade, Roman… the nobility of Bulgaria needs jewels to keep up appearances," I replied, forcing my Greek to sound clumsy and unnatural.
"Oh, really? I suppose you have something of value, then," he said, riding closer.
"Yes, but nothing for you, Roman… unless you want to be the one responsible for breaking the truce between our peoples," I answered, exaggerating the difficulty of forming the words even more.
The rider grimaced and glanced at his companions.
"Behave yourselves, or we'll put you to the knife," he growled before turning his horse and riding back to the group.
When they moved away, my father looked at me in surprise.
"Why didn't you tell them we're slaves who escaped from the Bulgarians?" he asked quietly.
"Because they would most likely have robbed us, killed us, or something worse," I replied, looking at my mother. "We would be perfect prey for a group of soldiers looking for a quick way to get rich. They'd kill us, take everything, and say we were bandits or spies. No one would ever question them."
I flicked the horses again and we continued on our way.
Along the route we saw several fortified outposts of the Empire. On every rise of the terrain there were columns of smoke and tents, clear signs of Byzantine defensive positions. They watched the border, ready for a Bulgarian incursion in case the Bulgarians broke the non-aggression treaty that existed. They did not know that the enemy forces were concentrated in the north, fighting far from there, leaving the south in a tense and deceptive calm.
As soon as we continued along the road and were no longer under the direct observation of the Byzantine troops, we removed our armor and put on simpler clothes, so as not to draw attention while traveling with several horses.
When we reached the first village, we wanted to rest, but my own paranoia would not allow it. I couldn't stop thinking that anyone might try to rob us of our loot while we slept. So we decided to spend the night on a nearby hill, protected by a few trees. There I finally slept, though I startled at the slightest sound.
During that time I heard my father and mother speaking softly, happy that they had finally returned.
An entire day passed as we slept in the hills, recovering from the urgent need for rest after the journey.
As soon as we regained our strength, we resumed the trip toward Adrianople, where the family had lived before.
The city met my expectations, considering it had been sacked not long ago by Bulgarian forces and that much of its population had been captured and sold into slavery.
The walls looked ancient, built long ago. There was nothing constructed outside them; all life in the city was concentrated within the walls. I couldn't judge whether they were good defenses or not. I had no knowledge for that.
We passed through the gates without resistance. I expected some kind of inspection by the guards, but they simply let us in.
I saw many houses and buildings that looked newly built, without the visible wear of older ones. In certain areas there were only ruins and rubble that had not yet recovered from the sack.
I saw my father step down from the cart and stare at a pile of collapsed stones. He kicked a few of them in frustration. My mother climbed down behind him and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"Enough… enough… we're alive. That's all that matters," she said, holding him tightly.
My father let out a deep sigh.
"I'll see if I can speak with one of the officers of the turma, so they know I'm still alive," he said, as some color returned to his face. Then he began walking toward the center of the city, where a fortification rose on a hill dominating the area.
"Where did he go?" I asked, because I didn't understand what turma meant.
"They may respect the agreement their ancestors signed," my mother explained, coming closer and hugging me. "They were granted the use of land in exchange for military service in the thema of Armenia, but five generations ago they were transferred here, to the thema of Macedonia. Your father worked the land, fulfilling his military service every four years until he was called to defend the city against the Bulgarians. He'll try to have the agreement recognized and to regain land to work."
"Is Father Armenian? I thought we were Greek," I asked, somewhat nervous at the discovery of our family history.
"Yes… your father is Armenian, but he barely speaks the language. He only remembers a few words," my mother said with a faint smile, stroking my hair.
I stayed watching the fortress where the city's forces gathered, waiting as time passed. I chewed dried meat and drank water until my father returned after a long while, visibly relieved.
"Good… we're fine. I spoke with a dekarchos, explained my situation and that I had recently escaped from Bulgarian hands. They'll return the lands that belong to us in exchange for military service," he said, hugging my mother in relief.
"Wait… you want to stay here? Do you realize the Bulgarians will come back and that you might have to fight again?" I asked, surprised.
"Of course… Basil, what do you expect us to do? We have land here," my father replied.
"We have a lot of gold and silver, Father. We can go to Constantinople, buy a house, some kind of workshop, and make a living from that. Do you really want to go back to working the land like in Bulgaria?" I said, agitated.
"Son," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "I accepted the stratiotía in exchange for land. I must fulfill my military service for the Emperor. It's something I will always carry with me. When my father died, I accepted those obligations. I cannot simply abandon them."
"The Bulgarians will come back, Father. This city isn't safe. Look at all this," I insisted, showing him the gold and silver we had stolen. "We can do whatever you want: buy ships, livestock in Anatolia… We don't have to stay on the frontier of the Empire, where the Bulgarians will attack again."
"I know, son… but an oath is an oath. If I flee, I'll be a man hunted for desertion. I must fulfill my duty. And you will have to assume it as well when I die and you inherit our lands," he replied calmly.
"I don't want to live here, Father. Believe me, the zupan will look for me everywhere. And if the Bulgarians capture me again, death might be the better option," I said, shaking my head.
My father sighed and lowered his gaze to the cobblestones. At that moment I noticed someone approaching and closed the box where I kept the coins.
"Bardas…? By the Almighty, you're alive," said one of the men who approached. By the way he dressed, he was clearly a soldier, and of rank. I had already seen how the men of the garrison dressed, and he wore scale armor.
"Grigor," my father replied as he recognized him, throwing his arms around him.
"Damn it… what happened was a true tragedy. But by the grace of Our Lord, here you are again," Grigor said with a very marked, strange accent. "It must have been a hard journey, moving through the forests while avoiding pagan patrols. Not many have managed to return… only a few, and others were luckier through prisoner exchanges."
"We were lucky… honestly. It only took us three days to escape. And, practically, it was the Bulgarians themselves who made the road easier for us," my father replied with a faint smile.
Grigor raised an eyebrow.
"How is that? How did the Bulgarians protect you, if they must have been looking for you everywhere?"
"My son…" my father said, pointing at me as he stepped slightly behind me. "He found a way to make it look like an official journey ordered by a Bulgarian noble."
"What?" Grigor said, surprised.
"The local zupan put me in charge of his ledgers. I wrote his letters, so it wasn't difficult to create a document stating that we were traveling under his orders. And well… here we are," I said, spreading my hands.
"…Did you teach your son to read and write?" Grigor asked, looking at my father.
"He learned mostly on his own. He found a priest who taught him, and he was good at it. He's the one who planned our entire escape," my father replied.
"You could have taught him Armenian, Bardas… at least so he could speak it a little," Grigor remarked.
"I can barely speak it myself. I hardly know how to say hello," my father answered.
"Well, at least you have a son who took the best from you," Grigor said with a smile. "Basil, right? Do you know how to read and write in Greek?"
"And arithmetic," I replied.
"Well… well. If it weren't for those Bulgarians enslaving you, I'd say all of this turned out incredibly well for your son," he said, looking at my father. "Listen… someone who can help with accounting is never unwanted. I can speak to my tourmarches to have Basil taken on. If he really knows how to do all that, we might be looking at a future dekarchos or kentarchos."
My father's face lit up at those words, as did my mother's, who couldn't hide her emotion.
"Thank you for the suggestion, but no," I replied as I climbed onto the cart.
"Basil," my father said, looking at me seriously, "a position like that guarantees stability for you and your family."
"I know… I know that very well… but no," I answered while checking some of the supplies.
"BASIL… I am your father and you will—" he tried to say.
"You are my father, and I respect and honor you, but you do not give me orders," I said, meeting his gaze.
Grigor whistled audibly. "That temper reminds me of your grandfather, Bardas… let's hope the strategos doesn't notice him, or he'll recruit him by force for sure," he said with a broad smile.
"Hey, Grigor," I said, looking at him. "Who do I have to speak to in order to get a piece of land near the river, outside the city?"
"You'd have to talk to the city prefect… but those lands belong to the men of the thema, they're the most valuable. Unless you have gold, you'd have to go quite far from the city," Grigor replied.
"Gold isn't a problem. The Bulgarians were very generous with us," I said with a faint smile.
"Let's go," I said, flicking the reins.
I left my parents there, busy deciding what to do now that they had to rebuild their lives.
I found the prefect near the administrative building. He seemed unoccupied.
"So you need land near the Evros and close to the city… let me see…" he said as he pulled out several papyri with lot plans of the thema. "Aha… look… for two pounds of gold you can take all of this land. The owner died and no one claimed it. It's already built on. It's a bargain," he said, pointing at the spot.
"I only need part of it, not that much land," I replied.
"These lands belong to the thema. I can't sell just a fraction. They're parceled to be worth two pounds of gold each," the prefect explained.
"My father has a contract with the thema. Would it be possible to assign these lands to him?" I asked, pointing at the map.
"Assigned lands can't be exchanged. He can't do that," he replied.
"My father recently returned from Bulgaria as a prisoner. His lands were confiscated because they believed him dead. As you yourself said, these parcels belong to the thema," I added, looking him straight in the eye.
I noticed Grigor starting to laugh beside me as he watched the prefect.
"Ah… well, yes… but… those lands… they aren't… you know…" the prefect muttered, biting his lip.
I opened the box where I kept some gold coins. It was clear he was trying to profit by selling the best lands instead of assigning them.
"Thirty-five solidi. You assign the land to my father, Bardas, and I saw nothing," I said, staring him in the eyes.
"That's less than—" he began nervously.
I looked at Grigor.
"We have to pay for his silence too, don't you think?" I added, pointing at him.
"Certainly," the prefect replied. "I'll have everything ready by dusk. You can start moving."
We left the building quickly.
"How much?" I asked Grigor while counting the coins.
"Nothing. I'm glad Bardas is back and has good land. That prefect is problematic with land control, but he seemed to be scared of me," Grigor replied.
"Thank you. I'll inform my parents," I said as I climbed onto the cart.
I returned to them, told them everything that had happened, and we began moving beyond the city walls toward the estate, which lay only a couple of kilometers from Adrianople.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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