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Anno Domini 826, December-17
In the end, I traveled with Sigurd and my sailors, this time without much cargo, so we used a Byzantine dromon, allowing us to rely on the oars and travel faster.
Considering that I would be in the imperial capital—the worst nest of vipers imaginable—I decided that my guard would be Varangians. Between the fact that they don't understand Greek and that I selected a group who had fought against the Bulgarians—the hardest, strongest, and most loyal bastards among all my mercenaries—I offered them a place in my hird. This time, instead of hesitation, they showed genuine excitement.
Unlike before, when I had asked them for loyalty until released from my service and they hesitated until I raised their pay, the men I selected now reacted with enthusiasm. Most likely because I had already filled their pockets with gold and silver and given them gold arm-rings for their service.they probably saw me as a proven commander or a good jarl in their eyes—either way worked for me.
Since I released them from their previous oath to take on an even harsher one, they swore loyalty to me until death before their patron gods—most commonly Odin and Thor—and pledged to remain in my service for the rest of their lives. I did have to raise their pay, though: they would now earn one gold coin per month, a little more than twice the normal wage, plus a generous share of the loot, as I had been doing. Distributing loot among the company was the easiest way to facilitate recruitment. Any potential recruit only had to look at how full a mercenary's pockets were to decide whether sacrificing his life was worth it.
I would have liked to make them patterned armor—it's incredibly complicated, but I know how to do it. I'll probably handle that personally when I have time after the meeting with the emperor, assuming he doesn't just thank me and dismiss me, which would be the best-case scenario.
With the rowers maintaining a steady pace, we reached Constantinople in two days instead of the usual four it took under sail alone. We docked at the Port of Kontoskalion, where the shipyards and dry docks were located and where vessels carrying important passengers usually stopped.
I was greeted by the stench of the city, and immediately noticed the Varangians closing their eyes as they endured the smell—probably used to the clean air you could breathe almost anywhere else.
As we prepared to disembark, members of the port tagma were already waiting to verify identity and paperwork.
Before they could even speak, I had the documents out. "I was summoned by the emperor to attend the palace as soon as possible, and I have authorization from the Strategos of Macedonia to carry arms, as I serve the army of the theme," I said, showing the letter and permit. The guards simply stepped aside once they confirmed the imperial seal.
Without wasting time, we left the fortified sector and moved through the streets, which were packed with people. The smell worsened the more densely populated the areas became, until we finally entered a less crowded district, where we could see the Hippodrome. It appeared to be full, with crowds pouring in to watch what seemed like the medieval equivalent of a football match from my old world—people losing their minds over watching a ball being kicked around. Here, it was about who had the best charioteers and horses, which sounded far better given the potential for fatal mistakes.
We moved quickly through the area. My Varangians terrified the locals as they watched enormous foreign giants shove people aside to clear a path for me through the crowd. It was obvious there was an important event taking place that day.
After a barrage of shoves and insults shouted at me as we pushed through the streets, I finally reached the Augustaion Square. There were fewer people here, but nearly all of them were aristocrats or soldiers, judging by their expensive clothing. We kept walking without stopping. I paused briefly to admire the building—Hagia Sophia. Truly a marvel. My eyes then slowly shifted toward the Baths of Zeuxippos.
I slowly brought my hand to my clothes, realizing I felt filthy. I had bathed two days earlier when we left , but if I was to meet the emperor, stopping here would be ideal.
"Bath?" I asked the Varangians following me. They nodded immediately, so I reached into my coin pouch and we entered the baths, paying one gold coin per person for a private bath instead of using the public one, where hundreds of people might be bathing and sharing equipment.
"It's hot," Sigurd said, dipping the tip of his foot into the water and pulling it back immediately.
"There's a hypocaust underneath. They're burning wood to heat the water—it's obviously going to be hot, and that's ideal. With the cold outside, it's welcome," I said, removing my clothes and armor and stepping into the tub.
"So that's why it's so expensive," I said, smelling a perfumed soap. "Smells like flowers."
"Let me see," one of the Varangians said, copying me. "Yes, it does," he said, beginning to scrub himself.
We didn't waste the time. The Varangians began grooming, sharing their razors and trimming their beards, helping each other keep the cuts clean and orderly, cutting their hair, trimming long strands, and fixing their braids.
With their help, they shaved the stubble from my face. By habit, I preferred not to have a beard—I found it irritating, and for more than twenty years I hadn't been able to grow one anyway. They also cut my hair, making it far more presentable than it had been. I left the bath absolutely clean.
Putting my armor back on, we didn't waste a second. Taking advantage of the fact that I would smell decent for a few minutes before the stench of the capital clung to me again, we moved on and reached the Chalke Gate, where the tagma of the Scholai—the emperor's personal guard—could be seen.
"Do you have a reason to be here?" one of the Scholai at the gate asked when he saw us.
"Yes. I have a meeting requested by the emperor, and I came as soon as I could," I said, pulling out the letter and showing it to the guard.
"Very well… I will notify the mandator. Disarm them," he said, looking at his companions as he took the letter inside.
"Remove your helmet and lift the mail from your face. Hand over all swords, daggers, and knives," the guard said, extending his hands.
"Hand over everything you have that could be used to kill these idiots," I said in Varangian, removing my sword from my belt, the dagger at the back of my waist, the dagger in my boot, and the pair of knives mounted on my forearm armor.
"Anything else?" the Scholai asked, seeing that I seemed to have knives everywhere.
"No. That's all," I replied. My Varangians handed over their swords as well—they hadn't brought their usual weapons—along with their daggers.
"No helmets. All of you," the Scholai said as he received the equipment.
I removed my helmet, and the Varangians followed suit. We stood there waiting for long minutes until, finally, a palace official appeared holding the letter.
"Remain silent. Speak only when addressed," the mandator said, turning and opening the letter. "The mercenary is authorized to enter by direct order of the emperor," he said calmly, and the palace gates began to open.}
When the doors were fully open, the official turned to look at us. "Follow me," he said curtly, then turned around and began walking with a trained stride, his boots echoing loudly.
We followed him down a corridor of marble, richly decorated on all sides. Even as our eyes wandered, we kept moving, matching the protocol officer's pace.
We reached another chamber with a new door. The protocol officer disappeared, and we were left waiting without explanation.
Not knowing what to do, we remained silent to avoid irritating anyone further than our presence already seemed to.
While we waited, another palace official appeared—judging by his clothing, someone important, though clearly in imperial service.
The man stared at us, shifting his gaze quickly between my guards and me.
"Your escorts will remain outside. You will enter alone, walk twenty paces, and prostrate yourself fully before the emperor. You will perform the complete proskynesis and kiss the ground as a sign of submission to the emperor… like this," the official said, demonstrating: kneeling, extending his hands, and kissing the floor.
"After that, the emperor will address you. Unless the emperor asks for your opinion, you will say nothing and do nothing except maintain your position." The official stepped closer and sniffed me. "At least you had the decency to bathe," he said sharply.
The official moved away, preparing to leave. "You will proceed to the next chamber and be guided to the throne doors. The doors will open when the emperor has time for you. If the emperor does not have time, you will return tomorrow," the palace official said.
He left, and I was left facing the door as several guards began to open it.
"Sigurd, I have to go in alone. Don't do anything stupid," I said in Varangian.
The Scholai guided me onward, passing through numerous chambers glittering with the palace's immense opulence, until we finally reached enormous doors. There I waited for a long time in silence, knowing I would soon be required to humiliate myself.
I waited and waited. The doors did not open. Just as boredom began to set in, they finally started to move.
"The mercenary of the Theme of Macedonia is announced," someone inside the chamber proclaimed, and the guards signaled for me to enter.
I crossed the threshold and walked the twenty steps. I observed the large number of palace officials and guards present, noting the near absence of aristocrats—only the emperor on his throne with a handful of officials.
I resigned myself, knelt, and performed the act of submission, extending my hands and kissing the floor.
"Who is this? He was not listed among today's audiences, and he interrupted my presence at the Hippodrome," a voice resonated through the hall.
"It is the mercenary recommended by the strategos of the Theme of Macedonia, my Basileus Rhōmaiōn," someone replied.
"Leon's mercenary?" the emperor's voice asked.
"Yes, my Basileus Rhōmaiōn," came the answer.
"Stand up at once. Submission is not necessary," the emperor said.
With only the sound of my armor, I rose and looked at the emperor.
"What is your name? Leon has spoken to me at length about you, but he never told me your name," the emperor said, leaning forward.
"Basil, my Basileus Rhōmaiōn," I replied immediately.
"Ah, finally… I said that when the Macedonian mercenary arrived, I was to be informed and he was to be let through. This is too important a matter to put him through full protocol," the emperor said irritably, looking at the man beside him.
"I—I will have the koubikoularios punished. He was supposed to inform me who it was," someone nervously replied to the emperor's right.
"Very well… Basil… come. We need to talk. Anyone Skleros recommends is trustworthy," the emperor said, standing and glancing at those near the throne.
The emperor began walking toward a corridor. I followed him, when the man to the emperor's right hurried to my side.
"You must walk behind the emperor, ten paces behind him, and only speak when—" he began quickly.
"No protocol," the emperor snapped, raising his voice. "At my side, Basil."
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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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