[Draft title:
1093-1093.The truth shall make you free]
[Cast:]
Nasokrator Mutimir. Much improved.
Empress Eldrid. Watch out, the script requires her to appear in a way that may need revising her contract.
Patriarch Wamba. Looking a bit too old for the job.
Prince Berbat. A sort of toddler Clint Eastwood, only meaner.
Zoltán Nemanjóvic. The lost prince of Serbia, as himself.
Ermengol de Barcelona-Urgell. The lost count of Urgell, as himself.
Hovhannes Senek'erim Gardman-Aghbania. The lost count of Suenik, as himself.
Kettu Rurikovich. Think of a tubby, bearded, hairy-chested Xena.
Glande of Galindia. Just as innocently good-natured-looking as ever.
Duke Roger Borsa of Apulia. Fat, rotund, big man, ruddy cheeks, doing himself too well on the starchy foods.
First Aide. The same actor. Today they won't need characterisation.
Second Aide. Repeating too.
Court Bully One. Pug-nosed big boy. Needs to look more than usually bone-headed.
Court Bully Two. Jar-eared big boy. Shock of hair. Very mean face, couple of scars.
Court Bully Three. Big-headed thin boy, needs to play the weaselly role.
Sundry characters without lines. We'll need several more than usual.
Digital assets and atrezzo. We can reuse the horse column of the other day. And four shine-in-the-dark eyes.
1093. Palace of the Nasokrator at Ephesos. Secret room in the basement. The Nasokrator meets Wamba and a bunch of clerics while two pirate ships enact a tremendous cannon battle in the background.
[Nasokrator Mutimir] … so how much would it cost me?
[Patriarch Wamba] A fair bit, your majesty. St Mihailo is already beatified, but making him a proper, official saint of the Church as you say you want… there are a few requirements. And some of them can be quite expensive.
[Nasokrator Mutimir, drumming his fingers on the table] Like which?
[Patriarch Wamba] Well, there’s the proof of miracles. We need irrefutable evidence that somebody prayed to St Mihailo for help and he actually answered. Faking that will cost a lot of money, unless we can get him to perform a miracle in front of us.
[Nasokrator Mutimir] Like, if I asked the old son of a bug to save us a sack of gold and pretty please cure my illness of years so I can ride again and lead the armies of Dioclea, and suddenly I could just stand like this… ? Oops.
[Patriarch Wamba, goggling] Wow!
1093. Palace of the Nasokrator at Ephesos. Imperial bedroom. The Emperor is tucked in with a book, the Empress appears with her nightly makeup and climbs into bed.
[Empress Eldrid, pursing her lips and putting cucumber slices on her eyes] Remember what I told you the other day about Spymaster Aurelia’s games and Ephesos becoming a sex-tourism destination?
[Nasokrator Mutimir] Yes?
[Empress Eldrid] It has begun.
1093. Palace of the Nasokrator at Ephesos. Court school. Four boys stay in one of the classrooms after the lesson, one of them writing on a parchment, the other three evidently up to something.
[Court Bully One, moving close to the sitting student] So you think you’re cool just because your dad is the Emperor, eh?
[Prince Berbat, scribbling on unimpressed] I don’t want any trouble.
[Court Bully Two] Oh, hear that crybaby? The little girl don’t want any trouble!
[Court Bully One] Yeah, that’s why she’s not the heir of anything! Too delicate to fight for it!
[Court Bully Three] Hey, I’ve locked the door! Let’s teach him a coupla lessons!
[Prince Berbat, slipping his hand into a set of brass knuckles and grabbing the iron-tipped writing feather] Go ahead. Make my day.
1093. On the way to Polotsk. A large force of cavalry and the Hard Boiled Eggs cross the steppes, as usual. A bit behind the head of the column, the Emperor departs with two famous soldiers.
[Nasokrator Mutimir, bubbling with optimism] So this is practically your homeland, isn’t it, Sir Kettu?
[Kettu Rurikovich, moodily] More or less, your majesty. We mercenaries try to forget those things…
[Nasokrator Mutimir] Of course. And you, Sir Glande, probably don’t remember either?
[Glande of Galindia, looking a bit nervous] Oh, I wouldn’t say that much, your majesty. My home is a bit further, though. And… may I ask you something?
[Nasokrator Mutimir, laughing] If you would like to know why I’m leading this army, you’re not the only one! I think every courtier has asked it…
[Glande of Galindia] Er… well…
[Nasokrator Mutimir] You see, I was getting a bit stressed cooped up in Ephesos. And listening to all those stories of the famous Hard Boiled Eggs, and the roving Sir Glande and Sir Kettu…
[Glande of Galindia] Yes, that’s what I…
[Nasokrator Mutimir] Oh, you’re famous indeed! The way you’ve been decimating cavalry regiments with that famous hammer of yours! Your fearless charges! The time you struck that gong at the temple of Crom and it crumbled on top of the enemy priestess! Amazing!
[Glande of Galindia] Oh, that was… but I mean, Sir Kettu is…
[Nasokrator Mutimir, clapping him on the back] Don’t worry! We all know about Sir Kettu’s daring and bravery, too! The time he entered that enemy city one night and had killed every single guard in the walls by next morning! And the time he entered in through one door and the whole garrison scampered through the other in a panic! You two are the best fighting men in the Dioclean army!
[Glande of Galindia] But sir, we aren’t! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! Sir Kettu is really…
[Nasokrator Mutimir, laughing, spurring his horse and leaving for the van of the column] Such modesty too! See you later, Sir Glande, Sir Kettu. I look forward to the battle!
1093. Expeditionary army camp in front of Arborea. Very dark night. The two Aides meet in secret to discuss urgent matters.
[Second Aide] Fred?
[First Aide] Yes, Nobby?
[Second Aide] Are you there, Fred?
[First Aide] Yes, Nobby. What’s the matter?
[Second Aide] Do you think they have forgotten us, Fred?
[First Aide] What do you mean, Nobby?
[Second Aide] Well, we’ve been stationed here for months now and the Emperor hasn’t declared war…
[First Aide] He’s probably busy with that Egypt thing, Nobby. He’s a busy man, can’t be everywhere.
[Second Aide] But half my men have deserted, Fred. They’re all waiters or bouncers at the beach discos, Fred.
[First Aide] Can’t help you there, Nobby. Mine have joined the tourists.
[Second Aide] Maybe we should send a message to Ephesos for instructions? Fred? Are you there, Fred?
1093. Palace of the Nasokrator at Ephesos. The Nasokrator’s bathroom. Mutimir is wrapped in a towel and shaving in front of the mirror when Wamba knocks and walks in.
[Patriarch Wamba] Your majesty, there’s news from the Middle East.
[Nasokrator Mutimir, lathering the cream] Wamba, this is the Middle East…
[Patriarch Wamba] Er, well, yes, but I mean… the thing is, you know the Knives have been pottering around near the Holy Land, and they got into a fight with the remnants of the Seljuk Sultanate more or less for the fun of it…
[Nasokrator Mutimir, shaving under the nose] Yes?
[Patriarch Wamba] Well, the Sultan tried to wriggle out of it by giving his title to a relative who used to be a vassal of yours, out by Hormuz.
[Nasokrator Mutimir, doing the chin] Pesky little brat, what?
[Patriarch Wamba] Ehm. Yes, your majesty. Actually, he’s a pesky little Orthodox brat. He’s King of the Seljuk Turks.
[Nasokrator Mutimir, lifting an eyebrow while retouching the side whiskers] Not Sultan?
[Patriarch Wamba] If you conquer him and take the title, you will have exterminated Seljuk resistance forever, your majesty.
[Nasokrator Mutimir, rubbing his face] And I’ll get to rub it in old Alp Arslan’s face, too. Get me my hose!
[Patriarch Wamba] You mean horse?
[Nasokrator Mutimir] That too, later.
1093. Walls of Arborea. Very dark night. The two Aides meet in secret to discuss urgent matters.
[Second Aide] Fred?
[First Aide] Yes, Nobby?
[Second Aide] Are you there, Fred?
[First Aide] Yes, Nobby. What’s the matter?
[Second Aide] I think we’re in a pickle, Fred.
[First Aide] What do you mean, Nobby?
[Second Aide] I think we should not have declared war on our own, Fred. The Emperor’s not going to like it…
[First Aide] Don’t see what he can complain about. We conquered Arborea, convinced the Duchess to become a vassal, paid the broken tables, all very nice and proper.
[Second Aide] Yes, but Fred... what about the Swedes, Fred?
[First Aide] Wonderful people, the Swedes, Nobby. Make sure your waiters charge them double.
[Second Aide] Maybe we should warn the Emperor that the Vikings are coming? Fred? Are you there, Fred?
1093. Castle of the Duke of Apulia at Apulia. Private study of the Duke. The officers of the Knives sit around the room while the Duke stands in the middle, fairly trembling with rage.
[Ermengol de Barcelona-Urgell] … if you tell me what’s bothering you, maybe we can try to help?
[Duke Roger Borsa of Apulia, bristling] A Norman will never surrender to a Saxon! Never!
[Zoltán Nemanjóvic] But Ermengol, I thought you were a Catalan?
[Hovhannes Senek'erim Gardman-Aghbania] That must be it, because the Apulian Counts are surrendering in droves…
[Duke Roger Borsa of Apulia] What! My Counts wouldn’t…
[Ermengol de Barcelona-Urgell] I think he’s talking about Wamba.
[Zoltán Nemanjóvic] Wamba? But what’s he got to do with this?
[Duke Roger Borsa of Apulia] I mean…
[Hovhannes Senek'erim Gardman-Aghbania, shrugging] Search me.
[Duke Roger Borsa of Apulia] Hey!
[Ermengol de Barcelona-Urgell] Look, this is getting boring. Shall we go downtown for a beer and return when he’s made up his mind? It’s not as if he could go anywhere…
[Hovhannes Senek'erim Gardman-Aghbania] Sounds good to me. Zoltán?
[Zoltán Nemanjóvic] Me too, Johnny. I’ll just go for some coin and join you at the lobby.
The three exit through the door and leave it open. Sounds of steps climbing down stairs, voices and laughs. Then nothing.
[Duke Roger Borsa of Apulia, whining] But… but what about me?