The Free Company and the Last Bastion of Empire: Book IV

[unmerged(6777)]

July 11, 1439 – noon, Constantinople

As he left the docks he reflected that it had been an interesting morning. A very interesting morning.

It had begun shortly after dawn – too soon after, in fact, since he had had precious little sleep with his extensive activities the night before – as he had ‘followed’ Frederik on his morning rounds. Since he would have wagered a large sum of money on Frederik’s final destination, it was child’s play to stay hidden and in front of the Dane. This was something he frequently did with targets he observed, for it had a number of positive effects.

The first of these was something he had learned many, many years earlier and was, in his opinion, the ‘golden rule’ of a professional assassin: you are not ready to kill a man until you can think like him, know what he will do and where he will be, getting side of his head so you know him almost as well as you know yourself. That he had no specific orders to kill the Free Company’s self-appointed spymaster was besides the point. It was a habit that he had gotten into, and he practiced it whether he was simply watching a man…or preparing to kill him. The ultimate test of how well you knew the man was whether you could observe him going somewhere, and the patch he would take, and then stay ahead of him – but always within eyeshot - all the way to his destination. In this, he had succeeded admirably.

The second effect was one that could observe things that might otherwise remain unseen – secret bodyguards…other interested parties…and…traps. It was almost comical to see the supposed “shadows” following Frederik. The bumbling fool – too bad at his trade to be any real professional and therefore, he surmised, a distraction – and then a merry little train of more adept men who slipped in and out of the dance as it wove through the streets.

He knows that he is being watched.

No surprise there. It had been his intention, recently, to make himself known – not his identity, but his existence – since this had a tendency to set a man on edge…and a man who is on edge will make mistakes. Not to mention that it sowed fear and suspicion far better than any other method he could immediately think of for one man to accomplish.

Frederik hadn’t stayed overly long with Romario, and so he concluded that little had been said, or done, that he hadn’t already guessed. They wish to spring a trap, I would bet. The trick will be to guess what it is. Well. No. The trick was to get them to tell him what it was. To that end, he decided to stay with Romario, rather than following Frederik to his all-too-predictable next destination (almost certain to be Lochlan). What would Fredierk’s extra-corporal eyes and ears do next?

He did not have long to wait – although he did have time order a second breakfast at the tavern. Romario had come down from his room shortly and, seeing him, had sidled over to him with shifting eyes. He looks nervous…and he should.

“You’re here early,” Romario had greeted him. “But I must say that it’s a very pleasant surprise to see you.”

“Just grabbing a bite to eat,” had been his reply. “You’re up early. Your new mistress not keeping you…busy…any more?”

The Greek had forced a laugh that he didn’t feel, and then his face had darkened. “Things to do…”

“Oh? Anything in it for me?”

“Now that you mention it…”

“Yes?”

“Well, I could use your help.”

“What sort of help?”

“It’s a favour for a friend.”

“That friend not paying well, or is it more of something that happens to be one of my specialties?”

“It’s not a very big favour.”

“Oh.” He had tried to sound disappointed, although it secretly delighted him that, since he had managed to make himself one of Romario’s ‘agents’ some moths early, he was now likely going to be conscripted to help catch himself. On the other hand, one didn’t want to appear too eager… “That’s a shame. I am rather busy, but I might be able to spare some time.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, my friend. He is not without means.”

“Ah…good then. I might be able to find the time after all. What sort of favour are we talking about?”

“I need a rumour spread.”

He had tried to look surprised. “Spread? I…I…I’m not sure I understand. You mean you don’t need information?”

“No. Quite the reverse, actually. Instead of having ‘obtain’ things as I usually do, what I need your help with is to make something known, widely, amongst the entire ‘community’ of us.”

“The entire…?”

“Both sides.”

“Both…oh, I see. You want the Sultan’s spies to hear something and you need my help in making sure that they do.”

“That’s right.”

“Seems easy enough.”

“It will be…except for one thing.”

“And that is?”

“It’s a rather unusual rumour…so it will be a little tricky to explain what you’re doing when you’re spreading it and, thus, doubly hard to make it sound believable. That’s why I’m so glad that you happened to be here. I think you might be perfect for the job.”

“I must confess, my dear Romario, that you’ve piqued my curiosity. Very well, what it worth to your friend to have such a thing done – if, as you say, it can be?”

“That the Free Company is about to arrest a number of spies and agents that they have identified.”

“They are?”

“No. Well. Possibly. I don’t know. All I know is that this is the rumour I’ve been asked to spread.”

“Whatever for?”

Romario looked closely at him. “Does it matter?”

“Not in the slightest. As I said, my deep-pocketed friend, you simply piqued my curiosity.”

“Hmmm. Well in this business, sometimes it’s better not to know too much.”

“I take your point, my friend. I will simply chock it up to idle perversion on the part of the Latins.”

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“Well…something specific…”

“Ah…and until I’ve committed to doing it you aren’t going to tell me.”

“Precisely.”

“Is it dangerous, somehow?”

“Why do you ask?” Again the sharp eyes bore down on him.

“Only that you’re sitting here, asking me to do something that seems far more suited to…well…you than it is to me. Things like that make me wonder if the crow isn’t more than a little bit likely to wind up dead and, as the saying goes, dead men have a hard time spending their gold. Speaking of which…”

That had seemed to allay Romario’s suspicions for he had produced a coin in his hand…a large, golden coin with the now-possibly-lately-departed Emperor’s head stamped upon it. Such things were almost never seen, and certainly not in this part of the City.

He had assumed an expression of fear upon seeing it. “A full Imperial Ducat? That’s more than enough to burry me ten times over!”

“No, no, my friend. It simply demonstrates the importance of the work and rewards you for your speed and…expertise.”

He had given the appearance of thinking it over – easily done since his mind had been racing with all the possibilities. Reaching a decision, he nodded in a way that made it appear that greed was overcoming self-preservation. “Okay, I’ll do it. Perhaps, though, we should finish this conversation away from prying eyes and ears?” The flash of gold had not gone unnoticed by a few of the other patrons, and he had tilted his head suggestively in the direction of the stairs.

Romario looked around at that, as though he had forgotten where he was. “You can finish your breakfast if you like.”

“Suddenly I find myself hungry for something other than this slop.”

In Romario’s room once more, he had received the full details of the rumour he was to spread – and now he understood the wrinkle.

“An agent of the Khan actually a member of the Free Company? I’m shocked! They seem so…loyal, somehow…or at least that’s what I’ve been hearing ever since they got hear.” His head was spinning. How could they possibly know? Had he slipped up somewhere? Had he been spotted? Had someone noticed his unusual hours and activities? No. Impossible. It must be some sort of sixth sense that one (or more) of them possessed. ( )

“That was about the same time you showed up, wasn’t it? Strange, now that I think of it…”

“Coincidence, Romario. Pure coincidence. I took passage with their ship when it left Rhodes since I had to make a rather…hasty departure. The Knights are rather…upright…if you catch my meaning.”

Romario hadn’t looked convinced, and that was enough…

“There something of mine that I would like returned,” he had said, voice suddenly becoming hard as his eyes closed to feral slits.

“Of yours?” The Greek shook his head. “I have nothing of yours.”

“Yes you do, my ‘friend’, and I would like to retrieve it.”

“I can assure you that you’re mistaken. What is it of yours that you think I have?”

“My knife,” he said, allowing its temporary replacement to drop into his hand.

The look of shock told him the one last piece of information he needed. If they know there’s a spy in the Free Company, at least they still don’t know that it’s me. He plunged the dagger into Romario’s heart…or, rather, he tried to. Although the Greek had appeared to be wearing a simple silken tunic, something turned the blade and he suddenly found himself facing an armed and able man. Fortunately, Romario was still too surprised to have called out for help, but he knew that the vocal paralysis would not last for very long.

I probably killed my first man before you were even born, he thought as he stepped in, blocked a vicious cut from his opponent’s blade, and slammed his knee up into the crotch and simultaneously jammed his empty hand into the centre of the Greek’s chest. And there is more than one way to kill a man.

His victim doubled over with the pain and it took only a heartbeat to draw the knife across his neck, severing the windpipe and the arteries so that there wasn’t even a sound and death was almost instantaneous. It had had the unfortunate side-effect of drenching them both with the blood, but there had been no alternative.

With no immediate risk of discovery, he had taken his time. First, he had examined the curious linen that had somehow stopped his thrust.

“Ah. Very interesting indeed, Romario,” he had said to the corpse. “And very, very useful. In fact, so useful that I think I’ll just relieve you of it. You don’t mind, do you? No? Excellent. Now what’s in your purse? Ah…how disappointing. Only coins. Well, you may keep them, my friend, since I doubt that I will be able to carry the reward that my Khan will give me, let alone this handful of gold. My, my…but you are rather wealthy. I guess Frederik has been drawing rather deeply from the Company coffers. I wonder if Captain knows the extent of it? Worth thinking about, wouldn’t you say…ah, but of course, you won’t be saying much of anything any more, will you?”

No other useful trinkets had yielded themselves to his search, so he had taken the tunic to the basin and washed it as best as he could. It would be wet, but the blood wouldn’t be obvious. He laughed as he shrugged into it.

“I hope that whatever metal is in this won’t make me squeek, Romario. It could be rather embarrassing – not to say deadly - to bow before Murad as he rides into this City, only to have it make an inappropriate noise. Oh well, I suppose by then I won’t need to wear it any longer. Now I’m sure that your closet has some other robe of some sort that I can put on over this for now. It’s heavy, and it’s going to be damnedly hot to wear, but I think it’s all worth it in the end. Don’t you? It very nearly saved your life in fact. I’m very glad it was you and not Lochlan that had that little surprise in store for me. If it had been the lieutenant, I’d very likely be looking rather like you do right now. Frederik, though…”

Frederik. Was he a man to be feared when he had steel in his hand? It was something that he wasn’t certain about. By all accounts he was good, but probably nothing close to the grizzled veteran’s calibre. It didn’t really matter, though. This evening he would poison the Company’s water supplies – or as many of them as he could gain access to without looking suspicious – and then there was only one thing left to do for his master before he left the City for good. Leave the killing of Lochlan and the Dane for the Bey. The Russian would undoubtedly do a better job of it. Besides, he had other things to do. The trouble was that, despite many fruitless days and nights of searching, he still didn’t know if it could be done.

When he left, the corpse of Romario lay naked on the floor, each of the daggers protruding from his sightless eyes, and the golden ducat placed tenderly on his lips.

* * * * *

Several hours later he had joined the many others – including the predictable Frederik - at the docks to watch his master’s inept Master of the Fleet fail, yet again, to prevent the enemy’s vessels from gaining the City. He would almost have thought, to look at it, that the Khan had given orders to allow the enemy to succeed – since it was painfully easy – except that at least one ship he could see was sent sinking to the bottom of the channel. Whatever Murad might have ordered, that was unlikely to be it. Since he already knew that his next assignment would be taking him to Genoa, the Khan would almost certainly be careful not to waste his precious fleet for no reason.

He had made himself cheer along with the others as they patted themselves on each others’ backs at their captain’s wiles, and he had slipped in as close as he could when the Cypriot’s men had cast the lines to those eager dockhands to tie the Ostrebopos to the moorings. Lochlan, too, had moved in very near by and he had to be careful to make sure that the ranger didn’t see him considering his present attire. Nevertheless, it was worth the risk. He must see whatever could be seen - and hear what he could hear – since he rarely had the opportunity to get so close to the Free Company’s commander. He was rewarded with the sight of Constance, and Captain’s “Dear God, no!”

Ah. He won’t like that. I must be sure to tell the Khan who she is – if she survives the Russian’s three days - so he can take particular pleasure with her. Perhaps he will even keep her as a slave, although she is rather a little too old to be of much use any longer.

In the distance, the cannon roared once again. The barrage was constant – if painfully slow – now, with no let-up at night. He had taken the time to make a cursory inspection of the walls on his most recent shift on guard duty and his estimation was that they could not last many more weeks, no matter what the Company and the citizens did to bolster them after each punishing blow. Time was rapidly becoming of the essence, and he still had one important task to accomplish if he possibly could. The trouble was that a solution had yet to occur to him.

As more and more of the new arrivals disembarked, he studied them. The vast majority were obviously of Italian decent, making him suppose that yet another mercenary contingent had been sent despite many of his best efforts to the contrary. He had spent precious days, before leaving Italy in his new guise as a company soldier, trying to ensure that this wouldn’t happen, but apparently this had bourn little fruit.

Then suddenly he saw a face that he knew and it was all he could do to prevent himself from freezing in shock. This is entirely unexpected! His mind whirled, rapidly formulating and then reformulating plans. It would depend on so many things, and yet it seemed that a ray of hope had suddenly shone on his endeavours. He needed time to think...time to figure out how this might be turned to his – and the Khan’s – advantage.

He picked up a cask that had been unloaded and carried it to a nearby wagon. Then, giving all appearances of simply having become bored at the spectacle, he began slowly walking back to into the city. Before he could do anything else he had a more pressing need – to begin spreading the rumour that Romario had wanted circulated. It would buy him more time if it took a while for Frederik to discover that his clandestine ally was dead, and of course he was at no risk of discovery from their ‘trap’.

He found himself whistling a jaunty little tune that he had earned in Italy and realised that for the first time in some days he was happy. His time in Constantinople was nearing its end.

 

[The_Hawk]

July 11th, afternoon – the Company tavern

Frederik nodded and left his water on the counter. “Have you found a place?”

“Just over here, behind the barracks, there is an abandoned mansion...”

As the pair headed for the door, it abruptly swung open, admitting the hobbling form of the Cyprian. The old man looked almost as though he had expected to encounter them there. He nodded a greeting, and then quietly asked, “Frederik, might we have a word?”

"It's good to see you, Jonasz, but we were just about to take some practice..."

"This will only take a moment." The Cyprian nodded to Lochlan, who shrugged and lounged against the bar.

The two men stepped into a dim corner of the tavern where they could speak with relative privacy. “I heard about you seeking out Maria on the walls during the fighting,” Jonasz began. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“Of course. I just…”

“And then I heard tell that you gave her some gold and insisted she leave the city.” A glint in the old man’s eye told Frederik that he knew the truth, though he didn’t speak it. “Lucky for us both she has greater… loyalty to the Company than that.”

Frederik blanched. “Look, Jonasz, I don’t know what you think you…”

“And then it comes to my attention that you moved your luggage onto Zara. Now, why would you be doing a thing like that? Fortunate that your things seem to have been moved to Athene; Maria will be most pleased to have you as a guest, I’m sure.”

“Jonasz, you don’t understand.”

The Cyprian leaned forward on his stick, and Frederik began to feel extremely uncomfortable. “Oh, I understand, Hviid; I understand all too well. First you try to bribe my Maria, and then you try to bribe my crew? Zara can hold two, maybe three hundred men in a pinch. You would abandon that many lives because you want to escape?”

“This isn't what you think. Maria and I talked, we..."

Before he knew it, Frederik found his feet dangling an inch off the ground with the cold, unyielding feel of a knife point pressed against his belly. He nearly had a pair of daggers out before the Cyprian spoke.

“I know you’re well-armed, you wretch, and you might give this old body a few more scars, but you’ll have a lot harder time recovering than I will if I gut you like a fish.” The glint in the old pirate’s single eye left little doubt about his seriousness.

Frederik froze, and gave the sailor a half nod.

“For the sake of you and Maria, she won’t hear about the Zara. As for you and I, though, you stay out of my way. And if you set one foot on one of my ships before the Company is in full retreat, I’ll cut it off and throw you to the sharks.”

Jonasz released his hold on Frederik’s collar. Scooping up his cane, he turned and headed for the door.

 

[unmerged(6777)]

July 11, 1439 – shortly after noon, Constantinople

“I’m a soldier, not a doctor, damn it!”

The Greek looked down his nose at him as Roos rose from examining yet another victim of this sudden and mysterious plague. They had spent only an hour together since meeting on the dock and already Renaud was growing to detest this man and his constant muttering and frequent scowls. He could tell, from long experience dealing with his type, that his undesired companion’s thoughts were probably running long the lines of a ‘you really don’t give a shit about my City and are just waiting to run away when it matters most’ train of thought. He wasn’t here to give lectures, though. He was here to kill the enemy and spare the citizens from the grizzly fate of the unfortunates currently rotting outside the City walls.

Renaud and his men had been on duty on the walls when it had begun – the senseless slaughter of innocents and prisoners. Well…not quite senseless, since it did serve as a powerful psychological message that might go a long way towards convincing at least some of the defenders to play down their weapons and make a pact with the heathen devil. He had forced himself to stand there and watch, through it all, so that someone might bear witness to their deaths. Over and over again, as each new atrocity was enacted, he had stood there whispering silent prayers to God that, after this torment, their souls might speed straight to His side in heaven.

The display didn’t unnerve him, though; nor, he felt sure, would it freeze the marrow or weaken the hearts of his men. They had been through too much and witnessed too many horrors to be dismayed at such barbarity. If anything, it only served to strengthen his conviction that the enemy must, at all costs, be prevented from taking this City.

I have nothing left to me now. My city, my wife, my children…I have nothing left to lose except my honour – and that is something I will never give up.

He turned stared up, defiantly, into the dark eyes. “He’s sick. Just like the others. What did you expect me to say?”

The man, Niklos, didn’t appear impressed. “They’ll die if they keep going like this.”

Roos nodded. They would, and soon. He reached over and poured out a measure of cold, clean water from the nearby cistern into a goblet and helped the ever-weakening man hold it to his lips. It seemed that all of the patients who had been brought to this make-shift infirmary were parched. It was hotter than hell in here too, he thought as he lifted his hat and wiped away another rivulet of sweat that was coursing down his forehead. He noticed, with sorrow, that the fabric was now badly stained with it. Yet another indignity you will have to bear, he told it silently before placing it back on his head. He could use some water himself, right now, but the combination of the Khan’s grizzly display and the moans of the almost-certainly dying patients made him long for a far more heady brew.

“I think we’d better go and scare up some wagons and have these people taken to the churches.”

“They’re not dead yet…” protested the Greek in sudden anger.

“Oh for Christ’s sake will you give it a rest! I’ve had just about all I can stomach of your self-righteous bull shit. Yes, I know they’re not dead yet. For reasons best known to himself, the Captain has asked me to assist you. Guess what? I kill people, I don’t cure them. Curing is for healers which, unless something has happened over night that I am unaware of, all happen to be priests and are therefore, surprise surprise, most likely to be found in CHURCHES!”

Niklos was taken aback at the unexpected ferocity of the diminutive Swiss’ response. This was the first time he’d seen even a flicker of anything resembling emotion from the man as they’d been examining the victims, and the cause? The cause was, yet again, the inconvenience caused by a city that was dying. Typical mercenary! He bit back the retort, though, for the man’s words did actually make sense. He should, come to think of it, have seen to it himself, except of course that he couldn’t because the Free Company had absconded with most such means of transport in order to move their supplies and equipment around…and the rocks they were using to try to repair the damage to the walls. Instead he said, almost resentfully, “You have them all.”

“What?!”

“You have them all. We don’t have any wagons because your men took them all.”

“Oh for crying out loud. Right! Fine! I will go and get you some wagons.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

They stood there, glaring at one another.

“When?”

“As soon as I’ve said something to you.”

Another pause.

“What?”

“As much as you may despise me right now, and this will come as a surprise to you, but I thought you might like to know that I have decided that I will stay here.”

“I thought you said you were going to go and get the wagons.”

Faster than the eye could follow Roos’ hand leapt to the hilt of his sword and three or four inches of brilliantly polished steel were revealed. What am I doing? Renaud thought. Am I to slay this man for his insult? How better to help the enemy than to kill yet another of our own? I must control myself. With effort, he stopped the motion that would have pulled the rest of his weapon from its sheath and removed the man’s head before he had so much as blinked. Instead, he turned away and began stalking towards the door. He could hear the sound of Niklos’ footsteps as he followed him.

“I meant Constantinople. I will stay here.”

“Until you leave.”

Roos spun on his heel only to find that the Greek had been closer behind than he’d thought so he found himself standing with his nose pressed into the other man’s upper chest. The sudden contact caused his hat to fall off and onto the ground. He looked up angrily. “I am never leaving. You see, my dear foolishly blind self-righteous excuse for a man, I intend to die here. These walls will almost certainly fall and I intend to be standing on them when they do; so you can take your sanctimoniousness and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

Niklos’ mouth dropped open but no words issued.

“So,” Renaud concluded as he stooped to pick up his hat, “you can drop that attitude with me if you would like to live to see the day that it happens. Otherwise, say your prayers. Now I am off to get you your wagons. I suggest that you spend your time speaking to these people and see if you can find out anything that they have in common. As you seem to have guessed already, the most likely thing is either their food or their drink so ask them about that. When the wagons arrive, get them to the nearest infirmaries. If you want me for anything further, or you wish to insult me further, I will be heading straight to the Company tavern immediately afterwards so you will find me there.”

Brushing the dust off his hat, Roos jammed it back down on his head and headed off towards the walls.

 

[Valdemar]

Jonasz released his hold on Frederik’s collar. Scooping up his cane, he turned and headed for the door.

Frederik righted his new tunic and wondered what had gotten into the old man, he was certain in his own mind that the Cyprian would have done the exact same thing him self had he been in Frederik’s place. He too would have taken the money and run, had he been alone and unattached.

He replaced the knife he had palmed the moment the sailor had grabbed him, the knife he had been inches away from showing into the ear of the old man’s blind side. Nerves were getting frayed, he’d better regain his equilibrium soon or he would be of no use to anybody, least of all him self.

He looked at Lochlan. He looked as calm and collected, almost bored as always. Perhaps that was what all those years of experience had done to him? Given him the ability to remain calm and not let anything interfere with his gifts.

He let out a sigh; well he wasn’t exactly discreet now, might as well get it over with.

“Let’s go Lochlan, before we get more interruptions.”

Lochlan nodded, nothing on his face betrayed what he thought of the scene or whether or not he had heard what Jonasz had said.

 

[unmerged(6777)]

July 11, 1439 –afternoon, outside the walls of Constantinople

Even now, in broad daylight, every time he closed his eyes the spectacle of the previous evening flooded into his inner vision. It pulled and stretched his soul in a way that few things had ever done before. It ate at him like some horrible plague of the heart. It filled him with sorrow, with regret, with…

Fear?

No. As a Janissary who was serving under the Bey’s personal command such a fate would never befall him. Even those who fell afoul of the Tyrant – as he and the other newer additions to that elite body had taken to calling the Russian when they were certain that they would not be overheard – received little punishment beyond a tongue-lashing and the more unpleasant of the camp duties…although floggings were not unheard of. Of course he was being particularly careful not to draw Kruschovic’s attention and so he had not, yet, been forced to do even that. In fact, it appeared that he must be behaving as a model soldier ought to since he had been given the “honour” of assisting with the torture.

Disgust?

No. Although the scale and imagination with which the Russian carried out the executions was beyond anything he had ever seen or even heard of, he was no lily-livered recruit or weak-limbed lackey to be aghast at anything he had witnessed…had participated in. He had, in fact, seen many men tortured in his life: men who possessed information but who were foolish enough to withhold it; men who had committed unspeakable crimes and who were punished in kind; men who were hated enemies and who had had the misfortune to be captured alive.

Revulsion?

No. Well…maybe. What set these killings apart was the motive. This was not a punishment for an offender, nor yet an attempt to extract intelligence from and enemy, nor even then dispatch of an enemy. These victims had been largely innocents – most farmers and labourers who had been taken as slaves earlier in the campaign and had done nothing other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The worst, though, had been saved by the Russian for the former 1st Vizier’s slaves – and they had suffered for no reason other than that they had been taken in earlier wars - or purchased on the market – by the Bey’s most hated adversary. The Russian had always had a reputation for brutality. This, though, eclipsed anything he had ever heard.

Had it been Ishak Pasha who had been commanded to execute the men and women, it would have been done with a certain…dignity. Everyone knew what the Sultan hoped to achieve with the display. It was a warning to the citizens of the City of the fate that awaited them unless they surrendered without a fight, opening the gates and welcoming their inevitable master with open arms rather than contesting his dominance. “Yield to me, and I will save you from my Russian.” That is what Murad was saying. It would also sap the will of the men committed to defend the walls…to know that you must die on the ramparts or the fate that was in store for you would be…this?

Was this what Murad intended? Is this what the Khan would allow? At such an extreme, he couldn’t help but wonder if it might not end up having the reverse effect…that it might set such a price for failure in their minds that they would become possessed with the urgency of their need to die rather than be taken alive. He had seen men fight under those circumstances – men who had nothing to lose and everything to gain by falling to another’s blade in battle than be captured alive. They typically fought even more ferociously as they clung to those last, few, precious moments of life before the end. The savagery of the Bey’s display might very well end up turning the enemy into an even more formidable opponent than they had been before.

But the thing that played itself over and over in his mind was something else. It was Kruschovic’s sheer pleasure in this act. Even now, the Russian positively glowed with the after-effects – not unlike the way a man glows after particularly good sex. The Bey had soaked it in, revelling at his growing mastery as each death was longer, more painful, more inventive, more…delicious than the last. How could such a man exist? How could someone do such things to another man with such exquisite rapture? Clearly, his new commander was insane - dangerously insane – and now that he had developed a taste for yet a new pleasure, how could anyone who saw him last night ever think he would ever be denied it again. Worse, it was obvious that the Russian’s nature would send him searching for ever greater heights of his new passion. It would continue to spiral and spiral until…

Until when?

There would be no earthly end to the Russian’s thirst to inflict pain and suffering. He would go on demanding more and more until every street in the world flowed with the blood of his innocent victims and the air was filled with the screams of the dying. A demon of the deepest pits had been unleashed upon the face of creation, and Shaitan knew him by his name” Kruschovic Bey.

And so, above all else, he found himself filled with another emotion – one that had reached heretofore unparalleled heights.

Hatred.

 

[unmerged(6777)]

July 11, 1439 –afternoon, Venice

Francesco Sforza sat comfortably astride his warhorse, looking across the expansive field that led down to the painfully narrow causeway and ultimately to the city, and cursed silently to himself.

“Pardon me, my Lord?”

“Ah. Nothing. Nothing. You may proceed captain.” Perhaps he had spoken out loud after all.

A gentle rain had fallen for most of the night – not hard enough, he saw now, to have slowed down the townsfolk in their preparations for his ‘welcome’; and yet hard enough and persistently enough to have given the average soldier - lying under a makeshift canopy – a restless night’s sleep. Thus instead of arriving early in the day, fresh for combat and prepared to charge across the spit of land and assail the walls, the less profession portion of his men had been sluggards to rise, irritable on the march, and were in very poor condition to go charging across a flat, wide open plain…let alone the sight that now greeted his eyes.

The captain was issuing strings of prepared orders which, in turn, were passed on by the lieutenants and relayed by the sergeants until, finally and raggedly, the army lurched into motion. Twelve thousand footmen, none of them trained – one didn’t train or employ footmen in Italy…they were the chaff that you enlisted from the surroundings – at the head of his force began to march forward.

If he could have he would have stopped right here and now, making camp on the field and attempting the crossing in the morning. The causeway was cluttered with…with…well ‘shit’ was probably the best word for the obstructions that would now present a series of barricades and obstacles for his men. The Doge and his peasants had been busy, and Francesco began to wonder if he had enough men even to reach the walls, let alone try them.

There was supposed to be a sequence to this that would prevent the inevitable bunch-up at the head of the causeway and result in a smooth, constant pressure on the enemy; but it was obvious that the volunteer sergeants hadn’t gotten the gist of the idea after all and his lieutenants – his own highly trained men - were already beginning to turn blue in the face from screaming at them.

Unfortunately he couldn’t stop it now. He didn’t have more than two days’ meagre rations left and, although he had sent a message to Syban in Florence to inform him both of the situation and of his desperate need for supplies, and help would not be forthcoming for at least another week or ten days…particularly if the damn weather continued to be as ill-favoured as it had been.

The whole front line shuddered as the first volley of crossbow bolts slammed into them from an enemy they could barely see. Overturned carts…tables tipped on their ends…some half-built or ruined gondolas…even a dead farm animal or two…all of these were not only obstructions for an advancing force, but also excellent cover for the enemy archers. Perhaps, by come miracle, they would run out of things to shoot.

The weather. Of course now, when a heavy downpour would actually have helped his men by providing its own cover (of a sort) and also made it much harder for a man to load a crossbow, it was bright and sunny. In the past two weeks he had witnessed winds of near biblical proportions. Today? Today a feather would probably fall straight to the ground if dropped from the tallest building of the city.

More and more men crumpled and fell, beginning to present just as much of an obstacle as the deep mud of the causeway and the Doge’s carefully prepared piles of refuse. They had not even advanced fifty paces onto span and already Francesco could tell that the carnage would be truly devastating. In fact, his whole army of recruits might very well have broken and run if the space had not been so narrow and congested that most of them would be unable to see the rapidly expanding piles of screaming, wounded men corpses.

Francesco wondered whether his friend Sir Robert, so many miles from here, might be lucky enough to have the weather acting on the side of the defenders as well. Murad, he assumed, would be well supplied…but heavy rains and high walls would make the City of Men’s Desires virtually impregnable – or so he had been told. He had never been so far away – had never left Italy save for one trip to the Emperor’s palace some three years earlier.

They were running now and finally the front lines had reached the first barricade, only to find it now vacated and a new stretch of killing ground to traverse. A hail of arrows made it almost certain death to try clearing the refuse, and so they slipped and clawed their way over, through or around it and began the mad, deadly dash to the next…and the next…and the next. From his high vantage point Francesco could see that the enemy had lost less than fifty men to his condottieri professionals, while their archers had easily slain several score and wounded many hundreds more. Worse, his army had progressed no further onto the causeway than he could have walked, at a leisurely pace, in less than a minute. A glance at the sky told him the worst – that at least half and hour had passed and his ‘army’ was not even a quarter of the way across.

The Austrian Emperor had been worried about getting an heir, and Francesco had joined a Venetian delegation that was proposing a cadet branch of the de Medici family as a suitable mate for the wealthy Habsburg ruler. This had been undertaken mostly at Syban’s insistence – as a favour, no doubt, to his Florentine de Medici friends – and against the general wishes of the Council of Ten. Had it not been for Guillaume’s insistence and the threat of Sforza’s physical involvement, such an offer would never have been made.

We are seeing, right now, just how worthless that physical involvement can be. Why, oh why, did I risk sending my ships to Robert’s aid? Why? Because where he is, he will need them purely for survival. Another barricade was abandoned by the defenders and his already exhausted army would have stopped to celebrate if it dared. Instead, they were faced with a dangerous stone blockhouse with archers and a line of pikemen. At least that will give the men something to hit! To be peppered with bolts from afar was having an obvious dampening effect on his men’s morale and there was absolutely no way that Francesco would risk the cream of his army at this juncture. They would be torn to shreds.

The Habsburg had rejected their offer, though of course he had done so in the most polite manner possible. He had taken another wife and then recently died, childless – although if the rumours were correct then his wife had been with child at the time and, if the child lived and was a boy, the line might not die out. Now there was a temporary regent and the Empire was in turmoil. Ripe for the plucking…

Francesco shaded his eyes and looked at the far off battlements. He almost thought he could see the bright splash of the Doge’s traditional red robe atop the gate that looked down along the causeway. Foscarini? It was too far to tell, but he could imagine the man standing atop his walls and crowing with delight at the carnage…celebrating what was to any experienced man’s practiced eye already a foregone conclusion. They will reach the gate before they break, he predicted, although more than half will die trying. Then they will mill around there, getting slaughtered, because no one knows where the ladders are. It will take too many men and far too long to bring the battering rams up, and by this time they will have lost heart and will begin to run. It was already playing out across his mind’s eye when his men finally broke through the peasants defending the midway point.

He had met Freidrich von Habsburg, briefly, when he had been in Vienna. A likable man – utterly different than his disgusting and more senior brother – and it was little surprise that he had been named regent. He had also been receptive to some of the more private offers that Syban had asked Francseco to attend to personally, and there was now a strong possibility that Florence, Genoa and Austria could form an alliance – an alliance that von Habsburg would need very badly - which would suddenly place fortunes at the feet of the men who controlled the military. With Venice largely under Syban, Guillaume and Sforza’s thumb, the fourth member of that most blessed arrangement would have given Francesco more power than had been in his wildest dreams.

The red robe on the far wall seemed – although it was probably just the shimmering heat and the distance – to be jumping up and down with delight. Perhaps, even, it was simply his imagination and there was no red robe? It didn’t matter, of course. What mattered was that all his dreams had been shattered by one man in the space of less than a month.

Enjoy it, Foscarini. Enjoy your hollow victory this day. They are your men, not mine, and I do not play chess by your rules. When you count the bodies in the morning and begin to realise what you have done, you will discover how the game of war is really played. You are doing nothing but slaughtering your own pawns. The next time we play, we will play for keeps.

And with that he nodded to his captain and set spurs to his horse’s flanks, turning the beast in a wide circle and picking up his twenty-man honour guard to begin the return journey to the camp. His captain would see the day through to its inevitable conclusion, and would bring each and every single one of his condottieri company safely back…along with whatever chaff lived to run back across the causeway to safety. In the morning, they would set out on the long road to Florence and God help any man who came between him and that city. He had a war to plan.

 

[stnylan]

July 11th, early afternoon

For Niklos it was a living nightmare. He was used to death, the death of men and women. He was used to cruelty: it was years since the cries of slaves as they were branded tweaked his heartstrings. Ordinary men and women who had fallen prey to his ships at one time or another. And now this.

All his life he had served his City, trying to keep it safe. He could save it no longer, the plague was evidence enough of this. The Swiss captain, Roos, seemed unaffected by the death. He was cold, hardly human. It was as if he could not feel the agony of the people around him.

And why should he? He is a foreigner, a heretic. He probably thinks killing us all would be a holy act. I wish I could not feel. I thought I had put all this behind me. I thought that I had purged myself of such useless feelings, but now I find that I am still human. Alas for me that still is so.

He knew he was muttering, and that his dislike was now plain for all to see, but he no longer cared. Playing the Latin meant nothing now that there was so little left to play. Roos stopped and examined another by a nearby well. He talked, but Niklos barely noticed at first, merely responding.

He thought back to the docks. To the Captain.

He had seen an old man, a tired man. Perhaps he would be wrong to place what little trust he had left there. Perhaps the Cataphract Metaxes would be reasonable, might see where duty lay? He was fast running out of options. Jonasz? That was always likely, indeed perhaps more likely than Metaxes. The Dane? Maybe. Niklos was uncertain about the Dane, a feeling of unease.

Roos said something inane.

“They’ll die if they keep going like this.” And this is only the beginning. It will spread, it always does. The City’s water supply is not isolated, whatever poison there is will spread. With luck its potency will be diluted, and will only make men ill.

“I think we’d better go and scare up some wagons and have these people taken to the churches.”

Niklos immediately protested: “But they are not dead yet!” Does he not see that is the worst sign he could do. We are a superstitious people. Send them to a church like this and you sign their death warrant clear enough. Sing their death warrant…

“Oh for Christ’s sake will you give it a rest! I’ve had just about all I can stomach of your self-righteous bull shit. Yes, I know they’re not dead yet. For reasons best known to himself, the Captain has asked me to assist you. Guess what? I kill people, I don’t cure them. Curing is for healers which, unless something has happened over night that I am unaware of, all happen to be priests and are therefore, surprise surprise, most likely to be found in CHURCHES!”

Niklos was stunned by the ferocity. But immediately his own anger welled up to counter. Typical bloodthirsty mercenary. You spend all your damned life killing people, yet you never take the opportunity to learn what you destroy. You are just angry now because you would rather be up their on the walls, willing the Turks to attack so that you could kill some more. All this is just a trying diversion.

Niklos said none of this, for his feelings now went another way. In the churches they will die all the quicker, and their souls be easily consoled. And it will turn places of hope into places of despair. The dead will lie where worshippers should stand, and the stench will linger. But this was all moot at the moment.

He let the resentment at his part show through. “You have them all.”

“What?!”

“You have them all. We don’t have any wagons because your men took them all.”

“Oh for crying out loud. Right! Fine! I will go and get you some wagons.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

They stood staring at each other. Niklos almost willed Roos to hit him. To give him some release in anger.

“When?”

“As soon as I’ve said something to you.”

This little twerp has something to say to me? What could he possible say that will make any difference now?

“What?”

“As much as you may despise me right now, and this will come as a surprise to you, but I thought you might like to know that I have decided that I will stay here.”

Niklos almost laughed. Since when did any mercenary stay for a doomed hire. He answered with a sneer in his voice.

“I thought you said you were going to go and get the wagons.”

That reached him. He is fast, but he is in control. Yes, little man, now you begin to understand.

“I meant Constantinople. I will stay here.” He turned and started to walk out. Niklos followed.

No. This cannot be true. Latins are raised on betrayal, they learn it in their mother’s milk.

“Until you leave.”

Roos whirled around, and Niklos found himself looking down on the piddly little man.

“I am never leaving. You see, my dear foolishly blind self-righteous excuse for a man, I intend to die here. These walls will almost certainly fall and I intend to be standing on them when they do; so you can take your sanctimoniousness and shove it where the sun don’t shine. So,” Renaud concluded as he stooped to pick up his hat, “you can drop that attitude with me if you would like to live to see the day that it happens. Otherwise, say your prayers. Now I am off to get you your wagons. I suggest that you spend your time speaking to these people and see if you can find out anything that they have in common. As you seem to have guessed already, the most likely thing is either their food or their drink so ask them about that. When the wagons arrive, get them to the nearest infirmaries. If you want me for anything further, or you wish to insult me further, I will be heading straight to the Company tavern immediately afterwards so you will find me there.”

Niklos lent him go, his thoughts awhirl. He muttered an impregnation, something he had picked up from Jonasz. I believe him, he will stand. Though it is plain that he did not originally intend to. Well Roos, I hope this City’s fall will be a satisfactory end to your wearisome life. But I don’t need your words of advice as much as I need those wagons, and some soldiers.

He stayed in the hut, ignoring the dying man. He sincerely wished he could kill the poor man with his dagger, but that would be risking too much. He let his thoughts run wild. He could kill himself now, and it would all be over. There would be no more fear, no more hate, no more loss. He took out his dagger, and studied its edge.

He had sharpened it last night, just in case of need. The edge was keen. There is a wonderful beauty in metal crafted to kill. He started at the blade, it spoke to him. Concentrated his thoughts. For some time he stood there. The world might as well not exist. Then he heard to creaking of wagons.

He stepped out into the light. Nearby he saw a patrol of his vigiles. He had trained them well. He gave them orders to take the dead and dying to the churches, and then he told them how to deal with any priest who objected. Their grim looks told him there would no trouble on that front.

He returned to his office at the distribution centre. He had to get a message off to Metaxes, and he wanted to see Jonasz. In the meantime he compiled a report, and noted the estimates of the affected. The tests had shown that the granaries seemed to be unaffected, but the wells, nearly half the City’s public water supply looked to be polluted. He wrote all this down.

In light of this, it would appear to be necessary to start rationing water, Lord Robert, unless you feel that the Queen of Cities will fall within a week. Othewise the wells will dry up soon after then, and we will all die of thirst before the Turk can do anything about it. I note my recommendations. I estimate I will need two hundred soldiers to keep order, and a score of archers. Ideally the Mongols, they scare people more. Should you have any questions I am likely to be found wherever Jonasz might be.

Niklos looked at the letter. It would serve, and if the Captain choose to ignore it then that was his fault. Then he jotted a quick note to Metaxes asking if the Hero of the Gate would be so good as to agree to see him. For a moment he was going to let Ioannes carry both, but then yelled for Demetrios. Demetrios took them, and Niklos quickly explained their contents. Then he departed in the region of the docks.

For once in his life he had every intention of ending up so drunk he would be unable to stand. And as he recalled, that meant he would forfeit a long time bet he had with Jonasz that the Cyprian would never see him being unable to walk.

 

[The_Hawk]

July 11th, late evening -- the docks

"I tell you, Jonasz, these Latins are all the same."

Niklos set his tankard down with a bang. The two men were perched on barrels surrounding a stack of crates on the wharf between Ostrebopos and Il Leone. The Cyprian -- perhaps in anticipation of winning an ancient bet -- had broken out his finest grog when his old compatriot had appeared several hours before. Niklos, for his part, had downed half a barrel alone. Jonasz had been moving far more slowly, however, concentrating more on his whittling.

The old sailor sent his dull blade down the wood again with a rasp. "Hmm?"

"That little one, Roos, he was... well, I suppose you could call it helping me, with the victims of this sickness. That little bastard is... how could he not care about our people?"

The Cyprian shrugged, not looking up. "If I recall the tale, Roos saw ten thousand men killed in a single night. That'll harden any man, you know that as well as I do -- we had to settle a few scores on occasion, you and I. The whole Company... they're all like that."

"Is that why they're ready to abandon the City?"

That caught the old pirate's attention. He looked up. "What's this you're talking about, now?"

"Come on, Jo, you heard the cannon. Soon the walls will fall, the Turk will take Constantinople. And where will the Company be? On your ships, I imagine, back to the west? They'll flee as soon as the gold's gone! The damn Latins will abandon us in our hour of need!" Niklos could hear his voice growing louder, could see passing sailors looking his way as he went. He didn't care anymore.

Jonasz pointed at Il Leone. "That's a Latin ship, manned by a Latin crew and sent by Latins to your aid."

"To the Company's aid!" Niklos leapt to his feet, waving at the indicated ship, at the Company, at the Latin world. "To evacuate them when they turn tail! I tell you, Jo, these Latins, they're all traitors, just like the Crusaders! They're all -"

"- people!" the Cyprian shouted in exasperation. "They're just people, like you and I. They fight for a cause because they're paid; you can't tell me you and I never did a thing just for a few gold coins."

Niklos collapsed back onto his barrel. "This is different."

Jonasz set down his carving and leaned forward, clutching his friend's hand. "I know it is. This is home, the people are your people. But the Company folk, their home is wherever they are called. The only family they have is one another."

Niklos took another belt of grog. "Roos... he said he'd stay. He said he'd die here."

"It sounds like him." The Cyprian sighed. "They're good people, Niklos, honest and fair, honorable when they can be, ruthless when they must be." Almost Byzantine. "And devilishly good at what they do. I've seen more men than I can count who couldn't escape the mire of Italy without becoming vile." Like lo Grato? Jonasz shrugged the thought away. "And even more who didn't escape at all."

Jonasz took a pull from his mug. "Besides, if the stories of the last few weeks are true, there wouldn't be a Greek Constantinople left for me to sail into if the Free Company hadn't been here."

Niklos hung his head; when he looked up, Jonasz could swear that, for just a moment, he could see his old comrade's eyes glistening in the dim torchlight. When Niklos spoke, his voice was so low that Jonasz could barely make out the words:

"Maybe it would be easier if they hadn't. At least then the waiting would be over."

 

[unmerged(6528)]

July 11th, Late Afternoon - Constantinople

The duo twisted around each other, attacking and then retreating. One would feint, and the other would force the move. They were sweating hard, and they pushed each other. Still, there were several elements of teaching involved, and it was one of these that forced them to disengage.

Lochlan took a step back, and held up his hand. "Take a breather. You've earned it."

A panting Frederik nodded, and sank down to his haunches. "Your pretty good."He said, setting his knife down to wipe his forehead.

"Well, I've been doing this for a few year." Lochlan said, leaning back against the wall. "Your not bad yourself. Still, there's room for improvement. You rely too much on luck, and the fact that no one expects to be good."

"Perhaps, but I've trained hard to get this good." He said defensively.

"Still, I heard about your fight with Jaeger, you were lucky then. You caught him off guard."

"We'll see about that, lets go again." Frederik said, and stood.

The ranger looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. "Whatever you want. Come on." He gestured at the Dane.

Frederik come in hard, his snaking out toward the ranger dangerously. It came dangerously close again and again, and Lochlan raised an eyebrow at the merchant. "Can't take someone questioning your motives?" He said, and sneered at the man. "That can't be a new thing."

"I'm here to the end." Frederik said, and attacked in a flurry of blows that forced Lochlan back.

"Sure, its easy to say. Maybe its even easier to believe, for now." Lochlan said, and his eyes went flat as he truly began to attack Frederik for the first time.

"You know, I don't like you Frederik." He said, as he relentlesly pushed the merchant back. "It's simple. Your remind me too much of myself."

Frederiks eyes went wide, and he stumbled at those words. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He said angrily.

Lochlan chuckled darkly, and retreated slightly, but did not leave his guard stance. "I used to be just like you. And I know how untrustworthy I was."

"Shut up!" Frederik said, and hurled himself at the free company man. "You know nothing about me!" He yelled.

"Maybe, but what do you know about me?" Lochlan asked. "You impose a great many things upon my character, merchant. Idealist, honor-bound, fool even?" Lochlan stared into the other mans eyes. "I left the road you walked before I joined the company, but it was not until I found them, that I was able to excorcise my demons. If you cannot trust in something Frederik, you are nothing."

"More philisophy from a mercenary killer." Frederik sneered.

Lochlan shrugged. "The world is a harsh place Frederik, I won't make an apology for who I am."

The training session was over, but he had to make one more point. Lochlan presented a weak spot, and his opponent took it. At the last second, he swayed to the side, and caught Frederiks arm. Twisting hard, he brought the merchant to the floor, and wrenched the knife from his hand. "Relax, you did a good job today. We'll train again when your ready."

Turning, he walked out of the room.

*******

The street was empty, all of Constantinople was empty. Lochlan kept getting the feeling all of them were rattling around in jar. Or a tomb. "I'm starting to really not like this place." He muttered

 

[Craig Ashley]

Shur'tu could not shake yesterday's confrontation with the merchant. He thought of the merchant's offer, a place on the ships and a chance to get out of this wretched city. It was a tempting offer, but in the end Shur'tu refused. Why? The Mongol could not bring himself to even think it was out of loyalty or honor. They were the words of fools and martyrs. The Mongol had no desire to be either. Still the question nagged, why?

Shur'tu tried to rationalize his actions. It was something said in the heat of the moment, foolish words. I wasn't thinking straight at the time. Its clear the merchant was right to think ahead, to think of himself. It is only right to ensure your own survival. Perhaps if I seek him out, I can still secure our safe passage. Yet the great Mongol did not go in search of the merchant. It was as if he was held against his will by some invisible anchor. Honor. Loyalty.

A new line of thinking came over the steppelander. I should tell the others, but will they believe me? Frederik is a Christian and a westerner. I am neither. If he denies it, who will they trust? Shur'tu knew the answer. They will trust their own kind. It is only natural. The Mongol sat down on. Let the westerners deal with this. It is of no concern to me. The Mongol sat still, staring off into the distance. His mind racing in a thousand different directions. Finally he called, “Gao! Wu'tu!”

His two lieutenants came.

“Find the other officers, the Rooster, the German, and,” Shur'tu paused slightly, “Lochlan. Bring them here. I have information to share.”

*********

Gao found the one called Roos first. He was busy attending to the sick. Gao approached the Swiss from behind and tapped his shoulder. Roos turned quickly. “Now what, Niklos?” Some of the hostility faded from his face when he saw it was Gao and not Niklos who wanted his attention.

“Shur'tu wishes to speak to you and the other officers.”

Roos shrugged slightly and said, “OK, let's go.” Anything to get away from that pretentious Niklos.

**********

The German commander was sitting amongst his men. Wu'tu hesitated. He hadn't talked to the Germans since the brawl in the bar. Baer was the first to see the Mongol and rose. The two massive men stood staring at each other. Finally the huge German broke the silence.

“Wu'tu, where have you been, you old bastard? I haven't seen you in ages!” A wide grin filled Baer's face.

Wu'tu let out a loud laugh. “I've been around. Perhaps later tonight we could get together and play some cards, and drink some ale.”

“Sounds good. But what brings you here?”

“Shur'tu wants to see, Erik.”

Jaeger rose when he heard this. “About what?”

“That I don't know. He only said he needed to tell you something.”

“Fine. Let's go see Shur'tu, but tonight I'm going to make a lot of money off you.”

***********

The German and Wu'tu arrived shortly after Gao and Roos.

“Did you find Lochlan?”

Wu'tu shook his head. The ranger's where abouts were unknown.

Erik turned to Wu'tu. “Why didn't you tell me you were looking for Lochlan? He's with Frederik. Giving the merchant a little bit of a training seminar.”

Well at least they knew where Frederik was. Shur'tu breathed in deeply, might as well get this over with.

“I spoke with Frederik the other day. He told me he plans to leave the company before the Turks can take the city.”

The German smirked. “Well I say good luck getting past the thousands of Turks out there.”

“He will use a ship. He plans to bribe the crew of a ship and leave by sea.”

Roos stared hard at the Mongol. “And how do you know this?”

“He told me, offered me a place aboard the ship.”

“And why would he do that?”

Shur'tu stared back at the smaller man. He had no intentions of telling about the gold. “How should I know? I only know he plans to leave before the last fight aboard one of the Cyprian's ships.” Shur'tu's eye twitched. This was a bad idea. He should of took the merchant's offer.

 

[unmerged(6777)]

July 11, 1439 – Late afternoon, Constantinople

The impromptu meeting began as soon as the German and Wu’tu arrived. After establishing that Lochlan was with Frederik, Shur’tu cleared his throat. ““I spoke with Frederik the other day. He told me he plans to leave the company before the Turks can take the city.”

“Well I say good luck getting past the thousands of Turks out there,” Erik smirked.

“He will use a ship. He plans to bribe the crew of a ship and leave by sea.”

Roos stared hard at the Mongol. “And how do you know this?”

“He told me, offered me a place aboard the ship.”

“And why would he do that?”

Shur'tu stared back at him and responded in a strangely flat voice. “How should I know? I only know he plans to leave before the last fight aboard one of the Cyprian's ships.” One of his eyes twitched.

“And how did you reply?” Is that what he’s not saying?

“How do you think I replied?”

Roos continued to stare the tall man down, soliciting increased agitation from the other Mongols present in the room. Surprisingly, it was the German who responded. “He told him that he wasn’t leaving, isn’t that right, Shur’tu?”

The Mongol nodded.

“You told him that honour prevents you.”

“Honour!” Shur’tu spat the word out as though it had a foul taste in his mouth. “Honour has nothing to do with it.”

Roos noted that the man didn’t continue…didn’t explain what the reason was. Amazingly, the German had struck the nail on the head. Of course none of this solved the problem that Shur’tu had summoned them here to address.

“When?”

“I already told you what I know, and as far as I could tell he seemed ready to leave right then and there if I’d agreed.”

Roos frowned. Why would Frederik need Shur’tu to leave with him? What prevented the Dane from leaving if the Mongol didn’t accompany him? There was something underlying all of this, but he wasn’t the sort of man who was adept at this kind of thing. He wished that Lochlan had been here. He would be able to figure it all out. The man had an uncanny knack of being able to see to the bottom of mysteries like this. I’ll have to ask him about it later, he thought. Out loud, he said instead, “And so you convinced him to stay?”

Shur’tu shook his head. “He said only briefly. He also said that he’d be gone before the walls were breached.”

“Serious news.”

Shur’tu shugged. One man, more or less, would make little difference in the end. “I just thought you both should know.”

“Captain too,” commented the German.

Roos shook his head at that. “He’s busy right now. I think it’s probably best to talk it over with Lochlan first. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’ll go and do that now. I am also practically dying for an ale, and I’d guess that Lochlan will be too if he’s been sparring for most of the afternoon. Hopefully I’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

With that he rose, nodded to them all, and set off towards the tavern.

* * * * *

Several hours later…

The door to the Company tavern opened and a shaft of brilliant sunlight blazed across the floor. Roos, firmly entrenched in his fifth pint of ale, looked up with squinting eyes to see who it was but could only make out the silhouette of the man framed in the doorway. It was enough, though, for him to guess the identity of the new arrival. He waved…then stood up and waved…and then finally called out across the room.

“Lochlan. Over here.”

The ranger gave him a quick hand signal to indicate that he’d be over shortly, and then went to the bar for a much needed refreshment. It was quiet, though, and so he was served quite rapidly and soon was pulling out a chair and leaning over to replenish Renaud’s mug from the jug he had brought with him.

“You been here long?”

Roos nodded, noticing the sweat that stained the collar and underarms of Lochlan’s tunic. “What have you been up to?”

“Just teaching our Danish friend a lesson…in swordplay amongst other things.”

“Oh? He any good?”

Lochlan smiled. “He’s better than I expected, but he’ll get better yet if he sticks with it.” In response to Renaud’s raised eyebrows he added, “quite handy with a knife, but I don’t think he’s got enough time to learn to do much more than swing a sword and not kill his linemates. Not his sort of thing.”

Renaud chuckled, then reacted quickly to move his hat as the ranger leaned back in the chair and planted his feet up on the table. They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Roos decided on an approach. “Rather an odd activity for a man who will leave us before the last battle, wouldn’t you say?”

Lochlan eyes narrowed at that, frowning slightly as he thought about his answer. “Leave us? That’s hard to say. I think he’s still on the fence in some respects. Every instinct that he’s every had is telling him to run…run as fast and as far as his feet – or the Cypriot’s ship – will take him. I can sympathise. I’ve been there myself.”

Renaud did not reply. Fear was not a component of his make up, and he had more important fish to fry.

“But there are ties that bind him here, Roos. Ties to people…ties to the Company. So while his mind is screaming ‘run’, his other senses are telling him to stay. It’s hard to say which will win out over the other when all is said and done.”

They lapsed back into silence, finishing their mugs and then helping themselves to another.

“I notice that you have never asked the same about me.”

“No. No more, I suppose, than I would expect you to ask me. I have been a Company man for longer, almost, than I can remember. I’ve served Captain through France, Italy, Africa…it’s almost to the point where I can no longer remember where all we’ve been, and yet I have never felt as though I’ve ever left my home. My home is where the Company is…where Captain is. Where else would I go?”

“That explains your reasoning perfectly and, as I’m sure you know, comes as no surprise to anyone who’s even met you. It doesn’t explain why you’ve never, even once, asked me about my motivations since we got here.”

Lochlan’s expression hardened slightly, or perhaps it was that a certain sadness crept into his eyes. “Didn’t need to,” he said shortly.

Renaud was in no mood to be put off, though. “Why? I have no ties to the Company beyond a contract. In fact, I just spent part of my afternoon playing nursemaid to a Greek who I could tell thinks that I will be on the first skiff that sails out of the harbour when the walls fall. I don’t think he believed me when I told him I wouldn’t.”

“He was mistaken, then. When the walls fall, you will be standing in the gap.” There was not even a hint of doubt in his voice as he said this. There was another long pause as neither man commented on the fact that they both deemed it inevitable that the walls would, indeed, fall to the Sultan’s cannon. Finally Lochlan managed a weak smile again. “And I will be standing right in front of you so you won’t be able to see a thing.”

Roos burst out in laughter, inhaling part of his mug of ale in the process and dissolving into a fit of coughing.

“In fact, you might as well not be there at all, for all the good you’ll do.”

The subtlety of the man’s message underscored the message, running counterpoint to his tone. Leave. You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to stand. No one will think the lesser of you…no one who survives, that is. Renaud shook his head, the mirth evaporating as rapidly as the ale he’d just sprayed across the table. “You will be needed elsewhere - after all, someone’s got to look after the old man. You just leave the walls to me.”

“If Captain catches you calling him an ‘old man’ you’ll pay for it with bruises from the flat of his blade. He’s not all that old, and he still swings a might fine sword.”

“Bah! He’s slow. He’d never get through my defences. Nor would you, not-so-old-but-still-old man.”

Lochlan’s hand was at his hilt in a flash. “Care to try proving that?” The broad grin removed the challenge from the words or action.

Renaud’s hands were still wrapped around his mug and he took a deep swallow. “Aren’t you still a bit tuckered out from your tussle with the Dane? I notice he scratched you, or did you cut yourself shaving?”

Lochlan’s expression turned to one of incredulity as he felt his chin and checks, coming away with a very slight smear of blood. “Good Lord, so he did! I never even noticed.”

“I told you…you’ve getting slow. You just look after Captain and leave the wall to me.”

“No. We both go or we don’t go at all.”

Try as he might Renaud couldn’t take his eyes off Lochlan’s, challenging in their straightforward assessment of his position. This was no jest, and he needed a moment or two to decide how to respond. It didn’t help though, and finally he looked away. “What about le Clerc?”

“What about le Clerc?” said a voice from above them. The young man in question had entered the tavern during their conversation and now joined them at the table.

“Speak of the devil…” Roos said by way of a greeting.

“…and he shall surely appear,” the Frenchman finished for him, offering a deep bow before sitting. “What were you two talking about?”

“This and that,” said Lochlan with a wink.

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here too, my young friend. There’s something I’ve been trying to get around to asking the lieutenant, here, and you probably ought to know about it at well.”

“Oh?” le Clerc was only mildly interested.

“What’s that?” Lochlan was all ears now. Renaud could see him poised like a cat ready to pounce. Maybe it had been the Swiss man’s tone, or maybe it had been something else that had tipped him off, but whatever it was, he had the man’s undivided attention.

“It’s about Frederik. And Shur’tu. I think…”

 

[Valdemar]

July 11, Outside the company tavern

Frederik wiped the sweat of his forehead. Fighting Lochlan had been harder work than expected; the old geezer was good, no questioning it. The ranger gestured wordlessly at the tavern, his eyebrow raised in a mute question.

“No thanks, I’ll find another waterhole, but whatever you drink is on me.” Frederik turned towards the docks and the familiar lowlife taverns, for now he needed his solitude and didn’t need the company men around to remind of the hard decisions he needed to make. Lochlan’s comments still bounced inside his head and that would have made for quite a conversation, but not now,

“Not now.” he muttered as he drifted through the streets. He was keenly aware of both Jonasz and Lochlan both knew or guessed his dilemma, they might not know all of it, but they knew enough. He shook the thought and making a subtle signal to the teenager he suddenly darted through a random gate, skipped over a wall and climbed onto the roof of the next convenient building. Once there he was certain that whatever shadow placed on him, by his adversary, the company or him self was lost.

He sat for a while high above the deserted streets and looked without seeing towards the horizon, what if he merely gave it all up? Skipped the whole business and drifted back into the west under another name? Would Sforza know? Would anybody? A lot of his present investments would be lost, but so would the obligations. He could find another woman, perhaps not like Maria or Ailena, but still he had money enough spirited away over the years to ensure his bed would never be cold.

He sighed, no telling what happened down there, what Shur’tu, Lochlan, Tomas and the rest of them were up to, but did he really care? Did it all matter? The city was doomed, if not today then next year or the year after, it had outstayed its welcome and this was only prolonging the death throes.

Finally he got up, he hadn’t reached any conclusions, but he knew what to do for now, first he was to get his stuff out the old sailors reach, there was enough gold there to make even that old bastard reconsider his stance. Then, well then the Cyprian was not the only man with a boat or chance to leave the city, there were other means.

He arrived at the harbor a few moments later, walked straight to the Athene only to learn that his belongings already had been stored on the deck, ready for handling. He hired a few sailors to carry it for him and set out for his intended objective. The sailors being a talkative lot told him about the arrival of the fleet as if he hadn’t been there himself. Frederik didn’t care, he had other things on his mind and didn’t really pay attention

“....they say it’s another outburst of plague, but I don’t know, it sounds like no plaque I’ve heard of.”

“Sorry?”

“The thing in the seventh district. That illness, I don’t believe it’s the plague at all.”

“Oh that.” Frederik didn’t comment further, but stored it away. A plaque that isn’t a plaque?

Finally they all arrived at the gates of the Jewish quarter.

“That’s as far as we’ll go, Mister.” Frederik merely nodded and paid them, then he convinced a young boy to send a message to Isaac’s house and shortly thereafter a few servants appeared to help the last bit of way.

Once inside he quickly relayed his predicament to David.

“Off course you can store your goods here and if need be we will help you to Pera and if necessary further away, we are not as limited as the Christians think. Our contacts with the Turks are more cordial than you’ll ever imagine. Besides, we’ll all be gone and this quarter nothing but a shelf if that madman leading the Turks gets his three days.”

“One final request, I feel I owe them something if I run.”

“You don’t owe them anything, but I’ll listen.”

“There’s a rumor, of a plaque that isn’t a plaque.”

“In the seventh district, yes we’ve heard.”

“In my line of work, that isn’t a plaque, that’ poison, except for me it at most a dinner party not a town.”

“Perhaps so.”

“Do any of your renowned physicians still reside on this side of the horn?”

“A few.”

“Can any of them for gold or prayers of mercy be convinced to talk to Captain and help them decide the cause of this illness?”

“Possibly, but do you wish to spend that kind of gold?”

Frederik looked thoughtfully at the very heavy bag resting on top of his traveling chest. “I think I can spare that much, yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do then and inform the servants to get your room ready.”

 

[stnylan]

"Maybe it would be easier if they hadn't. At least then the waiting would be over."

Nikos took another large swig at the grog, swallowing it down. He belched loudly.

"I just don't know anymore Jo, it seems every choice is ill-ordained. We are surrounded by a fearful enemy. And with 'friends' like the Venetians why do you actually need an enemy. The Venetians will happily backstab you just because they're bored. And if it's not them then its the Genoese or the Florentines."

Jonasz let his friend rant on, until Niklos fell silent, and had another swig. Was the merchant swaying slightly? Jonasz allowed himself a small smile. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get that twenty florins.

"If the city falls, what will you do?"

"Survive I suppose. I could live under the Turk, I have friends in Thessaloniki who have coped well enough. Lower taxes, more trading. Hell Jonasz, there are so many damned benefits to throwing in with the Turks I don't know why I'm here. I could be off making a huge profit on this war." More grog, a hasty swig.

Jonasz chuckled. "You're a fool then," he agreed merrily. Jonasz was sure that he would get his twenty florins now.

Niklos looked at the small part of the sea-wall they could see. "I love her," he said wearily, "I've done all I can for her. I hope she'll be alright."

Joasz shook his head. He'd seen Niklos like this once, twice before. He knewhe friend was not seeing the drab reality of the preent day, but a vision of the glory of the past.

Niklos lurched to his feet. "Need to be off, gotta met a cataphract t'morrow."

"Here, let me help you.."

"Dammit Jo, I can walk my own way home."

Niklos streadied himself, took one last swig, and set off down the pier. One step, two steps, three, and he fell flat on his face. Jonasz followed.

"You alright down there?" he asked.

Niklos' voice was more amused then anything, and he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the Cyprian. "Jonasz my old friend. I think I owe you twenty florins."

 

[HolisticGod]

July Eleventh, Constantinople
Afternoon

Constance grimaced.

The only hell more fiery than being trapped on a dock in a swirling, inescapable crowd with Venerio lo Gratto was being trapped on a dock in a swirling, inescapable crowd with Venerio lo Gratto in his element.

And he was quite clearly at home in empty flattery and strategic condescension in his every sugary word. He was politician enough to understand that her opinion held great sway with her husband, apparently, for he refused to let her leave earshot as they moved back and forth through the pandemonium, each, for a different reason, seeking out Captain.

"As I was saying, my lady, our introductions in Venice never gave us a chance to speak candidly. The tapestries are lies in that city."

"And you wish to speak candidly with me now?" She peered over the head of a squat Greek sailor unloading crates of supplies.

"Only to express my sincerest fondness for you and your family. In Venice, it was difficult to speak of the Free Company without facing grave danger. But Sir Robert, in particular, has been a good friend to my fa..."

"Yes, isn't a shame that your father couldn't be here himself, to do the same in his turn?"

"Madam," Venerio said, looking deeply affronted, "my father is a sick man. His life has been a long and tiresome one. Were it possible, I am certain he would've come."

"I hear he still makes his way into the bed of Catherine d'Medici without difficulty."

The young man was a familiar shade of crimson. The same color of seawater, no doubt.

"I'm sorry, child, I thought you wanted to speak candidly."

He turned, and then turned back. Seething.

"You're not merely a politician, young man, but a poor one. If you'll excuse me..."

 

[Lord Durham]

July 11 - Constantinople - Evening

Constantine Palaeologus stared in disbelief at the bloated, charred body lying on the table before him. His voice a whisper. "Dear God. It's true..."

Thomas stood rigid beside him, the only brother of five remaining to actually reside in the city. His eyes were moist, the tears not quite capable of flowing freely. He looked from the body to his older brother, to Captain, to the two monks who had risked their lives to deliver the grim package.

The smaller of the Monks, an elderly man with flushed, rosy cheeks, coughed politely and produced a ring. He held it out in an age-spotted hand.

Constantine, still gaunt from the flu that had ravaged his body earlier, reached to take the proffered symbol of state. He held it up to eye level, turning it one way, then another. Seeing, but not seeing.

Captain remained near the door, positioned to block any inadvertent entry. Silent, he was willing to let the two brothers work through their grief.

Thomas whispered, "We have to inform the people. We must have a funeral." He looked to his brother. "You are Emperor now, Con."

Constantine set the ring on the marble table, stepped back. "I do not want it. Our city is doomed. How can I preside over a doomed city?"

Captain crossed his arms, studied a broken fingernail.

Father Falkenberg spoke, his voice quiet, strong, "Your people need an Emperor, my son. Your people deserve to have one. It matters not whether it's for one day, for one week or for 100 years. First and foremost, your duty is to the glory that is Byzantium. It is to the memory of all those who came before you, to the legacy of the great works of art, the scholars, the architecture, the knowledge... The Byzantine Empire has endured for 1,000 years. If memory serves me, it was a Constantine who founded it. Would it not be fitting that a Constantine would set it to rest, if indeed it is ready to pass on into history."

"History? You speak of history? How will history see us, Monk? History is written by the victorious."

"Perhaps," Captain said. "Perhaps it is. But, would you have the historians say that Constantinople fell leaderless, with mere mercenaries to hold off the Turks in its darkest hour? Or, would you rather that history spoke of a defense led by the Emperor himself. A noble Emperor of the Byzantines willing to sacrifice himself against those who would destroy the last bastion of empire."

Constantine stared at Captain's impassive face, searching. He sighed, eyed the signet ring lying there in mocking repose. His voice cracked, "I'm so afraid, Thomas." A shudder coursed through his body, another. Then he straightened, his shoulders going back. He reached for the ring, turned to his brother. "We have much to do. The sooner, the better. We shall arrange the funeral for three days hence. The people must have an opportunity to pay their respects to... John. The coronation shall take place the day after." He faced Captain. "The time for remaining hidden in the Blachernae is at a finish. From now to the... end, Constantine shall stand at the walls!"

Captain stepped forward and went to one knee. "And the Free Company will stand with you, my Lord."

"Thomas, assemble the Varangian guard..."


* * *

Captain found Venerio sitting in the study with Constance enjoying watered wine and plain sweetbread. They looked up at his entrance. Constance moved to pour a goblet, Venerio stood to offer his hand in greeting.

Captain took it, finding the grip surprisingly strong. The boy sat, Robert moved to another chair, sitting heavily.

Constance placed a goblet before him. "Where are the Monks?"

"Across the way at the Church. I asked they look up Brother Matthias."

"Well, the Brothers could likely use the help. Wagons have been coming in since late noon full of very sick people - many of them dead. Poison, they say... Oh, before I forget, that merchant Niklos had this dropped off." Constance retrieved a rolled parchment and gave it over. "There's something about that man I distrust, Rob."

Captain glanced at Venerio, who had effected a look of detached comfort. "My apologies..." He removed the tie and unrolled the paper, read: In light of this, it would appear to be necessary to start rationing water, Lord Robert, unless you feel that the Queen of Cities will fall within a week. Othewise the wells will dry up soon after then, and we will all die of thirst before the Turk can do anything about it. I note my recommendations. I estimate I will need two hundred soldiers to keep order, and a score of archers. Ideally the Mongols, they scare people more. Should you have any questions I am likely to be found wherever Jonasz might be. He rubbed his eyes. "God's teeth. Constance, I have to find Lochlan. Sorry."

She smiled, perfectly aware that her husband was expected to be in several places at once. "I'll be waiting."

He cracked a half-smile. "I won't be long, then. Venerio, feel like a walk?"

The young man shot to his feet and bowed to Constance with a flourish. "I am most pleased we've had this chance to, ah... mend fences, my Lady. Your company has been the highlight of these past few weeks. I look forward to speaking with you again."

On the way out Constance grabbed her throat in a gagging motion, something only her husband could see. Captain grinned and followed Syban's son onto the street.

"My father speaks warmly of you, sir. Is it true your friendship spans several decades?"

"You make me feel old - turn this way, we go to a certain tavern. Yes, your father happened to befriend me when I needed a... friend, most. I owe him a great debt because of it."

"Sometimes I wonder if his stories are truly that... merely stories. He used to regal me for hours on end with his exploits."

"And I suspect your father was being modest. He is a truly remarkable man, Venerio. You should be proud of him."

"I... am."

"And what of you? What do you do? Better yet, what on earth brings you to Constantinople?"

"Well... ah, is that the place we seek?"

"Why, yes. How did you know?"

"The banner over top the door- the Company banner. I've seen it before."

Both men entered the tavern, stopping at the doorway to peer into the dull, smoky room. Captain saw a familiar collection of figures seated by the corner near the fireplace. As they worked their way through the crowd many of the mercenaries halted to offer a quick greeting. Sir Robert acknowledged most of them by name.

"The men respect you, eh Captain?"

Captain shrugged, "Maybe I put the fear of God into them."

They reached a table that seated Lochlan, Roos and LeCLerc. Space was made and beers ordered.

Roos regarded Venerio from under his hat, "You do drink ale, don't you?"

Venerio sniffed, "If I must." He looked from face to face, scruitinizing. "So, Robert, these are the famous men behind the Free Company, are they?"

Captain shrugged. "Most of them. They make my job easier. Like now. Lochlan?" He held out a letter.

"Captain?" Lochlan took the letter that Captain had received from Niklos, scanned it quickly. A quizzical look on his face. "Bad news. Isn't this what Roos was looking after earlier?"

"Yeah. Except, I'm wondering if this might be a job for Frederik. It would give him something to do before he bolts the city."

"Who told you that, sir?"

Captain leaned forward, took his ale. "I may be Captain, but I'm not stupid. The only thing that's holding him here right now is love, even if he refuses to see it. But, the way I see it, give him what Niklos requested - Shur'tu and his Mongols and a couple hundred guards - and let the guy loose. God knows, he's resourceful enough. And who knows, he may find out who was behind this."

"If he doesn't get himself killed, first." Lochlan produced a knife and began to play with it.

Venerio stared in fascination.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean, Captain, is that he's on to something that could affect all of us. He just hasn't figured it out yet. Unfortunately, all signs point out that they know, he knows."

"Oh." Captain hand signaled to Lochlan. Are you working on it?

The Ranger inclined his head, imperceptibly.

"Anything else I should know, or can I drink my ale in peace?"

The three officers looked at one another. Lots... Roos said, "Naw. You can drink in peace. Let's have another round."

Venerio continued to watch the knife, though he desperately wondered what the hand signal was about. His father had told him about that particular Company art. Why hadn't he listened?

 

[TheWildFerret]

OOC: BE WARNED, CONTENT IS NOT FOR THE SQUEMISH

July 11th Late Afternoon/Early Evening. German barracks.

Erik stalked around like a caged animal. Baer knew Erik’s moods and this was definitely a dark one. Baer wasn’t sure what had happened in the Mongol encampment but knew that whatever it was really angered Erik at a very deep level. He watched as his commander stalked and raged silently, both trying to cool his head so as not to make a rash decision and also to shake off something he was thinking about. So, Baer decided to sit and watch his commander.

------------------------------------------------------

I WILL not have this occur again. One man will not dictate what happens to hundreds. Not this time. Not while I draw breath and can do something about it.

Erik looked towards his sergeant. Sitting quietly was the big man, just watching him. Erik knew the big man would be there, always a nurse hen to the regiment. Although you tell Baer that he was likely to break an arm or leg, or hell even both.

Erik knew if he told Baer the news he just heard, Baer was liable to hunt down Frederik and snap the little merchants neck even if it meant getting a knife in the ribs. No, he had to be quiet about this. The whole regiment was liable to arm themselves and hunt down the little bastard.

-----------------------------------------------------

A little over a year ago on the march outside of Antalya.

“Sir,” Trenen approached his Commander, “It appears that Kruschovic wishes us to march until after sundown for another hour or two.”

Erik glanced back to where the Russian sat upon his large Warhorse and watched as his army moved towards some far off city. He wasn’t sure what this Russian was planning, but he had been in several battles under his command and definitely knew that the Bey was a ruthless, but brilliant commander. He shrugged and passed word to his men to keep up the march as the sun dipped to the horizon.

If we keep marching, it won’t be an issue for the footmen, but the cavalry may stomp on us or into some hole and seriously damage rider and mount.

He just shrugged, he was getting paid to fight and move his unit, not to think for the army.

About an hour after sun down the order to halt and camp was given. Erik shook his head, another cold camp and no fires. Most of the men dropped to the ground ready to eat a bit of hard tack and then lay down to sleep. Baer moved about them and organized them into proper position and set up the watch rotation for the night.

Even though they were supposedly within the safe confines of the large army encampment, he still did not trust these Turks. The Bey’s personal guard he figured he could trust not to sneak in and steal everything, but the rest of the army was made up mostly of savages and cutthroats. No, he would never trust these men, but as long as they fought, and they have done so fairly well, then he would only trust them upon the field.

A rider approached and spoke softly with Trenen, who in turn walked towards Erik and squatted down next to him. “It appears that the Russian would like for you to pay him a visit. It appears he wants to get to know the “foreigners” better. Heh… this coming from a Russian who is as far from home as we are.”

Erik snorted a laugh and walked to the rider. “Kruschovic Bey requires your presence to dine with him in an hours time. Be sure you make it on time, he dislikes waiting,” with that the rider road off back to the center of the encampment.

Watching the rider retreat, Erik just shook his head again. He found himself wondering why he was here and so far from the cooler climes of the northern lands. I never should of taken this task. Be a soldier, protect the land, and with it make a good amount of money. Again Erik snorted a laugh and went to prepare for his meeting with the Commander.

“My lord, the German commander is here to dine,” came the voice from his tent’s entry way.

Kruschovic smiled like a wolf who caught sight of fresh prey. Good, this German is definitely professional enough to arrive slightly early. Perhaps he is one that I can entrust with command of the foot. His pikemen are definitely well organized and disciplined. They maneuver about the field with the unhurried but efficient movements of a veteran unit. Yes, I think I will test this man, perhaps he will be of use to me and spill blood upon my whim.

“Allow him to enter and have us served in half an hours time.”

“Yes my lord,” and the tent flap opened to admit the German. Kruschovic looked him up and down to get the measure of the man. The German approached, then shocked Kruschovic by coming to attention and saluting.

“I report at your command, Commander,” responded the German

Kruschovic smiled, Yes, this man was a professional, and no slouch either. He may not be large like the other German in his command, but he can wield his Zweihander like a daemon possessed and his troops were utterly loyal. Yes, I think I have found my Field-Lieutenant.

“Relax and sit, Jaeger.” The Russian motioned with his hand. When Erik was seated he continued, “I wish to give you a proposition Jaeger, I want you to lead my foot in battle.”

Erik was confused for a moment, “I’m honored Commander, but you already have a commander for your foot and besides, would these men follow a non-Turk?”

Kruschovic smiled once more and a strange gleam came to his eyes, “Ah, well I will have the current commander… demoted…. He has been lacking for the past couple battles, but you and your men have always been a sturdy foundation to my cavalry and I have never seen you fall back or retreat when you are upon the battle field.” The Russian leaned forward towards Erik, “Let me put it this way in regards to them following a non-Turk. As you are aware, I am not a Turk, they follow me out of fear and respect. You shall be the same.” He leaned back and smiled once more.

Erik was reeling, he did not want the job, but yet he could not turn it down. Not to mention the smile was that of a man who had his prey in sight and smelt blood. He prayed that is wasn’t his blood that the Russian was smelling. Well, I guess it can’t be too bad, I can at least set up a passable line of foot, not like the current Foot Commander.

Before Erik could respond there was a slight tap from the flap and then food was brought to the two men. It appeared to Erik like fresh meat and some sort of alcohol. Kruschovic ordered one of the servants to take a bite out of all the food before it was served and to also take a swig of the alcohol. The Russian watched his “nominated” food taster and when satisfied that he was not going to drop over dead, dug in with relish.

Dinner took on a surreal tone for Erik. He talked with a military genius and a borderline madman. He heard of the exploits from the lips of the Russian, but could not believe most of it and cringed when he thought about it more. Erik would not disgrace himself or his unit here, but he thought that perhaps on the field he could temper the Russian’s somewhat overindulgence.

The meal came to an end and Erik took his leave. He realized that the Army’s commander was walking a line. Something had happened at some time, that Erik was sure of. What and when, he had no clue. Whatever it was it had affected the Russian deeply.

---------------------------------------------------

On the plains outside Antalya

”SET PIKES FOR CAVALRY CHARGE!!” Erik yelled.

The pikes of his regiment dropped as the cavalry charged into his unit of pikemen. Men and horses were brought to the ground in droves. Erik danced among the spears of the riders and smashed his Zweihander upon the lightly armored backs and sides of the rebellious cavalry.

This was their third engagement with the Rebels this month. Things were not happy here and the Russian was sent by the Pasha to quell the rebellion. He was doing so and with great success. His use of Cavalry while using his Foot as a mobile anvil was brilliant. He laid about him many dead and dying as well as trampling down anyone caught under his stallion’s hooves.

Now they were outside a small city, if it could be called that, and were facing a large rebel army. It looked like they had more men here then previously and Erik wondered if they had found one of their bases of operation. Secretly he hoped so, the constant skirmishing and battles were taking a toll on both men and beast. They could not sustain much more of this.

As the day wore on and the foot slowly tread upon the ground forward, the last of the rebels were sent fleeing. A mighty cry raised up from the foot and the cavalry. They shouted not only the Bey’s name but his as well. Finally they were accepting him as their leader. Today was the first battle where he did not worry nor care about being “demoted”. The previous foot commander had lingered 3 long days as he was demoted. He shivered with the thought of what the Bey had done with the man’s eyes and genitals. The Bey was sending out a very important message on failure. When they had left camp the Russian had the former foot commander placed upon a pike, he was still barely alive when this was done.

What was more gruesome was the fact the Russian had him impaled from anus to throat and the last horrible screams brought a smile to the Bey’s face. Erik had to endure standing by as the demotion process was taking place. It was expected of him and often he caught the Bey looking for some sign of weakness in Erik’s face. Erik was well disciplined, but it took everything within not to wince as the Foot Commander was violated with a pike.

Now though was a day for celebration, they had been outnumbered and had been able to force the rebels into a true stand up fight. No more biting at the flanks and vanishing into the distance. The rebels were soundly defeated and with minimal casualties to the Bey’s Army. No, Erik was certain he would not end up on a pike anytime soon.

A rider rode up to Erik, “An order from the Bey, move your foot south of the town and set up a perimeter facing the city.”

Erik looked at the rider with a question in his eyes, Surely anyone left alive from this rabble have moved on from the city, there is no one likely there except women, children and old men.

“Now, Foot Commander, or you might face a … demotion.” The messenger smiled at this although if he was looking for a reaction he was sorely disappointed.

Erik turned from the rider and gave him a dismissive wave of his hand, which the rider seemed to take as the intended insult, and ordered the foot into column for the move south of the town. Once they arrived he arranged them so his Germans were centered on the town and the other units left and right of his Germans.

Once they were in place and waiting Kruschovic himself rode up to Erik and smiled down at the man. His face was covered in gore and his eyes blazed with an intense light. “A great day Erik, and I thank you and your foot for a job well done, but now we must end this rebellion. I intend to make this town an example, I will move my cavalry in from the north and force any rebels to face me or run into your foot. This will be a day that we put down this rebellion.” Again he smiled that feral smile and rode off to the north.

As Erik stood and waited he heard more then saw the beginning of the end. He heard the wails and screams of people to the north and someone had set torch to a building. He merely shrugged at this. It was not unusual to burn an offending village and use the fire to teach a lesson and to force any enemy troops away from the flames.

Soon streams of women with their children were running from the city towards Erik’s line. To his right and left the Turk infantry jumped upon these innocent people with abandon. The men, no dogs, of the Turk infantry dissolved into a free for all. Men were grabbing the women and raping them as they tried to run through to the south. Some were even grabbing the young girls and boys, apparently anything would slack their thirst and lust.

Erik was disgusted at what he saw, this was nothing more then a rabble of savages, his feelings of triumph were suddenly lost in a well of sickness. Today he fought on the field of battle and crushed his enemy, here… well here there was nothing but brutality. Everywhere he looked women were being used by many men and then butchered, as were the children.

His men were quietly outraged. He could feel their tension and their desire to kill the Turk infantry. Only their rock hard discipline kept them from charging forward, and only Erik knowing that they were severely outnumbered kept him from giving the command. He won a small moral victory though, he did not impede the flow of runners that ran through his men’s ranks. He was not happy with people running through his ranks, but then it was better then the alternative.

Soon the stream of refugees thinned out and then stopped. No more came from the city and soon the Bey and his riders appeared. He was covered in fresh gore and from his saddle swung several heads of women he butchered. Erik knew now that this man had passed beyond the realm of sanity. Erik was no longer sure of his unit’s employment and being far from home in a land where he was hated for just his skin and hair color this was dangerous ground.

Kruschovic rode up to Erik with a smile and then as he looked beyond Erik and saw the retreating backs of the women and children, his smile vanished into a frown and his eyes hardened and bore into Erik. “Why were those traitors not slain?”

Erik knew he and his men were dead if he did not respond correctly, “Commander, your orders were to stop rebels, not women and children. As they are not a worthy force to contend with I assumed you had killed all the enemy within the town and you forced those wretches out to spread the word of your display. What better way to spread the word then by allowing some to survive?”

Kruschovic looked upon Erik with a new light in his eyes, “German, hear me well. You have betrayed me in front of my men and they have seen you question my authority. I should have you and all your men killed and piked, but… I am impressed with your abilities. Be gone from my sight and camp by nightfall. If you are not gone I will order my men to ride you down and kill you. I would recommend you go to Antalya and seek the Emir there.”

Kruschovic turned from Erik and started to ride off, but then stopped and turned in his saddle, “Be warned German, you have betrayed me and my trust, I will see you upon a pike before I am done breathing, go now before I come to my senses.” He turned back and rode off towards his camp.

Erik looked around and his sight fell on Trenen, “Well Trenen, looks like we better get out of here, and quickly. That one is insane and I have no wish to become a victim of his mood swings. I don’t know why we’re spared, but I have no intention to go ask him. Move the men out.”

Slowly the Landsknetche wheeled their formation and began to trot towards Antalya. Erik and all his men were tired, but they were literally running for their lives and would most likely drop before they stopped. Long into the day and partway into the night they ran, stopping briefly to redress their lines and rest. They made Antalya the next morning and were in the employ of the Emir by the days end.

----------------------------------------------------

Back in Constantinople, German Barracks

Erik drew a deep breath and shook his head to clear the memories. One man had caused all that and he would be damned if another would let that happen to others just to save his own hide. He looked up at Baer, “I’m off to the Tavern, have the men ready, I may need the whole regiment.”

Baer raised his eyebrow at his commander. This was almost unheard of, but then he didn’t know what was eating at his commander. “Yes sir,” He got up and went into the barracks while Erik stomped off towards the Tavern.

 

[TheWildFerret]

July 11th – Evening – Company Tavern

Erik barged into the tavern and approached the table that seated the officers of the company. On his way over he had heard that Lochlan and Frederik were off together talking or doing something. They had been seen around the tavern.

Erik locked his eyes on the Ranger and Lochlan noticed that the German was not his normal slightly cynical self. He read the rage in the German’s face and wondered what had caused this professional soldier to lose his composure. Perhaps the cannon has gotten to him.

Lochlan tried to ease the German’s rage by allowing a slight smile to cross his face and stood to greet Erik. The other’s at the table turned to see the German approach quickly. “Have a seat and a beer Jaeger.” Roos commented from his seat.

Erik ignored him and stepped up to stand inches from Lochlan’s face. Barely in a contained whisper that dripped with menace Erik asked, “Where is he?”

Lochlan reached down for his dagger trying not to move too quickly so as not to set the German off. Again the whisper, “My fight is not with you Lochlan, do not reach your blade, besides it would take you time to use it, I am armored or have you missed that.”

Lochlan cursed silently, That’s what I missed, it was in plain view and I missed it, damn me. I’m looking too hard to the shadows that I missed the obvious.

Those at the table realized that they too had missed the fact that Erik was armored and armed. They were so used to men coming and going in and out of armor, but they realized that Erik never walked into the tavern armored and if he was armed it was with just his strange round knife and possibly that short blade. Tonight he carried those and had his Zweihander strapped to his back.

“Look Jaeger… Erik… Frederik is not around and I’m not sure where he went, most likely he went to ground after the thrashing I gave him earlier,” again Lochlan tried to ease the mood with a slight smile. Lochlan was a trained Ranger and hunter, he knew when to play kindly to get an angered beast to become more passive, but it wasn’t working.

“Very well,” Erik turned to leave and came face to face with Captain.

“Stand down Jaeger,” Captain’s voice cut through the tavern.

Erik glared into his eyes and the tavern became hushed as the first signs of confrontation began to show.

“I will not Captain. I have found a new home here and I respect most here, but I will not stand down, especially when one who wishes to leave before the end is lose and is willing to sacrifice hundreds of people to make well his escape.”

“DO YOU know what that Russian is capable of Captain? You saw the pikes out in front of the wall and I know you damn well have heard the cries. THAT IS NOTHING! NOTHING! I have served under that madman, he is brilliant but completely insane! I was there at the village, I saw what he did and what his men did! And if someone wishes to allow ANYONE to suffer at that man’s hands to save his own hide then he is no better then the Russian!! I will NOT let that happen again… and damn any man who comes between me and him!!”

With a quick fluid motion to emphasize his point, Erik pulled his Zweihander with one hand and brought it down straight to his side and crushed the table that the other officers were sitting at. This caused Roos to fall back and away from the table and Le Clerc was also thrown back and he rose to his feet with his blade partially pulled.

“Now Captain, one last time, step aside so I may do my duty, not only to the Company but also to every innocent man, woman and child. And Lochlan, put the dagger away, again I have no cause to fight with any of you, but I doubt your dagger will kill me before me and my Zweihander crush those about me.”

Captain stared hard into Jaeger’s eyes and saw the fury and rage burn there…..

 

[unmerged(6528)]

July 11th – Evening – Company Tavern

With a quick fluid motion to emphasize his point, Erik pulled his Zweihander with one hand and brought it down straight to his side and crushed the table that the other officers were sitting at. This caused Roos to fall back and away from the table and Le Clerc was also thrown back and he rose to his feet with his blade partially pulled.

“Now Captain, one last time, step aside so I may do my duty, not only to the Company but also to every innocent man, woman and child. And Lochlan, put the dagger away, again I have no cause to fight with any of you, but I doubt your dagger will kill me before me and my Zweihander crush those about me.”

Oh shit. This is not what we needed, you damned fool Jaeger.

Captain stared hard into Jaeger’s eyes, and Lochlan could feel the heat that passed between them. The ranger's face went flat he jerked his head at the german and his hand flickered a few times.

"Well how about this one." He grated at Erik, producing a second knife from inside his boot. "Do me a favor." Lochlan continued. "exactly what does Frederik have to do with the Russian." He questioned, and moved to put himself in front of Captain.

Off to Jaegers left Leclerc was on his feet, his sword out and held at the ready, he met Lochlans eyes for a second and nodded, then he took a better grip on his sword. In response to his signal, two other veterans had moved in behind the german, they were good men and both had professional grips on their blades.

"Don't do it Lochlan." Erik said, his voice harsh. "Not even your fast enough, and we both no Jacques isn't."

We'll have to do this fast and hard, if he gets more than one swing we'll lose far too many people.

All throughout the Tavern there was the sound of blades coming free, and Roos stepped up to Lochlan shoulder, his own sword in hand.

"Like Captain said. Stand down Erik." The short swiss lieutenant said, who despite his size was an imposing presence. Then he moved to Jaegers right, giving Lochlan space to maneuver.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lochlan could see Sybans son doing something, what was his name...Ven something. The Free Company Lieutenant hoped he didn't get in the way, this could be dangerous.

I'll make the first move myself, to draw his blow.

The locals were quietly starting to edge for the door, and the other free Company patrons were starting to form a circle around the immediate opponents. Lochlan could feel their anger, and he redirected that into his focus of ending this, fast.

This was going to be bad. Lochlan's eyes narrowed, the german had another five seconds before they took him, one way or the other. Here we go...

 

[unmerged(6777)]

July 11, 1439 – the Tavern

Roos rose to his feet, his blade appearing in his hand almost of its own volition. He stepped to Lochlan’s side.

“Like Captain said. Stand down Erik.”

He moved further to the side, giving Lochlan the necessary room to manoeuvre and presenting a second threat for the German to deal with. The ranger was busily flashing hand signals but they were too fast for the Swiss lieutenant to follow. He got the gist of them though, and it wasn’t likely to be pretty.

Time stood still.

What are we doing?

The more he thought of it, the more absurd the situation seemed to him. Finally he could contain himself no longer, and burst out in laughter.

Hardly surprisingly, this was the last thing that the German expected and his eyes flicked over and down.

“It occurred to me,” Roos observed, “that we are doing exactly what the Sultan wants us to. What the Bey wants us to.”

Erik frowned but gave no other sign that he was listening.

“Here we are, swords drawn, ready to kill one another and Murad is probably already in bed, getting a good night’s rest. Shall those of us who survive the next five minutes hurl ourselves from the walls to save him the trouble of cleaning up the mess?”

Erik gaze transferred itself from Lochlan to Renaud once more, and stayed there.

Bad idea, my friend. Personally, I’d never take my eyes off Lochlan.

“Even funnier, Frederik isn’t even here so no matter what the outcome is, it will never accomplish what you desire. He’ll still flee, and you’ll be too dead to do anything about it. Who wins in all this?”

Erik opened his mouth to answer, but it was in that moment of distraction that Lochlan acted.

Damn fool! thought Roos as he made one desperate attempt to parry the German’s weapon as it swept down on the ranger…

 

[TheWildFerret]

July 11th - The Tavern

Erik opened his mouth to answer, but it was in that moment of distraction that Lochlan acted.

Damn fool! thought Roos as he made one desperate attempt to parry the German’s weapon as it swept down on the ranger…

Erik swung his Zweihander over to his left side as he saw the movement from Lochlan. Roos interjected his blade between Lochlan and the massive German made blade. Unfortunately, Renaud’s blade dropped from his hand from the weight and odd angle of the strike, but it was enough to slow and deflect the movement of Erik’s Zweihander. It caught the Ranger a glancing blow that numbed his arm and heard a nasty crack sound of something breaking. Lochlan moved out of the reach of the weapon and regained his bearing on the German.

Almost at the same time Erik reached down and grabbed Roos overextended arm and jerk him forward. Roos fell forward off balance but quickly moved away to regain his balance and look about him for something handy to use as a weapon.

Jacques stepped forward but was pushed onto his back by a shoulder block from Erik. Jacques moved away quickly knowing that he would be quickly outmatched. After all he was a strategist not just a brute.

Captain took two steps back and prepared to meet Erik’s expected attack, but by this time the two men behind Erik jumped forward and tackled Erik to the floor and literally laid across him to stop him from swinging his weapon. Erik fought against the grips of the men and was starting to remove them from his back when Lochlan stepped forward and with his right hand placed a dagger to Erik’s throat. Lochlan held his left arm close as the pain flashed through his body.

He forced down his pain and glared at Erik, then looked up at Captain and back down to Jaeger, “Okay Erik, what’s this all about and be quick about it as my patience is at an end.”

From the floor Erik watched Roos retrieve his saber and also advance upon the German. “Frederik would leave men here to face the Bey’s torture to save his own hide. He has tried to hire out one of the ships in the harbor to carry him out to safety before the wall falls. A ship where scores of men could cling onto and make their escape instead of a single man. I told you once, that leaving men to the fate of the Russian was almost as bad as being the Russian. I still hold that to be true, and for all I know Frederik could be trying to sail one of the ships out of here. Perhaps not one of Jonasz’ but now there are other ships in the harbor that may be less loyal now.”

Roos stood to the side and lowered his blade to the German’s neck and nodded at Lochlan. The old Ranger nodded and raised to his feet quickly and moved out of the way incase Roos needed the room.

Captain looked down at Jaeger, “Why didn’t you just let us know of your suspicions? Instead you tromp in here and cause a ruckus.”

“You don’t understand Captain, if we hesitate, then the bastard will save his own skin and leave others to face the Russian. I for one, will NOT let that happen. I have seen his handywork and can not live in good conscious if I did not do all I could to stop it from happening again. What you see outside the wall is nothing he is capable of. Nothing. He lives for the agony of others. I could not stand against him then as I had my men to think about, but here and now I will not allow anyone else come under his sway.”

Captain glared once more at the German and looked to his other officers. “What do you all think?”

“We don’t have time for a committee Captain, we have to stop Frederik Now!”

Anger crossed Captain’s face and forced his voice to remain below a bellow, “This is MY company, not yours. I am in command and I will NOT jump into something until I have this company’s full support.”

Once more Captain looked to his Officers…..