“We leave today,” Leo said, sitting at the end of the long table in his grand chambers of the palace. “We’ll head north and stop the Bulgars at Acheloos while Romanos ferries the Pechenegs across the river. We’ll trap them between our two forces and crush them and their expansion.”
Syres stood stiffly behind Leo, the collar of his armor chafing his neck as he endured the early summer heat of that morning. He could feel the sweat on his forehead under the helm he wore, the unease scratching at him as the general and his commanders babbled on. Syres didn’t care to hear the words as he peered around the room, trying to distract himself from his discomfort. It was always lavishly decorated but today there was more.
Cool fountains trickled outside the large open partitions of the room, the cooling breeze rustling the thin white curtains strewn about the walls. The intricate and colorful mosaics on the exposed portions of the high white walls seemed to fill the room with wildlife, distracting from the ancient and crumbling rafters and foundations. Syres contemplated this ancient, and once forbidden city, wondering at how quickly he had risen within Leo’s confidence.
He was not a freeman because, like many of the slaves and servants in this Christian capital, he was a Muslim. Though Leo cared little for a man’s religion, only his talents, Syres knew that his status, and position, had never been secure. As much as the Romans disliked the word slave, they still owned and sold thousands of them.
“We’ll march at night, under cover of darkness,” Leo said, standing from his chair. Syres took a step back now, stiffening his shoulders as Leo glanced over at him. He could tell, without words, that the inpatient general was ready for the glory his plan would bring. “Ready your men and supplies. We’ll meet at sundown outside the western gates. I want the horses fresh and the army ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
“Sir,” the room rang, the other commanders standing and bowing their heads.
As they began to file out of the room, Syres noticed that the richly dressed Admiral Romanos had resumed his position at the table, comfortably lounging in his chair. He didn’t miss the look that Leo and Romanos shared, the older admiral taunting Leo with a smirk and making the vein in Leo’s temple pulse. Only Syres could truly see the delight this gave Romanos, his heart fluttering with adrenaline. Syres had never liked the Admiral but at the same time, he didn’t see any barriers to friendship, should the need arise.
“So, the fleet will sail tonight,” Romanos chimed, looking at the empty golden goblet on the table in front of them. A servant quickly moved to refill it, Leo striding to the chair on the older man’s right. Romanos's short and peppered beard was hinting at the wrinkles forming slowly about his eyes.
He was of common stock, seeing his deep skin tone and numerous callouses on his hands. He was a hard-working man, rising in the ranks of first the previous two emperors and then the regent who clearly despised him. He was smarter than he seemed but the fact that that man did all this without being able to read or write astounded Syres.
“Tell me, once the Pechenegs are across the river, what then?” Romanos asked, watching Leo grab up his cup.
“After we defeat the Bulgars and their king, we’ll raid the countryside. We’ll secure our northern border and return to the capital as heroes,” Leo nodded, falling lazily into the chair. “There will be spoils and glory for all.”
“God wills it,” Romanos nodded, raising his glass. He had a sour look on his face, hiding a doubtful look in his eye. “But should we drive them into a retreat… might we not follow them, destroy their army for good?”
“The Bulgars know more about their lands than we ever could,” Leo argued. “And we need a steady supply line to maintain a prolonged campaign so far north.”
“You’re probably right,” Romanos nodded, setting his cup down. “But I wonder… what does our young Emperor think of this? I noticed he and the Empress did not attend…”
“The emperor and reagent are preparing a mass to ask God for a swift and decisive victory,” Leo retorted, watching the older man wearily. “We should all pray to God almighty so that he may grant us victory.”
“Perhaps a sacrifice,” Romanos commented, pushing himself up and away from the table. “God may exchange blood for blood.”
“I will ask the priests for additional masses, for the safeguard of our souls,” Leo shot back, standing up as well. “Safe travels my Lord. I will meet you in Acheloos and together, we’ll crush the Bulgar king Simeon.”
“God wills it,” Romanos nodded, a shallow bow before turning from the table and leaving the room.
“That man is a coward,” Leo hissed, turning to see that Syres had already removed his helm. His fingers were deftly working at the clamps and ties around his shoulders and neck when Leo came over to help him.
“He’s entitled, like many of your kind,” Syres confirmed, feeling the cool breeze on his neck and arms as the padded armor piece fell from his chest to the table. “He expects a great reward for his services. He’s also jealous of your influence over the Empress and the court.”
Syres scratched at the stubble on his face before picking up a goblet from the table, motioning for the servant girl to fill it. He knew her as Myra and offered her a sly smile as she approached. Leo only chuckled, turning from Syres to stare out into the courtyard, the breeze picking up as the white curtains fluttered about the room. Syres watched Leo quietly, sitting comfortably in one of the plush cushioned chairs around the table. The silence between them was much appreciated, both lost in their thoughts only to be jarred back to reality by the slamming and creaking of the doors to the chamber opening again.
Syres quickly stood from the table, bowing to the woman that had come sauntering in. She wore a long silk gown of purple and blue, her hairpiece ornately decorated silver with gems studding the surface. The empress regent’s dark eyes sparkling as her long, curly brown hair flowed down her exposed back like a waterfall. She immediately bypassed Syres, her eyes solely focused on the rugged general near the windows.
“Leo, my love,” she cooed, wrapping herself around him in a tight, and wanton, embrace. “You left my chambers so early this morning, but I don’t recall dismissing you.”
“Ah, my Empress,” he replied, his lips trailing kisses down her temple and cheek. “There was much to do… we mobilize tonight, under cover of darkness.”
“Then you shall attend me all day,” she replied, her hands going to the hair at the base of his neck. She tugged gently, biting her lip before capturing his lips. Their exchange was loud and their breathing heavy, much too heavy for a married man and a widowed Christian woman. Syres stayed silent though, pretending not to be privy to their triste.
“I cannot,” Leo finally breathed, pulling away from her. “I must ready my troops, finalize our supply count, and I must see my family before I depart the city…”
“Surely you will be at the mass and feast later,” the woman pressed, her eyes not leaving his face. “What could be more important than attending your Emperor and regent?”
“I will be there with my wife and eldest son,” Leo sighed, kissing her forehead softly. “Ah, Zoe… we must try to maintain some semblance of piety in public. If there is scandal or rumor, all our plans will be for naught.”
“And when you return from this campaign?” she asked, her eyes narrowing on him. “You will leave your wife and come to me, yes?”
“In time my goddess,” he whispered, kissing her lips again. “We will be together, and you shall once again be Empress…”
“You must come to my chambers tonight before you leave the city,” she urged, her arms slung around his shoulders as if he’d float away at any moment. They kissed, holding one another tenderly until Zoe spotted Syres, his uniform still strewn on the table and his helmet discarded on the floor. She pulled away from Leo and stared at Syres a long time before straightening herself.
“You remember Syres,” Leo said, standing behind her and wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. “He’s my Muslim bodyguard who joined us that hot evening a few weeks ago...”
“He’s a slave,” she pointed, looking over Syres critically. “He’s wearing Roman armor, but he is a Muslim. Does he have a rank? Is that proper?”
“He is my topoteretes,” Leo chuckled, nuzzling Zoe’s neck with his nose. “But he has proven to be an invaluable confidant, servant, and friend.”
“He will be joining you on the expedition north?” Zoe questioned, still eyeing Syres apprehensively. “He better hope nothing happens to you, for his sake…”
“Come now,” Leo replied, stopping Syres’ quick tongue. “I have every confidence in him, as should you. He is privy to our secrets and may provide useful council in going forward against Romanos.”
“That dog,” Zoe complained, turning to look back up at Leo. “You make sure you come back to me. I hate the way the commoner admiral looks at me; he is so greedy.”
“Go, my love,” Leo urged, kissing her passionately before urging her toward the door “Spend time with your son. I will see you again tonight.”
“Promise?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder. Leo only nodded, smiling at her as she sauntered from the room, the wooden door thumping shut behind her. Syres could visually see Leo relax.
“She’s a lustful woman,” Leo commented, seeing Syres’ curious look. “She’ll wear out even the wildest stallion.”
“She is hardly discrete,” Syres replied, taking a large drink from his discarded goblet. “But she is still young and a great beauty.”
“Unlike any woman I have ever met,” Leo chuckled, taking a drink from his goblet. “But I need only one thing from you, dear Syres. I would like for you to watch over the emperor today. I do not trust that there isn’t a spy amongst his guard, nor do I trust Romanos to keep his distance.”
“I will do as you bid,” he replied, nodding his head in agreement. “But there is something that I do wish to discuss with you.”
“I am listening,” Leo nodded, turning to look at him. “What is on your mind, friend?”
“Freedom,” Syres admitted, watching Leo’s reaction closely. “Tell me, what is the purchase price for my freedom?”
“Purchase?” he asked, looking dumbfounded, moving to sit in his chair. He motioned for Syres to sit as well, both men lifting their goblets to be refilled by the servant girl, Myra. “My dear friend, is that what has been weighing on you these past few weeks?” Leo looked genuinely shocked, clearly standing on new ground.
“I’ve served faithfully, wisely, and discretely but not for long,” Syres reasoned, his voice quiet but steady. “I only ask for the opportunity to gain my freedom.”
“An opportunity,” Leo nodded, placing a hand on Syres’ shoulder. The man genuinely looked relieved, like something had come off his regal shoulders and he smiled widely. “Serve me well in this campaign and we will consider your servitude at an end.” Leo then lifted his goblet, so they could toast.
“I thank you,” Syres responded, raising his goblet. “But I will gladly serve you and your household still as a free man.”
“I would consider it a personal favor if you would serve me directly,” Leo explained, taking a large drink of wine. “Your outside opinion and balanced reasoning are what I need to face down all of my enemies.”
“I would be honored,” Syres nodded, setting his cup down on the table.
“I have faith that you will serve me well and we may discuss pay at some point,” he replied, smirking slightly. “But since you are unmarried, relatively young, and unconverted, it will be a small, outside position so as not to draw even more attention.”
“Perhaps an official position under your command,” Syres offered, glancing out at the courtyard. “A minor position within your household.”
“I believe the head of my household guard could be replaced,” Leo grinned, setting his cup down. “He’s some distant cousin of my wife and very desperate for favor. I would feel much better with you watching my back.”
“And your wife will not protest?” Syres asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief as he downed most of his cup.
“She’s always protesting one thing or another,” he replied, looking out the window longingly. “I’ll be glad to be rid of him; their family has been clinging to my name to boost their own.”
“Then I’ll make sure to stay clear of the mistress,” Syres smirked, standing from the table, and emptying the goblet. “But I believe I need to report to my post. I will watch the emperor like a hawk, General.”
Leo simply nodded, motioning for him to take the armor on the floor and table with him. Syres scooped it up, pulling the padded mail chest piece over his shoulder, knotting it at the neck. Leo stood up, tying it tightly around his shoulder, chest, and hip before handing Syres his helm. Syres adjusted the chest piece briskly before pulling the helm over his head. He had a short sword and a dagger on his belt that clinked when he walked, heading for the large double doors of the ornate room.
They were on the second floor, the large palace designed around two central courtyards of trickling water and marble. The general had been given rooms in the east wing, near the royal apartments of the empress and her son. It was here in his cozy antechamber that foreign dignitaries, noble families, and starving artists and scholars came for patronage and influence. It was here that Syres had observed the ways of the court, time and again amazed by the barbarism and self-interest of the Christian empire.
Syres knew little of this empire when he arrived, growing up along the great river valley as a child. His father would tell him stories that his grandfather had told him, going back to his oldest ancestor. His father reminisced about his forefathers and how they had been telling stories for the past seven generations. Stories, that by now, had been long forgotten.
He knew of the once-great empire that stretched across the great ocean to the north, ruling with blood-red banners and an iron fist. Their traders skimmed up and down their river valley daily, trading useful goods and collecting taxes from the small communities, such as the one Syres had been born in. He’d seen many things in his youth, but his father told the story of barges laden with granite, spices, wild beasts, and valuable metals. The river would shimmer all day with great white and red sails dotting the lush green landscape. Syres thought that one day he might see such a sight, like his ancestors long ago.
It was in servitude that he had spotted his window of opportunity and he would take it, raising himself higher so that one day he might finally know peace in the immortal life that was forced on him. However, he’d found Leo to be more than just a target to be manipulated or molded. Leo was uncommonly kind to those who he believed were loyal. He was also singularly ruthless when it came to enemies – a desirable trait in any potential friend.
As Syres moved down the wide and lavishly decorated corridor he could hear the voices from the large double doors ahead. It was the emperor’s suite where the child had spent most of his life. He’d been emperor from a young age, placed there by his desperate father and power-hungry mother. He’d never ventured outside the royal residence and Syres hardly ever saw the boy except during holidays and festivals. He was pale, hunched, and was barely thirteen years old and his mother, the regent, kept him isolated from those who would see this. As he approached the door, the two armored guards stopped him, one eying him strangely.
“I come on behalf of General Phokas with word for the reagent,” Syres explained, looking between the two. They had seen Syres often enough, and always in the company of Leo, to know that he was on official business. After the guards exchanged looks, one of them turned to knock briskly on the large wooden door.
“Enter!” came a familiar voice.
The guard went into the room, shutting the door behind him as Syres stood outside, waiting quietly. There was further muffled discussion on the other side of the door before the guard came back out, stepping aside for Syres to enter. He entered the room, only able to see a bit of the brightly painted walls and ornately woven tapestries before bowing his head low. The Empress was standing in the archway of the inner room, the same provocative outfit visible underneath a long silk robe she’d put on.
“Ah, Syres, correct?” she asked, her voice tight, clearly displeased to see just him.
“Correct, Empress,” Syres replied, keeping his head bowed. “General Phokas has sent me to serve your household. He would like me to watch over both you and the emperor to deter any trouble during the ceremony and feast later.”
“How very thoughtful of him,” Zoe replied, smirking at the ladies that attended her. They were dressed more conservatively, their hair and shoulders covered with long silk and lace garments as they peered out at him from the inner room. “It seems the general has sent us a Muslim protector. Tell me, Syres, should we good Christian ladies trust such a man? What was it that your prophet said, about nonbelievers?”
“Be they Muslims, Jews, Christians, or Sabaeans,” Syres replied, raising his head to look directly at the empress. She looked irritated and shocked that he’d look straight at her while quoting the sacred text of the Christian enemy. “Those who believe in God and the Last Day, and who do well, have their reward with their lord. They have nothing to fear, and they will not sorrow.”
“You speak such words here, in the Christian capital and in the very prescience of our empress?” one of the women spoke up, sounding completely violated as if Syres had summoned the very devil to their door.
“There are many Muslims in Constantinople,” Syres replied, his head still lifted to stare at the woman who’d spoken out. “They trade, translate, divine astrological signs, and study medicine in this great Christian city.”
“With the Emperor’s leave,” Zoe spoke up, silencing the woman behind her. “As regent, I’ve judged it wise to allow all peoples to live in our prodigious capital including Jews, Muslims, and Zoroastrians.”
“A wise decision,” Syres replied, bowing his head.
“A decision she did not make alone,” came another voice from within, the women behind the empress bowing and stepping aside to make a path.
There, standing in lavish purple robes, finely laced sandals trimmed with fur, and heavy pendants of precious metals and stones, was a boy. He was tall for his age, had dark curly hair, and a slight stubble patched about his chin and upper lip. He had narrow gray eyes and a hunched form, making him look even more awkward in the heavy and princely attire.
“Of course not, my son,” Zoe cooed, smiling lovingly at the boy before bowing shallowly.
“Who is this man?” the emperor asked, looking over Syres as he bowed low. “Is he another Arab scholar looking for favor? Why were you yelling?”
“He is the servant of General Phokas,” Zoe replied, coming over to put her arm over his shoulder protectively. “You know Leo, right darling?”
“I’m sickly, not stupid,” the boy replied, his eyes shrinking to slits as he looked over at her. “Leo is departing tonight, correct? The navy has been anchored at port for more than a week but now they are opening their sails. I can see it from my balcony…”
“He is leaving tonight but most of the navy is leaving now,” Zoe answered, her voice soft and despondent. “Leo will depart after the mass and feast. He assured me that he has great plans to defeat that pretender and his Bulgar army.”
“But you’ve not heard these plans with your own ears?” Constantine queried. “You’ve not had a hand in planning them?”
“You know it is not a woman’s place to sit on the war council,” Zoe retorted, pulling her son snuggly against her side. “But we trust Leo, don’t we?”
“I trust him to act in his self-interest,” the boy replied, looking up at his mother wearily. “Which happens to work in my favor for the moment.”
The boy pulled himself from his mother’s arm, stepping forward to look at Syres more closely. Syres had remained respectful, keeping his head bowed while the boy was in his prescience.
“Your name?” Constantine asked, moving to stand directly in front of him.
“Syres,” he replied, watching the boy's sandaled feet with disinterest.
The young emperor considered him thoughtfully, Syres raising his head to meet his eyes. The boy, at a closer distance, looked pathetically formed. Pale, dark unruly hair, gaunt face, weak chin, hunched shoulders, and blemishes on his face caked over by some sort of talc to hide their scarlet color. His eyes, however, were the most serious and stunning shade of slate, staring as if to see Syres’ very soul.
“And why are you here, Syres?” Constantine asked, his voice cracking.
“I was ordered to guard you, my emperor,” Syres responded, his eyes averting. He didn’t want to provoke or offend the young monarch and he also didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself. It was hard enough controlling his words but under the pale monarch’s flesh beat a steady heart that Syres could hear, ringing in his ears.
Each mortal heartbeat had a sound, a specific note. Some were high, whimsical chimes while others were loud gongs. It varied but usually, Syres could tell the difference between the extraordinary mortal and the ordinary. It was in the tuning, the vibration of the bell striking him like a wave.
“A personal guard,” the boy hummed, his gaunt features making him look older than he was. “Is there some sort of threat the general is concerned about?”
“Always,” Syres replied, straightening slightly, glancing into the boy’s eyes. “But the fear of spies and enemies within the court makes the general that much more cautious.”
“Perhaps his fears have influenced this decision,” Constantine said, meeting Syres’ gaze. “I know the general has a few enemies, including admiral Romanos Lekapenos. Is he expecting some sort of retaliation or betrayal?”
“I would not presume to understand General Phokas’ thoughts,” Syres responded, bowing his head to the young emperor. “But I see the way you Christians squabble on Saturday and preach on Sunday. It makes me wonder if you have any loyalties at all.”
“How dare you speak to your Emperor like that, slave?!” Zoe screamed, stepping forward to push Syres away from her son. Her nostrils flared and her robe swayed about her furiously, like a maddened cobra aiming to strike. Her rushing blood was a tempting target, the battles of his past echoing in his mind. “How dare you be so insolent and disrespectful?”
“Silence,” the boy spoke, raising his hand to hush his mother. His rings and chains of amulets jingled as he lowered his hand. His heart, his muscles, were relaxed, steady as he strode forward. “He speaks boldly but he speaks the truth. Tell me, what do you know about loyalties? About wisdom and learning? You’re just a common slave.”
“I was once a man,” Syres spoke earnestly, raising his eyes to look at the sullen boy directly. “A man of stories and knowledge. I have been where you have not and seen what you have not. I've studied with the finest scholars and wise men. I once roamed the vast collections of the great House of Wisdom and wept upon leaving her warm glow of truth.”
The chamber was silent now, the thoughtful boy contemplating Syres’ words carefully before giving a response. Syres could feel the look that the Empress was giving him, but he was preoccupied. The slate gray eyes of this witty child before him had made it difficult to see anything else. There was a fire behind those eyes, an undeniable hunger for something that Syres had seen before. Syres' words had just spilled out of their own accord, unable to stop himself as he stood before the young emperor.
The look behind those gray eyes signaled what his beating heart betrayed, and it was a perfect way to manipulate such a man. It was also the damnation of some of the greatest minds – gluttony. This boy was engorged on learning and knowledge, and Syres could tell immediately he hungered for more. He knew his path forward, realizing his time spent in mindless philosophical debates all those years ago would finally pay off.
“You have been to the House of Wisdom, Syres?” Constantine asked, analyzing the older man’s facial expressions.
“In Baghdad, as a free man five years ago,” Syres lied, not averting his gaze. “I studied medicine, philosophy, languages, astronomy, and histories.”
“What can you read and write?”
“Greek, Latin, Coptic, Arabic, Syriac, and some Persian dialects,” Syres confirmed soberly, noting that the young ruler’s interest was piqued.
“What kind of histories?” Constantine pressed, eyeing the older man.
“You should leave, at once,” Zoe interrupted, moving to stand next to her son. “Guards! Tell dear Leo that your services are not required.”
“No,” the boy insisted, irritation obvious in his features. “We’ll both leave. It is his job to guard me and that is what he’ll do. Come, Syres, let’s leave the women to their ways.”
“Sir,” Syres bowed, hiding the smirk on his lips as he stared at the floor.
He then followed the boy as he headed for the door Syres had just come through. Syres didn’t miss the look of horror and fury on Zoe’s face as the boy walked away. Syres simply nodded to the livid woman before following quickly behind Constantine. He couldn’t help but think about how easy it was going to be to earn this boy’s trust. He was also genuinely curious about that fire that he’d seen in his slate eyes. Perhaps, this way, he might earn more than just his freedom; befriending an Emperor is far more useful than a General.
Syres followed the young emperor through the east wing of the palace, passing by many balconies and enclaves that overlooked the central courtyard. The long thin linens hung from the ceiling, wafting in the breeze as the pair passed by. It was only when they approached the massive doors to the emperor’s personal library that the tension between them started to fade. The gaunt boy-king simply stopped and turned around, eyeing Syres inquisitively.
“You’re a learned man?” the boy asked in Latin, changing from the Greek that was common throughout the Roman capitol. “Or were you just trying to save yourself?”
“I know Latin like I know Greek,” Syres replied in kind, making Constantine’s lip twitched into a hint of a smirk. “And I know the histories of the Romans, Umayyads, Persians, and Fatimid Caliphs. I am also served as an assistant to a scribe in Cairo.”
“And your medical and astronomical career?” Constantine queried in nearly flawless Coptic, clasping his hands behind his back like an old priest.
“I studied in Cairo in the household of the great astronomer Kathir al-Farghani,” he grinned, knowing that the emperor would recognize such a famous name. “My father studied with his son and grandson when I was just a boy and we used to discuss his father’s theories about the size of our earth. I never met the famous astronomer, but I did study his great treatise on the astrolabe.”
Syres remembered the man very well, having really served under the great astronomer in Egypt over sixty years ago. He had broken free of the granite mines where he slaved for many years, going north on foot until he reached the great Muslim fort in Cairo. He lived in the slums then, begging from day to day until once again he was shackled into slavery. Syres shook the memories away now, watching the young emperor cautiously.
“And in Baghdad, I studied the Greek philosophers as well as the human body,” Syres continued, the young boy still listening patiently as they stood in the wide hallway outside the library.
“No famous teacher of anatomy to speak of?” Constantine asked, eyebrow raised in condemnation. “Rhazes or perhaps Ali al-Ridha?”
“No, just general studies but I have watched many surgeries,” Syres admitted. “Most of which were approved by chief physician Rhazes.”
“Then I have a job for you,” Constantine instructed, switching back to the Greek language that they were both comfortable speaking. “I need a man of learning to translate and copy some of the more ancient texts in my library.”
“I’m happy to accept this responsibility, my emperor,” Syres assured, bowing his head. “But my master requires my services on the campaign, in Acheloos.”
“Then you must come back alive,” Constantine nodded, motioning for Syres to follow him into the library. “But since your job is to be my bodyguard for today, I’ll make it easy. I planned on spending most of my day in here, amongst my tomes and scrolls.”
“A scholar at heart?” Syres asked, looking around at the elaborate library. Almost a dozen shelves were lining the walls between great and elaborately carved windows. Each shelf held hundreds of scrolls, tomes, and parchment copies of fine works, saved from antiquity by the Roman emperors of the long past.
“I have always conformed to the belief that a wise man knows one thing and that is that he knows nothing,” the boy nodded, moving to his wide and beautifully carved desk and chair.
“Socrates,” Syres mused, enjoying the young emperor’s confession. “I find that when it comes to the pursuit of knowledge, you must know what you are chasing. If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.”
“Seneca,” Constantine smiled, sitting down at the desk slowly. He had an amused grin on his face, watching Syres closely. “You’re well versed, Syres.”
“I am a man of learning,” Syres bowed, a grin on his lips. “Perhaps your majesty has mastered the arts of philosophy, rhetoric, and governance, but I wonder if you’ve studied the arts of war, politics, and God. I believe you will find a more worthy opponent, there.”
“Like most, you assume because I am frail and malformed that I am not learned in the way of war,” Constantine replied, his voice becoming colder. “And you assume I am not adept at maneuvering around my opponents, even within my own government. However, for a Saracen to accuse me of neglecting the teachings of God, is outrageous.”
“I did not mean offense, my emperor,” Syres replied, keeping his eyes on the ground. He could hear the pulse under the boy’s rage, welling in his chest and tensing his muscles.
“You think I do not know how I seem to my generals, my governors, my people?” The young monarch was angered, staring up at Syres from his seat at the desk. “Do you think that I know myself so little? That I am an uncertain and unlearned child, too weak and afraid to face reality?”
“Man is so constituted, that he then only excels other things when he knows himself,” Syres quoted, keeping his eyes to the ground. He could hear Constantine’s heartbeat start to slow, calming himself as the silence hung between them. Syres could hear the deep breaths in his chest and see the way his eyes dilated slowly.
“Boethius,” he finally said, turning to the papers on his desk. “You’re a bold man, Syres. Perhaps that is why the general enjoys you. Come, sit here with quill and ink and help me with this translation.”
“Yes, your highness,” Syres replied, swiftly picking up a stool and setting it opposite of the young man at his desk. “The work?”
“Thucydides’ History,” Constantine smirked, noting the old but still legible scrolls in front of him. “It is an Arabic translation, of a Latin translation of the original Greek work.”
“I’ve read it,” Syres nodded, looking over the pages slowly. “The Peloponnesian Wars. One of the greatest historical texts of all time, despite the unfinished ending.”
“We know how it ended,” Constantine smiled, picking up his quill. “So, tell me, what brought you to Constantinople, Syres? How does a learned man go from educated scholar to slave?"
“Life,” he replied, pulling off his helmet and setting it on the floor next to him. He then started to unstrap the shoulders of his armor, making his movements more comfortable. “I had traveled from Fustat, as a child, to Damascus with my family. My father was a minor scholar in Cairo and worked for the Tulunid dynasty. So, when the opportunity arose, we went to Damascus, the former capital of the great Umayyad Caliphate.”
“And you were schooled by your father?”
“For a time, until he enrolled me in a school in Damascus where I excelled at languages and histories,” Syres nodded, allowing the ink to drip back into the black inkwell from his quill. The lies rolled off his tongue like rain off the wing of a bird. “I was so adept that I had garnered a minor apprenticeship in the government. However, the dynasty was not meant to last, and the city fell into chaos when the city was invaded in 902. My father was killed, my mother escaped, with my sister and younger brother, back to family in Fustat. I, however, was captured.”
“Caliph Al-Muktafi was at war, and won control of the city in 903 when I was merely 16,” Syres explained. “I was transported to Baghdad where I was ransomed, however when no reply came, I was forced to serve. It only took a short time to see that I was gifted with languages and histories, and so I was sent to learn from some of the greatest minds of the age in the fabled House of Wisdom.”
“You’ve had such an adventurous life,” Constantine commented, dipping his quill as Syres began translating. “You’ve been out in the world, seen the truth of it for yourself. I cannot be anything but jealous of you, Saracen.”
The light breeze wafted in through the windows now, crackling the papers and making the bright white curtains rustle like waves. Constantine had gone quiet, continuing his translations, waiting patiently for Syres to continue. Syres could feel his curiosity, hear the racing of his heart and the scratching of the ink upon the parchment as the boy sat across from him. It wasn’t a surprise that he had enthralled the young emperor with his tales; the yearning for knowledge was his hubris.
“The House of Wisdom is a place unlike any other, your highness,” Syres continued, keeping the boy on edge. “I was there for seven years before a delegation from Constantinople came to speak to the new Caliph, Al-Muqtadir.”
“Ah, I remember this,” Constantine nodded, dipping his quill again. “Mother sent a delegation to secure an armistice and ransom for Muslim prisoners.”
“It caused quite an uproar,” Syres remembered, a smirk forming on his face. “The commoners were outraged at the price of their fellow Muslim’s freedom. They thought you Christians had tricked them.”
“I don’t know much about the Muslim king, but I know he is more interested in his harem and music than governing his people,” the boy grumbled, looking closely at an old page.
“What man would not be interested in music and harems?” Syres asked, looking at Constantine with a smirk. The young boy blushed brightly, pausing and glancing at Syres with a mix of outrage and uncertainty. “Would a Christian king ever have a harem?”
“No,” he answered flatly, looking back at his pages. “Never.”
“What about an emperor?”
Syres couldn’t help but smile slyly at the young boy, the return gaze full of confusion and curiosity. All young boys only have one thing on their minds, which explained why the servants of the royal household were alluring creatures. It also explained why this boy is so wound up, like the string of a bow, straining for release.
“No,” he finally answered, his voice wavering, putting his quill back down on the desk. “I am a Christian man. I will wait until marriage.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Syres warned, taking a serious tone with him. The boy was instantly still, looking at him with confusion.
“I don’t understand where…”
“Has your majesty considered the concept of… marriage? Coupling? Family?”
“Frequently,” the young man blushed, looking up at the billowing white curtains against the windows as the breeze came in. His heart rate had accelerated quickly. “It is a natural reaction for a boy my age.”
“I agree,” Syres confirmed, keeping his voice low and grave. “Which is why I believe you should find a safe outlet for such sinful thoughts.”
“Are you suggesting I bed someone?” the boy asked, his voice cracking comically.
“I’m suggesting that you are the Roman Emperor and have beautiful slaves at your disposal…”
“I will not let you tempt me, snake. I am not Eve,” Constantine replied, his eyes not meeting Syres.
“Esau, Elkanah, Solomon, Moses, even Ebrahim himself had multiple partners,” Syres reasoned, leaning back, adjusting his armor. “Do you think you are being wise, or fair to your future bride if you are inexperienced and possibly ineffective when you finally wed?”
The room was quiet, the wind still whispering through the curtains and papers. Syres focused on the young emperor’s beating heart, rapid as his breathing. His muscles were tightening and Syres knew rage was building. He knew he had to take a step back, the young monarch admiring his honesty but offended by his disrespect.
“I have spoken out of turn,” Syres said, bowing his head slightly. “I only meant to help you, your highness. You’re a bright youth and will be a great emperor one day; I just wish you’d smile as a teenage boy should.”
“Your insolent, bold, and careful, Syres,” the boy replied, looking up at him with bright eyes. “But you see me through the titles and the outer appearance I am forced to endure. Is this why your master, General Phokas, dispatched you here today?”
“I don’t know what the general was thinking,” Syres confessed, watching the boy closely. “But I did not expect to be so enlightened this afternoon.”
“Then, tell me, what is your relationship with my General? Slave and master?”
“We are friends,” Syres admitted, deciding to take the high ground, something he knew the young emperor would appreciate.
“So, you are his spy.”
“Spy, messenger, confidant, companion, or however you would like to define it, your highness,” Syres replied, watching the boy. “He has treated me well and trusted me and I owe him loyalty. After all, is not loyalty is the very epitome of honor?”
“And could you be loyal to two masters? You, a Muslim serving a Christian master so dutifully?” Constantine had a smirk on his face now, watching Syres closely. “Have you betrayed your ancestors, your God, so easily, Saracen? Have you become blind to your hypocrisy as you preach of honor and loyalty?”
For the first time, since he left Baghdad, Syres had become genuinely interested in someone else’s life. This boy, this weak, ignorant, cripple who sits on a throne of blood and hypocrisy, was questioning his honor. In Syres’ mind, that was like questioning his resolve and he wouldn’t stand for it. He knew he couldn’t underestimate this boy who, in time, would become a dangerous opponent and a worthy companion.
“Perhaps you do not believe this, but my religion has nothing to do with my loyalty,” Syres whispered, looking at the ground now, feigning contrition. “You can be a good man, with or without religion. Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.”
The silence between them was long, the boy watching Syres closely as he thought about the lingering words. Syres could see his pulse under his pale skin, slowing and steadying, his breathing softer now as he stared considerately out the window now. For a moment, Syres felt something he hadn’t in years and wondered how it had come to be; uncertainty had flashed like lightning through him.
“Marcus Aurelius,” the emperor finally replied, looking at Syres with a crooked smile. “You are quoting Marcus Aurelius to me, the Roman Emperor?”
“Fortune favors the bold,” Syres chuckled, nodding at the boy. “And as you’ve said, I am bold.”
“So, tell me, could you be loyal to two masters?” Constantine asked, standing now. “Would you consider loyalty to me, the Roman Emperor? Could you have confidence in the broken shell that harbors the heart of a lion?”
“What is it that you require from me, highness?”
“I need an ally, a trusted confidant in this snake pit,” Constantine admitted, glancing about. “I need a trusted companion, as you are so trusted by General Phokas.”
“You need not explain,” Syres nodded, watching the boy. “I am at your service.”
“Most of my generals and administrators think my mother controls me, that I am weak-willed and sickly,” Constantine continued, his voice steady and low. “But I have great plans and I know how to achieve them. However, there are some things that I need to learn from first-hand experience.”
“Should I go find an attractive slave?” Syres asked, smirking at the boy playfully. He could almost hear the yearning within the boy’s soul as their eyes met, a lustful haze in his dark orbs.
“Perhaps later, but for now I need you to tell me more about the outside world,” he insisted, changing the subject. He motioned toward a comfortable set of typically cushioned couches, tall and elaborate. “Tell me about the common man on the streets of my city. Tell me about the peasants, the farmers, the hinterlands, and the soldiers’ lives. Tell me all you know about Muslim cities and administration. And tell me, as best as you can, the doings of the wider world.”
“You have a banquet and mass to attend this evening, highness,” Syres reminded, sitting down on the couch lazily, making Constantine grimace.
“Then we have all afternoon for your lesson,” the emperor nodded, moving to the satchel on the table. He opened it, investigated it, and then shrugged, pulling the string tightly. “This is your payment for this lesson. We’ll have lessons every week.”
“Thank you,” Syres replied, catching the satchel in midair. “But this may take a while, perhaps we should acquire some wine and bread. I’m famished.”
Constantine eyed him with brief bewilderment before smiling, nodding enthusiastically. Syres smiled back, relaxing into the plush cushions of the couch as the emperor called for a servant. He sat down on the opposite couch and it pleased Syres to see that this boy, as fascinating as he was, would be a valuable piece in the long game.
