Spring, 917 C.E. – Constantinople

The city of Constantinople smelled of piss, burnt hair, and rotting fish. Syres found himself here after being acquired by Leo Phokas, the highest-ranking statesman and military officer in the city. Though they disliked the word slave, Syres was most definitely sold to the Romans on the Island of Rhodes.

The great Domestikos, or general, was a typical Roman soldier in Syres’ eyes. Unremarkable but molded with grace and riches. Naturally, Leo’s view of the wide world was narrowly focused on his task of court domination and intrigue. Being chained to the domestikos like a dog on a leash was, at times, intolerable.

The first night he was taken into the household of the general and caged like a wild animal, Syres contemplated murdering everyone at the vast villa on the sea. Luckily for the general, they set sail that very next day - Syres was chained as a rower on the large but maneuverable catamaran. It only took a couple of long days to get to the Bosporus, but those days were full of seasickness, hard labor, and horrible food.

Syres had formerly traveled much of the middle east, a soldier of fortune under the great Caliphs of Damascus. He had ridden from the fertile crescent to the steppes of the north. He had even traveled deep into endless sands of the great Sahara west of his homeland. He’d seen the wonders of the world a hundred times over and the imposing fluted columns and burning lighthouse fire that lined the waterfront was underwhelming and sickeningly predictable for the arrogant Romans.

He watched from the dock as the lavishly dressed and overly perfumed Leo Phokas crossed the promenade. He was examining his wares and ship before disappearing up the wide clean steps to the colonnaded palace above. All around the dockyard stood brightly dressed and shining guards, their chainmail catching the mid-day sun. The breeze from the incoming storm ruffled the many flags and banners that hung from the palace and surrounding marble buildings, sounding like a flock of birds.

The wares, mostly slaves, and ship hands were quickly shuffled from the docks a few moments later. They rattled up the wide avenue and out the gates towards the hovel of stacked terracotta and plaster houses lining the great wall. Overhead the vast curved façade of the hippodrome cast a cooling shadow as the crew directed all the slaves into a single dark and musty building. Syres endured as they were stripped, scrubbed with rough horse-hair bristles, and caked in a thick fat-based soap before being scalded with nearly boiling water. They were brushed again, hair oiled and tied, covered with simple long tunics, and given unremarkably flimsy ropes to tie around the waist.

          After enduring this gauntlet of cleanliness, they were each given a pair of grass sandals and ushered, like cattle, to the next building. It was an old villa, with an open atrium that let in the breeze and heat from the warm spring day. It was here that Syres smelled something sickeningly overpowering. A eunuch, brightly dressed in gold and black silks, paced back and forth, taking in the look of his newly acquired charges.

Syres watched coldly as the man caked in rouge, perfume, and sweat walked along in front of them. The putrid sweet and sour smell turned his stomach as the doughy creature huffed and sighed at the line of cowering bodies. He considered the females first, groping at them, pulling their hair, and checking their teeth before motioning for another eunuch and the guards to escort them out of the room.

          The round and greasy man then turned back, immediately making eye contact with Syres. He didn’t cower, didn’t look away, and didn’t care what this soft pungent eunuch thought. This only intrigued the rotund creature because he walked right up to Syres, small eyes squinting up at him. Syres seemed to tower over him almost an entire head, but the eunuch didn’t care, squeezing Syres’ jaw between his fat thumb and forefinger.

          “Open,” the slimy man grunted in broken Arabic and Syres just hissed, pulling away.

          Instead of discouraging him or provoking him, it only made the eunuch laugh, nodding his head at Syres. Unbeknownst to his captors, he could understand Greek quite well and listened as the eunuch exchanged words with other doughy administrators and the guards that accompanied him.

          “Take the tall one straight to the general’s quarters and put him in the care of the guard captain, Enomius,” the eunuch commanded, his voice sickeningly quiet and soft. “Enomius will work the stubborn Arab into submission, though it would be satisfying to see that fearlessness in his eye fade with the sight of the pruning knife.”

          “He’s not eunuch material… look at his scars and his hands,” one of the administrators replied, glancing over at Syres. “Those are not just wounds from enslavement but battle. This man isn’t some pirate or fisherman, eunuch. He’s a killer – you can see it in his eyes.”

          “Then what do you suggest? Selling him to the navy as a rower? General Phokas purchased him and would take offense if I gave the man to Admiral Romanos of all people.”

          “Condemn him to the mines or send him with the rest of the grunts to the Armenian front,” a guard offered, noticing that Syres was listening.

          “I doubt the general will notice if he’s sent to the front,” the eunuch sighed, waving at one of the slaves in the corner. The poor young girl sped over, feathered fan in hand, and desperately waved her arms to create a cool breeze for the swelling and sweating eunuch. This only dispersed his smell around the atrium.

“But if I don’t give this one to Enomius, he’ll just come back to me for someone else. This is the best candidate to come through in months; most of them are hungry, broken, and sick.”

          “Then we let Enomius and his pretentious general deal with this wild dog,” the guard shrugged, striding over to Syres and grabbing his manacles roughly. “It seems the heathen understands Greek anyway. Did you hear that, scum?”

          “Anything to get away from the stench of you and the pig in silks,” Syres announced in perfect Greek, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

          The snapping of bone and the flow of blood was like pure ecstasy, the guard’s gloved fist colliding with Syres face. He could feel the warm liquid running down his lip and chin and could feel the throb in his face as the guard tried tugging him along behind. Syres chuckled as he followed, the eunuch in silks stunned at the larger man’s reaction.

          “Perfect, now I can’t smell either of you,” Syres laughed madly, sauntering along behind the dumbfounded guard as blood slid from his nose.

          To Syres's astonishment, after being corralled in the barracks like a bed slave for a day, the general himself met with him in the guard captain’s quarters. Unknown to Syres, even with his heightened sense of smell and hearing, he’d been watched that fateful day from behind a veil. Leo Phokas had kept an eye on him since he purchased Syres in Rhodes and thought he was an ideal candidate for his guard.

Of course, a favored guard to the Domestikos had his perks and they were preferable to enslavement in another quarry or mine. He could also picture worse fates, the life of a eunuch almost as repellent as slavery. He had wondered long ago if certain essential body parts regrew like his limbs, fingers, and teeth but he wasn’t brave enough to find out for himself. His multiple suicide attempts had disabused him of any further self-harm as it seemed to just be a pointless hassle.

          A plush living with a cot, some coin, and a glimpse of freedom was preferable to a dingy hole in the ground. Syres had decided during that meeting to cautiously raise himself in the eyes of the general. He would climb until finally, a few months later, he was Leo’s preferred soldier of fortune. Unfortunately, the status of slave was yet to be completely dropped and so Syres could hold no official position amongst the guard ranks. He had a feeling this was about to change, the situation escalating only recently as spring turned to summer.

Syres was sauntering along the wide granite and marble corridor, cloak billowing in the cool breeze coming from the vast open courtyards beyond. It was the main north to the south corridor that separated the administrative quarters of the palace from the residential quarters of the emperor. Syres was granted a few privileges as he was a personal guard to the great general, but his real power was in his status as a slave.

He was never really noticed unless he was confronted by someone of higher rank, which was rare since they never cared to look their slaves in the eye. They also hated the use of the word slave, since their good Christian souls would not abide slavery of fellow Christians or, as Syres joked, potential Christians. Syres was headed downhill, south, through the corridors and pavilions of the great palace complex to meet with General Phokas near the Daphne Palace within. This massive and ancient interior building interconnected pavilions and porticos to all the other baths, barracks, churches, gardens, and even the Palace of Bucoleon just down the hill on the small port Syres had arrived at. The Daphne Palace was the oldest of the buildings in the complex and housed the royal family.

Typically, Syres wouldn’t even get past the guards in the consistory, a council chamber that flanked the personal chambers of the imperial family. However, today the doors were wide open, welcoming him as he passed by the emperor’s elite guards, trussed up in padded armor with bright insignias. They were always so regal and obvious and Syres scoffed as he passed into the antechamber where Leo Phokas waited.

It was a tall room that dwarfed the tall general as he stood speaking to a council member and a familiar, soft-faced eunuch. He wasn’t the man who’d repulsed Syres on the day he arrived in Constantinople but a pupil, the famed scholar, and educator Theodore.

“The emperor is content, secure in the hands of his mother, the Empress,” Theodore explained, his voice simpering and slick. He was always looking about him, shuttering when the Empress or Leo was dissatisfied with him. A rat if ever Syres saw one, Theodore wore silks of simple colors, trying to hide his slimy coin-filled grasp on the young Emperor’s throat.

“There is no need to worry about his wellbeing. All is taken care of, and we progress each day in arithmetic, languages, imperial protocol, and law. He is a fast and eager learner, General.”

“He is young, inexperienced, and entirely open to interpretation and manipulation, Theodore,” Leo shot back, nodding at Syres as he approached. “Just keep him engaged in his studies; he seems to enjoy his tomes more than sport or sailing.”

Leo was a tall man with dark eyes, a long nose, and peppered hair. His face was bearded, also peppered but with the addition of some golden baubles and trinkets, tastefully strung near his jawline. He had a stern scowl for the eunuch but greeted Syres with a look of relief and anticipation. Syres just stopped, bowed his head, and waited for orders.

“But who could challenge the Empress and her regency now?” the councilman questioned, another important bureaucrat and spy, eager to raise himself through the ranks of the holy church. He was an overweight man, thinly bearded and older than the two men with whom he spoke. Syres only watched as the shine on his bald head bobbled like a fishing line in the sea. “The Patriarch is curtailed by your family’s influence and the senate is in the pocket of your family or your allies.”

“Not all of the senate and you pretend that I don’t have enemies,” Leo replied, glancing over his shoulder at the set of doors on the wall. “I need to strengthen my family’s ties and edge out any low-born pretenders within the palace, and that includes the beloved Admiral Romanos.”

“How will you do that? He has connections and is a devious man,” Theodore questioned, glancing at Syres nervously. “He holds sway as one of the common people and has made strong friends in the army and provinces.”

“My niece is to wed the son of the Strategos of Chaldia, in Trebizond just next month,” Leo replied, cutting off their worries. “They have already set sail for the Black Sea and within a month, she will be the wife of the future Strategos. Now, leave me; I have business on behalf of the emperor.”

Both men looked confused but didn’t linger, simply bowing their heads, turning from the exasperated general toward the consistory. Syres watched Theodore the whole way, the underhanded eunuch slinking away into the council chamber as quickly as possible. Leo noticed his gaze and chuckled, nudging him with his elbow.

“Have you always distrusted eunuchs?” he asked, motioning for his slave, a scribe and cupbearer who accompanied him religiously. His name was Theo, like almost every other Roman, and he was a quiet fellow with quick hands and a silent gait. Syres was wary of him, as he smelled different, something he barely noticed upon first meeting him.

“I’m overly cautious and distrustful of everyone I meet, general,” Syres admitted, grabbing the cup that the slave boy had offered him after pouring his master some refreshment. He made sure to watch the boy closely, their gazes only breaking when the boy bowed his head and stood to the side.

“A trait I find to be both practical and wise,” Leo shrugged, motioning for Syres to sit with him on the plush antechamber lounges and chairs.

It had several couches, adorned with loose feather pillows, cheap wools, and brightly colored silks. It was comfortable, an oil lamp and incense burner hovering above in golden splendor as the two propped themselves on the cushions. Syres was used to being informal with the general, encouraged to do so by the man himself. However, being this close to the imperial chamber made Syres wonder why he was even summoned there.

“Now, you’ve been in my service for what? A few weeks?” Leo asked, sipping from his cup, and lounging in the chair. “Rhodes, yes?”

“I was purchased in Rhodes 99 days ago,” Syres admitted, making sure to annunciate the distinction to the ignorant general.

“Purchased, yes,” Leo hummed, grabbing at one of the honied cakes on the wooden tray before him. “And you have found my treatment to be harsh? My terms of subjugation intolerable?”

“Your terms are generously fair and appreciated,” Syres lied, hoping that it equally offended and amused his master.

“And would you say that I would be within my rights to conscript you for an inevitable battle that is sure to bring us both glory and coin?”

“You have my attention,” Syres nodded, downing half his glass of wine, the sweet thick liquid sliding down his throat slowly. He enjoyed getting drunk but hated how much it took to get him to the perfect point of inebriation.

“You see, we’ve been working on a plan of attack that will crush Symeon’s army and drive back the Bulgars from pushing south,” Leo nodded, dipping the sweet cake into his wine. “I will be leading the main force north, along the coast to the fortress of Mesembria and the surrounding marshland. Here, at the mouth of the river Achelous, we’ll lay a trap for the so-called Caesar’s forces by using one of Caesar’s own moves.”

“We’ll draw in the Bulgarians and then hit them from behind with Pecheneg forces ferried across the river by the good Admiral Lekapenos,” Leo smiled, sipping more wine with a crooked grin. The scar on his left cheek danced as he smiled, a bottom tooth missing entirely from his smirk. “I just have to finalize the preparations with the regent.”

“Ah, the regent,” Syres smiled, downing the rest of his cup, raising it for a refill. “And do you think the regent will be… pliant?”

“She is always pliant,” he smirked, finishing his cake. “The empress is remarkably busy, after all. Many cares and worries are on her mind. I like to think that I help…alleviate her fears and troubles.”

“As her general, and most capable advisor, I’d expect nothing less,” Syres agreed, drinking greedily from the cup again. “Why do you need me? Do you intend to send me out in the vanguard?”

“I intend to use your vast array of talents to not only protect my person but my interests on the battlefield, as well,” Leo replied, his voice lowering to a whisper, waving the slave scribe further away. “I will need your expertise to cut down some friendly but deadly allies.”

“I see,” Syres drawled, finishing his cup with two big gulps, setting it on the table between them. “And if we win the battle, and I do as you command, what is my reward?”

“Freedom, of course,” Leo urged, eager for the desired answer from Syres. Syres had always marveled at the Roman sense of entitlement, their expectations of themselves and those they subjugate always failing. Leo believed that Syres would jump on this opportunity – the twinkle in his eyes gave away the game.

“Freedom? What good is freedom without privilege?” Syres asked, knowing such a statement would catch the general’s imagination.

“So, a practical and shrewd negotiator,” Leo nodded, setting his cup down and leaning forward. “And what would you say to a position as my topoteretes?”

“I am not familiar with his word,” Syres admitted, realizing that it had familiar root origins he could recognize but he’d never heard it used or defined. He was no scholar but his knowledge of more than one language did give him a useful skill.

“A place-holder or…” Leo fumbled with the meaning before becoming frustrated and explaining the position in detail. “You’d be my right hand, my bodyguard and oversee my food taster, my retinue, and my armor for battle. You’d direct my orders to the colonels and other various duties that give you an official position.”

“Like a companion,” Syres surmised, liking the idea of a comfortable lifestyle. “A trusted man to handle your affairs.”

“Yes! Precisely, a topoteretes,” Leo nodded, glancing at the large wooden doors that led into the Daphne palace.

The music coming from the other side of the doors and the laughter from somewhere beyond distracted Leo. He smirked, finishing his drink before sitting back up on the large plush couch.

“Come,” he insisted, holding waving his hand. “If you’re going to be my companion you must be introduced to the Empress regent and her household.”

“I doubt the emperor or regent will want to meet a man like me, general,” Syres refused, shaking his head. “I work better behind the curtain anyway, below the notice of great men and women.”

Leo considered him at that moment, sipping on the refilled glass goblet before lounging comfortably on the plush silk and satin pillows. Syres could see the turning behind his eyes as he searched for what to say next. It was amusing, watching the noble and well-bred Roman struggle to form into words his thoughts and demands. Leo snapped himself from thought, watching as Syres grabbed the polished ceramic pitcher of wine. He poured them each some more of the deep purple liquid before raising his glass in a small salute.

“I see your point, my friend,” Leo nodded, taking a sip from the filled glass goblet in his hand. “But it is important that you understand exactly what will be expected of you. You must see, and believe, that being in my inner circle means more than just comfort and ease.”

“You’re the preferred advisor and top general of the emperor’s armies,” Syres surmised, dismissing his words. “The regent trusts you and your judgments so there is no need to bring me into the center as well.”

“You always amaze me with your words, Syres,” Leo sighed, drinking greedily.

He looked exasperated and his mood, as quickly as it appeared, shifted to something hard, slightly more dangerous. The subtle shift in the atmosphere, in pheromones that danced throughout the room, gave it away and Syres became intrigued. The general simply grimaced at him, tightly holding back the impatience that coursed through his veins.

“You see since I’ve taken you on, we’ve been playing a little game you and I,” Leo continued, his voice still cool and calm. The room was cool and breezy, the setting sun casting a golden glow about the high arched ceiling.

“You’ve been poking, prodding, slowly trying to scale how much you can get away with before I decide to notice your obstinance,” Leo continued, both men considering the other. “Most of the time it is entirely entertaining and your advice about the Arab tactics is helpful, but resentment is bubbling beneath the surface that seems to show itself more often lately.”

Leo stood from his couch then, pausing when Syres didn’t rise, as was customary when your superior stands from his seat. To Syres it was comical, the noble and strong General standing before him like some naughty student about to explain himself. To Leo, it was the step too far, his impatience wearing away immediately.

“There is a line, Syres, that you will not cross,” Leo simply stated, waving off his servant who had been watching Syres and his master from a distance.

Leo straightened his robes, checking his baubles and golden insignia before staring back down at Syres with expectation. Syres watched him, finishing off the cup of wine before snapping to a standing position. His head was starting to swim, which was a good sign, but it had taken forever and too many words.

“Do you accept my orders, my supremacy, and my judgment?” Leo asked. He had the same eyes as the day they met. “Do you submit yourself to the will of the emperor, and therefore pledge yourself to my service?”

“Yes sir, anything to get me out of those stables they call barracks,” Syres nodded, bowing his head low before the general with a coy smirk. “I swear to act in your interest, share my council, and be a loyal servant to you, Domestikos Phokas.”

“Good, because whether you like it or not, you’ll meet the Empress Regent tonight,” Leo hissed, wrapping his arm around Syres, and embracing him. “And you’ll finally see what I mean by service.”

“Will my life be put in danger?” Syres asked, allowing the general to lead him toward the large double doors of the Daphne Palace. The general just looked at him in disbelief, the levity, and excitement in Syres’ voice somewhat surprising.

“Perhaps, but not tonight,” he laughed, motioning at the room beyond as the doors opened before them.

The area beyond was massive, an open square atrium in the center of the building alive with small, pruned fruit trees and bright flowers. The water trickled like a stream, echoing off the tall marble and granite columns holding up the second-floor balconies. Sculptures, old and slightly covered in moss, stand frozen in time among rows of trimmed grass and squared bushes.

The rooms surrounding the atrium on the lower floor were open, screened off with ornate wooden but golden gilded screens and silken sheer curtains. The hanging oil lamps that hung in every corner accentuated the golden glow from the fading sun above. Syres noticed immediately, around the perimeter of the atrium, slaves and servants lighting candelabras, sconces, and basins of oil all about him.

Leo didn’t notice, motioning for Syres to follow him up the grand staircase with geometric carved banisters to the landing above. It was full of incense, the breeze coming through the atrium and the open casements of the second-floor cooling Syres almost immediately. He could hear the music drifting from the archway on the right since they entered the palace, but it grew louder as the lutes, drums, Arab string instruments, and various horns seemed to set a fast-paced composition.

“To the left are the emperor’s chambers, library, study, and various triclinia and lounges for his use,” Leo explained, turning toward the music. “And through here are the chambers of the empress and the rest of the royal family.”

Laughter, the crashing of pottery, and the cheering from within the surprisingly isolated rooms drew both of their attention. A guard stepped out from behind the curtain veiling the archway, bowing immediately to the general before considering Syres skeptically.

“Ah, Mundus, this is my topoteretes, Syres,” Leo explained, the guard immediately stiffening and bowing his head to Syres. “He’ll be handling many of my personal affairs so you will see him about the palace and in my retinue quite often. See that the right people are informed – I’ll speak to the regent and her ladies.”

“Shall I inform the household slaves to prepare him a chamber?” Mundus asked his voice tight and still ringing with disbelief.

“Speak to my slave downstairs,” Leo waved at the familiar follower, who carried his master’s purse and a small box that strapped about his shoulder. Within the box were his inks, quills, eastern paper and parchment, and a charcoal stick for emergencies.

Syres had seen the man use these items multiple times during dinners, council meetings, military exercises, and even at church. Mundus still looked confused as Leo turned to his slave, waving at him to come upstairs to speak with Mundus. Leo then adjusted his linen and silk robes, turning back to Syres with a smile.

“Come, it looks like the regent is in an especially uplifting mood,” Leo explained, pushing aside the beaded and silken veil.

Syres stepped through, adjusting his simple long tunic and plain brown belt, embroidered in red thread. He had no bangles or trinkets in his beard, hair, or hanging from his limbs and he probably smelled of sweat and the sea. He had taken his bath at a secluded beach near the walls of the palace hill just yesterday, however, he had run out of proper soaps and fats to scent himself.

It didn’t matter as the room was stifling warm with thick rolling smoke of frankincense and sandalwood. Within were skimpily dressed dancers, poets, singers, and lowborn servants. They were all tossing in silks, clean linens, and finely padded and smithed metal baubles. As they laughed, gossiped, sang, and drank from small casks carried in slave hands, Syres wove through the dozen or so guests. He was acutely aware of his dirty soldier’s boots and his dusty hair-covered woolen cloak.

Amongst the loud players in the corner and the thundering chatter, no one even noticed him as he followed Leo through successive chambers. He passed under an ornately gilded archway before coming to a wide lounge where a desk, several tables, benches, and large hewn chests stood. He scanned all the veiled windows and decorated balconies in the chamber closely before Leo led him into the next room. He was thankful it was more ventilated and brightly lit but Syres had to pause at what he saw.

“Leo, my general,” came a sweet and sultry voice from the center of the room, amusing Syres.

Slumped on a long chaise plush with pillows, silk, and padded cushions was the empress. Around her were her servant women, born of common families and chosen to serve in the household to elevate their prospects. Syres wasn’t sure this was a blessing, as one of the women was standing topless, breasts exposed as a lean, musky bald man ran his oiled hands over her bare flesh.

 Syres barely had time to take in the sight of this clearly young and supple girl being fondled when he spotted another steamy scene taking place on one of the couches in the corner. Another man, with short-shaven hair, had a decorated wooden and silver mask on his face. It was of a bull, the horns tipped with small hanging bells that jangled as he moved. Completely naked, and entirely focused on the task at hand, he was rutting like a dog over a curvy and clearly worn-out young woman. She looked dead-eyed, her hands grasping at the pillows beneath her as the man pinned her with every thrust.

“My Empress,” Leo offered, coming to her side, and kneeling next to her. “I see you have started without me, my goddess.”

“No, just drinking my dearest,” she explained, holding up her almost empty glass goblet. “But I couldn’t help but start a few of the festivities without you. Look, it is the king of the gods, Jupiter, who turned himself into a bull to seed the beautiful Europa.”

“It is very arousing,” Leo smirked, taking a freshly poured cup of wine from one of the unoccupied servant girls. “And who is this?”

Leo pointed to the couple standing before them, the girl cooing and moaning as the bald man rubbed and pinched at her oily flesh. Syres wasn’t expecting an encounter like this and was beyond pleased that he could still be surprised by human lust.

“You don’t see?” Zoe asked, reaching out and running her hand over Leo’s arm. “It is Mars, taking the wife of his brother, Vulcan. Look how she enjoys it, my love. Look at how her body reacts…”

“My dear, if we don’t pause, I may never be able to introduce you to our new friend and ally,” Leo insisted, taking her creeping hand in his.

“Friend?” she asked, turning to look directly up at Syres.

Syres bowed to her, his eyes on the ornately tiled floor as she considered him from her spot on the lounge. Leo smiled at her, nodding at Syres before stroking her thigh and watching the couple before him touch and tease. Syres wasn’t sure what to say or how to act around this woman, as his expectations of her had been entirely wrong. However, she considered him, eventually standing from the cushion, and sauntering over to him.

The straps of her long white dress were falling over both of her tanned shoulders and her curly dark hair fell loosely at her neck and down her back. Syres considered her as she came to stand right in front of him, tilting her head up to investigate his face silently. Then she reached her hand out and placed it flat against his chest over his tunic.

“Muscular, poised, and a lot of nerve,” she surmised, staring into his dark eyes directly. “You’re more relaxed than most of my new friends. What’s your name?”

“Syres,” he replied, her eyebrow raised curiously.

“An interesting name. Where are you from?”

“I purchased him in Rhodes,” Leo answered, not taking his eye off the young and passionate lovers. “He’s from Egypt, my goddess.”

“Egypt,” she repeated, pushing her hand up over his chest to his shoulders, squeezing gently. “Strong and lean, aren’t you Saracen?”

“I can also be hard and persistent,” Syres quipped, watching the curiosity behind her dark orbs pulsing faster.

“Take off your tunic,” Zoe commanded, motioning for her personal flutist to play a little louder.

Syres didn’t need telling twice, discarding his cloak on the nearest bench before slipping off his tired belt and dingy brown tunic. He had breeches on underneath, hanging loosely about his hips and down to the tops of his leather boots. This didn’t matter, the empress inspecting his exposed chest and stomach. She seemed unimpressed, her hand tracing the lines on his pelvis and stomach before her finger traced small circles around his hardening nipples.

“How do you find him?” Leo asked from the couch as the couple in front of him moved to the nearest unoccupied couch. “Isn’t he fascinating?”

“What heathen gods do you worship, Syres of Egypt?” she questioned, her other hand coming to the small, tied rope that held his pants around his hips.

“None, I find God to be irrelevant most of the time,” he admitted, seeing the dilation in her eyes as he blasphemed to her face.

“Not even your ancient Gods or the Arab prophet?”

“None,” Syres repeated, watching her as her hand grasped at the rope around him.

“You're dangerous,” she surmised, trailing back over his hardened chest and up to his curly long hair. “I like that in a man.”

“Would you like me to put you in danger, empress?” Syres asked, taking a half step forward so they were almost chest-to-chest.

          “He’s bold, clever, and a finely chiseled creature,” Zoe surmised, circling about him.

Syres could hear her quick inhalation and felt her hand trace the lattice of scars across his back. He’d never seen the scars themselves, but the one across his neck, that she had discovered with her wandering fingers, was his own doing. He had tried to take his head clean off and it simply did not work. He had to wear a thick linen and wool scarf around his neck for over a week before it healed into a nasty scar.

          “You’ve seen cruelty,” Zoe commented, her fingers trembling as she circled back to face him. “A miserable existence, it would seem. This mark, here, just above your brow. What is it?”

          “A pickaxe, Empress. They mark slaves with the symbol of their servitude,” Syres explained, leaning over to grab a goblet from the nearby table. “I was enslaved in the granite mines of Egypt for many years.”

          “Born a slave and now you are given hospitality by the Empress of the Romans,” she quipped, smirking up at him.

          “I was not born a slave,” Syres insisted before draining the goblet of wine. “I was taken.”

          “And who were you taken from?” she asked, motioning for the girl with the wine jug to refill his cup.

          “It doesn’t matter now,” he replied, watching the timid slave girl before turning back to Zoe. “It was a very long time ago.”

          “Then from now on, you’ll belong with my general, my dearest friend, ally, and lover,” she cooed, nipping at his chest before turning to the clearly aroused Leo. “Come, Syres from Egypt… join us.”