The Bones of the Earth (The Dark Age) Page 28

  He pushed open the door and ducked under the lintel. Inside, he could just make out a scattering of rickety stools and tables, over which a few men slumped, holding clay cups. Along the far wall was a counter, and behind it on shelves stood an assortment of dusty bottles. A fat man stood behind the counter, glaring at Javor.

  Once again, he asked “Inn of the Four Winds?”

  “Yah,” barked the man at the counter. “You found it. Whaddaya want? ”

  Javor walked around a man who seemed to be growing out of a stool and merging into a low, round table. “I’m looking for Rutius.”

  “You found ’im, too,” the fat man growled. As Javor’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed Rutius’ short-cropped hair was reddish. His eyes seemed sunken into his fat face, drooping at the outer corners, and dark semi-circles sagged under them. He wore a stained grey robe that he probably thought was white. “You going to tell me what you want? I ain’t got all day.”

  “I was told you could give me a good meal and a decent place to stay … for a few days,” he stammered.

  Rutius nodded and poured a cup of wine. “Sure, kid. It’s a follies a night. Forty nummi.”

  Javor could almost hear Antonio’s voice: Don’t take his first price. It’ll be ten times too high. He feigned anger. “What! Forty? Are you crazy?”

  Rutius looked up at Javor, who towered over him, with shock that quickly turned into anger. “Look, country boy–”

  “I’m sick of people calling me ‘country boy,’” Javor growled. The slumped patrons straightened and looked at him.

  In one fluid motion, faster than Javor thought such a fat man could move, Rutius stepped back and pulled a long club from under the counter.

  “No one talks to me like that in my inn!” he barked, and swung the club at Javor’s head. Javor heard it whistle past his ear as it flew across the room, smashing into the wall and splintering the rotten wood. He leaned across the counter and grabbed Rutius’ right wrist, then leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. “My good friend, Antonio d’Osta, told me I could trust you,” he snarled. “What do you think I should tell him now?”

  Fear and respect flashed in Rutius’ eyes. “How do you know Antonio d’Osta?” he asked quietly.

  “We fought together in Dacia. And I know about you and him at Adrianople.” Antonio hadn’t actually told him anything about Adrianople; to Javor, it was just a Greek-sounding place name. But he pushed ahead. “He also told me I should kick your ass.”

  Rutius swallowed, then smiled fearfully. “Oh, of course, I didn’t know to give you the Legionnaire’s discount. Sure. For you, the best room for … 10 nummi.”

  “How much?”

  “Five nummi.”

  “Including breakfast.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Always the finest breakfast for our friends in the service.”

  “I want to clean up, too.”

  “I’ll have the boy set up a washbasin. Do you have any bags?”

  Javor let go of Rutius and swung his pack off his shoulders. “And I’m hungry and thirsty right now, so before I go to my room, I’d like a meal and a cup of wine. Included in the price.”

  “Now just a…”

  “Remember, when I find your donkey, I’ll kick it. Hard. Like Antonio said.”

  “He said that?” Rutius appeared genuinely mystified.

  Javor just nodded. “Hard.” Rutius swallowed again. Javor reached under his tunic to one of the purses he had secreted there and fished out a large, flat coin. It had taken Antonio most of a day to explain the concept of money, coins and denominations to Javor. “Here’s four days’ worth,” he said, and found a stool to sit at, away from the other patrons, who had lost interest in the exchange.

  “Timon!” Rutius bellowed, and a very thin young boy, who stood no higher than Javor’s stomach, ran into the room. “Get the back room ready…”

  “Not the back room, the best room,” Javor growled. He didn’t know anything about the back room, but he felt this risk was the right one.

  “Right. That’s what I said — the best room. Get it ready for this fine gentleman here, a Legionnaire and friend to our dear Antonio. And send Barbara down here pronto!” Timon scrambled away, shrieking for Barbara.

  Javor found a table and sat with his back to the wall, facing out the rotting window. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and Javor wondered if they weren’t beginning to form on the other patrons, too.

  Soon, Barbara—presumably Rutius’ wife, as fat and short as him with black hair pulled severely back from her scowling face, brought out a bowl of broth and a small loaf of crusty bread. Rutius poured a large cup of strange-smelling wine, then retreated behind his bar.

  I can’t believe I got away with that, Javor thought. He wondered again about Antonio’s history with Rutius, and just what had happened at Adrianople, and where Adrianople was, anyway. He wondered about Barbara and Timon—surely he couldn’t be her child? She seemed far too old.

  This food is terrible. The soup was watery and bland, yet tasted of strange spices. The bread was half-stale, heavy and chewy. And the wine—he had never tasted anything like it. There was a strong scent and flavour that reminded him of the forests of home. His first gulp made him shudder.

  One of the other patrons chuckled. “Whatssa matta? Don’t like retsina?”

  Javor choked down another mouthful—he was very thirsty—and shook his head. “No, I can’t say I do.” He called Rutius over. “Hey, can I have some wine that doesn’t taste like piss?” Why am I talking like this?

  Rutius brought another cup and bottle and poured a cup of red wine, and this one tasted good—better than anything Javor had ever had at home, better than the legionnaires had in their fort. A few sips made the rest of the meal taste better, and when he was done, Rutius brought the bottle and another cup, and sat across the table.

  “Now, son, I’m a little concerned that we got started on the wrong foot,” he said quietly and earnestly. “I didn’t know you were a friend of Antonio’s. He was a very good friend to me, and I’m indebted to him. But I need to know a few things: how do you know him, is he still alive, and if so, where is he now? Just tell me, and you’ll be safer here than in any place in Constantinople.”

  Rutius seemed sincere, but Javor admitted to himself that he really didn’t know much about people. Well, where’s the harm in telling him the truth?

  “Last time I saw Antonio was about two weeks ago, in the town of Drobeta on the Danube.”

  “I know it,” Rutius nodded.

  “He was fine. I met him at the fort in the mountains north of there—I never learned its name—and we were in a few scrapes together.” I’d best not tell him about the dragon. “He brought me to Drobeta and told me to come looking for you when I came to Constantinople.”

  Rutius smiled wryly. “Oh, he would. He sends me all the trouble he drags up.”

  “Anyway, he was in good shape when I last saw him. He was going to report to the Legion in Drobeta.”

  “Drobeta? Why? Wasn’t he attached to Valgus’s cohort in the barbarian lands?”

  Javor hesitated. “Valgus is dead. So are many in the cohort.”

  Rutius didn’t react for a long time. Eventually, he nodded and pushed the stool back. “These are evil times. Did Antonio tell you anything else?”

  “Other than kicking your donkey if you didn’t give me a good price for a room, and some general advice about hiding my money and not trying to out-bargain Greeks, no.”

  Rutius laughed, slapping the table. “Out-bargain Greeks! Ho! Oh, yes, that was Antonio. If ever I doubted that you knew Antonio, now I know it’s true!” He laughed until he started to cough, then drank the rest of Javor’s wine. “Antonio d’Osta. Well, well.” He gulped down another cup of wine. As he refilled both cups, he said, “We were very close, but it was a long time ago. I was in the service, too, but after my term was up, I settled down. But Antonio, he likes adventure. Couldn’t get enough of the wild l
ands and the wild women.”

  Javor sipped his wine carefully, wary of drinking too much. He didn’t trust this Rutius, despite Antonio’s recommendation.

  “Me, I like settling down with one good woman,” Rutius chortled, leering at Barbara, who was fussing behind the bar. “No matter how many women are after me, I say it’s quality over quantity, eh, Barbara?”

  “Oh, yes, so many women are falling over themselves for a fat redhead like you,” Barbara sneered, but there was laughter in her eyes.

  “Ah, spice! That’s what I live for!” Rutius laughed, winking at Javor. Barbara went back to the kitchen, nose in the air but hips swaying. “So Antonio is still in good health? Well, that’s good. Terrible shame about Valgus. He was a good man. He was my commanding officer, second in command of the cohort when I served. I heard he had been promoted, and he deserved it. Did he die well?”

  “He … he died fighting. He died in command of his army.” How can I call that “dying well?”

  “Who was he fighting that could get past a Legate’s bodyguard?” Rutius asked.

  Javor realized that he would have to add details to his story to satisfy people like Rutius. “I—I think you call them Avars. Barbarians with furry hats.”

  “Avars! Oh, no. They’re the worst.” Rutius shook his head. “Worse than the Huns. Evil, evil people. I encountered them—well, my Legion did, in Moesia. It was a terrible battle.” He sighed and drained another cup of wine. Barbara came back into the dining room and looked at Rutius with her hands on her hips. Timon returned, and Barbara scowled and pointed at the few other patrons. Timon fetched a large vessel of ale and started refilling cups and taking coins.

  “The Avars were savage, wild, evil, killing villagers and burning fields. The Emperor sent our cohort to punish them and drive them back to where they came from.

  “We found them beyond the Danuvius, feasting on God knows what. We charged them without mercy, but they fought back like wildcats —”

  “As Antonio told you when the fighting was over and he came back to eat!” Barbara interrupted, lightly smacking her husband’s head. “Don’t listen to him, boy. He spent his time in the legions as a cook.”

  Rutius looked embarrassed. “It was dangerous. The Avars could have overrun the Legion and wiped out every Roman for a hundred miles.

  “But the Legion prevailed and destroyed their camp. You should have seen the survivors running away! When they broke and fled, we were relieved. It was touch and go there. But that’s where professionalism and training pay off.” He downed another cup of wine.

  Are all Romans blabbermouths? Javor wondered. Photius, Valgus, now this man. He was tired and hot, and he knew that he would pass out if he drank another cup of wine. He did not want to be at the mercy of a man like Rutius, no matter how intimidated he was by the name of Antonio D’Osta.

  “I’d like to go up to the room, now,” he said. Rutius nodded and stood up a little unsteadily, calling for Timon. The boy struggled to carry Javor’s pack up a flight of dingy stairs to an equally dingy room that was barely big enough for a straw bed and a three-legged table for a water jug, a bowl and a towel. A chipped shutter sagged on one hinge.

  “This is the best room?” Javor said, looking out the window. He saw a grimy, dim courtyard with a dried-out looking olive tree.

  Timon dropped Javor’s heavy pack in a corner. “Nah. This is my room. I like legionnaires. I moved to the ‘best’ guest room. This one doesn’t smell bad, and there’s not much street noise.”

  “And you’re giving me this because you like legionnaires?”

  Timon shrugged. “Antonio D’Osta was like my uncle. You sure he’s okay?”

  “Yes. He has a couple of new scars and fewer teeth, but otherwise he was fine.”

  Timon left without another word. Javor shut the door—a flimsy, warped piece of grey wood that provided no security. Javor propped his pack against it, then washed as well as he could. A little refreshed, he pulled a slightly cleaner tunic out of his pack and fell back on the straw bed.

  He didn’t trust Rutius nor this place, but he needed rest. He felt excited, scared, tired and very, very alone.

  He missed his old home, his village at the feet of the mountains, the quiet fields and the noisy people. He missed his parents, his friends. He even missed Photius.

  What happened to you, Danisa? Where did you go? How will I ever find you?

  The back of his throat constricted and tears poured down his face. He cried as quietly as he could until he fell asleep.

  Chapter 20: Finding the order

  Javor took four days to find the Church of St. Mary Chalkoprateia. Four days of wandering the biggest city in the world, dodging wagons and ill-tempered horses, sweating in the sun and breathing in dust and stink.

  On the fourth morning, the smell from bakeries brought back the memory of his mother. Ketia’s loaves: small, rounded, delicate—like her. She was her bread. His vision blurred until he shook his head and took a deep breath.

  He used the smallest coin he had to buy a sweet cake made with honey and wondered why the baker looked so happy about the transaction, yet seemed to want to hide the fact.

  Stepping out of the bakery, he caught the eye of a man unlike any he had seen: the size of a young child, but with a long, thick beard that reached his waist, and a deeply lined face. He wore a ragged greenish cloak, and the hems of bright red trousers peeked from behind its edges. The dwarf shrugged and disappeared into the crowd.

  An hour later, he found the church. St. Mary in the copper market was a large building: not grand by Constantinople standards, made of large multicoloured bricks, in the typical cross-shape typical of churches in the city. He asked a woman in a long gown with a hood and cloth that covered most of her face if it was indeed the Church of St. Mary Chalkoprateia; the nun smiled as if it pained her, told him yes, bowed and hurried down the street.

  The building exuded a sense of ancient power and dignity. But something about it didn’t seem like it would be a place for Photius.

  Something made him turn around. For a moment, he thought he glimpsed the small, bearded man disappearing around the corner of a building across the wide, cobbled street, but he couldn’t be sure. That other building was plain, squat and square. Large patches of plaster had fallen off its bricks. Javor’s hand went to the amulet hanging under his tunic.

  Something about that old building felt … important. Javor stepped across the street, dodging manure. A small wooden door opened to a very dim corridor. He took a careful step ahead and jumped when the floor creaked under his feet. He took another few steps in and the shadows behind him deepened. “Hey!” came a gruff voice. “Who goes there?”

  Without knowing why, Javor ran forward. “Hey, you! Wait!” said the voice. Javor ran faster and turned right at a branching corridor, then hesitated where the corridor branched again.

  The guard’s footsteps thundered closer. Javor stepped into the left branch and felt the amulet tingle, so he turned and ran down the corridor on his right.

  The amulet guided him. With every turn he made at its prompting, he felt more confident, while the sounds of sandals slapping on the wooden floor, weapons and armour jangling, grew softer.

  Soon, he had turned so many corners that he no longer had any idea which way he was headed or how to get out. How big is this place? The amulet did not warn him of danger. Eventually he saw light spilling around a corner.

  He heard voices, too, speaking a very formal kind of Greek that he had trouble understanding.

  He peeked around the corner into a wide, splendid chamber with a high ceiling, lit by torches in brackets on the walls. The walls were covered in colourful pictures showing heroic men with swords, gleaming in bronze armour and scarlet capes.

  He could see a guard standing at alert, holding a spear and a shield, beside the entrance to the dark corridor he was hiding in. At the far end of the hall was a high oaken door. More guards stood on either side of it. At the other end of t
he hall, high windows made with coloured, transparent material let the daylight in. It was the first time that Javor had ever seen glass.

  In the middle of the room was a broad table covered with papers and parchments that kept rolling up at the edges. Around the table stood a group of men in long, rich clothing, heavy bracelets around their wrists. At the end of the table sat a man in a gold-covered chair; he had long grey hair, a long grey beard and a thick silver chain around his shoulders. His black robe was trimmed with silver. He held one hand under his chin and Javor could see jewelled rings on his fingers. At the other end of the table was a smaller, plainer chair, on which a serene woman sat. She had short, fair hair, which she didn’t cover with a scarf like all the Roman women that Javor had seen so far. She wore white robes and a long scarf of yellow and red over her shoulders. She did not say anything, but watched the speakers intently.

  A young man with long black hair and a thick moustache was gesticulating as he argued about something, while a bald man in a deep blue robe argued back, leaning over the table to try to keep the parchments from rolling up again. Two young men, with short-cropped dark hair and dark eyes, wearing matching grey tunics, held more rolls of paper; they could have been brothers, Javor thought. And to one side was a small man wearing unusual clothing for Constantinople: a plain white shirt with an open collar, tight black trousers like an Avar’s, and high black boots. At his left side a long, thin sword in an ornate scabbard hung from a wide leather belt over one shoulder. He had dark skin, almost like Anbasa Wedem, short, curly black hair and a thin moustache. He watched the arguing men with a disdainful smirk.

  “Tell him to shut up, will you, Austinus!” pleaded the bald man, smoothing out the parchments. “His ruinous scheme is madness!”

  “We have to do something, Philip,” the man with the moustache countered. “Bayan is uniting the northern barbarians and Slavs, and the Emperor’s attention is focused on defending the eastern frontier against Persia.”

  “Let the legions deal with military matters! They defeated the Slavs at Sirmium…”