Traveller Probo

The slave waited with bowls of warm water and soft cloths to help him wash and change. Professor Taylor politely declined to be washed and cleaned off the dust and sweat of the past days in private. He was then assisted into clothing that had been laid onto his newly made bed. Over breeches he wore a long robe that reached to his calves, while an outer tunic hung to below his groin. He had to admit, the clothes were attractive and very comfortable. As the slave made minor adjustments, he surreptitiously panned his camera to take footage of the new décor and wardrobe.

A finely carved ivory comb was used to fuss with his hair and beard after which he was assisted into soft boots. A dab of perfume made for a final touch. Only then did the young man withdraw with a satisfied nod.

Their guest living area had been dramatically changed. While they were exploring the great city, the rope beds, previously clustered together like a military dormitory, were now replaced with significantly larger beds in an area lavishly decorated with couches and costly, embroidered cushions. Individual sleeping areas were divided by curtains for privacy. As he emerged from his area, McFee and Poxon waited, dressed in a similar fashion.

“What a bloody process!” grinned Poxon. “I was frightened my servant was going to offer me a blowjob.”

“Yeah,” added McFee. “I must confess I’m not sure about having someone dress me.” He brushed his hands over his teal and blue garment as he nodded, impressed. “This looks good though.”

Poxon chuckled, “That’s because you’re used to wearing a skirt.”

McFee didn’t even look up. He just gave Poxon the finger.

“Have you heard anything from McAlister yet?” asked Professor Taylor.

Their squad leader frowned and shook his head, looking more frustrated than concerned. “Those lads know to be here soon or they’ll offend our host. The last we heard was that they were to have a few drinks with members of the Varangian Guard. For God’s sake, if they come out alive and get here shit-faced drunk, I’ll bloody well kill them!”

Parker joined them and, suitably attired, they followed a servant to a reception area which looked all too similar to modern banquets.

Leon stood in conversation with a distinguished-looking gentleman with an impressive, finely curled beard. Both were dressed in deep shades of red with embroidered patterns of blue. Seeing his guests, Leon hurried across to greet them warmly. “My friends from Aengland! Please, let me introduce you to my business partner, Ergil of Athena. Together we supply most of the leather for our illustrious military and, thanks to the grace of God, have just been confirmed as the chief supplier to the House of Pericles. They manufacture the finest leather goods in the domain. Thanks to your kind blessing, Lord Taylor, we have doubled our business in one day.”

Professor Taylor smiled broadly. “The Lord’s blessings are well deserved by you and your house, good Leon,” he exclaimed. As other guests arrived, Taylor was led, arm in arm with Leon, to be introduced. Beeswax candles and clay lamps lit the room and the academic felt surprisingly relaxed, elated at their good fortune. Their cameras would record and transmit all activities of the evening. As they strolled across the room, Leon asked, “There are others of your men. Have they been delayed?”

Professor Taylor nodded in apology, “Yes, it seems some of our men are in discussion with members of the Varangian Guard.”

Leon paused, having seen the interaction of the guards with McAlister at the Golden Gate, and looked gravely concerned. “I have friends of influence. Will you need assistance in this matter?”

Taylor dismissed the offer with a shake of his head. “No, my friend. Our men are safe. Their only danger will be from their captain, McFee here, who will give them a beating if they delay too long.”

Leon gave a smile of understanding and commented, “My Lord, you will excuse my presumption but to us the name McFee is unusual.” They chuckled and watched as the other Travellers mingled. “May I add, that I must apologise for the actions of Cosmas, at the gate. He is well known as one to garner wealth from the unwary. My presence prevented him from barring entry on the expectation of some silver, or other valuables. Sometimes, small traders have been known to come to grief at the gate.”

Before Professor Taylor could reply, the leather merchant introduced him to other business associates, as well as to a priest resplendent in his robes and couple of military men, whose steely gaze reminded him of his Traveller companions. One of the men to whom he was introduced was a tall, effeminate man with an impressive, hawked nose. Florian tou Christophorou was immaculately dressed in textured tan cloth embroidered with deep red, a garment the quality of which was obvious even to Professor Taylor. When he commented on his robes, the reply was ambiguous. “Lord Taylor, your admiration is most gratefully received. Yet, I am intrigued by your intentions. My guild, the textile guild, has heard of your intent to introduce a new Red to our fair city. We assume your interest in dealing with our guild, surely? If you deal with any textile in the great city, then you must deal with us.”

Professor Taylor frowned for a moment, then smiled broadly. “My dear Florian, we understand the importance of working within the existing frameworks of this great city. While we rely on our dear friend, Leon, for guidance, we would certainly take any advice he provides on the appropriate guilds any future trade would entail. I assure you we are here to learn your ways and to make friends, not enemies.”

The response was a relieved nod. Florian took Taylor’s other arm and selected an oyster in the shell from a tray carried by an attractive female servant. He slurped the meat skilfully and then guided his new friend to another group of men. “Then you must meet some companions of mine. They are some of the greatest workers of cloth and thread the world has ever seen.”

***

McFee watched the professor as he schmoozed and nodded in approval. “That old bastard really knows how to work the room,” he commented to Parker. The social setting was obviously harmless, though they had to remain on guard. Their sudden introduction to an important group of traders was more than they could have hoped for and old Professor Taylor was in his element. From around the room, the other Travellers silently signalled that all was well.

Other guests treated the new visitors with friendly curiosity. Despite their garb, they were plainly not of the city but their presence implied they were of importance. Not all were friendly, as one of the military officers stared at McFee imperiously. He responded with a smile and friendly nod of acquaintance, as if he belonged there. The officer simply gave an indignant sniff and looked away.

Servants carried platters of oysters and other small snacks the guests picked over eagerly. McFee estimated the gathering to be of around twenty men, all close associates of their host.

Leon’s steward stood gravely and clapped his hands before he called to the guests, “My Lords, My Lords Leon of Hadrianopolis and Ergil of Athena bid you welcome. Dining will now begin.”

Servants guided the guests to dining couches, where they reclined in the traditional Roman manner, with their feet facing from the table. Each guest could then help themselves to the food. It wasn’t one of the all too frequent fast days where meat was prohibited, so even the priest eagerly helped himself.

For McFee, there were too many dishes. He had eaten at many formal officers’ occasions, so was used to fine dining but here the variations were overwhelming. The Travellers hadn’t learned to recline and dine, so he felt awkward as he tried to pick at the food. A server announced each dish and there was a polite applause before the guests tucked in. Salads were cleared away and a new course brought in. This was of fresh fish and seafood soup in a giant tureen that included floating fish heads, whole crabs and lobster. One of the businessmen near Professor Taylor used his fingers to take an impressive scoop from a platter of fish, while another skilfully removed portions from a baby pig that had been roasted whole, the crackling prepared with a wine and honey glaze. Guests tore chunks from giant loaves of bread while the servants and slaves refilled bowls. No spoons were used, so guests noisily slurped from bowls while they ate with their fingers and talked together.

“Bloody hell. Will you taste this? Tastes like shit,” McFee whispered to Parker.

“Must be flavoured with garum,” replied Parker happily as he scooped the food into his mouth, nodded and shrugged. “The Romans have been making this for hundreds of years.”

“You like it?” quizzed McFee, aghast.

“Well, yeah,” smiled Parker.

“Seriously? It tastes too much like Thai fish sauce, only worse,” replied McFee, who screwed up his nose in distaste.

Trays of stuffed vine leaves and meatballs in egg and lemon sauce, baby rabbits cooked in wine and spikenard, and platters of lamb arrived. As McFee sniffed them for garum, the other Travellers scoffed their food with gusto.

It was in the middle of the course when McAlister, Erol and the other two Turkish Travellers entered. Their sheepish, red faces might have been due to embarrassment or intoxication and Professor Taylor glanced at McFee sharply. McFee felt irritated. They had been in Constantinople for barely a day and already risked offending their hosts with a show of disrespect. There were a few indignant looks at the latecomers, though most of the guests, relaxed with wines, were distracted with the swell of music.

Musicians played drums, stringed instruments and flutes in a popular, rousing tune that had many of the guests clap and sang along. Sweets of cracked wheat and honey pudding similar to baklava were served. Meanwhile, dancers swayed in time to the music. Though there were a few lithe young men, most were pretty young women. Unlike the women on the streets, the dancers wore sleeveless tunics that exposed their arms and the side of their young breasts. Brisk gyrations and athletic performances were followed by tumblers and acts of strength that had the guests call out in admiration. Wine or sweet lemon drink was offered and most guests were soon intoxicated. This was a display of opulence for a reason.

The second dance was a different affair as it throbbed with a palpable sexual tension. The musicians played slowly to a rhythmic beat to which the dancers sensuously gyrated. One musician played a stringed instrument with a bow, not unlike a Greek lyra, which had the blood pulse in his ears. A glance to his fellow guests showed all were affected. Parker frowned and looked around carefully, as if the dancers were a distraction. The Priest sat with his mouth open in naked lust while the two Byzantine soldiers smiled in anticipation. Professor Taylor looked somewhat confused.

The dancers cast shy looks as they came together and began to caress each other. There were ribald calls and laughter. Some dancers led guests to the floor, who tottered drunkenly and succeeded only in shamelessly fondling a breast or squeezing the genitals of a young man. The rest of the dancers moved into the audience and McFee watched Professor Taylor look up in panic as a young woman and a lad approached. A pretty girl with the most gorgeous satin black skin and high cheekbones took a seat upon McFee’s knee, smiled, and then placed her head on his shoulder. Another young dancer draped her arms about McAlister, who frowned.

The academic looked across, his eyes wide.

What now?