Free Rogue Sword by Poul Anderson Page A

heard of Roger di Flor?”
    “Not by name, Micer. You understand how distorted such news is. In the eastern emirates, we heard only that a band of Giaours had brought God’s wrath with them.”
    “Which was not so ill put,” En Jaime agreed in a satisfied tone.
    He crossed one leg over the other, raised the glass to his lips, and looked cordially across it at his guest. “Our tale has many ins and outs,” he said. “I would need years to relate all that has happened to every man of us. And, desperta ferres , more will happen in the future. But I can give you the bare bones of the story at once.
    “So. Where shall I begin? The Sicilian War was a long one. But in the end, with God’s help, Aragon was victorious and King Fadrique mounted the throne of Sicily. That was three years ago. Now, during that war, he had hired many troops. Good, skilled, valiant lads, every one of them. However--” a touch of sardonicism--”as is not uncommon, the Lord King found his coffers not quite deep enough to pay them.
    “The mercenary captain, En Roger di Flor, had distinguished himself in the war. He had had a gallant career even before, as I must someday relate to you, until his enemies caused his expulsion from the Templars and he ended taking service under Aragon.”
    Lucas reflected that anyone cast out of so notoriously lax, greedy, and violent a brotherhood as the Knights Templar must have been a bandit indeed. It would be most impolitic, though, to voice his suspicion. Judging from what Asberto Cornel and others had let fall, Roger di Flor was regarded by his company as a martyred saint.
    “After the war,” said En Jaime, “seeing the danger King Fadrique was in from his own troops, En Roger broached a plan which the king was very willing to assist. You doubtless know in what poor condition the Empire here was, with the Turks gobbling up one Anatolian city after the next. En Roger offered to lead a strong Catalan force to the Emperor’s aid. This was gladly accepted. In September, three years ago, we reached Constantinople in a fleet of thirty-six sails, six thousand men, many of whom had their families along, as well as the thousand cavalry and thousand infantry who carried En Roger’s private standard.”
    “Ah,” laughed Lucas, “you say ‘we.’ That was the thought which saved my life: wherever Catalans were fighting, my old master was likely to be.”
    En Jaime’s smile was a warm response. “For a time,” he said, “it looked as if we’d get no fighting, except riots. Body of Christ! I’d not dreamed a government could be so corrupt and effete. No provisions whatsoever had been made for us. Yet Emperor Andronicus did at once, before we had so much as lifted a halberd, issue four months’ wages. With idle soldiers and mariners lounging about the streets for weeks on end, brawling with the Greeks and with the Genoese of Galata--why, in one such riot, the Grand Drungarios himself was slain, as his troops tried to halt it. But those Greeks are worthless, the merest yellow mongrels. . . . Your pardon. Of course, I don’t include Cretans.
    “Meanwhile Andronicus sought to curry favor with our officers, adopted En Roger into the Imperial family, named him Grand Duke, wed him to the Emperior’s granddaughter Maria. At last we were removed to Asia, where we cleared Cyzicus and Pegae of the Turks. We stayed the winter there. In spring, it was found that most of our men, quartered on the townsfolk, had incurred larger debts than they could pay. Duke Roger sought to get the needful monies from the Emperor, but failed.”
    And so the townsfolk went unpaid, thought Lucas.
    En Jaime moistened his throat with wine before he resumed:
    “There were also riots with the Alan cavalrymen serving the Emperor, as well as the civil populace. The son of their chief was killed. In the end, that was not a lucky happening for us. . . . Well. Finally we marched forth. Philadelphia, the largest city in Anatolia, lay under siege.