Burning. It was burning. It smelt of fat and oil, the fire not stopping. "Put out the flames now, we're done here," the man ordered, waving away the smoke and embers from his bearded face with his hand. Rather than water being poured down, the men threw that of which is soil and dirt to kill it off.
There was a man wearing a rich sapphire paenula, a poncho of sorts, alongside a cap with a conical top, its brim covered in a darker shade of blue and patterned with short threads on both the top and bottom brim, accenting the white cone.
The man went to the commander. "Doux Cyril 'Cocytus' Dalassenos," he started, taking off his hat. "I believe that you wished me to bring your cap?"
"Just call me Cyril. It's easier." The Doux turned around to face who greeted him. "Oh, Nikephoros!" Cyril approached him and hugged him tight. As they separated, he took the hat from Nikephoros' hands. "I was looking for you. Let me show you something, come on."
Before Nikephoros could be whisked away, he mentioned "The hat."
"What about it?"
Nikephoros sighed. "I rode from Patara to here in the underground of Xanthos, and this is what you say to me?" He shook his head and rolled his eyes as he said "Unbelievable."
Giving him a smile, eyes half-lidded and forced curve on his lips, Cyril said "Thank you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Nikephoros scratched on his beard. "Well no. You still have to pay me for the travelling fee, alongside with the—"
The nervous laugh alongside with the hand that held Nikephoros' shoulder made him purse his lips to silence himself, his hand now on his hip, waiting. "Hold on, what in Kyrie's teeth are you saying?"
"If you're going to treat me like this, at least pay what I'm due. I'm a little… Short on funds today."
"Oh, fuck off, Tornikes!" Nikephoros laughed, pushed away by Cyril after he cussed him. His companion added "I've had to pay for the equipment and food, the least you can do is pay for your own shit!"
"I believe that, doux. The thing I don't, however, is you whining about just five billon trachea."
"FIVE?!" Cyril put both of his hands on his face, hiding himself. "Iesous Christos, what is Nikephoros saying?"
"I'm still right here."
"And I'm asking how stupid you are with your counting! The labour cost, the horse, even the time you came here!" Raising his hands, Cyril said "Five! Bah!"
"It's perfectly reasonable," Nikephoros said, rolling his eyes as he moved to the side of Cyril.
Cyril pointed and waved his finger. "Komēs you are, but never have I thought you knew not about the wages."
"What, you expect me to go with 20 instead?"
Cyril almost fell, dragging Nikephoros alongside him. He was raised by his friend once more. Cyril looked pale as he yelled out "20?!"
"Aiyah, all you do is complain about numbers!" whined Nikephoros, holding the back of Cyril and giving it a light push. That one made Cyril fall face flat to the ground.
"What did you do that for?!"
Nikephoros knelt to him, staring down at his Doux ang giving him a devious grin. "Oh, nothing. Thought you needed to be more grounded."
"I hate you."
Nikephoros held his hand open, helping Cyril to stand. Rather than standing up, the Doux pulled his friend and threw him on the floor, changing their roles. With crossed arms, Cyril stood over Nikephoros, feet both on either side of the man. "Come on, we don't have time playing like boys all over again."
Nikephoros sat up, rolling his eyes and said "And may I ask who was the one who started it?"
"Who may that be, I wonder?" he replied with faux confusion, pulling Nikephoros' hand to let him stand. The moment he did, the Komēs responded "Oh, you know who."
Nikephoros brushed the dirt away from his paenula, shaking off the end as he asked "So, are you going to show me something or did we just waste time?"
"Ah right, of course! Follow me," Cyril said as he walked by the buckets of sand.
"I swear to Kyrie's fist, I will punch you if it is the gigantic cock you've been gushing about," Nikephoros huffed, leering at the Doux.
"That pecker? Hah!" Cyril laughed boisterously. "If it was, I would've shown it here proudly!"
"And even play with it?"
"Who wouldn't?" Cyril replied. Scratching his beard, he murmured "Then again… Some wouldn't want to touch it. Scares them. Maybe because of how large it is." Nikephoros opened his mouth, shutting it close and not wanting to delve deeper the more he thought about it.
When they were approaching a round tent, twice the size of the others. "I trust that you still have an understanding of mechanisms, ναι?"
Nikephoros nodded, asking "Why?" He stopped walking. "Don't tell me that this is about the cheirosiphōnes you have acquired."
"That's the one." Cyril beckoned the Komēs the moment they were at the tent's flaps. "Doesn't it excite you?"
Nikephoros gave him a deadpan look. "No."
Cyril frowned. "You break my heart." He put his arm on the other's shoulder the moment they were close, walking inside the . "I thought you'd be as happy as I am."
"I've already seen it, but I'd rather uh, what was it called again…" Nikephoros started to pace around, trying to find the words. He ignored the rest of the people inside who were shedding their linen armour. "I'd rather break it apart and learn it? I forgot the term."
"Reverse engineering?" Cyril suggested, raising his arms in confusion, not knowing if he was correct.
"Ναι!" he exclaimed, grinning.
"Not so loud, Komēs," one of them warned. With a strained smile, they said "Screaming "yes" so loudly might garner unwanted attention."
Nikephoros turned to whoever talked to him. "Allagatōr Laskaris," he greeted.
"Hekatontarches," Laskaris corrected. "In this place, I am Hekatontarches." At that, Nikephoros gave a deadpan glare and a raised brow to Cyril.
Instead of acknowledging it, Cyril passed through and said to Laskaris "Isaac, how are your troops from Nicea?"
Nikephoros cut him off, asking Cyril "How is your wife in Attaleia?"
"She is fine," Cyril spat with a sneer. It went softer as he said "It may have been a while, but I know that she's fine."
"My troops are well," Isaac replied, steering the conversation back to topic. "Theodoros has given me information for each week. Oh right," he paused, shedding off his linen armour. "When will I go back home?"
There was a tempting thought behind the Doux' head. A loud barking 'Never!' Was in his head, his mouth however answered "A week from now. Your term is one month, remember?"
Isaac growled "I've been here for four weeks."
Cyril shrugged as he nonchalantly said "What's one more?"
"Wasted time," Nikephoros groaned. He went near the commander to pat his shoulder. "You don't need to be here for 5 weeks."
Cyril didn't know if he was being serious or simply japing around. With the setting being the generalis tent, and the atmosphere being what it is, he said "This is important, Komēs."
"Important how, Doux?" he replied back.
"For the eastern defence and counterattack! The Turks could be there at any moment," Cyril scoffed. "And Kyrie knows what Manuel would do with his fever."
"Doux," one started, gaining all of their attention. Their eyes stayed to the Doux'. "I remember that our term was—"
Cyril groaned loudly, cutting him off as he said "Yes, yes I know, Mandator Gabras…" He let his palm rest on the long table in the centre of the tent. "I won't mention our dear Basileus in that manner."
"Especially when he defeated the Turks," Isaac added in.
Looking around the room, Nikephoros asked "Speaking of Turks being defeated, where is Vatatzes?"
"He will arrive soon," Gabras said. "With food, no doubt."
Pursing his lips and raising his brows, Gabras said "Speaking of food, I'm craving some bottarga."
"Oh, you and your roes!" Cyril cried. The Doux shook Gabras as he said "It's nearing Easter, for Kyrie's sake, don't do it now!"
Nikephoros asked Isaac "What's the menu anyways?"
"Eh, just some hard bread with soup," Isaac shrugged, leaning on the table and planting his hand on the blueprint.. "Nothing much."
Cyril scoffed. "We're getting a large pot for it too. Also," he resumed, thwacking the hand of the Hekatontarches with his own. "Don't do that to my precious parchment. It's still brand new, you might smudge the ink."
Nikephoros groaned loudly. "Cyril, just give me the hand-syphon already. If you're going to show me it, then you could've done it within the time your mouth was spewing shit from the Taurus."
"Alright, fine! Fine!" The Doux walked to the tent, opening it and saying "Konstantinos, entertain our guest here."
Nikephoros furrowed his brows, eyes squinting at Gabras. He opened his mouth, closing it soon after, alternating between the opening of the tent and Gabras himself. "Did I hear right?"
"Yes," Gabras said. "Why? Is there something wrong?"
"Oh, so that's why— perhaps you could tell me why all of you are here instead, hm?" The sudden change of thought put his eyes from Konstantinos Gabras to the rest. A lax smile, he gave them, focusing on their small movements.
"If you don't mind me asking, may I ask you the same question?" Isaac replied.
Nikephoros shrugged, mouth in a thin line and bluntly said "A Komēs being with his Doux is not as odd compared to the rest of the Anatolian leaders being here."
"We agreed to a meeting," Konstantinos said.
"In this shabby place?" Nikephoros asked. "Hundreds of feet away from top soil? Curious, isn't it?"
Before any could reply, a large box entered, alongside a pair of hands. The box opened up. The person behind the hand said "Here I am, Komēs," moving the lid to be akin to a mouth.
Clearing his throat, Isaac agreed to Nikephoros. "Ναι, Komēs. In fact, may we ask the man who's making light of this situation as to why it was here where we needed to meet?"
Cyril opened the flap wide, pushing the box as he whispered "Not even a laugh."
Nikephoros heard and gave one sarcastic "Hahaha. There, you got your laugh."
He wants to punch him in the teeth. Cyril wants to choke Nikephoros. In fact, he wished that Nikephoros would bite on his own tongue and choke on it. He shut that train of thought, setting the mechanism on the table as he glared at Nikephoros, groaned out "Kyrie, forgive me for my thoughts."
"Quite bold to say in punching distance," Nikephoros said.
"We await for Vatatzes," Cyril said to the rest. "What's taking him too long?"
"Not everyone travels as fast as our postal system. You know that," Gabras then added what he said, "Adding to that is the pack mule with the large carriage of supplies. You know how long they take."
"Well then," Cyril said. "We all have to wait for him. And Nike," He pushed the flamethrower his friend so wished to see. "It's still a prototype, as we couldn't make the olive oil flame up for long enough. Open it up as you like, but if you break it, it's your money being paid to fixing that."
"How much is it per one cheirosiphōnes anyways?" Nikephoros asked, raising the weapon above its case. That question was unanswered.
The handle was wet, alongside the piece that's holding the whole thing together. The cylinder on the middle was made of brass, the lid with the nozzle shining more compared to the rest, its cone structure bright even within the thick tent. The back end of the flamethrower had a pump. The handle of the pump was the same as the rest of the handle, wood. The lid connected to it however, it is brass like the rest.
Nikephoros twisted it to make it comfortable for him before he pushed, a bit of air spewed out of it soon after. The residue of the oil dripped down as a result. Nikephoros then opened the lid, murmuring "This one's not cleaned. Recently used then?"
"Borrowed it where you have seen the fire show we attended before coming here," Cyril replied, crossing his arms.
Nikephoros ventured on, finally making note of the long, proboscis-like metal near the nozzle. It had something similar to a thin, small cup, also made from brass.
The moment he turned the weapon to examine more of it, not only did he see ash fall from the long tip of the equipment, but also heard a loud thunk near the handle.
"Ah," he said. "I see now," Nikephoros continued, setting the weapon upright and tapped the cup with his index finger and brushed the remaining ash on his thumb.
"This is where you ignite, but what's this for?" he asked, releasing the stone box clasped within the grip of the iron latch under the cylinder. The box itself has a large hole only covered with bars so that no content inside will come out the moment they were put inside.
Inside were charcoal, ash and soot. The embers still shone from the coals, even if they were breathing their last. "Why even have this?"
"That, you see, my dear Komēs, is where our fault lies," Isaac said. "We couldn't really make the oil burn if not for that. The oil needs substantial heat before it can burn consistently."
"Have you tried any other types of oils or flammable liquids?" Nikephoros asked, putting everything back to place. "Surely naphtha would have been used."
"That would be too obvious and too costly," Cyril replied. "I don't wish for my hatred to our dear Basileus to be explicitly in public, and I would not wish to get lynched or be blinded by treason any time soon."
"I still do not understand your hatred for him. He has been exceptionally benevolent to you, yet it sounds like you spit at the hand that gave you riches."
"He sides with the people who had taken many of our people's life's work! Those Latins took too much, meanwhile our traders, our mercantile folk, have been poor! People that sold Roman products and even those who made it, or even catch it, had to suffer monetarily because of those shitty Latins! They are pigs that only eat to make their belly full! At least the Turks had decency!"
Before anyone else could speak, Cyril resumed. "Maria of Antioch, it is her that truly troubles me. Basileus Manuel has done many good on the western front, and he has given us a superior standing, as much as I hate to admit it. But that witch beside him… We have no use for her ilk. She will only let the Latins rise in power on our glorious empire rather than help the local people if she was regent."
"And how do you know that?" Nikephoros asked.
Cyril blankly stared at him. "Tornikes, an outsider with her position almost always help their own kind rather than the locals."
"I didn't take you much for a cynic," Isaac said.
"I am not a cynic, Laskaris, only speaking the truth." Nikephoros mocked him by mouthing the same words as his Doux.