The mercenaries weaved through the streets, keeping to the shadows and trying to not to draw attention to themselves. The ravaging of the city must have ended some hours ago. Probably around noon Chlodvig estimated, as he stepped over the dead body of an old woman with eyes completely white from cataracts. She probably hadn’t even seen the sword that killed her. Her knobby fingers were still clutching a walking stick. After the old woman they passed other such sights; a mother, her head split in half, holding a dead baby. A young girl, lying face-down in the mud, her arms and legs clearly broken, bones sticking out through the skin, a few teeth scattered around her head. She must have jumped from the roof of one of the nearby buildings. People did that sometimes, preferring a quick death over the humiliation and suffering that awaited them at the hands of their conquerors.

What Chlodvig found puzzling about the whole scene, was that there were no scavengers, dogs, rats or crows, trying to feed on the dead. The streets were filled with bodies, but also with numerous objects which the looting army threw out as unneeded. Spilled grain, garbage, hay from lofts. These would have made good feed for birds, just as the bodies should have gotten the attention of scavengers by now. But there were none. It was as if there were no animals in the whole of Thessaloniki. Chlodvig cocked his head slightly, closed his eyes and listened intently – there were dogs, yes, but only a few, and they were hiding. The birds and cats were gone. Not a good sign. He sighed slightly, and kept on walking.

As they maneuvered through the streets, they passed some people trying to get some sleep in doorways of houses and sheltered corners of streets. This was not unusual, after a siege. The huge number of soldiers needed a place to live and they yearned for some comfort after weeks spent in tents. So they turned out the locals from their homes. The more important soldiers, the officers and their servants, would take over the richer homes of the aristocrats of course. The rest had to satisfy themselves with the more humble dwellings of ordinary citizens. But even the humble houses of the common workmen were of higher quality than what many of the invading soldiers were used to. And so the people of Thessalonike, once divided by class and wealth, now wandered through the streets equally miserable and equally hungry.

As they passed the hippodrome, Chlodvig felt the metal seal start to grow warmer. Michael Dokeianos was still alive and somewhere in the city. Encouraged by this good news, the group of mercenaries walked more quickly. As they neared one the acropolis, they noticed a group of soldiers leading prisoners who had been stripped to bare skin. The mercenaries dove down to hide behind a dead horse and a large, overturned cart, still partly attached to the horse’s harness. The soldiers and the prisoners passed without noticing them. Off to the harbour, to load the prisoners on ships, most likely. Only Eirene seemed to be moved by the sight. She kept the anger to herself however.

Once the Normans and their prisoners were gone, the mercenaries resumed their cautious trek around the city. As they reached the forum, a strange sight greeted them. A large number of bodies were lying with dead animals tied to them. Sometimes they looked as if they were embracing or kissing. Chlodvig guessed that placing the bodies in these in these positions must have been an "amusing" pastime that some of the Normans engaged in, soon after the sack. Eirene and Jacot both looked sickened. Kurshan’s face on the other hand, was only slightly confused. Avar, as usual, expressed nothing at all.

They ignored this, and other gruesome sights, and walked on further. The metal disc against Chlodvig’s skin was growing steadily warmer. Which indicated that, Dokeianos was not to be found anywhere on the forum but was somewhere in its proximity. It was frustrating, walking around blindly like that, going by the heat of the disk alone. It was a shame Vardas had no idea where in the city Dokeianos lived. Though, arguably, it would be unlikely that the man was just sitting at home, waiting for them. The longer it took to find him, the more time would pass before the women finally received help.  This seriously worried Eirene. And the longer they searched, the greater the chance that they would be noticed by someone sober enough to realize they did not belong here. This worried Chlodvig.

As if in response to his concerns, a group of four men noticed them and approached. They looked drunk. Chlodvig cast another quick glance around the forum. To its north was a nice looking little street, lined by elegant looking houses, probably belonging to rich merchants and some of the minor nobility. It was worth a try. He turned back to the approaching men. He muttered to Jacot: “call out to them, try to get rid of them. I don’t want more bodies than absolutely necessary.”

Jacot nodded and called out, falling back into his most Norman accent. “You have some drink to share, lads? I’ll swap you an ivory….ivory something!” He dug into the pouch at his belt. The four men, knights by the look of it, came closer. They were somewhat unsteady on their feet. Their blond hair had soaked up a lot of blood, which gave it an eerie, reddish hue. One of them looked enthusiastic. The others more cautious. Jacot could hear them whisper loudly to each other with suspicion.

“I don’t know them. Who are they?”

“Oh? You know all the 30 000 of us?”

“They could be working for the Greeks!”

“Sure. They’ll retake the city if we don’t stop them.”

Jacot smiled slightly. Then he stepped towards them, slightly off balance. He was now slurring his words a bit.

“Oh those three? They are Greek. Well, eastern anyway, they came with that one lout, what’s his name? The traitor. The one who’s always around Count William.”

That seemed to calm the suspicious ones. Jacot sighed internally, glad for the gossip of the deserters they met the other day. A knight with a large cut across the side of his head raised an almost full wineskin in Jacot’s direction.

“What were you going to give me for it?”

Jacot showed him a slightly battered box made of bone and decorated with floral carvings. The man looked pleased. “Pretty enough. My wife might like it. For cosmetics or some such.” With that he took the box and handed Jacot the wineskin. Jacot drank.

“Why does Greek wine always taste like piss?” he asked, wiping his mouth with his hand. That made the knights laugh. “You over-paid brother!” one of them said with a grin. Then they loitered off. Keeping up the pretense, Jacot handed the wineskin to Chlodvig who passed it to Eirene without taking a drink himself. “Good job,” he said to Jacot, giving the Norman a swift pat on the shoulder.

*

The lead seal resting against Chlodvig’s chest was very warm now. They had left the forum some minutes before and were making their way to the acropolis. Most of the houses in this, once elegant, are were dark. This was not unusual. The fact that most of the houses had been looted already, didn’t mean that someone wouldn’t enter to check if the previous looters had been thorough. A shining light inside could encourage just that. The few inhabitants who were lucky enough to still be living in their own homes were hiding quietly, hoping to avoid any further attention. Only the houses where the Normans had moved in, were lit. Some by olive lamps and candles. But others with fires burning right on the floors.

Chlodvig made a gesture with his hand and the four mercenaries following him crouched in a shaded side alley. There, they waited as Chlodvig went to scout alone for a while. Noticing two soldiers at the end of the alley he quickly jumped onto the flat roof of a nearby house and crouched. The soldiers passed. He had a better view from the roof. For a few minutes he walked from roof to roof. At some point, finally, the seal on his chest turned hot. He looked around. He was standing on the roof of an elegant looking house. It looked relatively old but it must have been in good condition, before the sack. It was a two-story building, built out of red brick and tiles. A light shone inside. Chlodvig closed his eyes and focused. He could hear people talking inside. Four, maybe five of them. He slipped back to the ground and whistled softly.

His men joined him quickly in the now empty street. Chlodvig indicated the house. The five of them checked their weapons and slid into the garden of the brick house. Two broken statues lay there, watching the mercenaries pass, their shattered faces staring indifferently.

Only the eastern wing of the building was lit. Chlodvig pressed himself against the wall of the house and looked in cautiously. The contrast between the darkness outside and the lit room indoors made everything happening inside easy to see. The room was a mess. There were pieces of broken pottery on the ground and numerous, torn pieces of cloth strewn around the floor. A wooden chest had been hacked into small pieces which now littered the floor, floating in some unidentified fluid. Maybe wine. In the middle of the room, sat a man dressed only in his undershirt. He was tied to the chair with coils of rope. His straight, black hair fell over his bloody face. Around him stood three armored men, with swords at their sides. A fourth man, with his back to the window, was holding the man’s face and saying something to him quietly. Judging by the heat of the seal under Chlodvig’s tunic, one of these men had to be Michael Dokeianos. It was quite an easy thing to guess which one.

The mercenaries walked further around the house, looking for a back door. They found one, a smaller, shabbier one than the main entrance, and painted blue. The door hung loosely on only one hinge. They opened it gently and quietly entered the house. They made their way towards the only lit room, taking care to avoid the pieces of broken glass and ceramics.

As they reached the lit room, they could clearly hear thumps and groans from inside. Apparently Michael Dokeianos was getting beaten. Again. The knights were shouting questions at him in very basic Greek. From what Chlodvig could gather, they believed he had money hidden around the house and demanded he tell them where it is. They either did not understand or believe his claims that he was broke and that they had already taken all he had.

Chlodvig looked at his men. They were all looking at him expectantly. He pointed silently at Eirene and Avar and then at the door. Then opened his palm and moved it in a horizontal arc quickly.

Things started happening very fast after that. Eirene and Avar burst into the room with unnatural speed. Neither of them bothered to give their enemies a fair chance. Eirene cut the knight who was standing nearest to the door across the back in a cross motion. Her sword must have been unusually sharp because it cut cleanly right through the maille. Metal rings mixed with the man’s blood and fell to the floor. Avar ran another man through from behind. Only at that moment did the remaining two knights register what happened. The one who was beating the tied-up Michael tried to draw his sword. But Eirene struck him across the face quickly. He fell over, clutching at his heavily bleeding face. Quickly though, he stopped moving. The tied-up prisoner watched the gruesome sight with a sick fascination. The last of the knights managed one clash of swords with Avar before he too was cut down. Avar did not kill with the flourish that Eirene did. But that made his enemy no less dead.

Outside the room, Chlodvig was leaning against the doorframe, watching Eirene and Avar do their work. Eirene, raised her head and looked at him with a crooked smile.

“All done Captain!”

Leaving Kurshan and Jacot on lookout, the tall mercenary walked through the puddles of blood, towards the tied-up prisoner. The metal seal was very hot now.

“You Michael Dokeianos?” he asked in Greek, accent flawless but with a army-camp drawl. The man looked up at him. His face was bruised and cut. His beard had been removed roughly from one half of his face with a knife. That was also where the worst cuts were. He spat the blood out of his mouth, along with two loose teeth, and nodded his head.

“Yes!” he said hoarsely, “who are you? What do you want?”

Chlodvig began cutting the ropes tying Michael to the chair with a long, one-sided knife.

“Alexander Vranas sent us,” he said, "where is the rest of your family?”

“In the citadel. On the acropolis. I hoped they might be safe there.” Michael was massaging his wrists now. The look of relief on his face rapidly changed into a look of panic. “But…the acropolis fell almost as soon as the rest of the city. Oh God!”

“Can you walk?” was Chlodvig’s answer. Dokeianos shook his head, biting his lower lip in pain.

“They broke my ankles when they started questioning me…” he said through gritted teeth.

Chlodvig tilted his head slightly looking at the man’s feet. The ankles were indeed very swollen and bent at odd angles. Chlodvig sighed.

“Jacot, Kurshan? Get in here!”

The two mercenaries came running without giving even a glance to the bloodied floor and the dead knights. Chlodvig hauled up Michael Dokeianos and passed him over to Jacot as if Michael were a large sack of grain. “Jacot, Avar, Kurshan, take him out of the city. Jacot, you are in command. Eirene? Acropolis. Let’s go!” 

______________________

Notes:

People:

Archon - Byzantine (Roman) noble

Normans - French-speaking people from Northern France. Ruled the Kingdom of England, Kingdom of Sicily and the Duchy of Normandy. They raided Byzantine territories often. 

Places:

Forum - central plazza of a Roman (or Byzantine) city. 

Citadel - The city of Thessaloniki was fortified by high city walls. One section of the wall was formed by the citadel. This was located on the acropolis (upper town). 

The more gruesome descriptions are based on the account written by the Bishop of Thessalonike, who was an eyewitness of the 1185 siege and it's aftermath.