Traveller Manifesto

Constantinople – 11th Century.

“It’s the consequence of us travelling back in time and arrogantly assuming that we are superior to the locals, I think,” suggested Professor Taylor. They reclined on dining couches and ate a meal of lamb roasted with herbs and garlic, accompanied by salads, dried figs, bread and a sauce of yoghurt and lemon. It was undoubtedly one of the most delicious meals McFee had ever experienced. “In retrospect, it was unrealistic that we expected to wander into the City, stay a few days without being noticed and then wander out again after taking a few pictures. Just by our nature we’re destined to attract too much attention.”

McFee nodded and carefully watched the servants a moment. Though they were no doubt to monitor everything about their guests, the fact that the Travellers conversed in modern English would make their efforts fruitless. “Well, it could be worse,” he smiled as he popped another piece of succulent lamb into his mouth.

This brought a gasp of laughter, for they reclined in splendour, surrounded by servants at their beck and call. As honoured guests of the great Emperor, theirs was an exalted status.

“But I won’t enjoy this for too long,” added McFee. “I’m afraid I’ll end up fat and utterly bored. Then again, we won’t be here for too long.”

The academic gave a small moan of dismay. “How long do we have?” he asked.

McFee looked at the nearby serving slaves and dropped his voice, even though there was no way they could understand. “Ozzy says in about a week, maybe two. He’s not concerned as we have the chance to engage in study of areas that we wouldn’t normally have access to. This is an opportunity never to be repeated, so let’s learn what we can.”

“We have so much to learn and in such a short time,” sighed Professor Taylor. Their merchant guild friends, Leon and Florian, had already introduced them to a number of influential merchants, while they hoped to establish links with high ranking military and learned members of the Emperor’s court. They had freedom to explore, the only conditions being that they were accompanied by their personal guards and must not leave the Great City.

Last night had been awkward, as beautiful koines, known to the men as glorified prostitutes, had been sent to their rooms. McFee had a couple of striking young women guided to his room by the Chamberlain responsible for their stay. Nothing was admitted by Professor Taylor, which again raised the issue that Poxon had discussed often, that maybe the old fellow liked boys. There was a handsome purse of silver riding on who in the team could find out.

What could they refuse without offence? McFee feared he might become too soft in such decadence.

“But we have to be careful,” emphasised Professor Taylor quietly.

“Hm?” asked McFee, distracted.

“We have to make sure we do all that’s permitted and not go against the will of the Emperor,” advised the academic. “I don’t want to get on his bad side. That wouldn’t be nice.”

“Aye, well, haven’t we seen evidence of that?” confirmed McFee. “The lines of Bulgar slaves that Mac and the lads saw at the wharves, as well as the blinded Bulgar soldiers? Poor bastards! Only one eye per fifty wretches! I wonder how they’re faring. I’d be surprised if that lot gets anywhere near home, not with the distance and having to hike through hostile territory. It’s a message of imperial power, that’s for sure.”

“And there’s another drone,” confirmed the Professor.

“Yeah,” grunted McFee as he reached for a plate of figs simmered in honey and stuffed with a creamy cheese and walnuts. Yes, he really had to watch out. “I understand the new UAV is much bigger and flies higher. Apparently the eagles that downed the other one won’t fly so high, though it all sounds risky. There have been complaints due to the low cloud, but the last thing we need is for another UAV to come crashing down on us.”

How long

“God, what a disaster. I nearly died when they carried our drone into the audience,” confessed Professor Taylor.

“The size and altitude is expected to put off any interest from our local eagles,” reiterated McFee. “There seems to be a nest on a small island in the Golden Horn. They took offense, it seems. Oh, by the way,” he added, “in the report detailing the difficult circumstances under which we’re now labouring, I’ve specifically suggested that Poxon gets to see it.”

Professor Taylor looked up and gave a bark of laughter. He had been the butt of more than a few jokes from their team-mate, the English Special Forces sergeant, but understood Poxon never meant any harm.

As the servants removed more platters of food, the academic took a sip of wine and reclined, utterly relaxed.

So, another week or two, thought McFee. This would be challenging.

He recalled how Michael Hunter, his old Saxon Traveller team-mate, had lived in the harsh wilds of Saxon Aengland for over three years now. He popped another tender fig into his mouth and, as he chewed, idly wondered how Hunter did it.