I listened to the clanging noise of my coins striking wood as I gathered up my bag. Turning to leave the establishment, I decided to go on an afternoon walk through the bazaar. I was wearing simple woolen trousers that went to my knees, with a likewise simple linen tunic that draped past my waste. It was a very comfortable outfit that breathed well in these warm summer months, and my open soled sandals completed the casual outfit.
Slung over my shoulder was a locally made bag I had purchased from one of Byzantium’s shops my first day here. Its design was similar to modern day messenger bags, like the one I had used during the Battle for Rome, that I was compelled to buy it the moment I saw it. Unlike modern day bags, this one started its life as a single piece of canvas, cut and sewn to produce a bag, a flap to cover it, and a non-adjustable shoulder sling. It was very basic, and lacked the pockets and compartments I was used to, so I put to use the sewing skills my mother had drilled into me as kid and managed to attach three pockets on the outside of the bag, each large enough to hold a single M4 magazine, as well as a number of internal pockets. I made ones for my small flashlight, multitool, two spare magazines for my Sig, and I even crafted a small interior holster for the pistol. I also carried the monocular scope off of Penelope, a small first aid kit, a basic survival kit, a pair of socks, and my radio. I also had the small computer system, minus the eye piece in there as well, just in case I picked up Santino’s UAV should Bordeaux return early.
Each item was secured and easily retrievable, and gave me slightly more confidence I’d survive each day.
With my bag of goodies secured over my left shoulder, I began to wonder through the market, occasionally stopping at one random kiosk or another to peruse the selection.
The first stall I passed by was selling what I called “meat-on-a-stick”. My first day wandering through Byzantium had landed me here, and I’d purchased one of the chef’s heavily spiced mystery meat sticks for lunch. It had a distinctly Indian taste to it, heavy with curry, cumin, coriander, or some such, but I had never gotten around to asking what the meat was. The owner had been very persistent that I try it, and always one looking to sample new foods, especially when on vacation, I’d given in and purchased the freshest looking one I could find. Tentatively biting into it, I was pleasantly pleased with how spicy and flavorful it was, and offered my compliments to the chef. As I ate, I asked what it was that I was consuming, only to be told it had been one of the many rats infesting the area.
The interruption in my chewing had lasted only for a moment before I shrugged and kept on eating. I couldn’t deny that the rat was in fact delicious. I purchased one the next day as well, but today had opted for the sit down restaurant just down the street.
I smiled and waved as the owner tried to flag me down again, but I politely waved him off, saying I’d be back tomorrow. I hoped he wasn’t so insistent on my business because I was the only dumb sap who ate his food, but I liked it, so I didn’t care.
As long as I didn’t contract the Bubonic Plague, I’d be happy.
I continued my tour around the market, listening to men and women haggle and bid on an assortment of items. I passed by one jewelry stand in particular and my eye caught something bright, sparkly and probably expensive. I walked over to an elderly woman who appeared to be the patron of the small establishment. She seemed small and frail beneath her multicolored shawl, but her beaked nose and eyes like a hawk said otherwise, and I knew not to act like an ignorant tourist around someone like her. She could probably sell a steak dinner to a vegan, and I had to be careful I didn’t buy something I didn’t want.
What I did want, however, was a necklace that I knew would look lovely on Helena. In the four years we’d been on the run, not one gift had been exchanged between us. Not a Christmas or birthday, except mine, went uncelebrated, but we rarely had enough time to go shopping. The only gift exchanged had been Santino’s knife from Helena, but that was more out of necessity. Santino would have gone crazy without one.
I decided that considering the circumstances, it would be a nice gesture if I bought her something. Start the healing process, as some would say.
But I was never the best shopper for women back home, although I had tried my best. I tended to stay away from clothing, since I found women’s clothing sizes beyond complicated. I had no idea what the sizes meant. It didn’t make sense that their sizing numbers didn’t correspond to inches and I could never understand how someone could be sized with a negative number. So, I’d long ago decided it was best to stick with jewelry. It was more expensive, sure, but it was much easier to pick out. Besides, women loved the stuff, and having to shop for a sister, a mother, the random girlfriend and countless aunts during my early adult years, I’d developed a pretty good eye for what was tacky and what wasn’t.
The little old lady eyed me suspiciously when I approached her booth, possibly measuring me up as a potential scam. I gave her as friendly a smile as I could manage and politely pointed to my object of interest.
“May I see that piece over there, please?” I asked in Latin, mostly sure she’d understand. “The one with the rubies?”
The woman continued to eye me as she blindly retrieved what I asked for. Her hand went right to it, and she tentatively passed it to me. I smiled and bowed my head slightly in thanks before examining it.
The band itself was very simple, a mere cord of some kind. It felt more durable than it looked, which was good because it looked very delicate, but that only enhanced its elegance. As for the rubies, there were two of them. Each about the size of a nickel, they were roughly cut, at least by modern standards, and dangled beside one another from the cord, encased in a pair of solid gold bands. They looked of good quality and alone would make the necklace a nice buy, but what really interested me hung between the two rubies.
It was a simple crescent that enveloped a five pointed star, attached by its points to the interior of the crescent. The crescent itself was slender and made of gold, while the star was of simple design and roughly cut from some kind of green gem. What made it so interesting was that the crescent and star was the symbol for Byzantium, long before Christianity or Islam had adopted them.
Christianity’s main symbol was, of course, the cross, but the five pointed star was one as well, associated with the magi and the birth of Jesus Christ. Islam, on the other hand, had adopted the crescent as their symbol under the Ottoman Empire, and a small star was sometimes placed next to it as well, which is what differentiated the Islamic symbol from the symbol of Byzantium, as the latter’s star was of near equal size to the crescent, and placed within it.
The crescent and star symbol held no religious connotations amongst Islam, but was simply adopted by the Ottoman Empire after their conquering of Constantinople in 1453 under Mehmed the Conqueror, probably just because old Mehmed had a good eye for historically rich symbols. Even his choice of the name, Istanbul, had a local legacy, being the Byzantine word for “the city”. Many Islamic countries presented the symbol on their flag, some with or without the star, but many Muslims argued that the symbol was meant only for national pride, not faith.
Religious and cultural connotations aside, the necklace was simply beautiful, and I knew Helena would love it. At least she’d better after I spent a few hours going over those exact cultural and religious implications.
I looked down at the diminutive woman and held out the necklace, reassuring her I hadn’t stolen or damaged it.