Byzantine Woman

“Oh go on, just a quick sniff.”

“I’ll take two of those things we eat in the sort of time period the Crusades is in, and a whole pheasant’s arse,” said Byzantine Woman as she did her daily shopping at the market stalls. “Actually just make it the ringpiece, my husband hasn’t made a lot of money as a pedlar this month,” she sighed as she placed her goods into a pot, which she would soon place on her head because that is how she carried things. “Just another day in the year 1099,” she hooted down a dusty alleyway, as she jangled her remaining iron coins in her hand. It was indeed just another day in 1099, about 909 years ago, but it wasn’t just any day, it was going to be a rip-roaring day for Byzantine woman. “Funny how coins are made of iron,” she remarked to a passer-by.

“I’ll take those iron coins!” screamed a thief, who had just appeared from behind a pile of ropes. He’d been sleeping behind there, and was roused by the outward musings of Byzantine Woman. He wore a chlamys, which is a sort of cloak that goes over your left shoulder. His face was as sharp and pointed as the dagger he wielded so menacingly, and his skin was the texture of budgie toes, all orange (or pink depending on the breed) and proper wrinkly. He’d screamed a bit too loud, he thought, maybe somebody had heard him. But no, he reassured himself, only the people at the nearby market could hear him, and they say things like “I’ll take those iron coins” all the time. He was safe for now.

“Cornucopia, madam?”
“No, none for me today thanks.”

“Hand over the coins you Byzantine bitch-fuck!!!” the thief scowled impatiently. The Byzantine Woman didn’t really deserve that, he thought, but he was feeling a bit vulnerable having screamed so loud. People do say that sort of thing at a market, but they never scream it really loud like that. Does a scream sound like normal talking if you’re sort of far away? What a rubbish thief I am, felt the thief. Recoiling in fear, Byzantine Woman let slip her headborne earthenware, which shattered on the thief’s head. The pheasant’s arse, usually such a harmless thing, chanced to slip right around the widest part of the thief’s head. It acted, as it were, as a blindfold.

“I am like Jordie La-fucking-forge here,” laughed the thief as he tried to remove the bird’s anus from his noggin, he was feeling happier now. Once he’d prised the thing from his head, the woman was gone. “Tits!” cried the thief. He’d have to go without those iron coins.

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