Byzantine Woman Part Two

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“Ahhhhhhh,” screamed Byzantine Woman. “Ahhhhhhhh.”

“Hey there, Byzantine Woman reporting for duty.”

“What is the matter?” asked her husband, whom she had roused from his sleep. He was squat and hirsute, but damningly attractive. Byzantine Woman loved him furiously.

“I had that dream again,” admitted Byzantine Woman. “The one where I’m in the Battle of Levounion, and one of those dastardly Pechenegs runs up to me and punches me on the nose.” She was saying all of this in Greek, because that was the language she and everybody else in Byzantium spoke in the year that it was, which was 1099. “It’s strange how other people call this city Constantinople,” she cried as she rolled over to turn away from her husband, who was now proudly standing on the bed and glaring down at her.

“I have to go to work,” he announced dryly. “I have to go to work as a pedlar down by the Hagia Sophia, the largest cathedral in the world. It will probably remain so for another 400 years, I suppose.” He turned and strode purposefully off the bed. “Now don’t you have any more bad dreams about the Pechenegs. What if Alexios I Komnenos heard you talking like that? Ha! Ha!” He slipped into his robes and his chlamys (a type of cloak that goes over the left shoulder) before marching out the door. Byzantine Woman was alone in bed now. She didn’t have a duvet. She had a coarse blanket made from wool and, I think, linen.

“Hi, I defeated the Pechenegs with the help of my Cuman allies.”

Byzantine Woman extricated herself from her bed. “Terracotta tiles!” she exclaimed as she padded her feet excitedly on the bedroom floor, which was like many floors of the time. As she crossed the room she passed the window. “No glass,” she muttered thoughtfully as she placed her hands on her hips and swivelled, first left, and then right, surveying her surroundings until her attention returned to the window. The shutters were open, so she cheerfully gazed down at the busy street below. She didn’t have anything to do today save some shopping at the market, which she’d do by putting things in a pot that she would carry on her head.

“Oh what,” breathed Byzantine Woman as she narrowed her eyes. She thought she had seen a dog staring at her from the stone-paved road, but it was obscured now by the hustle and bustle. But there! An opening in the crowd revealed the dog once more! “Jeez oh jeez,” whispered Byzantine Woman as the dog’s eyes continued to burrow into her very consciousness. Burrowing, burrowing, burrowing. She was transfixed!

The dog on the street, still staring, began to slowly open its mouth.

Get a grip! Byzantine Woman!

Byzantine Woman could not look away. It was as though her head was trapped in a tightening vice. A faltering step backwards left the dog still in full view. The crowd and the street had faded to nothing, and the dog had become a flickering harbinger of death. The maw was fully open now. Screaming filled the ears of Byzantine Woman. The dog was in the room with her. Now the room was gone. The dog remained, staring. Now the dog was gone. But there was still the screaming. Then the dog came back.

“Ahhhhh,” screamed Byzantine Woman. “Ahhhhhhhhh the dog!”

“WHAT’S WRONG?” shouted her husband as he shook her back into wakefulness. It had all been a nightmare. “DOGS HAVE SO MUCH RABIES IN THIS CENTURY.”

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