Flavius Fettotempi: Into the Mouth of the Lion: 1, #2

By Michael DiMatteo

The die has been cast and Flavius, driven by the ghost of his publicly executed father due to the failed Revolt of St. Titus, has made a fateful decision. He intends to return to Crete, along with Ramazan, the famed pirate of the Black Ram, and confront his nemesis, the beautiful and brilliant Constanze Kallergis who is now the Duchess of Crete since the death of her husband. She has one goal as well, that of bringing Flavius under her charge, and will move heaven and earth to achieve it. 

The Eastern Mediterranean Sea in the 14th century was a cauldron of activity. The mighty Byzantine Empire was a shadow of its former self and its navy, once the mistress of the sea is now relegated to the ash heap of history as the Venetians and Genoese assert their dominance amidst the crumbling empire. Money was flowing into Italy sparking the Renaissance period, while that the same time, Islam, fragmented as it was, spread throughout the region and was challenging as well for supremacy of the sea as well as the lucrative trade routes it contained. 

 

It is in this world Flavius Fettotempi began his journey in the first book of the series: Flavius Fettotempi, and here, in book II, he is continuing his saga, coming to grips with the reality of life in the Eastern Mediterranean Sea, a life of uncertainty, misery, and the specter of slavery, an all too real condition that affected hundreds of thousands of lives.  

 

Flavius Fettotempi: Into the Mouth of the Lion is a gripping and suspenseful novel that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the last page. It's full of historical details, vivid characters, and unexpected twists. If you love historical fiction with a touch of romance and intrigue, you won't want to miss this book! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael DiMatteo
• Release date: Aug 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223481942

Book preview

1

She was frustrated, angry, and embarrassed. She disliked waiting for anything, anything at all, and this…waiting…made her more agitated than anything she could remember. Constanze Kallergis was a woman who was not used to delays, so she was taking this delay by Alaattin Bey as a personal insult.

Her hand was forced, and she knew there was little she could do about it but wait for the Bey to decide to meet her. So, there she stood on this godforsaken piece of land on the southern region of the Anatolian plateau…waiting.

The heat on this summer day penetrated the room of Karaman castle, as though the Bey lived in a slate oven. There was a coolish breeze snaking through the room on occasion bringing relief to her skin, but it wasn’t often enough for her liking. When the cool air did stroke her, the hair on her body acknowledged it by rising to attention, her mind issuing a soft coo for the respite the air snake provided.

Constanze did not take the trip to this region lightly. She knew by leaving her home on Crete she’d be putting herself in danger, but Alaattin Ali Bey, through an intermediary sent to negotiate trade with her, informed her that she’d be given safe passage to his enclave for their discussion to take place.

His was the most powerful position in the region, although he, too, was being pressed by others growing in power as well, most notably the small state of Osman, threatening to unseat most of the independent states of the Anatolian plateau.

It was the dissolution of the Byzantine navy as well as the Byzantines themselves as the 14th century neared its end that allowed the rise of the various Muslim principalities or Beyliks.

For Crete, the island itself was still under Venetian control, the revolt of St. Titus being a disaster for those such as the Kallergis and other minor families including the Fettotempi as the Venetians were able to regain control and tighten their grip. Constanze, herself a Kallergis, was able to secure her position through her guile and instincts, instincts honed by her father and herself, as the family fought against their one-time benefactors.

Guile, her father once said, is the greatest weapon of all, and can disarm any army or…any man.

She took her father’s lessons to heart and through her guile secured her place atop the peak of Crete’s power structure.

The assassination of her husband by her hand was a minor inconvenience as she convinced the Doge of Venice, through her intermediaries, of her husband’s evil ways and his constant theft of the Venetian treasury which financed his way of life.

She charmed them, amused them, and through her wiles, convinced them of her loyalty, knowing when they returned to Venice, they would speak well on her behalf.

She was right. The Doge, along with the Pope, himself satisfied she would maintain the flow of money from their possession of Crete, allowed her to remain in her position until a suitable person was found. Money, it seems, is a potent salve for any wound.

She stood, admiring the tapestries hanging with vivid colors and Muslim script which she found enchanting and so different from her native Greek chirography. For a moment, she was taken to a faraway place as she contemplated the words written in a script she could not understand.

She marveled at the precision of the strokes, the placement of the accents. The calligraphy was as art: swirls and dashes dancing as beautiful choreography on the man-made textile. Her thoughts then turned to the world she inhabited, a world of changing powers and mixed people, living in places they had never lived in before.

Her own island was home to so many different ideas and souls as though the stars themselves were fewer. Her mind drifted as she marveled at the Arabic script to the ancient Romans she so adored and wondered what notions they would have at the thought of her world.

For a few moments her focus changed, allowing her mind to drift back to that Roman world, trying to pull from her memory the stories her father told her of the Empire and its glory; how this bey would have been a vassal for Rome and served under Marcus Aurelius or Caesar, or Mark Antony or any of the Caesars of Rome, and served them well.

She smiled to herself seeing her father’s face full of pride as he related stories of bold men and beautiful women who seemed larger than life in a time that was so grand it didn’t seem possible to exist. When he spoke to her about Rome, she was there, in that time of wonder, of power, of what once was…and she was happy.

So, this is Constanze of the Kallergis, yes? The ruler of Crete?

The voice pierced the room like an arrow through the air jolting Constanze from her daydream. She wheeled around to find Alaattin Ali, entering the room with two guards, both a head taller than himself and armed with swords. The guards were adorned with gold colored headwear with a feather protruding from the front, and layered white cloth bedecked with a golden jacket. Each wore a gold sash around their waist which secured the saif.

The Bey himself was less adorned than his guards, his beard being long which made his face seem longer as well, but his body powerfully built. His skin was bronze, as was that of his guards, and the three of them together created an imposing sight.

Alaattin, Constanze said, her voice steady, we finally meet.

The Bey looked surprised as his eyes searched the room. Your guards, he said, they wait outside while mine accompany me.

And why would I need them? Did you not promise me safety? Constanze gathered by the puzzled look on his face he’d not seen a woman with so much confidence. A surge ran through her body as the sound of her father’s voice echoed in her mind: confidence is the elixir of the conquerer he reminded her. Constanze smiled to herself.

I’d heard you were a woman of means as well as a woman of formidable character, but…I am impressed.

Upon those words, Constanze knew her position had improved in the coming negotiations, and she smiled to herself, moving closer to the Bey.

Let us say that I am a woman who knows what she wants and is unafraid to pursue it. Lest you think I am not protected; my guards are always around…always…but I didn’t think it prudent to have them here with us at our initial meeting for it would indicate lack of trust—don’t you agree?

Constanze could see the Bey studying her face; he was on unsure footing with this Christian woman, and unsure how to respond to her challenge. She felt the cool air snake rub against her body and again, satisfaction of the moment filling her—she was having fun.

Alaattin turned to each of his guards, looked them directly in the eye and with a wave of his left hand the guards turned and left, leaving only Constanze and Alaattin in the room.

You are surprising, he said.

And you, Constanze replied, are all I thought you’d be.

Alaattin issued a large grin, clapped his hands and within moments, silver trays were brought in carried by four light skinned men. Constanze thought them Slavs wearing simple tunics and sandals.

The trays were filled with fruits of every kind: Pomegranates, lemons, peaches, apricots. There was also a tray of dates, as well as one tray with roast goat supplemented with a carafe each of sweet wine and almond milk.

With one hand wave, the Bey motioned for Constanze to sit on the plush pillows that surrounded the table containing the feast, and she did as she was bid.

What is it you wish of me? Alaattin asked.

Constanze, a knowing look on her face said, My island has gone through, shall we say, changes, with my husband’s death the most recent. This has left me in control, something the Venetians do not like for I am a Kallergis.

She knew this man was measuring every word that came out of her mouth. She intuitively knew he was not one to fall to her charms but rather was a man who understood power, understood ambition—a man she could deal with on equal footing. She relished the moment. Taking a date from one of the silver trays, she held it in her delicate fingers and took a bite, the sweetness of the fruit dancing on her tongue.

I am in need of one thing. A man.

Alaattin shifted on his seat, and Constanze noticed the look on his face was one of confusion.

Constanze laughed. "My apologies, I did not make myself clear. I am looking for a certain man, one that was once a friend but is now an enemy. I am sure one such as you knows how dangerous an enemy can be if they are allowed to roam freely, yes?"

Alaattin smiled and again shifted in his seat. There have been many who have challenged my authority here, and many who failed. It would seem those like us are under constant and envious eyes. Yes, I understand your situation, but still fail to see how I can be of help. It would seem you have all the protection you need. Those most in need of protection are those most unaware, and you do not seem to be unaware of anything.

Thank you, Constanze said, but there are always those things one cannot see, as biting flies, but one must deal with anyway. This man I seek is as one of those, and I must…deal with him.

Women do not deal with men, came Alaattin’s terse reply.

Constanze’s gaze was locked on Alaattin who did the same as two tigers before the battle. Thinking better of it, she chose her words with discretion.

I meant that this man has caused me much trouble and I must…convince him of his errors and bring him back into the fold.

The Bey, his gaze softened, and his words deliberate, said, Tell me the name of this man that I might know who he is or with whom he associates, that way I might find him with greater ease…should I agree to do this for you.

Constanze knew, in that instant, she’d won the day.

He was an associate of an Athenian merchant who went by the name Marros Kontos, a merchant who grew olives and juniper among other things. This man was his second.

And do you know his name?

Yes, Constanze said. His name is Flavius Fettotempi.

The Bey remained expressionless, his stare casting doubt as to whether Constanze’s intuition was correct in that she’d been victorious in securing his help. Finally, after a few moments, Alaattin spoke:

And what would I get in return for helping you deal with this biting fly?

Constanze knew this moment would come and was prepared.

You would get my undying loyalty, and the prospects of a greater trade relationship between Crete and Karaman. Is not money worth a fly?

Silence again filled the room, the Bey studying this curiosity, his gaze never leaving hers.

How does one address you? Queen? Lady? I am unsure of your customs.

The Bey’s question took Constanze aback. She thought better to demure considering where she was and with whom she was speaking.

You may call me anything you like. I am not one for titles.

Then I will say this, the Bey said. The Venetians have tentacles that reach all the way across the sea. They are the ones that defeated the uprising on your island as well as the Byzantines. The emirs that control many of the Greek islands are also, to a point, at their mercy, having been defeated by them as well on many occasions.

Constanze’s hopes were becoming dashed the more Alaattin spoke, and her mind flitted about thinking of ways to turn the tide in her favor. She was listening to what the Bey had to say but was also calculating what it might cost her further as he spoke.

However, Alaattin said, there is one man, a young man piloting a powerful ship that might be able to help. He is Muslim, and he, in his short life, has achieved a reputation as a devout Muslim as well as a skilled corsair. His ship is unlike any that sails these waters, being larger, faster, and more powerful than three of our best ships combined. There are even rumors that the Venetians cannot defeat nor find him. He comes as a ghost. No one knows much about him other than this father was also a great Muslim captain himself. He may be able to help for his tentacles also reach far across the sea.

Constanze sat up, her attention snatched back from her own thoughts by the words of Alaattin. She felt in her gut there was hope yet for her to find Flavius and her eyes widened. And do you have a way to contact this man?

Yes, Alaattin said flatly, but it will not be easy for he is rarely in the same place. Fortunately for me, or maybe you, I know where he frequents. It is far from here, but possible to reach him.

And what do you require for such information? Constanze knew where the conversation was headed, and braced herself for what was to come. She didn’t relish the prospect of her thoughts but was willing to do whatever it took to contact this man and enlist his aid.

All I would request is that when the time comes, you aid me during my time of trouble, as I am willing to aid you.

What would that aid consist of?

Now, Constanze braced herself for what Alaattin really wanted in return for his help.

There are none such as us without challenges, the Bey replied. I am Muslim but that does not negate competition among us. I am surrounded by men of superior ambition for that is what all men are afflicted with when they lead.

Constanze was surprised at his frank answer for the men on Crete would never admit a position of weakness as the Bey just did, especially to a woman. It was here Constanze saw an opportunity to inject herself directly into the veins of Alaattin.

Should we see we possess mutual interests, maybe we can be of mutual aid, she responded.

The Bey eyed Constanze, his gaze causing a small shiver to go up her spine. She did not like open-ended requests for they could lead to the edge of a cliff and Constanze Kallergis was as calculating as anyone who held any seat of power—the first rule of which in maintaining that power was predictability. She dictated the rules so that she could manipulate the outcome. Now, she was the prey and the Bey, the predator, and she knew she had to make a calculated decision.

You mistake my kindness and openness for weakness, he said, disdain staining his voice.

His thrust, and now I must parry. You misunderstand me Alaattin, her voice now softer and smooth as though taming a beast. It is not for me to assume you’re in need of my aid. Disrespect by one of my kind is not to be taken lightly, I understand. I only meant it is not unseemly for a friend to help another friend in his time of need. He only need ask and it would be done.

The Bey studied Constanze with deliberate intent, but Constanze could feel she pulled the moment out of the fire pit. Once again, the Bey’s eyes betrayed him, a slow blink revealing his thoughts. Men tell all with their eyes her father reminded her, for the fire that burns or is extinguished cannot be hidden there.

Then, he said, It is a changing world we’ve inherited from our ancestors. Before our time the Byzantines ruled for centuries, their ships able to wipe away our advances before we even began. Now, those descendants of Rome are at an end, soon to have their holy city of Constantinople defeated. The Venetians and Genoese fight for control of trade and seek to keep the messengers of Allah at bay. The Hospitallers occupy Rhodes and wish to extend their reach while emirs hop from island to island, extending the reach of Allah while their ambition divides us. It is the same on this piece of dirt we occupy. We are in competition with each other when we would be better served as one…spreading the teachings of Allah and profiting at the same time.

Upon those words, Constanze Kallergis saw Alaattin’s eyes dim and realized his goals was more than wealth and power. He was a true believer in his god and in his vision. Now, through his words, she acquired an arrow for her quiver: He’d shown his heart to a woman he barely knew. No, she thought, this man cannot lead for he has a sheep’s heart. A true king would never reveal himself so, less so to a woman. He belonged to her now, the moth entangled in the spider’s web.

Yes, she said, it is the risk we all run, creatures such as we are. Now, she decided to inject her poison into the unsuspecting Bey. But risk is greatly diminished when we find friends we can call upon, friends who will support us without fail. Did not Christ and Allah both preach love for men? Did they not both realize the greatness of Jerusalem? Did they not both receive the inspired word of God or Allah?

The Bey sat silent, Constanze’s words producing their desired effect. After a few moments, the Alaattin spoke:

You will aid me, when I request it, against the Hospitallers. I wish to control the islands around me for they will act as a buffer against the insurgent knights of Christ. You will use your influence to convince them to allow me free rein to combat my enemies on this peninsula. That is all I ask.

The Hospitaller knights, Constanze knew, were devoted to Christ, as well as to carving out their piece of the world in the region. They were cunning, smart, and had occupied Rhodes since the beginning of the century. They were also fanatics, and Constanze knew that fanatics were not easy to deal with.

My dealings with the Hospitallers are little, and we have little in common other than our religion. However, even though the Venetians and Hospitallers seem united when facing Muslims, they are not. It is an alliance of circumstance only, and little more. I understand your request, however, and will certainly intervene on your behalf with the Venetians should the need arise.

Then, Constanze’s face changed, her eyes narrowing, accompanied by a small nod of the head. I have some influence with certain men that I can call upon when needed.

Alaattin leaned forward to take a piece of fruit, then reached for the carafe of almond milk, pouring it into his goblet. Leaning back, he looked at Constanze, who was now posed as a cat lounging on expensive flooring.

Yes, he said, of your influence I have no doubt. I will contact the young captain who will, I’m sure, be of aid in our search. You…you will be sure to keep your end of the bargain, yes?

Constanze understood what she’d done. She’d taken in with the enemy of Christianity against her own. She turned on her religion, her God, all in the quest to find a man who rejected her, rejected her island, and posed the only threat in her mind to her unobstructed rule. The people still remembered Honorius’ death and should Flavius return, others may follow him and challenge her supremacy. Hence, Flavius became something of an obsession with her and in her mind, she was willing to sell her very soul to see his end.

I will do what you require should the need arise, of this you should not fear, Constanze said.

The consequences of betrayal will run deep, Alaattin responded, and Allah will not show mercy—this you must know.

Constanze was not shaken by this not-so-veiled threat and responded, Betrayal runs both ways, as do consequences. I am but a woman, yet a woman of means, as you know. But let us not dwell on threats, rather, celebrate our agreement.

With that, Constanze poured some almond milk into her goblet and raised it, with Alaattin doing the same. They both nodded and, with eyes locked on each other, drank from their cups.

2

The winter months on Djerba saw fewer ships and, consequently, fewer booty for the pirates living there. The sunshine was abundant, the cooler air and occasional squalls bringing rain were welcomed, for with rain there was life.

Trade was limited throughout the Mediterranean as frequent storms and lighter bottomed ships made commerce and travel difficult. This did not mean trade stopped, for money never stops, but commerce occurred on a less frequent basis as the shallow bottomed corsairs, some still demanding rowing, found it difficult to navigate the rough seas.

There was a teeming slave trade in the Mediterranean and the Aegean, with many people being captured and sold. Others willingly gave themselves up to such bondage: settling debts, being sold as part of the sale of an estate, or forcibly coerced as victims of conquest. Much of the slave trade centered around Eastern Europeans, Greeks, and people of the Balkans, now under siege by the the various emirs making their presence known in the region, although everyone of every stripe a commodity.

The Black Ram still made its presence felt during these months as its sheer size allowed it to withstand the heavier conditions better than most, especially those ships relying on rowing. For the crew of the Black Ram, these winter months were prosperous when compared to others, allowing Ramazan and his crew to remain the titular head of the Djerban delegation. Money always speaks louder than words, and with Alon managing Ramazan’s affairs their hold on the island continued to strengthen.

For Chrysanthe, she watched her belly grow with life, Alon ensuring she was doted on, though there was no other recourse as Ramazan insisted upon it. Life on Djerba was easy for Chrysanthe and Flavius. With Alon making sure all of their needs were attended, and the people knowing who Flavius was related to, safety for them both was virtually guaranteed.

Flavius built a small table with three chairs and a covering that faced East toward the ocean so he might see the sun rise over the horizon, a sight that reminded him of the mornings his father took him fishing just before dawn. Now, rather than fishing being his consort, he took his morning meal with the sun as his companion.

Flavius’ face now bearded and body lean, taut, and possessing darker skin due to the North African sun, enjoyed his morning meal, Shakskouka, a dish consisting of poached eggs in a sauce of tomato olive oil, peppers, onion, and garlic along with other spices.

It was brought to him each morning by one of Alon’s slaves, a young, orphaned boy from a Sicilian village Alon purchased not long ago.

There was a comfort, a gentle peace infusing him each day as he gazed into the vastness before him, contemplating where life brought him and his beloved.

Always, his father entered his thoughts on mornings such as this. At times it felt like a plague he could not rid himself of while at others, soft memories of his youth blended with an abiding love that had no end.

It was a storm followed by sunshine.

How often, as now, he’d thought of his father and his island, Crete, and how much he wished to return it to what it once was, free of the Venetians, free of Constanze Kallergis.

Just then, the sea’s wave song, along with wind entwined humid salt air and rising orange sun generated in him thoughts he’d never contemplated before. He thought how easy it would be, this life on Djerba, should he and Chrysanthe stay. He could work for his brother, build a home, and never concern himself with Crete again, or Constanze, or the burden of fulfilling his father’s dream of a Crete free from all outside influence.

There was the question of what he would do for a living as it wasn’t his nature to simply live off others without work, so he thought he might revive Marros’ business on Djerba. With its location and the number of ships available for transport, Flavius reckoned he could replicate Marros’ success in little time as olive trees, dates, and even some grains were grown despite the sparse rainfall. He even contemplated making a life for himself on the North African mainland, not far from Djerba to facilitate the business.

It was the easy way, he thought to himself, remaining here, and what was wrong with that? Even Chrysanthe mentioned to him how life on Djerba would be should they decide to remain. She stopped short of insisting upon it, for that was not her place, but she did bring it up more than once to Flavius whose shores of resistance were becoming eroded the longer he and Chrysanthe remained.

It is good here, Alon said, surprising Flavius as he occupied one of the chairs and interrupting his thoughts, when times are good. Times are not always good though. Men, when they are unsuccessful and see others who are, become jealous, and jealousy leads to rashness which leads to anger. This is not a good proposition for anyone, even you, he said pointedly.

And a good morning to you as well, Flavius said, smiling. Besides, I can take care of myself.

Of this, I am sure, said Alon, "But you must understand that the men surrounding you, whether they be Jew, Muslim, or something else are always looking for something to make a name for themselves. Sometimes, it is even someone."

Then, Flavius noticed a shift in Alon’s tone as he continued, it becoming more lecture than conversation.

"I have lived here for some time, representing your brother and your brother’s interests. More than once I’ve had to remind others exactly who Ramazan of the Black Ram is, but even then, after they’ve been reminded, men forget, only to have to be reminded again. Men with short memories tend to have short lives."

What is it you’re trying to tell me? Flavius said, his curiosity piqued.

Alon paused for a moment. Djerba is a challenging place, but it is a place you could call home, he said. There is safety here, and for your wife and child there is security.

Flavius did not understand Alon’s reasoning. You just told me there were bandits here, men of ill repute. Why, then, are you telling me to stay?

Alon bowed his head, then, looking up and directly at Flavius said, I have come to know you, Flavius, and I see what is in your heart. Despite Djerba’s challenges as well as the good this place offers, your mind is someplace else, and you are wrestling with your past…your father’s past. It is time now to put all those thoughts away and begin anew. Djerba is such a place to do this. Here you can allow the sea to wash away your past and build a new life, one far from what chases you.

And what would chase me? Flavius replied, now fully engaged in the direction the conversation entered.

Memories, Alon said, without hesitation. Men pursued by memories, or the ashen wishes of others often become memories themselves. Do not allow this to happen to you.

Flavius thought for a moment. I am no coward, Alon, he finally said through clenched teeth.

Alon smirked. Of this, I am sure. But while this world of pirates, corsairs, and intrigue is not yours, you possess something rare, something many men do not have.

And what would that be, Flavius said, turning his body toward Alon and leaning forward.

You are of a single mind, Alon said, much like Ramazan. You have a will that is difficult to break, something most men here do not possess which is why they are thieves, bandits, and men who need to be led. Such men are lacking in that one quality you possess, that of a strong mind. And because of that, they are doomed to be small men. This is not you.

I am humbled by your assessment of me, Flavius said leaning back, and it means much.

Then, Alon said, reaching for some of Flavius’ Shaksouka, let my words be your guide. Stay here, and do not chase a memory.

Flavius turned his head away from Alon and back to the sea.

You did not see what I saw when they killed my father simply for fighting for his home. Neither did you see what that woman did to my wife’s home, reducing a man’s life to ashes and flame because she was refused what she desired. Flavius turned back to face Alon. "These memories are difficult to purge and even more difficult to resist.