“I want you to think in those terms,” Mike said. “But I gotta lecture, so try to stay awake. After the Western Roman Empire fell, it more or less moved to Constantinople, what’s currently Istanbul, and the Byzantine empire was founded. One of the problems of the original Roman Empire, towards the end, was that the guards of the emperors, the Praetorian Guard, ended up picking and choosing who was going to be emperor. And they didn’t always do a good job.”
“Sort of like coups?” Russell asked.
“Sort of,” Mike replied. “They were the kingmakers. To keep that from happening, the Byzantine emperors hired foreign mercenaries as their guards. The Vikings had started to move into Russia, conquering it, and they were in contact with Byzantines. The Byzantine emperors hired those guys, ‘fierce fighters from the north,’ to be their guards. They were called the Varangi, which meant foreigner. They formed the Varangian Guard.”
“We come from the land of the ice and snow,” Adams half sang. “From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow, the hammer of the gods. So you’re saying the Keldara are Vikings?”
“That’s where it gets weird,” Mike said. “McKenzie was able to translate one of their songs and, no, they’re not Norse. They’re Celts, Scottish or Irish, back then it didn’t really matter. There is a lot of Norse in there, that’s probably where the blonds and redheads and such come from.”
“There are plenty of Irish redheads,” Meller interjected.
“They got that from being repeatedly invaded by the Norse,” Vanner said. “Back then, they were all dark hair and eyes.”
“So what probably happened was that this group of foreigners was wandering around the Mediterranean,” Nielson said. “Doing the usual rape, loot, pillage and burn. And they ran smack dab into the Byzantines, somehow. The survivors were probably given the choice of working for the emperor as Varangians or death.”
“And since they weren’t quite right to actually defend the emperor,” Vanner continued, nodding, “he sent them up here to guard the toll booth. Along with a smattering of real Varangi. Ergo the blond hair and blue eyes.”
“Keldara,” McKenzie said. “The Kelts. Sawn, Padrek. Hell, Kulcyanov is probably a corruption of Culcyan. Maybe even Culculane.”
“The point is that it’s like running into a fossilized group of Spartans,” Mike said, looking around at the trainers. “These guys, their stock at least, are warriors who descended on civilization, so far back there’s not even many records, and ended up stuck in this valley as guards. They came from Ireland or Scotland—”
“Ireland,” McKenzie said, firmly. “But before the Irish invaded Scotland, so they’re Scots as well…”
“Following the wild geese. And now they’re here.”
“And this changes the training… how?” Russell asked.
“Don’t think in terms of farmers,” Nielson said. “You guys watched those contests. And you missed the axe throw. Think in terms of… Gurkhas.”
“That good?” Sergeant Heard asked.
“That good,” Nielson said. “I’m going to up the rate at which they train, based on it. Put it that way.”
“But they’ve been here for… how long?” Russell asked.
“Say a millennium and a half,” Vanner said.
“So we’re changing the training schedule based on that?” the former Ranger continued, surprised.
“Yeah, they’ve been here that long,” Mike said. “But they’ve kept the warrior tradition that long. These aren’t Iraqi sheep. These guys are like the Gurkhas and the Kurds. You can just push them harder. They’ll respond. Treat every single one like a potential Ranger or SEAL candidate. And I bet you’re amazed how fast they catch on.”
“I don’t want just a militia anymore,” he continued, looking around at the whole group and catching each of their eyes. “I don’t want a decent company of American quality light infantry. I don’t want just fighters. By next fall, I want a company of commandoes.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You are tense,” Anastasia said as she worked on his back. She was straddled across his butt, pressing hard into the push-up muscles. All she had on was a lightweight blue silk nightgown that had ridden up to her hips. Mike didn’t even have that much on.
Mike had taken an easy day on Sunday, not even working out after the stresses of Saturday, mostly spending the time talking with Nielson about changing the training schedule and Vanner about archaeology. The Marine MI guy turned out to have a mass of unrelated information he’d picked up in a dozen odd places and the two of them had examined the architecture in the foyer again, comparing it to data on the web. The worn carvings on the pillars, as well as the essentially cruciform layout of the floor, argued for Byzantine design. There were differences, but some of them could be related to climatic conditions. He still couldn’t find anything definite indicating when the building had been constructed.
He’d also taken the opportunity to poke around in the lower cellars. On the west side, towards the mountain, they were in pretty bad repair, with the plaster flaked off and seepage water puddled on the floor. He wasn’t sure how much damage there was, structurally, but the caravanserai had lasted for hundreds of years, if not thousands, so he was inclined to dismiss it. He made a mental note, though, to have Prael or Meller check on it.
Near the stairs there was an old well with a metal cover plate, probably put there by the Soviets. He managed to drag it aside just enough to get a ear to it and heard rushing water not far below. There was apparently an underground stream or river that passed under the serai. In the event of a total FUBAR like a siege, they were good for water. He made another mental note to get a hand pump for the well.
On the east side the cellars were in pretty good condition. The damp had gotten to them as well, and the plaster was flaked, but not as badly. There was a very old wooden door to the last room and he had a fairly hard time forcing it open. But he decided that he’d found his bondage dungeon. The room was the longest in the cellars, the ceiling domed up to about ten feet in the center with four domes down the length. On the walls there were small discolorations about a meter off the ground that when he examined them seemed to be the remnants of something metal. Probably shackles from the look and very very old.
The cellars were remarkably free of litter, but they were very dusty and in places in the corners there were small piles of decayed stuff. Most of it was essentially soil, it had been down here so long, but he found bits of wood in some of the piles. A forensic archaeologist might have made something of it, but he wasn’t planning on calling one in. He’d left word to have the Keldara get a detail down to the east side to get it cleaned out and left it at that.
What he hadn’t found was any indication of the original builders. He’d hoped to find some graffiti or a foundation marking or something. But all he’d found was just dirt and crumbling plaster.
“I found out something about the Keldara,” Mike said, shrugging. “It makes me interested in the serai. And I’m worried about the training. They need to get good, and they need to get good fast.”
“You worry too much,” Anastasia said. “Turn over.”
Mike rolled over and she mounted him, tightening down when he was in her, and began moving up and down.