Strategos: Born in the Borderlands (20 page)

But Apion’s eyes were fixed on Bracchus as he reached forward to grip the tradesman’s jaw. Then, from the side of the gathering, a big, shaven-headed man stepped forward, a citizen. He barged in and reached out to pull Bracchus’ hands from the tradesman. At once the giants surrounding Bracchus stood, hands on their sword hilts, teeth bared. The tradesman’s bodyguard, dwarfed by these men, stepped back. Bracchus pulled his arm back and then swept his knuckles across the tradesman’s face with a crack that was disguised by the babble of drunks.

The skutatos by Apion’s side continued. ‘He’s pulled whatever strings he needed to and is now a tourmarches. He runs the garrison and the town of Argyroupolis like a mini-kingdom, or so I’ve heard.’

Then, as the tradesman and his bodyguard beat a hasty retreat from the inn, Apion saw Bracchus wince, rub his knuckles, then pull off his glove to rub his hand. All the noise and activity of the inn fell away for Apion.

‘I said don’t look at him!’ The soldier hissed by his side.

‘Apion, what’s wrong?’ Nasir’s voice echoed nearby.

But Apion’s eyes were locked on only one thing.

Bracchus’ index finger was but a stump. On the stump was a tarnished silver ring with a snake winding around the band.

In his mind, the dark door roared, rushing towards him, the arm reaching out for it, muscles taut, seeking the inferno.

12.
Leaving

The thick blanket of snow clung to the land for the next two weeks, but Apion shunned the warmth of the farmhouse, spending his days trudging through the drifts, wrapped in his cloak, shivering. He sought solitude, poring over the newfound truth, and the blanket of white all around him seemed to help him focus on his thoughts. He searched for the resolve he had known previously, to bury his need for vengeance deep within. He pored over every possible alternative, but none rested easy with his heart. No, now he could see only one future for himself.

After weeks of such sombre thinking, a quick thaw ushered in spring. The land was quickly turned green and mild and Apion knew what he had to do; he stopped a wagon one day on the road and brokered a berth on the vehicle, heading east in three days’ time.

When he returned to the farm that night, he left his meal untouched and sat in silence, despite Maria’s attempts to drag conversation from him. Finally, she went to bed and he was left with Mansur in the hearth room.

‘Your mood is troubling me, lad. You won’t eat, you won’t talk with me, and you haven’t slept for weeks. Tell me, what do you want?’ Mansur cut a lonely figure behind the shatranj board, untouched since before the Trebizond visit.

The fire crackled in the hearth and a sweet woodsmoke puffed across the old oak table.
Apion glared into the flames. His mind had been in turmoil since they had returned from the city. The rest of the evening at the inn had been numb for him. Every inch of his being wanted to rip his scimitar from its sheath and run for Bracchus, to plunge the blade deep in his heart and look into his eyes as the life slipped from them. Nasir had been worried for his friend, but at first when Apion tried to tell him what he had seen, he found his voice simply was not there. As Bracchus left the inn, flanked by his brutish bodyguards, Apion had watched him, a thousand voices screaming at him to act. But he didn’t and that made him feel all the more reprehensible.

‘Talk to me, lad. Remember how that has helped in the past. Play shatranj with me?’

‘I’m leaving the farm, Mansur. I’m joining the thema
.
’ He waited for a reaction but none was forthcoming. ‘You want to know why?’

Mansur was silent, staring. Then at last he spoke. ‘Nasir told me. He said you think you have found the man responsible for what happened to you, to your parents.’ His voice dried a little and then he croaked. ‘He said you seek to kill Bracchus?’

‘He is dead already, Mansur. He is a walking corpse. I found out what I need to know from the men of the thema, he sits like a peacock in his lofty post as tourmarches in the frontier town of Argyroupolis, buttressed by giants who kill for him on a whim. They say he is an agente, the master of all other agentes seeded in the eastern borders. Untouchable, a killer endorsed by the emperor himself. I will prove them wrong. For all he has done to me and all the crimes he has carried out.’

Mansur dropped his eyes to the floor at this, rubbing his temples, eyes shut tight. ‘Be careful what you seek, Apion. It may not bring you happiness.’

‘I don’t seek happiness. I seek revenge.’

‘In the ranks of the thema
?
Have you thought it through, lad? I am not sure you are ready and I don’t mean because of the weakness in your leg. No, you are a fine swordsman in a duel with me, but you cannot imagine the reality of the battlefield,
your body coated in blood, skin and bone all around your feet. Around you a thousand men scream and a thousand more are dying. Blades and spears hack through the air all around you. Yet you can only pray to your God that they do not fall upon you as you remain utterly engaged in combat with the man before you. Combat, to the death!’

‘You forget that I have killed before,’ he thought of the Seljuk on that awful night. He thought of Kyros and his men, though Mansur knew nothing of that incident. ‘I have spilled blood and it did not trouble me,’ he lied.

Mansur shook his head. ‘Y
ou will be fighting my kin. You could find yourself fighting Giyath or Nasir.’

Apion looked up. ‘Some of the men who killed my parents were Seljuk,’ he spat.

Mansur’s face fell stony at the venomous riposte. ‘Your words are fired with anger,’ he replied evenly. ‘Your quest for revenge is understandable, but make no mistake: Tugrul’s hordes are vast and committed to conquest, lad. The years of skirmishing and raiding are over, for they have served their purpose of testing Byzantium’s defences. The
Falcon
is going to war. I fear you would lose your mind, if not your life, in the bloodshed that is to come.’

‘Is that why you left your post as an emir?’

Mansur’s eyes darted up. ‘I see. Nasir also told me you had spoken with Cydones.’

‘He told me there was more to you than you let on.’ Apion felt his anger dissipate just a fraction. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘What difference does it make? I fight in the ranks, I see blood. I fight as an emir, a strategos, I see blood.’

‘You fought under Tugrul’s banner?’

‘I did.’

‘Is he the war-hungry creature they talk of, the
Falcon?
’

‘He was and still is a sharp mind, Apion. He taught me to play shatranj. He lived with dreams that were spawned years before either he or I was born. To unite his people, to seek out glory for Allah.’

‘Then he is not all bad?’

‘Are any of us, lad, are any of us?’ His gaze drifted to the fire. ‘The early years of glory were seen as justified as we consolidated our grazing lands and removed the threats hanging over our people. I accepted the reasoning at that time. Yet as the years went by I had to ask myself why I was leading ever-growing armies against cities further and further south than our people had ever been before.’

‘Cydones says you were one of the finest tacticians he has ever faced.’

‘And he was one of the bravest young lions I remember. When we clashed, he was like a demi-god; he fought not for spoils or for glory but purely for his empire; a rare trait.’

‘He said that one day you let him and his men go home unharmed when you had beaten them. This is true as well?’ Apion leaned forward.

‘That day, I let my enemies go home unharmed,’ Mansur shook his head, ‘but there were many other days.’

Silence filled the room, only the crackling of the fire breaking the stillness. Apion felt a growing shame at his behaviour. Mansur was the last person who deserved his wrath over Bracchus. He pushed back from the stool and hobbled over to the hearth, pouring two cups-worth of goat milk into a pan. He dropped a few pinches of dried orchid root into the milk, stirred it and then sprinkled cinnamon over the surface and placed the pan over the fire. Salep would soothe their wounded hearts.

‘So is it Argyroupolis you will be headed to?’ Mansur spoke at last.

Apion nodded, eyes fixed on the bubbling drink. ‘Yes, I will be leaving in three days’ time; I have paid for a berth on a wagon.’

‘A wagon? No, you shall ride into the fort at Argyroupolis on horseback. The grey mare, she is yours, always has been since the first day you rode her.’

Apion felt his heart clench at this. The old mare was tired, fit for wagon work but not any more for hard galloping. A loyal friend, he could never take her into danger. ‘You need her, Mansur, you know you do. For the farm to operate, you need two horses. My pay will be coming home to you, of course, to help with the upkeep of the farm and feed the two of them. But no, I will be walking into the barracks at Argyroupolis. This brace will not stop me.’

‘So it is to be,’ Mansur sighed.

Apion looked to Mansur, realising that talking with the old man had indeed calmed him. He wanted to thank him. His eyes fell on the shatranj board. ‘Shall we?’

They played long into the night, trancelike, until a grating snore rent the air. Both of them jumped.

‘Snores like a boar, that girl,’ Mansur grinned, nodding to Maria’s bedroom.

Apion realised his eyes hung on the door a little too long and he glanced down at the table again. What would it be like to be away from her? She was a friend like no other and barely a night passed without him dreaming of her. Was Nasir right, he wondered, was he just a brother to her? His gaze fell on the shatranj board as he contemplated this. Then he noticed the gap in Mansur’s lines. He lifted his war elephant and placed it two squares away along a diagonal from Mansur’s king.

They were both silent, then finally Mansur raised his eyebrows and let out a puff of breath and chuckled.

‘Checkmate!’ Apion grinned.

His first ever victory over Mansur.

After a long pause, Mansur looked up with a wry smile. ‘Well played, lad. You’ve got a knack of counter-flanking there. Risky,’ he jabbed a finger at the two chariots, isolated and exposed wide of the main force, ‘but bloody effective.’

Apion nodded. ‘One of many strategies I have learned.’

Mansur chuckled, his chins folding and his eyes creasing. ‘Well put, lad, and well won. Today. But try that again tomorrow and you’ll see how easily that move can be countered itself.’ He stood and groaned, stretching his arms. ‘Now, it is time to sleep!’

‘Until tomorrow, when we play again?’ Apion said.

‘Until tomorrow, lad,’ Mansur chuckled.

Apion watched the old man waddle into his bedroom. Sadness touched his heart when he realised that he only had a few more days before he would be gone from this place. He traced a finger over his prayer rope, seeking the first words of the Prayer of the Heart. He sought out the happiness he had known before he had uncovered Bracchus’ true identity. Instead, he only found the fury inside him. The name rasped in his mind again. He dug his nails into the table until one snapped.

Bracchus!

***

His lungs rasped and his eyes stung from the wash of fresh sweat. But he had made it to the top of the hill, this time without the grey mare. He hobbled onto the beech-wooded plateau and pushed through the foliage until he came to the clearing, with the tumbled red boulder cairn at its centre. Here, he tore off his tunic and collapsed, the cool dewy grass soothing his naked body. One hill and so much fatigue and fiery pain in his leg. The ranks of the thema would hold far tougher challenges, he realised. His eyes fell on the stern etching of the
Haga
on top of the cairn. Its glare seemed to burn into him.

Back at the farm he had laid out his kit on the bed: a spare tunic, brown woollen leggings, boots and a brown hemp cloak. In his satchel he had packed food: bread, salted meat, a pot of olives, a round of goats’ cheese and a skin of stream water. Mansur had also insisted he take with him a miniature shatranj set.
Keep your mind honed, lad; make your mistakes on the board and not on the battlefield
.

Leaning against the bedstead was Mansur’s scimitar, tucked into a sword belt. The thema would issue him standard arms and armour on joining them but additional weaponry that the state didn’t have to pay for would always be welcome. If they scorned his use of the Seljuk blade, he would just have to learn to handle a spathion. And all this was only a day away, he mused, eyes fixed on the
Haga.

Once his breathing had slowed, he stood to get dressed. He was suddenly all too aware of his nudity. Fortunately, the beech thicket obscured him from the highway down below.

‘Well, you do need better feeding, I must say; there’s no danger that the wolves will be preying upon you!’

Apion’s skin froze and he pulled his tunic across his crotch. The voice was light, lilting. Maria. ‘You followed me?’ He spun around, unable to locate her.

‘No, I came up here before you.’

‘How did you know I would be . . . ?’

‘Yes, amazing, isn’t it. You’ve only been coming up this hill for years. You didn’t need the mare to get up here today though, did you?’

Apion’s cheeks burned.

‘You’re pretty flustered though, I thought you were in prime condition for the thema?’ she mused, visible at last as she strolled from the trees towards him. She looked different, wearing a rich red robe – clean for once. Her hips swung hypnotically.

He touched a hand to his burning face; at least the ascent had disguised his embarrassment. He tried to straighten up, to look nonchalant about it all, but his pleated pony tail tracing against his bare back wouldn’t let him forget he was naked and she wasn’t. ‘I was hot, so I took off my tunic.’