Imperial Fire (27 page)

Vallon stalked up the shore. ‘Anywhere except in my company.’

One look at the girl and Lucas was smitten. He was collecting firewood when she landed, moving as gracefully as a cat walking along a fence. The wood dropped in a heap from his hands. He goggled, her filthy and ragged camisole flashing glimpses of slim, shapely legs and accentuating her breasts and hips. Her neck was as elegant as a swan’s, her face crowned by a nest of dark curls, her large hooded eyes the green of ilex leaves. Her long, delicately arched nose only emphasised her aristocratic bearing.

Gorka elbowed him. ‘Don’t even think about it. The general paid six solidi for her.’

‘What for? I mean, is she his woman?’

Gorka pushed back his hat, somewhat at a loss. ‘He doesn’t allow us to take sweethearts on campaign, and he wouldn’t break the rules to suit himself. In all the years I’ve served with the Outlanders, I’ve never seen him so much as glance at a woman – and believe me, it wasn’t for lack of opportunity. Some real beauties, too. Better than that stringy witch.’ Fond memories softened his expression, then his mouth set like a trap. ‘Get on with your work, trooper.’

In a squadron as close as the Outlanders, rumours about the girl crept and multiplied, mixing fact with speculation, some of it prurient.

‘She ain’t here by the general’s doing,’ Gorka said. ‘It was the Englishman who bought her. He’s warmer-blooded than he lets on.’

‘I heard he bought her to set her free,’ said a trooper.

Gorka flicked a bone into the fire. ‘Only after he’s taken his pleasure with her. Lucky bastard. The rest of us won’t dip our wicks until we reach Samarkand, wherever that is.’

‘She’s a Luri,’ said another. ‘A gypsy. She was a dancer in a troupe of singers and performers.’

Gorka hawked and spat. ‘Gypsies are bad cess. They can read the future and put the hex on you. I saw it with my own eyes this very day.’ He patted Lucas’s knee. ‘One glance from that witch and Lucas’s bones melted. Am I right, lad?’

Lucas wriggled. ‘Give it a rest, boss.’

A man crossed himself. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Zuleyka. Something like that.’

Zuleyka.
The name expanded in Lucas’s mind.

Gorka laughed. ‘See? She’s enchanted him.’ He prodded Lucas’s thigh. ‘You’ll need a priest to drive out her magic.’

Lucas twisted away and spoke in a rough manner. ‘Don’t be daft. It’s only because I haven’t seen a woman for weeks.’

The troopers’ laughter tailed off. ‘The lad’s right,’ said one. ‘At least on the Danube watch there was always a village girl to pleasure you and darn your socks.’

‘You and your bloody socks.’

A tall shape against the fireglow made them scramble up.

‘As you were,’ said Vallon. ‘Everything all right?’

‘No complaints,’ said Aimery. ‘We were wondering what arrangements you’d made with the Vikings.’

‘They’ve agreed to transport us across the Caspian.’

‘For gold?’

‘It won’t come out of your wages.’ Vallon cleared his throat. ‘I want to be off tomorrow, so you’ll need to start loading before first light. You’ll have plenty of time to catch up on sleep during the crossing. Good night.’

Aimery broke the dragging silence. ‘You heard him. Turn in.’

Gorka stirred the cinders as if to shape them into auguries. ‘Vallon made a deal with the Svans and they broke it. Now he gets cosy with a gang of Vikings…’

The sizzling of spit in the embers was more eloquent than words.

Even with a night start, the task of distributing the men and cargo among the vessels took until afternoon. Lucas was loading the last string of horses onto the lopsided freighter when a trooper at the top of the ramp shouted and pointed.

Lucas whirled to see the slave girl galloping away. His mouth went slack. His eyes bolted. ‘Hey, that’s my horse!’

He sprinted down the line of horses and leaped bareback onto a fine bay. Grabbing its mane with his left hand, he lashed it into pursuit with his right. A trooper flung himself out of his way. Shouts faded behind him. He rode crouched over the horse’s neck, the steppe streaming back in a green blur. The girl had a furlong start, an excellent mount and weighed fifty pounds less than him. Also, he realised, she was a superb rider with perfect balance. Stride by stride she increased her lead until by the time he’d covered two miles she was the best part of half a mile ahead. He couldn’t maintain the pace. The effort of managing his horse by hand and thigh was too much to sustain. A swerve as his mount switched direction to avoid an anthill almost spilled him onto the steppe.

Hooves drubbed behind him and two Seljuks swept past, apparently seated on cushions of air. Their saddles and stirrups gave them an advantage and yard by yard they ran the girl down, coming up on her one on each side. One of them transferred his weight to his left stirrup, leaned out and snatched Aster’s reins. The gelding crabbed to a stop and the Seljuks’ horses squealed and nipped around him.

Lucas caught up, hot and furious. The girl’s camisole had ridden up to her waist. He tried to drag her off and she backhanded him across the nose, bringing tears to his eyes. ‘God damn you,’ he shouted. He seized her and they tumbled to the ground. She was first up and when he pulled her back she ran a clawed hand down his cheek.

Warding off her flailing hands, he wrestled her to the ground. Still she struggled. He straddled her hips and pinned her wrists. She went still only for long enough to spit into his eyes.

A buffet to his head knocked him sideways. Blinking up, he saw the universe rearrange itself around Wayland. The girl seized her chance and lunged for Aster. One of the Seljuks ran the horse out of her reach and the other rode tight circles around the girl, giving strange high-pitched cries.

Lucas shook his head to restore vision. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Fetch your horse.’

Lucas darted poisonous glances at the girl while he examined Aster. ‘If you’ve lamed him…’

He was blown and lathered, but had suffered no serious harm. Lucas dabbed at his leaking cheek. The Seljuks sat their horses with impassivity. Wayland nudged his chin in the direction of the horse Lucas had appropriated. ‘You know who that belongs to?’

Lucas managed a grin. ‘No, but she’s a good one.’

‘So she should be. She’s the general’s spare mount.’

Lucas swung his arm as if hurling something into the ground. ‘Ah, hell.’

Wayland took Vallon’s horse and led it away, the Seljuks jogging after him. ‘Get going. You’re holding up the convoy.’

‘Hey,’ Lucas shouted. ‘What am I supposed to do with
her
?’

‘Nothing,’ Wayland said. ‘She can go wherever she pleases provided it’s not on one of the company’s mounts.’

Lucas slumped. He pulled Zuleyka away from Aster. ‘You’re free. Understand?’ He shoved her. ‘Go on. Get lost.’

She began walking south.

Lucas’s lips curled. Stupid bitch, he thought. ‘You’re going the wrong way.’

‘No, she isn’t,’ Wayland called back. ‘She’s from Persia. Khazar pirates captured her when she was twelve.’

Lucas dragged himself onto Aster. ‘She’s not going to reach Persia on her own. Look at her. She won’t last a day.’

‘That’s not my problem.’

‘Nor mine.’

Wayland kicked his horse into a canter. ‘Don’t make matters worse by delaying the convoy any longer.’

Lucas urged Aster into a trot. His face smarted and his thighs ached. Tomorrow he’d hardly be able to walk. Wayland and the Seljuks were already silhouettes and the girl was just a blip on the hot grassland. He swore and caught up, slowing his pace to match hers. She strode on, slim calves flashing, her eyes fixed ahead.

‘You’re crazy,’ he said. ‘You’ll only be captured by another bunch of pirates.’

She ignored him.

‘Go on, then. See if I care.’

But Lucas couldn’t leave her. Grass halms had already cut her feet. ‘Come on, Zuleyka. Say something.’ He rode ahead of her and turned. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I handled you roughly, but you can’t blame me. Aster’s the only thing I have.’

She stopped and he melted at the sight of tears flooding her eyes. He held out a hand and his voice dropped into a deeper register. ‘Get on behind me.’

She looked at him properly for the first time and he wished with all his heart that he could have undone his hot-blooded actions. He stretched towards her as if trying to bridge a gulf, and after a moment she took his fingers and sprang up behind him.

They plodded back, Lucas aware of Zuleyka’s breasts against his back. He eased his throat.

‘You ride pretty well.’

He might not have existed for all the attention she paid him.

He tapped his chest. ‘I’m Lucas.’ He craned over his shoulder. ‘Lucas.’

Her strange green eyes looked straight through him.

Love, lust and guilt made a curdled brew. Lucas clapped his heels against Aster’s flanks. ‘To hell with you, then.’

Jeers and catcalls greeted his return. Vallon stood planted in his path, his face frozen in rage he wouldn’t express to a mere trooper. Lucas felt a spurt of self-pity at the injustice of it.

‘What was I supposed to do?’ he muttered.

Wulfstan took Aster’s reins. ‘Get aboard.’

Lucas slid off. ‘What about the girl?’

Wulfstan shoved him towards the freighter. ‘Just do what you’re told.’

Gorka met him at the top of the plank, shaking his head at Lucas’s latest transgression. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Oh dear, oh fucking dear. You attract trouble like shit draws flies.’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’

Gorka’s face grew choleric. ‘Not your fault? You’re in the fucking army. It’s always someone’s fault.’ He cuffed Lucas’s back. ‘Now pretend you don’t exist.’

Lucas flung himself down, wrapped his arms around his chest and didn’t stir until the freighter had cast off. Rising on stiffening joints, he saw the mountains receding behind them in a pastel haze, the ships drawn out in line under the oncoming night. Hungry, he joined his squad for supper.

‘Anyone know what happened to the girl?’ he said, trying to make his tone casual.

‘It was awful,’ Gorka said. ‘Vallon executed her. Stealing imperial property’s a capital offence.’

Lucas sprang up. ‘No!’

One of the troopers took pity on him. ‘Gorka’s making sport of you. Vallon and Wayland had a flaming row over her. The general insisted she be left behind and Wayland told him they couldn’t just ditch her on the steppe. They were shouting into each other’s faces right in front of us and I thought for one moment they’d come to blows. Anyway, the Englishman won the argument. The girl’s coming with us until we reach Turkestan and can find a caravan that will take her back to Persia.’

Lucas subsided in relief. ‘Where is she?’

‘On one of the baggage boats.’

‘Those unnatural brutes!’ Lucas glared around. ‘On my first night with them I woke to find one of them snuggling up under my blanket.’

The troopers laughed and slapped their thighs. One of them flicked a tear from his eye. ‘Her maidenhead’s safe. Wayland’s dog is guarding it.’

‘What?’

‘Wayland has set his dog to watch over her. He trained it to protect his children.’

Another trooper shook his head. ‘A hundred men, one girl. That can only lead to one thing.’

Gorka nodded. ‘Well said, Petrocles.’ He aimed a knife in the general direction of Lucas’s throat. ‘I’ll say this once so you’d better listen good. Flirt with the gypsy girl and two soldiers will end up dead – the man stabbed by his rival and the murderer Vallon leaves hanging from some wayside gallows. Believe it. I’ve looked back at more than one trooper whose neck was stretched because he couldn’t wait to dip his wick at the next town for a few baubles.’

Lucas flushed. ‘I only chased her because she stole my horse.’

Gorka kept his knife aimed. ‘I think she stole more than that.’

Aimery deflected the blade. ‘You’ve made your point. It’s been a tiring day and we’ll all feel better after a night’s sleep.’

When Lucas lay down, he looked up at the stars, remembering the feel of the horse between his thighs, the hot wind in his face, the girl’s breasts stirring under her gown, the creamy smoothness of her thighs.

Zuleyka.
 

Gorka elbowed him. ‘Are you dreaming of diddling the gypsy girl?’

‘No, boss.’

Gorka pounced. ‘Why not? Are you a fucking
homo
?’

A hot and thirsty crossing they had of it. Each day at noon the sky curved over them like a brazen shield, the sun a molten boss. Even though they’d filled all their water barrels, supplies dwindled so fast that Vallon imposed rationing on the fourth day.

Dawn on the sixth day found them tacking into a scorching headwind off the Turkestan coast. By mid-morning even Hero could make out its black and naked hills broiling under a urine-coloured sky. The air had an unpleasant sweetish taste that caught in the throat, making the men spit and hawk in defiance of the captain’s warnings that insulting the sea would make it angry. At midday, with the sun hot enough to melt pitch, the lead longship shortened sail half a mile offshore and the convoy hove to.

‘What’s that noise?’ said Vallon.

Hero raised his head, listening. It sounded like water sliding down a distant millrace.

Aiken pointed at a rocky inlet. ‘It’s coming from over there.’

Vallon shaded his eyes and examined the bight. ‘I can’t make out what’s happening.’

Nor could Hero until they rowed close to the channel. Men crossed themselves and exchanged apprehensive glances. The water wasn’t flowing into the sea. Instead, unnatural and terrifying, the sea was pouring into the land.

‘Mother of God,’ a trooper whispered. ‘It’s the throat into hell.’

The captain of the freighter knew what it was and had contrived to make landfall with maximum dramatic effect. ‘
Kara Bogaz
,’ he said. ‘The Black Maw.’

‘What is it?’ Vallon demanded. ‘Where does it lead?’

‘It’s a waterfall flowing the wrong way, descending from sea to land. It runs into a great bay said by the Turkmen to be the child of the Caspian and the Black Sea. Because the Caspian deserted her husband, God decreed that the
Kara Bogaz Gol
would never cut its umbilical cord, and so the Caspian must feed it with water until the end of time.’

‘Steer clear and put us ashore.’

They stepped onto baking rock crawling with insects and scrambled along the shoreline in a haze of stinging flies. From the mouth of the channel Hero saw what had been hidden from the sea. The Caspian slid through a rocky channel only a hundred yards wide and spilled into a huge lagoon ringed by ribbons of salt. Under a glittering sky hurtful to his eyes, Hero could see no end to the bay.

‘I believe I can explain the mystery,’ he said. ‘This bay, being smaller than its progenitor and lying in a more desiccated region, loses water to the sun at a greater rate than the Caspian can supply it. Hence the difference in level.’

‘Aye,’ said the captain. ‘At this time of the year, the drop is no more than six or seven feet. In high summer it’s twice as steep.’

Hero’s gaze hunted over the cauterised landscape without finding any traces of man. No vegetation except spindly shrubs that rattled like bones in the stifling breeze. They seemed to have made landfall on God’s most neglected patch of creation.

‘Where will we find water?’ Vallon asked the captain.

‘I don’t know. Even the nomads shun this coast.’

‘Then why did you land us in this Godforsaken spot?’

‘You demanded that I steer the shortest course.’

‘Where’s the nearest fresh water, damn it?’

The captain quailed under Vallon’s anger. ‘There’s a river about three days to the south, but it’s been many years since its waters reached the sea. You might have to travel far inland before you find a well.’

Vallon squinted through the piss-coloured light. ‘How far does the bay extend?’

‘From hearsay, two days with a following wind.’

‘Will we find water on the other side?’

The captain cringed. ‘General, I’ve never ventured that far. I didn’t choose to make this voyage.’

Vallon muttered something vile and then spoke as if to himself. ‘Only three days’ water left and no certainty that we’ll find fresh supplies whatever direction we take.’ He closed his eyes. Everyone hung on his decision, aware that it might make the difference between life and death.

Vallon clicked his fingers. ‘That Seljuk trooper who advised us on the route through Transoxiana. Yeke. Ask him what we can expect to find.’

Troopers relayed Yeke’s response from ship to ship until it reached Otia’s ears, the intelligence no doubt distorted in transmission. ‘He says we should cross the Black Lake to its utmost shore. From there not many days separate us from a caravan trail supplied by wells.’

Wayland sounded a note of caution. ‘I wouldn’t place too much faith in Yeke’s directions. The Seljuks don’t measure distance the same way we do.’

Vallon’s shoulders relaxed – a sign that he’d reached a decision. ‘Order everyone ashore. Lash the ships together and guard them. Post a screen of archers behind me.’

The Outlanders on the cargo ships and fishing boats disembarked, leaving the rest of Vallon’s force on the longships. Hauk’s drakkar rowed to within hailing distance.

‘Put my men ashore,’ Vallon called.

‘First give us our gold.’

‘Only when you’ve landed my men.’

Hauk waited until the bulk of the Outlanders had withdrawn inland before his ship nosed ashore and allowed most of the hostages off. Then he had his men row a hundred yards out to sea.

‘I said
all
of them,’ Vallon shouted.

‘I’m keeping ten back until I count the gold.’

‘Your greed blinds you to our predicament.’

‘Ours?’

‘Release my men, come ashore and I’ll explain.’

Hero was light-headed from the heat when the last of Vallon’s men waded to land. Hauk and eight bodyguards lounged up, hands on swords.

Vallon indicated the waterfall. ‘I imagine you can take your ships down that.’

‘Can and will aren’t the same thing,’ Hauk said. ‘Deliver you to the eastern shore, you asked. Well, now you’re here and I’ll take my due before bidding you farewell.’

Vallon pointed at Josselin. ‘Send for the gold. All of it.’

‘General…’

‘Just bring it.’

Four men accompanied by Aiken lugged the coffer to the strand. ‘Open it,’ said Vallon.

The Vikings gasped when the lid yawned back, exposing its trove of bullion. Vallon slithered the surface. Hauk made a small gesture to still his companions’ excitement.

Aiken counted out the coins while the Vikings grinned and jostled, licking their lips and nudging each other. Their good humour faded somewhat when they saw that their portion had hardly dented the chest’s contents.

Hauk trickled coins through his hands. ‘If I’d known you were carrying so much treasure, I’d have struck a harder bargain.’

Vallon slammed the lid shut. ‘Take it away. Our account’s settled.’

Hauk watched the troopers bear away the treasure. ‘You’re a man of your word, Vallon. The only favour I ask is sufficient food and water to last us until we reach a source. If you insist, I’ll pay you in your own coin.’

‘There isn’t any.’

Hauk’s brow creased. ‘No food or source?’

‘I have no water to spare and no idea where you’ll be able to fill your casks.’

Hauk quelled his men’s ugly mutters. ‘I observed our agreement to the letter.’

‘So have I. I don’t recall it included any obligation to provide you with water.’

A Viking half-unsheathed his sword and in the same moment the screen of archers behind Vallon bent their bows.

Hauk fanned away a snarling coil of flies. ‘I can carry you off before your men can do a thing.’

‘Don’t be so sure. The Turkish bow is a terrible weapon.’ Vallon lifted a hand and dropped it. Thirty arrows ripped into the sky with the sound of tearing cloth and fell fizzing into the sea beyond the furthest longship. Hauk glanced round to measure the threat before turning a tight smile on Vallon.

‘We’d still hold you prisoner.’

‘A pretty worthless prize. I’m too tough and stringy to tempt slavers. Let me speak candidly of your prospects, Hauk Eiriksson. You’re on a mission to nowhere. The days when a shipload of Varangians could exact tribute from rich coastal settlements are over. Persia and Anatolia are ruled by the Seljuks – a warrior race who’ve fought their way almost up to the walls of Constantinople. Chase booty in the south or west and you’ll meet the same dismal fate as your grandfather.’

Hauk’s gaze travelled down the monotony of grey and dun hills. ‘I’ll shape my own destiny. As for water, I’ll replenish my casks from the other ships once you’ve left.’

‘Wrong. They won’t return until they’ve delivered us to the far side of this stinking stewpot.’

Hauk’s composure deserted him. ‘You’re taking them down the fall?’ He laughed.

Wulfstan puffed up like a bantam cock. ‘Me and the general lowered a fleet down the Dnieper Rapids. You’ve heard of them – the Gulper, the Insatiable, the Sleepless One… Compared to those bastards, this is just a ripple.’

Hauk’s pale eyes flickered between the two men. ‘I smell a proposition.’

‘You’re right,’ Vallon said. ‘I still need your longships. Continue with us to the end of the Black Bay. You’ll share the same rations as my own men, the same dangers.’

Hauk squinted across the bay. ‘Then what? We might not find water over there.’

‘At least we’ll be in the same boat.’

Hauk ran his tongue over his lips. ‘I’ll want more than water in return.’

‘You can’t drink gold.’

‘No, but if we perish, at least I’ll die rich.’

‘Deliver my men to the far side and I’ll pay you the same again.’

‘I won’t do it for less than double.’

‘Then you won’t do it at all. If necessary, I’ll make room by abandoning the pack animals. As you’ve seen, we don’t lack money to pay for fresh mounts.’

The whining of flies filled the silence. A cautious smile crept across Hauk’s face. ‘Double and not a penny less.’

Vallon spun on his heel. ‘Come.’

‘Vallon!’

The general took several more paces before turning. ‘This heat fries my wits and parches my tongue. Unless you have something useful to say, sail away.’

Brushing aside his bodyguards, Hauk approached. The Outlander archers stood only a hundred yards behind the general, their forms wavering in the heat.

‘Half as much gold again and it’s a deal.’

‘My offer was final. Farewell, Hauk Eiriksson.’

‘Vallon!’

With infinite slowness, Vallon faced the Viking. ‘Last chance.’

Hauk crooked his forefinger and brought it down as if he’d like to claw the general’s heart out. ‘Consider yourself lucky.’

‘I take that for a “yes”,’ Vallon said. ‘Good.’

Stranded in Vallon’s wake, Hero saw Hauk’s lips compress in a silent vow to take revenge for this humiliation.

Hero caught up with the general to find him telling the fleet’s masters that their work wasn’t done. They couldn’t return until they’d ferried the Outlanders across the Black Lake.

‘How will we return?’ one of the captains wailed. ‘How will we haul our ships back up to the Caspian?’

‘You should have thought of that before landing us on this infernal griddle.’

A gust of parching wind carried away the captain’s response. A vortex of dust skated past. Hero eased his arid throat.

Wayland appeared at his side. ‘I preferred it when there was only the three of us.’

‘We were more than three,’ Hero said.

‘Yes.’

Despite the intolerable heat, Hero shivered. ‘I always knew that a sliver of ice was lodged in Vallon’s heart, but with every day of our journeying it’s grown until it freezes out all warmer feelings.’

‘Command forces harsh decisions.’

‘I don’t understand why he showed off our wealth to the sea pirates.’

‘He intends to make good our losses by recruiting the Vikings. Having seen how much gold we’re carrying, they won’t need much persuading. Why quarter hostile shores for a few slaves and a scrap of gold when a king’s ransom lies right under their nose?’

‘I’m glad I don’t have to make the decisions,’ Hero said. He took a step, stumbled over a rock and rubbed his eyes. ‘Oh, damn it.’

‘Take my arm,’ Wayland said. ‘The ground is treacherous.’

Vallon left Wulfstan to organise the lowering of the ramshackle convoy down the Black Maw. The freighters’ keels chattered and scraped over ledges before bobbing into slack water. When all the vessels had descended, the Vikings rowed down the rapids with casual aplomb.

Wulfstan tramped up to Vallon. ‘Ready to depart.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve got to hand it to the Vikings. No one handles ships as tidily as a Norseman.’

‘You’re not tempted to change sides,’ Vallon said. It wasn’t a question or a jest.

‘Sir, how could you?’

Vallon wagged a finger. ‘Before our journey is over, some of my most trusted lieutenants will desert me.’

‘Not me,’ Wulfstan said. ‘I’ll follow you into the mouth of hell.’

‘We’re already in it.’

Vallon boarded his ship and signalled for the convoy to get under way. Slowly the ships gathered headway.

With the wind against them, the men heaved to make progress through the lead-coloured waters. Fish sucked in from the Caspian floated dead among pillows of grey scum, seagulls hovering and dipping on pliant wings. Away from the fall, a muffling silence descended. The shore fell away on both sides until the voyagers could only separate sea from land by the band of minerals rimming its shore.

The sea was poisonous. After the cook used brine to make porridge, the men came down with stomach cramps and diarrhoea. One of the wounded Vikings died, and when his comrades cast him overboard he stayed afloat, bobbing in their wake with one arm upheld in a jaunty farewell.

The very air was toxic, bringing men’s flesh out in boils and weeping lesions. When their shifts at the oars ended, the troopers hunched in what little shade they could find, hands crossed over their shoulders, heads wrapped in wet rags. They only showed animation when their water rations came round, greedily swallowing the liquid before sinking back into apathy, measuring out their lives by how much water was left.

On the third day into the crucible, Vallon cut the daily ration by half for man and beast alike. One trooper – a younger man from Thessalonika – snatched a waterskin from the man serving the ration and sucked greedily at the source before guards wrenched it away.