Strategos: Born in the Borderlands (32 page)

Then a spear snapped and a handful of Seljuk infantry tumbled through the gap. The next spear began to bend and the Seljuk cavalry were pushing to come through as well. Apion’s eyes narrowed and he roared to the two villagers by the pig pen. ‘Let them out!’

The two stepped away from the pen gate and at once the pigs burst free, some thirty animals, racing as a pack, snorting, squealing, trotters sliding over one another.

‘The gate!’ Apion roared. ‘Herd them to the gate!’

The villagers had already taken care of it, a woman and a small girl brought crackling torches to them. The two men then each took to jostling a side of the herd, thrashing a torch at any animal that tried to make a break and head back towards the centre of the village. The animals’ terror seemed to swell at this and they raced, splitting through the skutatoi, through the spear wall and in between the legs of the Seljuk horses. The mounts whinnied, rose on their hind legs, bucked and leapt at this and the riders were hurled from their saddles, falling on their heads, snapping bones or being pierced on the spear wall.

The skutatoi roared at this, then pushed to close the gap on the sprawling mass of Seljuks. As Apion joined the swell, he could see the ghazi commander beat his sword into his shield, rallying his riders as the pigs fled off across the plateau. The Seljuks were wavering, their number halved, but their leader was rallying them. Apion was overcome by a now familiar certainty: he had to live through this while Bracchus still walked the earth. He hoisted himself onto a riderless ghazi stallion, then heeled the beast to turn. He held out his scimitar and galloped for the ghazi commander. He wondered at the guttural and alien roar that burst from his lungs and saw everything ahead with a tinge of crimson, the dark door open, flames licking out. He mustered all his strength as he swiped his sword down onto the commander’s shield. For a moment, their eyes locked, wide, whites bulging. It was him, Bey Soundaq, from the pass.

Soundaq butted his shield out. Apion pulled back and then swiped with his blade, shattering the man’s shield, then again, this time the two scimitars clashing with a rasp of iron. He drove the man back from the gates with each hack. He barely noticed the rumble of hooves as the other ghazis fled, leaving only Soundaq. With another strike, the Seljuk’s scimitar snapped and he backed up, hands aloft as Apion’s blade hovered at his throat.

‘Gut ‘
im
,’ one toxotes called. Apion blinked, looking round at the blood-spattered remnant of the Byzantines. All eyes were upon him. His heart warmed to see Sha, Nepos, Blastares and Procopius standing. Then he heard the familiar wail of the buccina from below the edge of the mountaintop plateau, the reason for the sudden Seljuk retreat.

‘Riders, ours! Not a moment too soon!’ One of the skutatoi yelled.

He turned to Soundaq. ‘If your men had not fled just now, I would already have this blade in your throat. Yet the last time we met, you said you had seen enough blood?’

‘That was then. Since that day I returned to my village, on the edge of the Colonea Thema. I found my village in ruin, burned by Byzantine torches, my family slain.’

Apion felt the fury inside him temper.

‘So you’ve got your victory, Byzantine,’ Soundaq grimaced, ‘now end it with my blood.’ He tilted his neck to the point of the blade.

Apion lowered his sword. ‘Ride,’ he pointed to the opposite mountain path where the rest of the Seljuk party had fled, ‘and ride fast.’

Soundaq’s eyes widened a little; he nodded and made to ride off, but turned back. ‘I say again what I said to you that day: Byzantium’s time is over.’ With that, he heeled his mount and galloped off.

Apion spun round at the sound of a stretching bowstring, his eyes falling on an opportunistic toxotes. ‘Loose that arrow and you’ll be sorry!’ The toxotes glared at him momentarily, hesitating, then dropped his gaze to the ground and relaxed his bow.

Nepos wandered over, tucking his sword away. ‘A fine act, Apion. He was the ghazi from the pass, no?’

Apion looked down at the Slav and relaxed the tense scowl on his face. ‘He was dead. I was ready to tear his heart from his chest until I realised it was him.’

Nepos frowned, then took a deep breath. ‘It’s over, Apion.’

Yet Apion knew it was only the beginning, and he shivered at what the coming war might summon from within him. He made to touch the prayer rope, seeking calm, then frowned again at the etching of the
Haga
on his skin. Did God truly hold sway over the fates of men or was it a much darker force? Then the words of the old lady from the river echoed in his mind.

You may not see it now, but you will choose a path. A path that leads to conflict and pain. Much pain.

***

The commotion was widespread as they marched back into Argyroupolis. Townsfolk wore panicked expressions and clamoured around the barracks. They had all heard the bell peal from the mountaintop village and knew exactly what it meant. When Apion and the beleaguered column had staggered through the gates, bloodied, weary and depleted, murmurs of concern grew into a panicked babble.

‘We’ve got worse to come,’ Sha spoke in a hushed voice as they entered the barracks, the iron gates clanging shut behind them.

Apion looked up; Bracchus stood in the centre of the courtyard, flanked by Vadim and his cluster of towering bodyguards. The rest of the garrison were formed up into a depleted bandon, holding their fluttering crimson Chi-Rho banner in silence. They looked tense.

‘They’re readying for an attack on the town?’ Apion assumed.

‘I don’t think so,’ Sha growled. ‘Look!’

Apion followed the African’s gaze; a circle had been demarcated in the dust in the centre of the muster yard. Bracchus’ glare turned on Apion.

‘A death bout? Now? Is the man insane?’ Blastares growled, pushing forward.

‘Blastares, no!’ Sha pushed a hand over the big man’s chest to halt him. ‘Challenging him results in only one thing. Remember what happened to Basil?’

‘I remember,’ Procopius cut in, ‘but who is it this time?’ The old soldier bundled forward, peering across the ranks.

Apion felt an odd chill: usually two men would be stood by the edge of the circle at this point, ready to fight. This time there was nobody, just two piles containing a helmet, sword and a shield each.

‘Dekarchos, report!’ Vadim barked.

Sha stopped before the big Rus and the tourmarches
.
He fired that distant but intense stare off over Bracchus’ shoulder. ‘Ghazi riders, sir, they made an attempt to take Bizye. Not just raiding either, sir, they had a division of spearmen with them too.’

Bracchus’ expression was both gleeful and enraged at once, a manic grin under his blade of a nose, lips twitching in unrest. ‘Raiders. Dealt with now?’

‘Yes, sir, but . . . ’

‘As I would expect.’ Bracchus flexed his fingers inside the studded gloves and punched one fist into his palm. ‘What I would not expect,’ he boomed, all those formed up behind him silent, ‘is for my garrison,
my
garrison, to be roaming the mountains, engaged in idle gambling? Neglect of your duty while the enemy hovers nearby . . . it does not sound good at all, does it?’ He dragged a finger across the line of battered and bruised survivors of the skirmish.

‘We were off-duty, sir. No rules were broken.’

‘Oh, I’ll be the judge of that,’ Bracchus hissed. ‘You are
my
subjects, you are
my
army!’

Apion tasted fury on his lips. His fists balled and he realised he was shaking.

‘Easy, lad,’ Nepos whispered. ‘He’s looking for an excuse.’

‘So let’s gamble on the outcome of the next contest . . .’

Procopius’s shoulders sunk, ‘Oh, shit!’

‘. . . where the neglectful dekarchos will show his skill with the sword against another.’ Bracchus dragged his glare across the party, then lifted a finger and stabbed it at Apion. ‘Come forth.’

‘Never,’ Blastares grappled for his sword.

Apion clasped a hand over the hilt before he could draw it from its sheath. ‘No, Blastares.’ With that, he stepped forward, drew his scimitar and staked it in the circle, then stooped at one of the piles of armour to hoist the kite shield and place the helmet on. Sha followed suit, then turned to him, spathion in hand. Apion saw a mix of fear and resignation in the African’s eyes. He nodded to him, holding his gaze. ‘Don’t hold back, sir,’ he said, sincerely.

Bracchus, grinning, waved the gathered garrison around the circle. When formed, he raised a hand and then dropped it. ‘To the death!’

The pair sidestepped around the circle in a silence only broken by the scuffing of their feet in the dust. Apion felt nauseous at the reality of this and tried to see Mansur before him, imagining this as a friendly duel. His mind steadied, he tried to measure his next move: to fight Sha or to lunge for the tourmarches. Every time he circled past Bracchus, he noticed the veins in his jugular, so close.

Vadim and Bracchus’ men began to grumble and heckle at their hesitancy. ‘Perhaps one of my men will be less coy about ending one of your lives?’ Bracchus mused. One of the giant bodyguards stepped forward, drawing his spathion, the rest forming a wall around Bracchus
.

The chance was gone and Apion knew straight away that the big guard would be ruthless. He had only one choice. He read Sha’s next footstep and lunged, bringing his sword smashing down on the dekarchos’ skutum. Sha roared and pushed back with the boss of his shield, then smashed his sword down at Apion, who dodged just beyond the blade. A pained frustration was etched across Sha’s face, enraged and apologetic all at once. At the edge of the circle, Blastares, Procopius and Nepos winced as they looked on. Apion saw the three of them eyeing Bracchus’ bodyguards. He parried a blow from Sha then spun to shake his head briskly at them.

Apion pushed forward again, shield on shield with Sha, the pair swinging their swords at each other’s flanks, then both leapt back with a roar. Apion’s tunic was split over his ribs and the underlying wound gushed red. Sha’s garment had lost a handful of armoured plates from the back, the skin underneath pumping blood.

‘At last, some action!’ Bracchus roared. ‘This, men, is what I want from all of you. Undying commitment and devotion to your tourmarches
.
’

Face etched with desperation, Sha rushed for him again, and Apion had but an instant to react; if he had still been wearing his brace he would have been dead already. He swiped his shield up and threw himself to his right at the same time, leaving one leg trailing. The shield caught Sha’s sword and dulled the African’s blow, the dekarchos then tripped over Apion’s leg, thudding to the dust.

In a flash, Apion was up and had his scimitar at Sha’s throat. The African gulped, eyes wide in realisation, then dropped his weapon.

‘Unexpected,’ Bracchus spoke in a curious tone.

‘Finish him!’ The guards jeered.

The rest of the garrison stood still and silent. Apion looked up to them, catching the eyes of each one on the front row. ‘This man fought like a lion today, saved the lives of hundreds in Bizye, some maybe even your kin?’

‘My mother lives in the village,’ one soldier said, bunching his way forward.

‘So you want me to push my sword through this man’s throat?’ Apion asked.

‘Of course not,’ the soldier replied.

‘So the cripple boy has become a man?’ Bracchus spat. ‘The boy who carries a Seljuk sword. Lives with a Seljuk family.’ Some in the crowd broke into a murmur at this. ‘That’s right,
the
Haga
speaks the Seljuk tongue because he is one, in all but blood.’