Strategos: Born in the Borderlands

by Gordon Doherty

  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.’

  ‘My actions have spoken for me, sir, every time I have donned the armour and arms of the thema.’ Apion turned to Bracchus, sheathing his sword. ‘If any man thinks less of me for such a trivial aside as living with a peaceful Seljuk family then let them come forward and face me,’ his eyes narrowed on Bracchus, ‘then you will have your measure of blood; but I will not kill Dekarchos Sha.’

  Bracchus’ eyes grew cold and he clicked his fingers. ‘Vadim. Finish them. Finish them both!’

  But before Vadim could step forward, the clatter of hundreds of swords being grappled and partially drawn filled the air. The garrison moved forward, flanking Apion as he helped Sha to his feet. Vadim
hesitated and then looked to Bracchus.

  At that moment, Apion saw a glimmer of fear in the tourmarches’ eyes. It lasted for just an instant, then it transformed into something darker than he had ever seen, even within himself. If Bracchus was to die here at the hands of many, then the entire garrison would be to blame and he knew all too well the punishment the Agentes could exact on those who crossed or harmed one of their own. No, Bracchus would die as planned tonight, on the end of his dagger alone.

  He held his hands up to the men of the garrison and then turned to Bracchus again. ‘The tourmarches is our senior officer. We must respect his word.’ Apion kept his expression firm despite the scowls from some of the men at this. ‘What happened here was an unfortunate misunderstanding.’ He cocked an eyebrow to Bracchus. At last the blackness in the man’s eyes faded and he nodded.

  ‘As you say, soldier. Men, at ease. This is an issue for myself, the dekarchos and this soldier to deal with.’

  The garrison remained braced until Apion turned to them, nodding. With a muted sigh, all half-drawn swords were replaced. He clasped an arm to Sha’s shoulder and then looked to Bracchus. ‘We will accept the harshest punishment associated with our crime of what? Disorder while off-duty?’

  ‘Oh yes, you will,’ Bracchus seethed.

  Apion offered him a humble nod, as the rasping voice echoed in his mind.

  You will take no more lives. And tonight, you whoreson, I will drink your blood.

  ***

  The summer night was balmy and the cricket song was as loud indoors as well as out. From a few bunks away, Procopius groaned some sleepy nonsense-talk about the war against the sheep. Apion shook his head clear of the distraction. His muscles ached from the skirmish and then the aborted death bout during the day, but his mind and his heart were alert and honed on one thing.

  He heard the muttering of the change of guard. It was time.

  He untied the prayer rope and mouthed an oath and then an apology to his parents. For tonight he was to become a cold-blooded murderer. He lifted his dagger, tucked it inside his belt and crept from the sleeping quarters to lurk in the shadow of the main doorway.

  Outside was dark apart from the torch ablaze on the watchtower by the gate. An ordinary evening, like any other. Only tonight, when Bracchus made his way to the officers’ quarters with Vadim, both would have their throats opened. He felt shame as he realised he was grinning at the prospect, welcoming the image of the dark door, flexing his own fingers as he saw the knotted arm reach out for it.

  He watched the guards on the tower until they turned to look out over the fortified town. Then he scuttled across the muster yard to crouch in the shadows of the hay bales by the stables, back pressed against the wall of the storeroom adjoining to the officers’ quarters. When Bracchus walked past, he would spring. All this time, all that pain, all the angst, it would be let tonight like a poisonous cyst. He peered around the corner. Still nothing. He frowned, scanning the muster yard. There were no other guards in the compound. Something didn’t feel right.

  Suddenly, an arm wrapped around his throat and a sharp point pressed into his neck.

  ‘So the hero tries to flee the barracks under cover of night?’

  His vision cleared to reveal Bracchus, stood before him. Vadim held him from behind, grunting in amusement, a ham-like hand clutching at Apion’s throat, the other hand holding a dagger, the tip resting on his jugular.

  ‘Well, not in my realm, you Seljuk loving whoreson; here you pay for your crimes and you pay heavily.’ His words grew into a snarl as he gripped Apion’s hair and wrenched his head back. ‘You tried to humiliate me on my own territory. Shrewd and bold, but, as countless souls would tell you if their throats had not been ripped out, I do not hesitate to stamp out those who displease me. That is not good news for you.’ Bracchus nodded and Vadim wrapped his arm around Apion’s chin.

  Staring at the star-studded night sky, Apion knew it was too late to shout, too late to plead. The knife blade pressed deeper into his jugular and he winced at the hot blood that escaped and trickled down his neck.

  ‘That’s not all; I’ve got two reasons to cut your throat, end your pitiful life,’ Bracchus’ words stung in Apion’s ear. ‘A business friend of mine, a very profitable business friend, old Kyros – used to make me a fortune taking money from the fools riding the highways near Trebizond – went missing some years ago. My men used to collect a cut of his takings every winter, then one time he didn’t show. I sent word round to look out for him, and then I heard he and his mob had been found, slain in the grass by the Piksidis. When I heard this I was distraught; I’d have to do without the old bastard’s money. I put a price on the head of those responsible, but nobody had seen a thing. Last they’d heard he had set out to knock the coins from some fool.’ Bracchus’ glare sharpened. ‘Now, years later, when it is all forgotten, I get word that a farmer has been telling how that day he saw two young boys, one a cripple and the other a Seljuk, fleeing from the valley just before Kyros and his band were found.’

  Apion’s thoughts swirled, then he hardened his expression. ‘I set out to buy information from him, the man tried to kill me. He got what he deserved for that.’

  ‘In turn, I could easily end your life in return for the lost revenue from Kyros.’ Bracchus nodded to Vadim, who pushed the knife blade in further, stinging Apion’s flesh.

  Apion fixed a glare on the tourmarches. How many had been slaughtered and buried by him and his network, all with the emperor’s blessing? If he was to be the next victim, then he had failed. Rage boiled in his veins.

  His muscles contorted and he thrashed backwards, kicking up from the ground. A dull crunch reverberated through the back of his skull and Vadim released his grip with a moan, staggering back, clutching the squashed mass of his nose, cupping the blood that gushed from his nostrils and the fine line where the cartilage had snapped, then the big Rus slumped to his knees.

  Apion’s heart hammered as he stood locked in a glare with Bracchus. Both of them darted glances to the dagger, discarded in the dust. Apion heard a rasping voice scream inside him. Take it. He spotted the glint in Bracchus’ eye and dropped to one knee, snatching the blade, just as Bracchus made to do likewise.

  Turning the blade over in his hand, a gleeful lust raced through Apion. This was the moment. The tourmarches would be found tomorrow, throat cut back to his spine, eyes gouged from his face. Apion shivered with desire for blood.

  ‘Think very carefully about what you do next,’ Bracchus spat, eyes trained on the glinting tip of the dagger. ‘A soldier breaking night curfew? What was he doing? What happened when his superior officers questioned him? He attacked them, tried to kill them?’ Then the tourmarches’ face curled into a grin under his razor of a nose. ‘You’re already covered in evidence, boy.’

  Apion touched a hand to his scalp, warm and wet with Vadim’s blood.

  ‘You’ll die a disgrace, your Seljuk loving head on a spike, no doubt . . . ’ Bracchus said.

  ‘You don’t even know why I’m out here tonight, do you?’ Apion hissed. He heard his next words in his mind before he spoke them. Let me tell you of my murdered parents, while I watch your lifeblood spill at my feet.

  But Bracchus cut in before he could say it. ‘ . . . and I can assure you that they will die for this.’

  Apion’s frown fell, the mist in his thoughts parted. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Your dirty Seljuk farmer and his whore of a daughter.’ Bracchus pushed up against the blade, the point resting by his heart. Apion’s mind raged with the fires from behind the dark door and his fingers curled tight around the blade’s handle. Vengeance was within a dagger’s length. ‘Spill a drop of my blood and they will die on my order, an order that is already with my men across the thema.’

  Apion flinched as Vadim also stood tall again, wiping his nose with the back of a shovel-like hand, drawing his spathion.

  ‘You heard him,’ Vadim growled, ‘drop the blade or your family wi
ll be a pile of blood and bone . . . after we’ve all had a shot of the girl, of course.’

  A thousand voices screamed inside Apion’s mind. His chest heaved, spit jumped from his gritted teeth and his muscles seemed to be harder than iron, the blood raging through them.

  ‘My colleagues in and around Trebizond, they know who you are now, and I have an understanding with them,’ Bracchus said. ‘All they are waiting on is for my word. I just wanted us to have this little discussion before deciding whether to give that word or not. So if you somehow use that toothpick to kill both of us,’ Vadim grumbled in laughter at this, ‘then your family will be food for the vultures within a handful of days.’

  ‘You whoreson!’ Apion spat.

  ‘Well, my reputation rides on these qualities.’

  Bracchus was back in his element and Apion fell to his knees, the dagger sliding from his wrist. Mansur, Maria, what had he brought upon them? Like a pestilence, these murderous dogs had followed him from the corpses of Mother and Father to his new family. No, you have followed them, the rasping voice countered.