‘Mansur came to me that night, his mind in pieces. He never spoke of his part in the events of the night. Yet, when he fell into a troubled, exhausted sleep, I lifted his scimitar from its sheath . . .’
Nasir’s eyes widened.
‘ . . . the blade was clean, Nasir.’
‘Then he took no part?’
‘He was there, Nasir. Whether or not he took part in the butchering of Apion’s family is secondary.’
‘But Mansur tried to do the right thing, to make amends – that’s why he brought Apion back to the farm, isn’t it? Yet it all came back on the old man like a blade,’ Nasir snarled, ‘the Byzantine people are poison!’
‘Nasir, it was not the Byzantines who started this. It is simply the way of man. Just as the healer lady said when she brought Maria to us. Man will destroy man.’
‘No, our people are different.’
Kutalmish’s head fell to his chest. ‘That is what Mansur said, all those years ago, on the night he lost his wife.’
Nasir’s eyes burned. ‘The difference is that I will not yield! I will fight these people until their empire is no more!’
22. The Wrath of the Haga
Inside the officers’ quarters in Argyroupolis, Bracchus and the bearded, cloaked man glared at one another in the guttering candlelight. The imperial agente had rode from the west, escorted by fifty tagma-quality kataphractoi, breezed into the town then beckoned Bracchus and dismissed the guards and the strategos with a flash of the imperial seal on his papers. Once they were alone, the man’s message had riled Bracchus to the core. You are to go east, far to the east, the agente had purred.
‘You effectively want me to walk into the Sultan’s heartland, into the lion’s jaws?’ Bracchus reiterated, stifling a gasp of derision.
‘The emperor wills it, Agente Bracchus. He granted you your power and so you must obey him.’
Bracchus struggled to suppress his rage. Here he stood, on the cusp of ultimate power, already the master agente of the eastern borders, and one step from becoming a strategos. Yet this man sought to take it from him. His chest tightened as he remembered the last time anyone had taken from him, his mother’s words echoing in his mind. Before he realised it, he had already clasped a hand to the hilt of the dagger strapped to his thigh. ‘I am only too well aware of my duty to the emperor,’ he hissed, eyeing the man’s jugular, within easy swiping distance.’
‘Then be aware that he can take your power from you, as fast as . . . the swipe of a dagger.’
Bracchus’ hand froze as he noticed the agente’s eyes on the movement of his arm. The man spoke a bitter truth: the emperor could turn every agente against Bracchus on a whim. He gulped back the impotent fury he felt. Only when the emperor was at his mercy would he be truly untouchable. Perhaps, he mused, he should play this game. ‘Very well,’ he spoke evenly. ‘If this mission is so crucial then perhaps the emperor will take requests for certain things that will aid my future service when I return.’
‘Naturally,’ the agente replied.
‘Good. I choose my men for this mission; I take as much coin as I feel necessary.’
The agente nodded.
‘And see to it that I return to a post of strategos.’ The agente frowned at this, but Bracchus cut in before he could continue. ‘One other thing, very important.’ He leaned forward, his grin spreading in the candlelight. ‘I want impunity. Total impunity. Right to the top.’
The agente nodded uneasily. ‘It can be arranged. You will be gone from the empire for some time, Bracchus. Years in all likelihood. When you come back,’ he broke into a cold grin, ‘if you come back, you will be furnished with these things.’
Bracchus grinned and nodded. ‘Then we leave before the sun has fully risen, as planned. I will evaporate into the eastern sands.’
***
Cydones stood beside the skutatos on the gate tower, watching the column of fifty heading away from Argyroupolis, headed east. His heart lifted at the sight and he knew the feeling was mutual among the ranks. The tourmarches Bracchus was a pox on the garrison no longer. He thought over the conversation he had overheard, concealed in the storeroom adjacent, then smiled: the imperial agente could bend the thema to his will no more. He looked skyward and wondered at the piety in praying for Bracchus to be exposed and executed in the Seljuk court. Then he started as the skutatos beside him grappled the edge of the watchtower.
‘Lone rider approaching from the west,’ the man shouted, peering at the figure, pale orange in the dawn light. ‘Ah, all is well, he is one of ours.’
Then Cydones broke into a wide grin. ‘He certainly is. Look, the black plumage . . . it’s the Haga!’
***
The gates swung open before Apion. The men cheered him as he entered, then their voices fell silent at the sight of the bloodstains coating his face and armour as the Thessallian galloped past. The six giant riders Bracchus had despatched to ambush him at the edge of the mountains had been fierce fighters, but their strength could not overcome his fury as he hacked them down, face stony, eyes staring.
He heeled his mount on through the town at a gallop. The place was just coming to life but everything around him was a blur of noise and colour. His eyes were focused on the barrack compound. He slowed at the iron gates, he and his mount panting, and roared up to the east-gazing skutatos in the watchtower. ‘Open the gates!’
The skutatos spun round and called down to the men in the compound. The gates opened with a weary iron moan and Apion slid from him mount, striding across the muster square towards the officers’ quarters.
‘Can’t keep away, can you?’ A familiar voice called.
Apion spun to see Sha, whose face fell at the sight of his friend’s bloodied features and burning glare.
‘Apion . . . what happened?’
‘Where is he?’ Apion growled. When Sha hesitated Apion grappled the collar of his tunic and snarled, blood dripping from his beard. ‘Bracchus, where is he?’
Sha’s brow wrinkled. ‘You haven’t heard? He’s gone, Apion, you don’t need to worry about him anymore.’
Apion pushed back from Sha and snarled. ‘Gone?’
‘It is true, he is headed east and will be gone for years,’ Cydones cut in, descending the staircase from the town walls.
Apion spun to face the strategos. ‘How long ago did he leave?’
‘Not long, just after daybreak.’ Cydones halted as he saw the gruesome apparition that was his new tourmarches. ‘Apion, what is wrong?’
Apion looked to him. ‘He had them killed. Mansur, Maria. They’re dead. Nepos too.’
Cydones’ eyes fell to the ground, searching, then he glanced back up. ‘Old Mansur? Who killed them? And Nepos, he deserted did he not?’
Apion shook his head. ‘No, no! It’s Bracchus, sir. He is an agente. He has engineered all of this.’
Cydones shoulders sagged and he sighed, a tinge of redness touching the rims of his eyes. ‘I knew of his imperial connections, but this? This makes him a darker soul than I ever realised.’
‘Sir,’ Apion croaked, the whites of his eyes stark against the congealing blood caking his features, ‘where is he headed?’
‘East,’ the strategos replied.
He affixed the strategos with a firm look, then hauled himself onto the saddle. ‘Then I must ride, sir.’
Cydones nodded. ‘Yes. Ride fast, Apion.’
***
Bracchus gripped the reins of his mount, squinted into the rising sun and wondered at the indignity of it all. He, the puppet master for so long, had been mastered by the emperor. Or more likely the agentes based in Constantinople who had the bend of the emperor’s ear, he mused wryly. Still, all options were open. He could follow his mission objectives to the letter and then he would return to the empire to a position where nobody would have power over him. Or he could infiltrate the Seljuk palace as ordered, and then negotiate with the Sultan. The power was still in his hands, he smirked.
‘Sir, messeng
er approaching,’ Vadim said, twisting in his saddle, squinting over his shoulder.
Bracchus raised a hand and the column of thirty – Vadim, six of his finest skutatoi bodyguards, squires and slaves. – stopped. Bracchus twisted in his saddle. ‘This messenger wears armour?’ He muttered. Then he noticed the rider wore a crimson cloak and black-plumed helmet, amber locks billowing from under the aventail in his slipstream and his features and garb were spattered in crimson. His eyes narrowed and he clicked his fingers and nodded to the two nearest bodyguards. The column turned to face the approaching rider and the two bodyguards moved to stand in front of Bracchus.
When the rider did not slow, Bracchus’ eyes widened. When the rider ripped his scimitar from its sheath and roared, Bracchus felt a long-buried sensation. Terror.
***
Apion gathered all his might and smashed the blade down on the first bodyguard, the giant of a man spinning on the spot, his helmet falling to the ground in two pieces, skull cleaved. The second bodyguard stumbled back in fright as his colleague’s body crumpled to the dust and Apion thundered away then circled back around and came charging for the column again.
‘Protect your superior!’ Bracchus roared, kicking a boot into the bodyguard’s back. At this, the rest of the bodyguards drew their spathions and rippled into a line across the mounted figures of Bracchus and Vadim.
Apion hared directly for the centre of the line then at the last moment he swerved, swooping past the end of the line and beheading the man at the edge. He galloped on and up the mountain edge before racing back. The four remaining skutatoi moved round to form a line in front of Bracchus, but this time their eyes betrayed panic. Then Apion sheathed his scimitar and pulled a bow from his back. Riding at full pelt for the centre of the line, he nocked an arrow to the bowstring, stretched and loosed it, the missile punching through the face of the bodyguard directly in front of Bracchus, who flinched at the spray of blood. Then he loosed another arrow that caught the next bodyguard in the throat.
‘Take him down!’ Bracchus roared to his two remaining men and Vadim.
‘With pleasure, sir,’ Vadim growled and heeled his mount into a gallop after Apion, the two bodyguards stalking out to the flanks.
Apion saw the three only as dull shapes. Only one being existed in the world right now and that was Bracchus. Vadim’s sword came smashing down at him as the big Rus tried to intercept, but Apion swiped his scimitar blade to parry, then smashed the hilt of the sword into Vadim’s face. As the big Rus toppled from his mount, moaning, Apion lay flat in his saddle and heeled his mount into a charge for the unprotected Bracchus, who was grappling for his sword, eyes wide in panic. He raised his scimitar, then closed his eyes, seeking out the faces of Mother, Father, Mansur and Maria. Then he tensed his shoulder to stab through Bracchus’ chest when suddenly a white-hot pain streaked through his leg and his world was turned upside down in a thrashing of hooves and pained whinnying.
He scrambled back from the Thessallian; the beast was writhing on the ground, chest punctured by a rhiptarion thrown by one of the bodyguards. The spear had also ripped into Apion’s thigh, tearing across the old scar. He heard Bracchus roar with delight, then he felt the ground shake from thunderous footsteps. He looked up just in time to see Vadim’s double-headed axe arcing down on him. He scrambled away just as the hefty blade split a rock where he had lay. Then he pulled round to face the big Rus, feeling his weight push down on the thigh-wound, urging him to crumple to one knee. The other two bodyguards completed a circle around him.
‘Now finish him, just like his Seljuk whore and her father!’ Bracchus’ face was pinched in malice.
Apion sought out hidden reserves of energy to spin at the flurry of sword thrusts and axe swipes, enough time only to defend, no time to strike out. Vadim’s axe blade ripped across his neck and for an instant he feared it was all over, hot blood washing down his chest, but it was not arterial and his strength stayed with him at first, but his limbs began to tire and each parry became weaker, slower as his blood drained into the ground.
Panting, he saw what looked like a dust cloud approaching from Argyroupolis, then he braced as Vadim’s face curled into a grin and the big Rus lurched for a death blow, hoisting his axe two-handed. Apion ducked back and let his foe’s momentum carry him past, the blow falling to the dust, then he saw the glimmer of opportunity; before Vadim could turn to face him again, Apion wrapped his scimitar blade around the Rus’s neck and ripped it back. Vadim spun to face him, snarling, but the lifeblood was already flooding from the gaping wound, soaking the dust. His face greyed and his expression changed to one of confusion, and then he crumpled to his knees. The axe toppled to the ground first, then Vadim fell forward and was still.
The two remaining bodyguards looked less certain now as Apion faced them, emerald eyes searing under his frown. He lurched for the first and hacked down on his shoulder, the man falling in a fit of convulsions, then spun to chop into the second’s neck but he hesitated as this man dropped his sword, hands raised. The scimitar blade hovered at his neck. Apion saw terror in the man’s eyes, a twinge of pity formed in his heart. Then he remembered the catalogue of atrocities he had been involved in as Bracchus’ bodyguard. In one swipe he beheaded the man.
Panting, he turned to Bracchus. He saw the image of Mansur’s body, Maria’s bloodied dress, Father and Mother’s butchered corpses. He lifted his scimitar and pointed it at the mounted figure.
He did not notice the hundreds who emerged from the approaching dust cloud: members of the garrison, who quickly formed a circle around the confrontation, Sha marshalling them. Then there was one figure on horseback. Cydones.
Bracchus looked to them all and then to the strategos. ‘This man has murdered my bodyguards and now he turns his blade on me. Arrest him!’
The watching garrison shuffled but nobody spoke.
‘I said arrest him!’ Bracchus’ words were hoarse.
Cydones held Bracchus’ stare, then quietly heeled his mount round into a gentle trot back towards Argyroupolis. Bracchus’ eyes bulged. The squires and slaves of Bracchus’ column melted through the circle and followed the strategos.
‘A death bout seems fitting?’ Apion said, his chest shuddering.
‘You have no idea, do you, boy?’ Bracchus heeled his steed into a gentle trot, circling Apion. ‘I answer to nobody and nobody defies me. My blood is sacred. You could not comprehend what suffering I could bring upon you if you were to spill a drop of it.’
Apion’s glare was unblinking. ‘You can bring no more suffering on me, Bracchus. Everything I have is gone and now I live only to see your heart torn from your chest.’
Bracchus grimaced, darting glances to the watching garrison. To a man they stared back stonily. He shook his head and laughed. ‘All for the lives of the Seljuk whore and her father? How many Seljuks did you slay in the field, Haga? How many have lost fathers, sons, husbands because of you.’ Bracchus leaned forward and spat: ‘You are everything you hate about me.’
Apion gritted his teeth, his whole body shaking as he turned, his eyes fixed on the master agente as he circled. ‘Never!’
‘You brought it upon them.’ Bracchus continued. ‘I gave you an order, a simple one, and you chose not to obey it. You made that choice. Your Slav died along with them . . . all your doing.’
The words stung Apion. He remembered Nasir’s diatribe to the same effect. Then he shook the thought from his head and fixed Bracchus with a fiery glare. ‘And my parents? Did I choose for them to die on your blade?’ The words felt like a fire in his throat.
Bracchus frowned. ‘Your parents?’
‘You’ve never worked it out, have you?’ Apion snarled. ‘You remember the boy who cut the finger from your hand?’
Bracchus stopped circling, his face falling. ‘You . . . you!’ His eyes searched the dust for a moment. ‘Of course . . . ’ he muttered. Then he looked up again, a terrible grin creeping across his features. ‘Then it is you who has never worked it
out, boy.’
Apion snorted. ‘Speak, before you die.’
‘Did you never wonder why your beloved Mansur took you under his wing? Fed, clothed and cared for you?’
‘He did it because he was a good man. That is why you will die for his murder.’
Bracchus shook his head. ‘He did it because he could not live with his guilt! A weak man to his core! He did it because he was there that night, he was there when your parents paid the price for borrowing from me more than they could repay.’
Apion’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins. The other men with the agente that night. They were Seljuk. They were masked. No, he pleaded in his mind. ‘Never!’ He roared. ‘Mansur would never do that. He would never be part of your dealings in any case.’
Strategos: Born in the Borderlands Page 37