Imperial Fire

by Lyndon, Robert

  ‘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.

  ‘A flogging for that man when we reach land,’ Vallon said.

  That provoked hollow laughter. What land? They would all be dead of thirst within two days.

  But next day around noon a trooper called out to his companions. ‘Hey, lads, take a look at this.’

  The men hauled themselves to their feet and rubbed their eyes to better witness their salvation.

  ‘Jesus,’ a voice said in the awed tones of someone witnessing the Second Coming.

  Dead ahead a rusty pall slanted across the sky, thunderheads roiling above it like monstrous fungi. Jagged daggers of lightning stabbed between the cloud mountains and thunder crackled. Down at sea level, the world sank into dusk.

  Vallon stood at the bow. ‘It looks like the storm will break above us. Be ready to collect the rain.’

  The men scrambled to rig up sailcloth containers and waited, mouths moving in supplication. A flash of lightning seared their eyes and thunder loud enough to rattle their brainpans followed. Darkness blotted out all but the nearest ships. Blue flames fizzled along the rigging. At the third thunderclap, hot brown raindrops as fat as grapes splattered on the deck. And then the heavens discharged their burden in one swoop, the deluge so intense that it was an effort to breathe. The men ran about to collect the rain, spilling more than they decanted. It didn’t matter. The downpour was so heavy that they filled the casks within minutes. The men stripped off their salt-stiffened clothes and cavorted on the spray-stung deck before standing naked with faces uplifted, eyes closed against the drubbing rain.

  The storm passed and the clouds shredded like rotten shrouds and the sun broke through, etching the contours of a coast against a sky purged of dust. They had no way of knowing that more rain had fallen in the last half hour than would fall for the rest of the year.

  They surged onto the foredeck, craning to see what awaited them.

  Wayland brushed back his damp hair. ‘Kara Kum,’ he said. ‘The Black Desert.’

  Vallon heard him. ‘I can see fresh green growth. The storm has brought the desert to life and saved our own.’

  Seeing the glitter in Vallon’s eyes, Hero wondered if mania had gripped the general. ‘We were lucky. If it hadn’t been for the storm, we would all have perished from thirst.’

  Vallon lolled against the bow, his hair plastered about his face. ‘I don’t leave everything to fortune. We still have four days’ water hidden away.’

  ‘You denied your men even though we have supplies?’

  Vallon laughed. ‘A soldier always keeps a reserve. Remember?’

  Hero did and was transported back to a freezing February night in England when Vallon had handed over the last of his rations and gone hungry himself.

  ‘Wayland says you hope to recruit the Vikings.’

  ‘Turkmen make up more than a quarter of my squadron. Like the other Outlanders, they’re beginning to dread the journey. Unlike the Christians, they’ll be on familiar territory once we land. I expect many to desert.’

  ‘You can’t employ pirates.’

  ‘Nature will blunt their avarice. They’ve already learned that gold is a poor substitute for food and water.’ Vallon shoved up from the gunwale. ‘Your eyes look sore.’

  ‘They’re much soothed by the rain,’ Hero said. That much was true, but the mist over his right eye had thickened to the extent that it created a permanent fog.

  ‘Good,’ said Vallon. ‘These last few weeks I haven’t seen as much of you as I would have liked. Don’t let distance come between us.’

  XXI

  Evening had fallen before the Outlanders disembarked, leaving the animals and stores to be unloaded in daylight. Vallon paid off Hauk and the Viking returned to their ships moored half a mile down the coast. During the night the sounds of a fierce argument carried from the Norsemen’s camp. At dawn both longships still rode at anchor. By then Vallon had despatched Yeke and two other Turkmen to scout for water and a trail.

  If it hadn’t been for the storm, the country they’d landed on would have been as malignant as the coast around the Black Maw. It looked like a sea bed heaved high and dry – a scabrous waste of salt pans and bald domes of sun-shattered sediments gouged by gulleys that ran out into drains and sinkholes. But the cloudburst had germinated long-dormant seeds and water still lay in pockets and hollows. Once the squadron had unloaded the ships, they set to work digging pits lined with tarred sailcloth.

  Vallon settled up with the Tarki shipmasters and provided them with more than eno
ugh water for the return voyage. The skippers reacted to the money as if they’d been paid in turds.

  ‘What use is gold to us?’ one said. ‘We don’t have enough men to haul the freighters up the Black Maw.’

  ‘You’ll find strength in desperation, and if that isn’t enough, you can drag one of the fishing boats up the rapids. It will be large enough to carry you back across the Caspian.’ Vallon dismissed the shipmasters with a curt farewell. ‘You’ll be back with your families in a fortnight, while we’ll be lucky to see our loved ones again. I hope that when you’re back at your hearths you find room for us in your prayers.’

  The squadron left off their labours to watch the little fleet sail away, and there wasn’t a man among them who didn’t suffer a clutch of dread at seeing their last line of retreat severed. Glancing down the coast at the Viking camp, they envied the Norsemen with their longships and voiced their discontent until officers ordered them to hold their tongues and get on with their work.

  After supper Vallon called a conference attended by his centurions and Hero. The officers lost no time in relaying the troopers’ anxieties and adding their own.

  ‘The ground’s drying by the hour,’ said Josselin. ‘We can carry only enough water for two or three days. If we don’t find wells inland…’

  Vallon sat behind his camp table. ‘I trust the scouts will return with positive news.’

  ‘Your optimism might be misplaced,’ Otia said. ‘It was a mistake to release the ships before establishing what lies ahead.’

  Vallon fiddled with a quill pen. ‘We have no more need of ships. Our path lies east, so stop looking back.’

  The centurions traded glances, neither wishing to be first to speak his mind.

  Vallon eased back. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘You have an alternative plan.’

  Josselin’s voice was tight. ‘I agree we can’t return to Constantinople.’

  ‘So where?’

  Josselin stared over Vallon’s head. ‘We have enough men and gold to found a colony. Once we’ve established a settlement, we can send for our families.’

  Vallon was neither surprised nor angry. He tapped on the table with the quill. ‘And where do you intend to found this colony?’

  ‘There’s rich land in the Volga delta.’

  Vallon threw down his pen. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. We’re not living in the days of Homer. Every scrap of fertile land between here and the Bosporus has been claimed and ploughed for scores of generations, as the Vikings discovered to their cost.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I trust you haven’t dangled this crack-brained idea in front of the men. If you have…’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Otia. ‘But you know as well as I do that they’ve lost all relish for the journey.’

  Vallon placed both hands on the table. ‘Now listen. In a month we’ll reach the Silk Road – the greatest trade route in the word, blessed with rich cities and caravanserais all the way to China. There’ll be wine and whores for the men at every stop.’

  ‘As for that claim,’ said Josselin, ‘you have only the word of a scholar who construes the world from squiggles on parchment.’

  ‘If you’re referring to Hero,’ Vallon said, ‘know that he spent weeks consulting the best geographers and the most reliable maps. That isn’t all. As a youth he was employed by Cosmas Monopthalmos, a great traveller who explored the Silk Road as far as Samarkand. Unlike us, Cosmas followed the road there and back alone and unarmed.’ Vallon’s voice rose. ‘I’ve always encouraged my officers to speak freely, but I won’t tolerate you inventing perils like a pair of timid —’ His head snapped up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ his servant said. ‘The Viking commander requests an audience.’

  Vallon stood. ‘Admit him.’ He noticed his centurions’ grimaces. ‘We’ll continue our discussion later. Hero, I’d like you to stay.’

  The two officers brushed past Hauk as he entered and he turned to watch them depart. ‘Your officers don’t look happy.’

  ‘Take a seat,’ Vallon said. He nodded at his servant. ‘Bring us wine.’

  Hauk perched on a folding stool and examined the interior of Vallon’s tent. When the servant poured the wine, neither commander would drink before the other. It was Vallon who spoke first.

  ‘You gauge my officers’ mood correctly. Neither they nor my men have any more appetite for this adventure.’

  Hauk sipped. ‘Nor mine. You probably heard them last night. Half of them are for returning home.’

  Vallon raised his beaker. ‘And given the chance, half of mine would go with them.’

  ‘But you intend to drive them on.’

  Vallon drank. ‘If I reach China and establish amicable relations with its ruler, I’ll return home to riches and titles. If I fail, but die in the attempting… well, at least my honour will remain unsullied and my family will receive a pension. But if I turn back simply because of fears and rumours, I’ll be vilified and my family ruined.’ Vallon drained his beaker and held it out for a refill. ‘What about you?’

  Hauk smiled into his cup. ‘Wealth wastes, fortune turns, we ourselves must die. Only one thing lives on – the dead man’s reputation.’ He emptied his drink in one and wiped his lips. ‘Still, there’s no merit in making a name by throwing your life away on a hopeless quest.’ Hauk nodded in Hero’s direction. ‘This learned fellow told me a little about the journey. I confess that until we met, I’d never heard of China. What are your chances of reaching it?’

  ‘Slim to vanishing point,’ Vallon said. He hunched forward. ‘I’ll tell you something I haven’t even confided to my officers. Last year the former Byzantine emperor despatched another China mission. It vanished into the sands before it had got halfway to its goal.’

  Hauk held Vallon’s gaze. ‘I’d appreciate your frankness even more if you tell me how you intend avoiding the same fate.’

  ‘My expedition is better manned, better equipped and – dare I say it – better led. With those advantages, I’m confident we can deal with any hazards that present themselves. Right now, though, I have too many immediate concerns to worry about dangers that might lie months in the future. As you Vikings say, “A man who doesn’t know his fate in advance is free of care.”’

  Hauk threw back his head in unaffected laughter. ‘You learned some good Norse wisdom in the northlands.’ He shifted on the stool. ‘Even so, it’s a foolish leader who marches into the unknown, never sure from one day to the next what lies ahead.’

  Vallon gestured at Hero. ‘Tell Hauk where our route will take us.’

  Hero stepped into the lamplight. ‘The next month will be the hardest – a desert crossing with few if any permanent settlements. Survive that and we’ll reach the fertile lands of Chorezm, watered by the Oxus, a river followed by Alexander the Great.’

  Hauk’s interest quickened. ‘A river. Is it navigable?’

  ‘Alas, no. It wastes itself in an inland sea. The capital of Chorezm is a city called Khiva.’

  ‘A rich town?’

  ‘Passably rich, but not as wealthy as Bukhara and Samarkand further along the Silk Road. Their wealth rivals that of Constantinople.’

  Hauk nuzzled the rim of his wine cup. ‘Could a small, well-disciplined force impose itself on these centres?’

  Hero’s eyes drifted in Vallon’s direction. ‘If you mean, could you exact tribute by superiority of arms, I’d say the answer is no. The emirs who rule the trading centres defend their interests by maintaining large standing armies.’

  Hauk hoisted his sword onto his lap. ‘Slaves, then. Do these cities deal in slaves?’

  ‘Yes, they do, but I suspect you’ll find the natives have cornered the market in that commodity.’

  Hauk frowned at Vallon. ‘You told me you intended to dabble in the slave trade.’

  ‘That was a lie. A man who treats his fellows as beasts is no better than a beast himself.’

  Hauk set down his beaker. ‘I promised my men riches. You claim I can find them in the East,
yet offer no clue as to how I can obtain them.’

  ‘Trade,’ Hero said. ‘Along the Silk Road you can buy goods for a penny and sell them a month later for a shilling. Take coral for example. In Samarkand its value is set at five solidi a pound, but in Khotan it will fetch four times that sum, enough to purchase an equal weight of jade. Carry that as far as China and you’ll sell it for ten times what it cost.’

  ‘We don’t have coral or jade,’ Hauk said. ‘The only trade goods we have left are a few fragments of Baltic amber.’ He placed his hand on his knees and made to stand. ‘I hoped to carry more encouraging news back to my men. Thank you for the wine.’

  ‘Stay and have another cup,’ Vallon said. ‘There are other avenues to wealth.’

  Hauk resumed his seat with feigned reluctance. ‘Lead me through them.’

  Vallon waited until his servant had replenished their cups. ‘Some of the Silk Road caravans contain as many as a thousand camels laden with trade stuffs. That much wealth requires protection – which comes at a price determined by the value of the goods and the dangers to which it’s exposed. Suppose a caravan carrying goods to the value of ten thousand solidi is approaching a pass where bandits have robbed the last three trains down to the last scrap of horse harness. How much do you think the merchants would pay for guaranteed protection – a tenth of their goods’ value, a fifth?’

  ‘Hmm,’ Hauk said. ‘Yes, I can see profit in that line of business.’

  Vallon cocked his elbows on the table. ‘Unfortunately, neither of us commands enough soldiers to take advantage of those opportunities. If we were to combine our forces, however…’

  Hauk stuck up a hand. ‘Hold on, General. These opportunities might not fall into our paths for months. My men won’t proceed unless they can see the reward for their labours within close grasp.’

  Vallon spoke softly. ‘They’ve already earned from us by cooperation more than they would have gained by piracy. Stay with us until we reach the Oxus and I promise to pay the least of your men the same wages as my troopers receive. I’ll reward your officers according to rank. In your case, I’m happy to pay you the same rate as my centurions.’