Vallon 02 - Imperial Fire

by Robert Lyndon

  ‘I have a bid of ten solidi from the Greek gentleman.’

  ‘Twelve,’ a voice said.

  ‘Fifteen,’ Hero responded.

  ‘Twenty.’

  ‘And another five,’ Hero said, feeling sick and elated.

  A disturbance around him, an aggressive pressing-in warned him that his rival wasn’t taking Hero’s intervention lightly. A man with a brutal face shoved the tout aside and confronted Hero.

  ‘Stop bidding, you foreign dog.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Hero said, and gave an airy wave. ‘Thirty.’

  The man went for his knife and drew it back. Some force wrenched him into reverse and suddenly Wulfstan appeared, his good hand clamped around the assassin’s neck. Wulfstan kneed him in the groin and the man fell cross-eyed to the ground. Wayland and Gorka burst through the crowd, followed by red-faced and sweating Aiken.

  Wulfstan picked up the knife, dragged the wretch to his feet and booted him away.

  ‘Shall I proceed?’ the auctioneer said, baton poised. ‘I have a bid of thirty solidi.’

  ‘How much?’ Wayland said.

  ‘Thirty-five,’ said the auctioneer. His head darted. ‘And five.’

  ‘Ssh,’ Hero said. He stuck up a hand. ‘Fifty.’ He gave Wayland an inane smile. ‘It’s not our money.’

  ‘Fifty-five,’ said the auctioneer, registering a counterbid.

  A drawn-out interval, the auctioneer swinging his head around. ‘I’ll accept fifty-seven,’ he said. ‘Yes, you sir. I have fifty-seven,’ he told the crowd.

  ‘Sixty,’ someone shouted.

  ‘Seventy,’ Hero countered.

  Wayland groaned. Wulfstan laughed and slapped Gorka’s back.

  You could have heard the hush a hundred yards away. People from that distance had wandered over to see who was on sale for a sum they could never raise in a lifetime.

  ‘Any advance on seventy Byzantine solidi?’ Kites wheeled above the square. ‘Asking once. Asking twice.’ The auctioneer’s gavel smacked down. ‘Sold to the Greek gentleman, and I hope he derives a lifetime’s satisfaction from his purchase.’

  Hero stood in a daze while Aiken settled up with the auctioneer, leaving Wulfstan and Gorka clasped in speechless hilarity and Wayland shaking his head in disbelief. The assistants who’d forced Lucas up the steps as if he were meat on the hoof led him down as if he were a prince of the realm. Wayland took charge of him.

  Lucas blinked around and his blasted gaze fixed on Gorka. ‘Thanks, boss.’

  ‘I only came because I couldn’t bear the idea of someone else making your life a misery.’

  Lucas tried to smile. ‘How much did I cost?’

  ‘A fortune,’ said Wayland. ‘You’ll be paying for yourself all the way to China and back.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Aiken spotted you.’

  Lucas stared at his saviour.

  ‘You needn’t thank me,’ Aiken said. ‘I nearly left you there. After the way you treated me, it would have been no more than you deserved.’

  ‘What happened to Zuleyka?’ Wayland said in the silence.

  ‘I don’t know. They separated us when we arrived in Bukhara. We have to find her.’

  ‘We’d better scarper,’ Wulfstan said. ‘We’re attracting a lot of filthy looks.’

  He and Gorka underpinned Lucas’s armpits. The youth dragged his heels. ‘No, we have to find her.’

  Gorka grinned. ‘He’s a piece of work, ain’t he? Next he’ll be asking us to get his horse back.’

  ‘Yes, and then I’ll go after the pack who murdered Yeke and sold me into slavery.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Gorka said, tightening his grip. ‘Time to get you back to your mates before someone else takes a fancy to you.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Wayland. ‘The auctioneer will know what happened to Zuleyka. Have we got any money left?’

  ‘About ten solidi,’ said Aiken.

  Wayland held out his hand for them and began making for the auctioneer.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Lucas said.

  ‘Keep him right there.’

  Lucas had been the last lot and the auctioneer’s expansive manner had fallen into a kind of post-coital blank. Watching from a distance, Hero was certain that Wayland would get nothing out of him. The auctioneer tried to brush the Englishman aside and then, when pressed, he summoned his assistants to rid him of this pestering infidel. Before they could lay hands on him, Wayland said something that seemed to drip like honey into the man’s ears and made him stare at the Outlanders in a calculating manner.

  His superficial smile flashed and he draped an arm over Wayland’s shoulder and walked him up and down, conversing cheek to cheek. Money passed by sleight of hand before Wayland returned.

  ‘Did you find out where she is?’ Lucas demanded.

  ‘He sold her yesterday.’

  ‘We’d better tell Vallon,’ Hero said.

  ‘I think not. Her owner is the same man who bid for Lucas and set his thug on Hero. After today’s disappointment, neither gold nor threats will prise Zuleyka from his grasp.’

  ‘All the more reason to lay the matter before Vallon,’ Aiken said.

  ‘Lucas means very little to Vallon, and the girl even less. He’s not going to kick up hell to rescue her.’

  ‘She means a lot to me,’ Lucas cried.

  ‘Take him back to the caravanserai,’ Wayland said.

  Hero had sobered and was appalled by his reckless bidding ‘We don’t have to tell Vallon how much we paid for Lucas.’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ said Aiken, ‘The general has entrusted me with the accounts. I can’t fiddle them.’

  ‘Seventy solidi,’ Hero groaned. ‘Vallon will be furious.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ Wayland said. ‘Don’t say a word about the girl.’

  XXV

  Vallon’s jaw dropped. ‘Seventy solidi!’

  Wayland focused slightly beyond the general. ‘More like eighty if you include the auctioneer’s commission and other disbursements.’

  ‘God’s veins! That’s more than most troopers earn in an entire career. It’s more than my annual salary.’

  ‘Hero bid only what was necessary. It’s the underbidder who determines the selling price.

  ‘Why didn’t you seek my permission before throwing so much gold around?’

  ‘There wasn’t time. The bidding had already started. Hero couldn’t just stand and watch Lucas sold into slavery.’

  Vallon sagged in weary disbelief. ‘That youth is the curse of my life. I’d pay seventy solidi to get rid of him.’

  ‘He’ll come good in time. The underbidder obviously saw something worthwhile in him.’

  A last angry surge impelled Vallon to his feet. ‘He’s made me an object of ridicule.’

  ‘On the contrary. Lucas’s comrades are treating him as something of a charm. Naturally, I’ve spread the word that it was you who arranged his rescue.’

  Vallon felt for his seat. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the sanatorium. He had a hard time in the desert.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Vallon. ‘A count’s ransom to redeem a broken-down peasant captured because of his own folly.’

  ‘I have a feeling that one day Lucas will reward you for your generosity.’

  ‘I want nothing from that lout except good discipline – and a decent respect for Aiken.’

  ‘It was Aiken who spotted him. He could have left him there and I wouldn’t have blamed him. I’ll make it plain to Lucas where he must show his gratitude.’

  Leaving Vallon to mull over this twist, Wayland made his escape, encountering Wulfstan in the courtyard. ‘I think deep down he’s pleased,’ Wayland said.

  ‘The gypsy girl?’

  ‘Vallon didn’t mention her and nor did I.’

  Wulfstan cackled. ‘How are you going to get her back?’

  Wayland kept walking.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To call on a friend.’


  Wayland ducked into a dormitory occupied by Turkmen troopers. He rubbed the dazzle from his eyes. ‘Toghan?’

  A Seljuk sprang up, the same trooper Wayland had saved from plunging into a gorge in the Caucasus. He was a good-natured and high-spirited young man. His name meant ‘Falcon’.

  They kissed and exchanged blessings. Wayland led Toghan outside. ‘I have a favour to ask.’

  ‘Everything my lord commands his slave, I will endeavour to perform.’

  Wayland reached the shade around the pool. ‘You heard that we rescued Lucas.’

  ‘Of course. The favour of God was on him.’

  ‘God didn’t show His favour to Zuleyka. She was sold into slavery the day before.’

  Toghan giggled. ‘Her master is a fortunate gentleman.’ His hips rotated in a sinuous pantomime. ‘There will be a baby in the spring, God willing.’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ Wayland said.

  Toghan’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘Ah, Lord, I understand. You desire her for yourself.’

  Wayland didn’t waste time denying it. ‘The man who bought her is a wealthy Arab merchant called Sa’id al-Qushair. He owns a house near the citadel and a country mansion about ten miles from Bukhara, just beyond Ramitan on the Golden Road to Samarkand. That’s where he’s taken Zuleyka.’

  Toghan pressed a fist against his heart. ‘You want me to rescue her. Of course I will. May I be your sacrifice.’

  ‘I want you to ride out and scout the house, discover where the girl is kept and look for a way in. If possible, enter the property and commit the layout to memory. Dress shabbily and call at the gate, saying you’re an ex-soldier looking for work in return for a meal.’

  Toghan stuck out his elbows and brought them down like a bird springing into flight. ‘At once.’

  Wayland hauled him back. ‘Wait until tomorrow. Leave the city as soon as the gates open, ride to the mansion and return before the curfew. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’

  Toghan leaned forward and gave a grotesque wink.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Toghan tittered and placed a finger to his lips. ‘I understand, Lord. You cherish this lady as your own and cannot bear to see her innocence defiled by a wealthy old greybeard.’ Still holding a finger to his lips, he backed away.

  Wayland lingered in the shade, considering with falling heart the possible consequences of a rescue attempt. Succeed or fail, it might jeopardise the mission and would certainly deepen the wedge between himself and Vallon. A fish in the pond surfaced and gulped down an insect. Wayland pushed off through the heat and entered the sanatorium.

  ‘It’s hot enough to bake an egg out there.’

  Hero looked round. ‘Drink some of Lucas’s sherbet.’

  The prodigal lay sprawled on a cot, his legs wrapped in poultices.

  Wayland drank the cool liquor and watched Hero unwind the bandages, exposing Lucas’s ulcerated calves. It occurred to Wayland that Zuleyka would be in a similar state and would require treatment and convalescence before her owner judged her fit to share the conjugal bed. He chased the thought away.

  ‘How is he?’ he said.

  ‘This is the fourth time I’ve doctored him. That means he has only five lives left.’

  ‘How long before he’s back on his feet?’

  ‘I can answer for myself,’ said Lucas. ‘I’m ready to leave now.’

  Hero pushed him back down. ‘You’ll get up when I say so.’

  Wayland watched Hero apply fresh bandages. ‘Can I have a word with him in private?’

  ‘Of course,’ Hero said. He put away his dressing and lotions and went out, leaving Wayland and Lucas contemplating each other through the latticed sunlight.

  ‘Wipe that smirk off your face,’ Wayland said.

  Lucas pulled his mouth down. ‘It’s just nervousness. You’re going after Zuleyka, aren’t you? Please take me with you.’

  Wayland shook his head. ‘You’re in enough shit as it is.’

  ‘I know. Whatever I do, I can’t sink any deeper.’

  Wayland sat at the end of the bed. ‘We didn’t have a chance to finish our discussion…’ He tapped Lucas’s chest. ‘… Guy.’

  Lucas laughed after a fashion. ‘Don’t tell me you still fancy I’m Vallon’s son.’

  ‘Sometimes I fancy you are, and sometimes I think not. Only you can tell me the truth.’

  ‘You’re wrong, so let that put an end to it.’

  Wayland nodded in a pensive way, stood and made for the door.

  ‘Is that it?’ Lucas said.

  ‘If you’re not Vallon’s son, there’s nothing more to discuss.’

  ‘What about Zuleyka?’

  ‘She’s none of your business. Troopers don’t have sweethearts.’

  Wayland was on the threshold when Lucas spoke again.

  ‘Have you told anyone else?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘What made you fancy I was Vallon’s son?’

  ‘At first only the fleeting resemblance. Then I fell to thinking and I wondered why a Frankish peasant youth appearing from nowhere would be so jealous of Aiken, the son of one of Vallon’s closest comrades. Anyone else in your position would have tried to curry favour with the boy. Not you. Instead you treated him like a hated rival.’

  Lucas gave a juddering sigh. ‘It’s true. I am the son of the man who calls himself Vallon.’

  Wayland closed his eyes and breathed deep.

  Lucas spoke in a voice just loud enough to be heard. ‘I was six when he murdered my mother. After he’d fled I ran to her chamber and found her and her lover twined together on a bloody mattress.’

  Wayland squinted out though the sunlight. ‘His name was Roland.’

  ‘He used to bring me toys. My favourite was a puppet carved in the shape of a Moorish soldier. He used to sing to my mother and I’d creep close to their door to listen. I hardly knew Vallon and thought of Roland as my real father.’

  ‘He was a warped coward who contrived to have Vallon cast into a Moorish dungeon.’

  ‘A boy of six can’t interpret character. Roland was charming and generous. Guy de Crion was absent for most of my childhood, and when he returned home he was stern and aloof. He scared me.’

  Wayland turned, blinded by the change from light to dark. ‘You showed great determination travelling all the way to Constantinople. I imagine your motive was murder.’

  ‘At first, yes. Not a day passed when I didn’t imagine twisting a sword in Vallon’s guts.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. It gnaws into my sleep.’

  Wayland strode up to Lucas. ‘Ask yourself who you’d rather serve – the general who sacrificed everything to lead this mission, or the popinjay who betrayed his commander in order to lie with that man’s wife. A wretched cuckoo who insinuated himself into the family nest by giving toys to fledglings and singing merry airs. I’ve had my differences with Vallon, and at many points our personalities jar. But I’ll tell you one thing. The general is a man of principle and honour who only shaves the edges of those virtues to protect his men.’

  Sweat popped on Lucas’s brow.

  Wayland unclenched his hands. ‘The sooner you tell him the better. Suppose Hero hadn’t redeemed you? Vallon would have gone to his grave not knowing that his son and heir lived.’

  ‘And died happier in his ignorance.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The last thing he wants is for a forgotten son to confront him with his crimes.’

  ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

  ‘No!’

  Wayland sat down on the bedside. ‘One day you’re going to have to own up.’

  ‘Yes, but at a time of my own choosing.’

  ‘Time has a way of running out faster than you think. Hero said you’ve already used up half a cat’s lives. I don’t want to be the one who has to inform Vallon that the trooper we tipped into a shallow grave in some desert wa
s the blood of his blood.’

  Lucas’s head rolled on the pillow. ‘I’ve wrestled with the dilemma since the day I laid eyes on him, and now I’ve decided. Vallon made his name as a warrior when he was the same age as me. Remember I told you I’d be entitled to wear the armour I stole when I’d killed five men in fair combat? On the day I achieve that, I’ll reveal my lineage before Vallon.’

  ‘That might be a long day coming.’

  Lucas gripped Wayland’s hands. ‘The time must be of my choosing. Grant me that. I beg you.’

  Wayland nodded. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Lucas. ‘Right now, it’s Zuleyka I’m worried about.’

  ‘Leave that problem to me.’

  ‘Let me join you. I swore I’d set her free, and if you don’t let me help you, it will stain my honour.’

  Wayland hid a smile at hearing such a high-flown statement. ‘On two conditions. First, you do what I say without question.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Second, you seek out Aiken and beg forgiveness for the slights you’ve dealt him. You don’t have to give the reason, but you must be sincere.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that for you.’

  ‘Not for me. For Hero who’s cared for you and for Vallon who’s put up with you and for Gorka who’s spoken in your defence despite your ingrate behaviour.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  Wayland rose. ‘You know what they’ll do if they catch us. They’ll bury Zuleyka up to her neck and hurl stones at her, the stones selected for size to ensure she doesn’t die quickly. As for you, once they learn how thick-skulled you are, they’ll take out their revenge on your tenderer parts.’

  ‘If you’re prepared to risk it, so am I.’

  Wayland gave a dry laugh. ‘If it goes wrong and Vallon condemns you to the scaffold, you can win a reprieve by declaring his parentage as the noose kisses your throat.’

  ‘Wayland.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘During my captivity, I had plenty of time to think. I’m not the same man I was.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  Moths brushed and tapped the lamp in Wayland’s chamber when Toghan returned two evenings later, fizzing with excitement. Wayland sat him down and served him a bowl of curds.