‘Silver,’ Kartal said, ‘a rich seam as well.’
Apion turned the rock in his hand. He knew there were some mines down nearer the town, having passed their entrances, but up here was relatively untouched. He wondered at the possibilities.
‘Iron too,’ Kartal added, ‘another reason for the Sultan to fix his gaze on this rugged land.’
Apion put the rock in his satchel and looked up at Kartal. The Seljuk was eyeing him.
‘You could have killed me, taken my things.’ Kartal spoke softly.
‘Then your scouting party would have come back and killed me for it,’ Apion grinned.
‘There is nobody else here, as you well know,’ Kartal smiled back. ‘I am a lone scout rider and no more. I am still struggling to believe I have been saved by my enemy.’
Apion smiled and shook his head, tugging on his amber locks. ‘I may be a Byzantine-Rus halfbreed, as far from Seljuk blood as you can imagine, but I’ve got, shall we say, a chequered past. My family, they are Seljuk. I have no vendetta against the Seljuk people.’
Kartal shook his head and sighed. ‘Then you have not been in this conflict long enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ Apion frowned.
‘My mother was half-Greek,’ Kartal grinned, pointing to his striking blue eyes, ‘my eyes tell her story! When she married my father, she let her customs and culture sift into the past, embracing the Seljuk way of life. But she taught me much of the western peoples,’ he paused, then continued to speak in Greek, ‘their tongue, their past, their flaws and their wonders. I once thought I loved all peoples equally. Then, eight years ago, I joined the
Falcon’s
ranks. I have seen much since then that makes me doubt everything I once believed in. Sometimes I forget why I joined.’ Kartal eyed him. ‘And you, with your background, why did you bring yourself under the imperial banner?’
He thought of Father lying on the floor, protecting Mother’s corpse while the Seljuk raiders hacked at him like butchers, the veiled Bracchus watching it all. His mood blackened and the dark door cast its shadow on his thoughts. ‘It’s a calling,’ he replied, ‘I don’t know where it’ll take me yet.’
‘Does any man know where he is headed?’ Kartal chuckled and looked up into the sky. ‘It seems when we are lost we inevitably end up in conflict.’
‘What does your god say about it?’ Apion asked tentatively.
‘Remember, he is your god as well. I love him and devote myself to him. He tells us to love and respect one another and I search for this in God when I pray. He tells us to fight also; I’m not so sure I want to hear this from him.’
Apion eyed his prayer rope. ‘I pray to God, but I cannot help but question him too. I may be new to the war between our peoples, but many dreadful things have happened in my short lifetime.’
Kartal nodded respectfully. ‘I understand. Every man has his own journey, his own take on faith.’
They talked of their lives away from the military until, eventually, the din of the rain quietened, easing to a light shower. He thought of his duties; the imperial rider would be approaching the waystation soon. The pair stood and went outside.
‘I fear I have a long trek to get back to my camp,’ Kartal looked wearily over his shoulder to the pass heading east and then down at his bare feet. ‘Still, some of this will keep me strong,’ he lifted a verdant and almond-shaped leaf from the chest pocket of his robe, popped it in his mouth and began to chew. ‘You seemed to like it too?’
‘You put some in the water?’ Apion clicked, scrutinising the leaf. ‘It seemed to give me focus when I had none. What is it?’
‘Betel, it strengthens the spirit and focuses the mind, but only temporarily. Take a leaf and flake it in water or place it under your tongue and let the juices soak out slowly or chew when you need a boost. As I say, it only works for a short while but it will help you,’ he gestured to Apion’s withered leg, ‘when your body weakens. Also it will soothe your joints so you won’t feel like you’ve been trampled by a pony in the morning!’ Kartal lifted a stack of five leaves from his pocket and offered them to him.
Apion took the betel leaves, placed them in his satchel and then held out his hand. ‘We part as friends, Kartal.’
‘We do,’ Kartal grinned. ‘I hope – and I mean this as a friend – that we never meet again. For the battlefield is calling my people and yours. War is long overdue, like a thunderstorm.’
Apion nodded solemnly. The two continued about their journeys.
16.
The
Haga
Keep your head down!’ Sha spat at him.
Apion was flat already; face pressed into the hot, dust-coated rocky outcrop, jutting from the sheer mountainside, the summer sun cooking the five where they lay in hiding like nesting vultures in this narrow pass. The air was treacherously still and he could hear the Seljuk hooves echo through the rocky pass below, the rocks under him vibrating from the movement.
‘At least forty of them, Dekarchos!’ Blastares whispered from above. Apion twisted his neck around to see the flushed features of the big man jutting out from the overhanging outcrop. He flicked his head towards Procopius. ‘Me and the old bastard could take out ten with our bows, maybe more?’
‘Then what – we become target practice for them? No, we keep our heads down!’ Sha hissed, his voice almost crackling into an audible level.
The dekarchos’ face was drawn and his eyes bloodshot. He had sensed the recent raids were building into something more. Yesterday afternoon, not long after they had slaked their thirst by a mountain stream, they noticed a dust cloud behind the mountain ridge to the west, cutting off their patrol route back to Argyroupolis. All hopes of it being a caravan or travellers were dashed with the glint of iron. Raiders this far into the borderlands were always there for one reason only: to wreak havoc, to slaughter patrols, to disrupt the empire’s borders and weaken Byzantine hearts. But these riders were different, they carried with them maps and he had seen them survey the landscape keenly. Sha was right, these were no mere raiders, they were on reconnaissance. A prelude to invasion if ever there was one.
For a full day the five had skirted around the raider party, keeping out of sight, hoping to stay with the party until another Byzantine patrol was nearby. Though after a further morning, their ration packs were empty like their stomachs. They had to break off unseen and return to base. Just when it looked as if they might be able to do that, by inching up onto the walls of this pass to let the Seljuk party ride through the floor of the pass, they had watched in dismay as the riders cantered into the pass and stopped to make camp by the stream that snaked along the ground.
One of the Seljuk riders dismounted, pulling a loaf of bread from his saddlebag and tearing at it with his teeth. Apion hadn’t eaten since dawn yesterday. His belly turned over with a hollow groan. He clasped a hand to his side and winced as Sha shot him a foul glare.
Apion pulled a betel leaf from his pocket and placed it under his tongue, perhaps it would help him focus through the distraction of hunger. He watched the Seljuks: a few started pulling at dried roots and brush for a fire – no doubt to cook up some salep. These men were ghazi riders, light cavalry; their strength was in their speed, perfect for hit-and-run tactics, to leave a bloody trail in their wake and sap morale from their enemy without ever engaging in pitched combat. In saying that they were probably as well armoured and armed than any of the five skutatoi: each of the riders wore a padded quilt vest, a fine composite bow and quiver slung over their backs along with a short lance. Scimitars and lassos hung from their belts, and some also had a hand axe or a war hammer hanging there too. Finally, a glint of iron dagger hilt peeked from the lips of their leather boots. These men were certainly not poorly equipped skirmishers.
Then something caught Apion’s eye: it was the Seljuk commander, bearded with sun-darkened cheeks, wearing only a felt vest over leggings and boots, his hair knotted to the back under a felt cap. Unlike his men, he seemed distracted, wary. He crouched by the water, dipping his hands in. He splashed the liquid over his face and then seemed to stare at the reflection on the surface. Then at once he shot up, eyes scouring the lip of the pass. Apion ducked just before the commander’s eyes ran past the position of the hidden five.
Finally, the commander’s cry filled the pass. ‘I want a foot reconnaissance on the perimeter. Sweep the edges of this pass and maintain a watch up there – eight men each side.’ Then there was the scuffle of feet and a few barked orders as the riders were divided up into guard parties.
Apion shot darting glances to both Sha and Blastares above him; they still bore anxious stares and remained plastered to the rock. Yet lying here was a death sentence, the Seljuk scouts would be on top of them in moments. Then a shiver of realisation raced up his spine:
of course – they don’t speak Seljuk!
‘Sir! We’ve got to move!’ Apion hissed, raising slightly on his hands and jabbing a finger to the jutting lip of the outcrop above Blastares.
Sha simply glowered at him in disbelief. ‘Get down!’
‘Sir, they’re coming up here. If we stay still, we’re dead!’
Sha’s features curled in the horror of realisation.
‘What did he just say?’ Blastares grunted.
Just then a scuffle of boots on scree sounded just below them.
Sha’s face dropped. ‘Move!’
At once the five were up and scrambling for the outcrop above, their din disguised only by that of the approaching Seljuks. The climb was haphazard and punishing. Apion’s fingers slipped and his knees smashed off the rocks as he tried to reach the edge of the outcrop. His bad leg burned as though being pressed with red-hot irons, but he was well used to this now, after six months of running, and the pain was so much less than it had been in those early days. He chewed down on the betel leaf, sucking the juices from it, and just the act of doing this snapped him back to focus on the climb. With a muted grunt he heaved his weight up and onto the outcrop and collapsed, panting. The ledge provided by the outcrop was small and backed onto the sheer mountain face and only a pile of boulders interrupted the smooth floor they stood on. He turned to see Procopius still labouring to come over the lip.
‘Come on, come on!’ Sha growled.
Apion grappled the old soldier by the wrists, hauling him over with the help of Blastares, but not before cries of alarm rang out from below.
‘They saw us!’ Sha gasped.
Apion scrambled back from the edge to join the four of them. Nepos and Procopius braced to the rear, pulling their bows to the ready. Sha and Blastares crouched at the front, swiping spathions from scabbards, grimacing, ready to strike, ready for blood. Apion pulled his scimitar from its sheath. He closed his eyes to compose himself, his thoughts flitting with the image of the dark door, the knotted arm with the white band of skin and the red emblem reaching out for it. His heart hammered, blood pounding in his ears.
A scrabbling and grunting came from the lip of the outcrop.
Sha was crouched with one hand on the ground, the other holding his sword point forward. ‘Ready . . . ’
Something moved at the lip, and Nepos’ bowstring creaked as he readied to loose.
‘Wait!’ Sha hissed, raising a hand.
Then a fawn limb and a hoof clawed at the lip, followed by antlers. Then inky black eyes and a panicked face appeared as a stag scrabbled half onto the lip of the outcrop, back legs trailing, just as Apion had been moments earlier. The five had to stifle a gasp. Then there was the twang of a bowstring, the whoosh and then the thud of an arrow punching through flesh. The beast let out a terrible groan, its tongue stretching from its mouth, its eyes searching the Byzantine soldiers for mercy they could not provide, and then it was gone, tumbling back into the pass with a heavy thud. Seljuk echoes of delight filled the air as they celebrated their kill.
‘Get back, we’re not in the clear yet!’ Sha motioned to the outcrop on the opposite wall of the pass, where the other party of eight Seljuks were only just scrabbling up onto the flat. The dekarchos scuttled behind the pile of boulders. Apion followed the other three to join him. The five were barely hidden behind the boulder pile as they huddled around the dekarchos, who panted as he spoke: ‘They’ve got us pinned down here,’ he jabbed a thumb at the opposite outcrop, then pointed down, ‘and the other group that downed that stag will be bedding in just below us any moment now, just as their commander ordered them.’ He caught Blastares’ eye and shook his head. ‘I know we could take a smaller group out but the rest would be on us in moments.’
Blastares grunted and turned away.
‘We can’t go up,’ Nepos craned his neck up but the mountainside above was practically sheer. ‘We can’t go along,’ the Slav shook his head, the mountain face on either side of them was pockmarked with hand and footholds but they would be exposed and easily picked off, ‘and we can’t go down. They’re on horseback; they’d crush us even if we could get down and onto the floor of the pass. So we’re pinned down until it’s dark at least. Maybe that’s it; we should sit tight and slip away in the night.’
Sha glanced around to gauge his men’s reaction to this: they were all thirsty, hungry and exhausted. It was only just entering mid-morning now so there was still a long time before the eager sun peaked, let alone dipped. They remained in silence, each man scouring the surroundings in search of another option. Apion, however, gazed not at the surroundings, but back through his memories. He heard Mansur’s words:
the answer need not lie with the sword
. Panic welled in his chest at the idea of speaking up, but he gulped and took a deep breath.
‘Sir,’ he offered, ‘we can get out of here before nightfall.’
All four turned to him, glowering.
Apion’s initial hubris weakened and then crumbled as he felt all eyes on him, examining his every word. These men trusted each other like brothers, he knew. They did not trust him at all, this was also true, despite his now adequate pace on patrol. His throat felt like knotted rope and his tongue shrivelled, but he knew he had no choice. ‘How quickly could you climb along to the end of the pass?’ He pointed to the nearest end, where the ground rose to meet the level of the outcrop they were on.
‘We can’t! Didn’t you hear the pointy-faced bastard?’ Blastares spat, jabbing a thumb at Nepos. ‘We can’t go along.’
‘Hold on, let’s hear him out,’ Nepos cut in.
Apion took a deep breath. ‘Well, we need a short spell where they’re distracted.’
‘Right. Not long, I reckon,’ Nepos added in his characteristic even tone, blue eyes like slits as he peered at the sun, ‘we could scale along there in a count of what, sixty?’
‘And how do we get along there without being spotted?’ Procopius asked in a doubtful tone.
Apion nodded. ‘They’ve not sighted us yet. They know Byzantine skutatoi are likely to be in the area,’ He caught the eye of each of them in turn, one by one, they all nodded, ‘but if a lone man, a civilian, was to cross their path, what would they do?’
‘Gut him,’ Blastares shot back with a rapacious and gap-toothed grin.
Apion couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Aye, most probably. But what if he spoke Seljuk?’
‘Who knows?’ Sha mused.
‘A decoy? Fair enough, but where do we find a neutral Seljuk whoreson who feels like doing us a favour at this exact point in time?’ Blastares said. ‘That sword of yours can’t talk can it?’
Nepos smiled and answered for Apion. ‘The decoy doesn’t have to be a Seljuk!’
Blastares and Procopius looked back blankly and Sha frowned.
The Slav’s arrow-like nose bent under the grin that cut across his face. ‘Young Apion here, he speaks the tongue.’
‘Eh?’ Blastares grunted. ‘How’s that?’ The giant skutatos eyed him in distaste.
Procopius scratched his chin, eyes narrowing. ‘Here, you’re not some kind of spy, are you?’
Apion hesitated, knowing this wouldn’t go down well. ‘I . . . I come from a Seljuk family. My mother is Rus, my father a Byzantine through and through and from Trebizond. But my family, those who have looked after me since I was a boy, they are Seljuk.’
Blastares’ eyes widened and Procopius shot a stunned look to Sha. Silence hung over the group.
Sha’s features were creased in confusion. Apion held the dekarchos’ gaze, until finally, the African’s face relaxed into a grin. ‘Then may God bless them for teaching you their tongue!’
‘Hear, hear,’ Nepos added, ‘now can we save the congratulations until we’ve actually tried the plan?’
‘Let’s do it,’ Sha affirmed.
‘Aye, I don’t fancy the alternative,’ Blastares squinted up at the blistering sun.
Procopius was the last to consent. ‘You get us out of this, lad, and I don’t care whether you’re Byzantine, Seljuk or even a bloody Slav,’ he grinned at Nepos.
Apion slipped off his cotton vest, sword belt, leggings and boots so he wore only his tunic. The four each glanced at the angry pink scar winding the length of his leg and the metal brace that clamped his knee. He noticed with a spark of pride that the muscles on his leg were beginning to bulge around the scar and the brace, swallowing both. Regardless of this, he had had enough of shame. ‘Not pretty, is it?’ He cocked an eyebrow. The four grinned at this.