Strategos: Rise of the Golden Heart (18 page)

The Golden Heart will rise in the west. At dawn, he will wear the guise of a lion hunter.
Apion saw the crone’s features in his mind’s eye. He had forgotten her words in the turmoil of these last months, now they were as crisp and clear as winter meltwater.
At noon, he will march to the east as if to counter the sun itself. At dusk you will stand with him in the final battle, like an island in the storm . . .

Yet his first words to the man were instinctive. ‘Something of an uneven contest, was it not?’ He nodded to the lion’s corpse then swept a hand around the man and his sixty riders.

The man twisted to Apion, releasing his grip on the
spearless
rider as he did so. Then, as if waking from a dream, the scowl fell from the man’s face. He blinked, almost as if just realising that Apion and the varangoi were present.

‘I had no intention of killing such a fine beast,’ the man shook his head. ‘The Magyar Prince who bestowed him upon me thought I would delight in having such a creature to parade.’ His gaze darkened under a frown. ‘But the animal was terrified, from the moment the Pecheneg traders dragged him from Armenia and shipped him across the Pontus Euxinus, then for every moment of his wretched life in the war zone along the Istros in these last months.’ The man sighed. ‘No, I came to recapture the beast after it escaped my camp,’ he shot a saturnine look at the rider by his side. ‘I did not come to kill it, I wished only to see it returned to its homeland. However, perhaps this outcome is a bittersweet providence – for it is at peace now and will suffer no more torturous journeys.’

‘Aye,’ Apion nodded at this, ‘perhaps.’

‘But the spectacle of a lion in these parts is almost rivalled by the sight of imperial Varangoi,’ the man mused, stroking his chin. ‘Who are you and where are you headed?’

Apion hesitated, searching the man’s eyes. Instinct told him that he could trust this one. ‘We are in search of the commander of the armies of the north.’

The man’s face fell expressionless. ‘Romanus Diogenes?’

Apion took a breath to answer and then hesitated. He juggled with the possibility of revealing his mission, remembering his sense of unease, earlier. Then he glanced to the golden heart pendant once more and his doubts faded. He held out a roll of paper, the seal unbroken. ‘Lady Eudokia has sent for him.’

The man took the paper and traced a finger across the seal, then he held it to his nose and inhaled the sweet scent Eudokia had laced it with and broke into a broad grin.

‘Then you have found him.’

Apion’s eyes widened. All around him, the varangoi stooped to one knee, hands across their hearts, heads bowed.

***

Romanus’ camp was vast. Apion had seen such a sight only few times in the east; the riders of the Hikanatoi Tagma, together with the infantry of the Paradunavum Thema, stationed together on the plain with innumerable bands of mercenary Oghuz, Pechenegs, Magyars, Normans and Rus. The sea of tents stretched from the banks of the River Istros to the hills in the west and the horizon in the east, all wrapped in a ditch and palisade wall. Banners fluttered in the breeze under a murky sky that threatened snow. The soldiers wandered between the campfires and tents, pulling their cloaks tighter, muttering in muted tones and chewing on their rations.

‘This land reeks of conflict,’ Dederic spoke.

Apion turned to him. The Norman was standing by a fire with Igor and the other varangoi, just inside the main gate of the camp. The Rus bantered amongst themselves, toasting bread in the flames and supping on their soured wine, some grooming their mounts.

‘Aye,’ Apion replied, ‘So very different from the borderlands I know, yet so very similar.’ He looked into the sea of tents. They had ridden north at haste for three more days to finalise Romanus’ departure from his armies. Now they waited on the emperor-to-be to return from the depths of the camp and begin the swift journey back to Constantinople. He looked to the south, through the camp gates. ‘And that’s what worries me – we must stay sharp on our return journey.’

‘Why so grim?’ A voice called out. ‘Bitter at the prospect of leaving such luxury behind after only a short visit?’

Apion turned to face front again; Romanus trotted from the heart of the camp on his white stallion. He led twelve kataphractoi with him, and another twelve scout riders carried supplies on their backs. The soldiers at every point in the camp had risen to their feet, saluting and cheering their leader.

Apion smiled at this. ‘Aye, back to bleakness of marble halls, platters of goose meat and jugs of rich wine.’

Romanus returned his wry grin. His riders formed up with Apion’s and they readied to leave the camp. Then, at the last, Romanus lifted his sword from his scabbard, pumping it in the air. The men of the camp erupted in a unified roar this time.

‘Basileus!’

***

They headed south across the plains at a steady gallop. On the third day they rose early and set off without eating, stopping only at midday to cook a meal of cheese on toasted bread then nuts and honey washed down with soured wine. Then they rode once more. Just as the light began to fade, they reached the conifer forest, thick with the scent of pine. They slowed here, picking through the soft bracken trail. Romanus had pinpointed a small dell with a stream nearby about three miles into the woods where they could make camp for the night, and this would leave them only two days distant from Constantinople.

A pair of varangoi rode ahead as a vanguard, then Apion and Romanus followed behind, the rest of the riders forming a double breasted column in their wake.

Their chat had been awkward at first, with Apion unable to shake off the memory of the lustful encounter he and Eudokia had shared, and the guilt that came with it whenever he looked her betrothed in the eye. But Romanus seemed as tentative as Eudokia had been with regard to the romantic side of their coming marriage.
A beauty with a heart of pure ice,
he had scoffed bitterly.
Did she tell you she had me exiled and even threatened to have me executed?

This had set him at ease somewhat. Still, he was glad when the conversation moved on to Romanus’ thoughts on how the empire’s ills should be addressed.

‘The empire has been contracting for too long. Loss has become acceptable,’ Romanus continued, his breath clouding in the chill. ‘From the loss of Syria and the lucrative trade routes that disappeared with it, to the loss of Tunisia and the precious cereal crop and olive groves.’ He shook his head. ‘There are many ills to be tackled, Strategos. From the tax system to the armies. From the heart of the empire, stretching out to the borderlands that you and I know only too well.’

Apion nodded. ‘In the past, the empire would fund the armies of the outlying themata, allowing them to defend their homes. Now it takes from us, preferring to entrust the empire’s welfare to mercenary tagmata loyal only to imperial gold. We are in a sorry state, sir.’

Romanus shrugged, squaring his shoulders and rolling his head. ‘It will be corrected. That may not sit well with the magnates of Anatolia. But damn them if they think I’m going to be another lapdog for the rich.’

Apion thought of Psellos and the Doukids. ‘There are some who might be cowed, sir. Yet there are others who are rooted in the imperial court. In these last months I have seen terrible deeds carried out by these types.’

Romanus shot him a narrow-eyed look, nodding. ‘I know the lie of the imperial court, Strategos. It has festered for too long. It needs washing clean from top to bottom.’

Apion smiled at this. ‘Only Lady Eudokia has spoken with such frankness since I came west.’

Romanus grinned. ‘That is why we will make a tenacious pairing. I want the capital to become what it once was; a beating heart, a beacon of inspiration. God’s true city, as it once was.’

Apion did not reply to this, glancing at the white band of skin on his wrist.

But Romanus continued; ‘A city garrisoned with non-
partizan
tagmata.
Armamenta
stocked high with weapons and armour. Did you know that the capital once held enough ore in its workshops to forge four thousand blades?’

Apion thought over the military treatise he had read through in the library at Trebizond. ‘Aye, enough to equip an entire imperial tagma. The city armamenta is to be restored to its past greatness, sir?’

‘Indeed,’ Romanus leaned in closer, a wry grin spreading across his face. ‘And so will those of the outlying themata. The workhouses will provide arms and armour for all our armies.’

Apion thought of Alp Arslan’s words, dismissing the empire’s demise as a certainty. Suddenly they sounded distant and weak. A warmth grew in his heart, and one word resonated in his thoughts. ‘The greatest thing you can bestow upon the empire is hope, sir.’

Romanus nodded. ‘That will follow when the people see change around them. But there is much to do. It was once the case that we were strong enough to mount a challenge against our aggressors on the western and the eastern borders simultaneously. It has not been this way for some time. I have watched as, after years of campaigning to bring the Bulgar rebels and Magyar armies to their knees, the armies of the west have been drawn away from the cusp of victory – sent east to push back the armies of the Seljuk Sultanate.’

Apion nodded. ‘The converse is equally true. Four summers ago, I led the remainder of the Chaldian and Colonean Themata into Armenia. We pinned Alp Arslan and his army – some twenty thousand riders, twice our strength – in the rocky passes. In such terrain, the advantage of their mounts was lost, and they were hemmed in by a wall of my spears. We were weeks from forcing them into submission, weeks!’ Apion clenched a fist as if grasping out for that elusive victory. ‘Then a doux led his tagma to our camp. Not to reinforce us, not to elicit surrender or to hammer home victory and seal lasting peace in the east. He handed me a scroll bearing an imperial seal, then led more than half of my men away to the coast, where they were shipped to the west. We were forced to fight a long and bloody retreat from those mountains.’

Romanus patted his stallion’s mane, nodded and chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Then we have a common history, Strategos. Did you know that I spent my youth in Cappadocia? I rode in the east when I was a boy. And now I must turn my sights to the rising sun once more. I have yet to clash swords with Alp Arslan, but it is only a matter of time. I have heard much rumour of the sultan’s guile and ferocity.’

‘The rumours are well-founded,’ Apion replied earnestly.

‘And that is why I need men like you by my side in the years ahead,’ Romanus concluded with an earnest gaze.

They rode on in silence, and Apion noticed that the light had faded almost completely and that Dederic had struck up a torch. This cast a ghostly orange glow on their immediate surroundings, every shadow dancing like a demon. Only the muted shuffle of hooves, the snort of horses and the crackling of dry bracken pierced the stillness. When an owl hooted from the depths of the woods ahead, Apion started, then chided himself with a ghost of a grin.

Then the piercing shriek of an eagle split the air, high above. The other men of the column glanced up in weary half-interest. But Apion’s spine chilled. He frowned, peering into the darkness ahead.

There, a wisp of wintry mist swirled and took shape. He recognised her immediately; the silvery hair, the puckered features. But her sightless eyes were bulging in horror. She pressed one finger to her lips. Then she was gone, and darkness prevailed once more.

Apion slowed his mount to a halt and placed a hand across the chest of Romanus. ‘Be still, be silent.’

‘Strategos?’ Romanus asked, his face creased in confusion. The rest of the column slowed up behind them and the pair of varangoi in the vanguard twisted in their saddles, frowning in puzzlement.

Apion did not answer. His brow dipped as he scanned the forest around them.

Then he heard it, the continued snapping of bracken in the darkness. His eyes widened.

At that instant, hissing filled the air like a hundred asps.

‘Shields!’ he roared.

The column rustled into life, but not before the arrow hail hit home. The hissing died with a series of wet punches of iron bursting into flesh. Sparks flew as arrowheads hammered into armour, helms and shields. Gurgling cries rang out as the stricken slid from their mounts. Horses whinnied and reared up and at once the column was in disarray.

Finally the arrow hail slowed and stopped. A dozen riders lay slain and still on the forest floor. Apion heeled his mount round, his eyes scanning the blackness over the rim of his shield.

‘Brigands?’ Romanus gasped as he circled on his mount likewise.

Apion pulled a shaft from his shield – it was squat, thick and the iron heads were heavy; these were no arrows, they were darts launched from a
solenarion
, far more powerful than a normal bow at such close range. A weapon used in these parts only, and sparingly, by the empire. ‘No, assassins!’

Romanus’ eyes widened as he heard bowstrings stretching once more in the darkness, all around them. ‘Dismount and form
foulkon!
’ he cried to his men.

The remaining riders slid from their saddles and bundled together with Romanus and Apion, raising their shields around them and overhead to form a miniature protective shell. The bowstrings twanged and another round of hissing filled the air. The huddled group braced and then shuddered as the darts hammered home. A series of gurgling cries rang out and the group shrank further.