Gordon Doherty - Strategos - Rise of the Golden Heart

The fifty Chaldian toxotai were clustered together near the makeshift archery range beside the granary. These archers were not burdened with armour, wearing only linen tunics, dagger belts and wide-brimmed hats tilted at a jaunty angle to shade their eyes from the sun. They looked tense as they honed their marksmanship with their composite bows in near-silence. They were scared, Sha realised.

When he passed the stables, near the empty cistern, the fifty Chaldian kataphractoi were nervously brushing their mounts or polishing their armour. Even these heavy cavalrymen, precious and near invincible on the battlefield, were nervous.

Then he stalked up through the narrow streets of the lower town. The townsfolk and the rabble of farmers who had rushed inside the walls for protection darted across his path from door to door, panicked and cradling provisions. They needed a salve to ease the fear in their hearts. They needed the strategos to come forward and lead them.

Suddenly, a half-rotten door crashed open before him. Two men tumbled onto the street, brawling. A huge Greek with wild hair and sunken eyes and a shaven-headed man with a trident beard. They scuffled and traded blows, the Greek smashing the bearded man with a left hook and then the bearded man knocking teeth from the Greek’s mouth in reply.

‘Enough!’ Sha barked. But the two men barely offered him a glance as they broke apart and circled one another.

‘Those figs are to feed my family. Give them back to me!’ the bearded man roared, pointing at a small parcel the Greek had tucked under his belt.

‘Not a chance — I will not go another night with an empty belly,’ the Greek spat, blood washing from his bloodied lips. Then, taunting the trident-bearded man, he thrust a hand into the parcel and scooped out a handful of the shrivelled fruit before cramming it into his mouth.

The bearded man roared at this and then leapt forward, drawing a dagger.

Sha’s eyes locked onto the blade. Instinctively, he leapt forward to thrust his shield between the pair. But he fell square in the path of the big Greek’s left hook that was aimed at the bearded man.

Sha heard a crunch of bone and saw only blackness and a shower of white sparks as he staggered back and slumped against the wall. Dazed, he heard screaming women and the swish-swish of the dagger being swept at the big Greek, along with the bearded man’s angered grunts. Then footsteps approached. Heavy footsteps. Sha shook his head clear and blinked his eyes open.

‘I haven’t had a drop of ale or wine in weeks!’ Tourmarches Blastares cooed, resting his oak-like limbs on his hips. The giant sported a broken nose and a network of scars under his close-shaven scalp. ‘And when I’m without a drink to warm my blood, I become bloody angry. It makes me want to fight. Then I wander along here and it seems that you whoresons are having all the fun! So, who wants a broken face first?’

Sha staggered to his feet as Blastares cracked his knuckles and eyed the pair — both of whom had suddenly lost their pluck. Then, behind Blastares, the prune-faced and white-haired Tourmarches Procopius arrived. He led a party of five skutatoi who fanned out in a line, spears levelled, faces twisted in snarls under their conical helmets.

‘Or you can call it a day, hand back what you’ve taken, and put your blades away,’ Procopius added.

The Greek seemed cowed and reached to lift the parcel from his belt. But, in a moment of very poor judgement, he opted to barge past Blastares in an attempt to escape with the fruit. As if swatting a gnat, the big tourmarches stopped him with a crunching jab. The crack of the Greek’s jaw breaking rang out as he crumpled to the ground, shuddering then snoring violently.

Procopius clicked his fingers and the five skutatoi lifted the Greek and dragged him into the shade. Then the aged tourmarches picked up the parcel and tossed it to the bearded man.

‘Anyone else?’ Blastares asked, eyeing the rest of the locals that had gathered to watch. To a man, they slunk away, heads bowed, refusing to meet Blastares’ glare.

Sha looked to Blastares and Procopius, touching his split cheek gingerly. ‘Well timed.’

But Blastares’ nonchalant expression faded as soon as the populace dispersed. The big man wore a troubled frown, as did Procopius.

‘Blastares?’

‘Have you seen the strategos?’

‘I was on my way to find him,’ Sha started.

‘Then we must hurry,’ Procopius cut in. ‘Bey Nasir has sent a messenger to the walls — he readies to advance upon the walls and end the siege!’

***

Apion stared at the cup, frowning. Now it was absolutely still. Had it been a trick of the light?

Then footsteps echoed down the narrow alley. He looked up to see his three tourmarchai hurrying towards him. These were his trusted three — the men who had been like brothers in his years in the ranks: Sha the pragmatist, Blastares the infantry lion and Procopius, whose knowledge of siege craft was legendary.

‘Sir, we need to act,’ Sha spoke first, crouching before him. ‘Bey Nasir has addressed the walls. He demands our surrender and insists he will attack at noon tomorrow if we do not comply.’

Apion’s gaze narrowed, falling back to the water’s surface. ‘Then our fears of thirst and starvation matter little!’ he chuckled dryly.

Blastares frowned at the other two, then nodded to the cup. ‘Hold on, I recognise that cup — you’re drinking the piss-brew from the tavern?’

Apion shot him a stern glare. ‘It’s water, Blastares. If I visited a whorehouse would that mean I was there only for the rutting?’

Blastares and Procopius looked at one another, eyebrows raised and bottom lips curled down, nodding.

Apion scowled at this. ‘I came here to think. . ’ he stopped, shook his head, rubbed his face with his palms and then affixed his three with a steely look. ‘You said noon tomorrow? You are sure of his intentions?’

Procopius nodded hurriedly. ‘They are readying their war engines. I have seen them treating the ropes and the timbers of their stone throwers.’ He stopped and cupped his jaw, his eyes narrowing. ‘But I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach that they’re up to something else. . ’

‘Aye, they are,’ Apion frowned. ‘If Nasir says they will attack at noon tomorrow then I can assure you he will strike our walls tonight. Has word of this message spr. . ’ his words trailed off and his gaze locked onto the water in the cup once more.

‘Sir?’ Sha asked. Then he, Blastares and Procopius all looked to the water’s surface.

The surface was still.

Then it rippled from the faintest of tremors. Apion’s eyes widened.

Procopius’ jaw dropped and he glanced to the ground beneath their feet. ‘Sappers!’

Blastares sprung to his feet. ‘If they get under the walls. . ‘

Procopius raised a finger, cutting him off, and waited until the liquid rippled again. ‘See how the ripple emanates from the side of the cup nearest the walls? I’d say they are already under the walls, but they’re not finished tunnelling yet.’ The aged tourmarches’ eyes darted this way and that.

‘Either way we must act, immediately,’ Blastares appealed.

‘I will deal with the tunnels,’ Apion replied. ‘Sha, we need to discuss how the men should be deployed.’ Then he turned to Blastares and Procopius. ‘You two need to deal with the Seljuk artillery.’

Blastares frowned. ‘The artillery? You mean the artillery outside the walls?’ he crouched back down on his haunches with a dry chuckle, folding his arms. Then he jabbed a thumb at Procopius and cracked a wry smile. ‘This old bastard knows all there is to know about artillery, but are you proposing that he and I walk out there and eliminate, what, six catapults, and two trebuchets? Then stroll back in here for some of the foetid, briny brew from the tavern?’