Gordon Doherty - Strategos - Born in the Borderlands

Apion felt his hands scrape on the ground and at once he was up, hobbling towards Nasir’s back, a roar rent the air and he barely recognised it as his own as he clasped his arms around the boy’s neck, pulling him down. The pair tumbled to the dust, spilling over in a flurry of elbow and knees. Nasir ended it by pinning Apion to the ground, knees pressed into his shoulders.

‘You lay a finger on her and I. . I. . ’ Apion spat.

‘Hold your tongue, Byzantine.’

‘Get off of him, Nasir,’ Maria squealed, shoving him clear of Apion, ‘you’re hurting him!’

‘What?’ Nasir scrambled round to stand over him again, then snorted at the sight of the angry welt of scar on Apion’s leg. ‘A cripple? Well I won’t waste my strength on you. What happened to your leg? Were your parents crippled too?’ He mocked.

A fury erupted in Apion’s chest and he hobbled forward. ‘You filthy Seljuk whoreson! ’

‘Apion!’ Maria slapped a hand across his neck. ‘Stop it, both of you,’ she gasped. ‘Animals!’

Apion glanced at her and then shared a breathless and venomous glare with Nasir.

Maria sighed, screwing her eyes shut tight and running her hands through her hair. ‘Apion, if you want to continue to share my family home then you’ll apologise to Nasir. Nasir, you behave more like yourself and less like your idiot brother and we might speak again,’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘Make peace,’ she demanded.

As the tension ebbed from his veins and the crushing pain from his scar replaced it, Apion looked at the boy Nasir. He was no more than that; just a wiry boy, but whose words had stirred a murky anger deep inside him. Nasir cast him a mirror image, narrow-eyed stare.

‘For now, Byzantine,’ he growled.

Apion bristled. ‘Likewise.’

‘Come on,’ Maria hissed, tugging Apion by the elbow as he and Nasir remained locked in a fiery gaze. ‘Move or Giyath will come up here and he won’t be so easily talked out of skewering you.’

‘Talked out of? I had the beating of Nasir!’ Apion protested as they descended the hill to Mansur’s farm, the goats skipping alongside.

‘The beating of him?’ Her words cut through his indignation like a razor. ‘We were on his property, trying to steal his family’s food. . ’ her words trailed off as she saw the hole she was digging. Her skin darkened a little around the cheeks. ‘Well, enough about who’s right and who’s wrong,’ she grumped, pushing back into the barley.

‘Agreed,’ Apion couldn’t contain a weary grin. Before he stepped into the barley field, he cast a glance over his shoulder. Nasir stood like a sentinel on the hilltop, watching them.

Apion stirred from thick sleep. The farmhouse was still and silent. A winter draft tickled his ankles and he pulled them up and into the welcome heat under his hemp blanket. He prised open an eye; it was pitch-black inside and out apart from the pristine crescent of moon hanging in the triangular gap between the shutters, just below the carved Christian Chi-Rhomounted above the window. It was well into the night, he mused, knowing the path the moon took at this time of year. A gruff choking snore from Father startled him; then the subsequent weary groan from Mother sent a smile easing across his face. ‘Could wake a bear in hibernation,’ she said of Father. He sighed, hugging the edge of the blanket and studying the features of the moon until his eyelids began to droop. Sweet, thick sleep was overcoming him again. Then a shadow darted past the shutters. He sat bolt upright.

It was fleeting, maybe even never there, but he was awake now and his skin rippled with a sense of unease. He blinked hard, rubbing his fists into his eyes. He leaned forward to scan the crack in the shutters, his blanket dropping from his shoulders, the icy air shrouding him. Then, outside, an eagle screeched like a demon, its claws raking at the roof tiles. It had probably hurt a wing or lost its baby and it sounded pained. The bird finally left, its screaming fading. Once more all was still, all was silent. He felt for the creature but welcomed the return of the placid night, then smiled and sank back down onto the bed. He rested his head on the pillow and pulled the blanket back up to his neck. His thoughts began to wander into sleep.

Then a trilling and utterly foreign scream rent the night air. ‘Loukas! Your time has come!’

His feet slapped on the deathly cold flagstones as he leapt to standing in one movement, eyes bulging, prying at the darkness through the open door of his bedroom, heart crashing against his ribs. He crept forward and poked his head out into the hearth room: the shadowy outline of the table sat inconspicuous as always. Another imagining, Apion hoped? But he knew in his heart something was terribly wrong.

‘Apion, get back into your room!’ his father croaked, stumbling from his bedroom, pulling on his tunic by the hearth. Then the thick timber door leading out to the yard smashed inwards as though struck by a battering ram, his father stumbled back and at once, his home was invaded by the dancing flames of bobbing torches. Dark towering shapes and jagged voices flooded into the hearth room along with the acrid stench of burning pitch. At once, Apion felt his skin pulled tight, eyes fixed on the intrusion, terror awash in his limbs. He ducked back into his bedroom and watched them from the shadows. There were four of them, each wrapped in thick black robes, heads and faces covered by thin cotton scarves and each wore a sword belt that bore the dreaded Seljuk scimitar. Then a fifth walked in and barked at the other four in the Seljuk tongue, then broke into Greek, the other four obeying his orders. Apion stalked back into the shadows of his bedroom, cowering, Father would protect them, surely.

‘Can’t find your sword, Loukas?’ The leader spoke in a muffled voice through his veil. Then an awful rasping filled the room as three of the four intruders drew their scimitars from their scabbards, the curved blades glinting in the torchlight. ‘Lucky we remembered ours!’ A nightmarish orange illuminated the blades as three of the figures stepped forward to surround Father. The fourth remained fixed by the door, sword sheathed.

‘Loukas? What’s happening?’ Mother shrieked, her voice trailing off into a series of sobs as she ran to grasp Father’s arm. ‘Where is Ap. . ’ Father turned and struck her hard across the cheek. Instantly she was silent, one hand on her stinging face and eyes wide in shock, blood dripping from her lip. Father glared at her, terror and urgency contorting his features.

‘Rest easy, Loukas, for tonight you will all die for your sins,’ the leader purred, flicking a finger either side of the cowering pair. The three armed henchmen stalked around to encircle them. Then the leader stopped, twisting his head back to the fourth intruder. ‘What about you? Why are you suddenly so shy, hero?’ The fourth intruder remained stock-still. ‘So maybe your reputation is exaggerated? So be it,’ the leader spat, then turned back to Mother and Father. ‘Slaughter them and then torch this hovel!’ Then he nudged at the wooden blocks and carved toy soldiers on the floor. ‘There is a boy child in this house; make sure you find him. . and stick him like a pig!’

Apion could only watch as Mother’s scream filled the farmhouse before it was cut short in a single swipe of a scimitar across her neck, her body collapsing like a sack of rubble, head dangling behind the gaping wound and crimson soaking her night robe in a heartbeat. Father roared, thrashing out at his opponents with balled fists, but the intruders danced back easily from every blow.