Gordon Doherty - Strategos - Born in the Borderlands

‘Granted,’ Cydones nodded, ‘and be sure to come back focused and ready for the struggle that lies ahead.’

Apion sucked in a deep breath. ‘I will, sir.’

Apion left the tent and headed for the latrines, walking through the sea of bandaged and bloody men being attended to by the medics.

‘God bless you, sir,’ one man held out his hand. ‘You saved us!’

Apion clasped the man’s hand, his brow furrowed at the praise after such bloody work. As he walked on more and more men called out to him, then a chant started. ‘ Ha-ga! Ha-ga! ’

He was glad to be clear of the men as he reached the latrines, then a familiar voice barked at him.

‘Congratulations on your promotion. . sir.’

Apion turned to face Bracchus. His eyes searched the tourmarches’ face, but for once, his nemesis’ expression was blank, the inky pools of his eyes empty. The he saw it, something buried deep inside, just the merest glint of some long-buried sadness.

Apion swallowed his hatred for an instant. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And you saved my life as well. I should thank you for that.’

Apion wondered at how to reply to this. ‘I am a soldier, I carried out my duty. Now, I have been granted leave,’ Apion said, his chest tightening as he saw Bracchus’ features harden back to that familiar, icy expression. ‘I imagine we will speak again when I return?’

Bracchus fixed his eyes on Apion. ‘Perhaps. . ’

Apion frowned as the tourmarches walked away.

The army had reached the crossroads after three days’ march to the west. Here, the bulk of the thema made their own way back to their farmsteads, while three banda were sent to garrison Argyroupolis and further divisions were sent to bolster the other forts, towns and cities of the thema against any sudden Seljuk counterattack. After this, Apion and Blastares had ridden together on their new mounts for a further four days. The big soldier had asked for and been granted leave to sort out some issue with the plot of farmland he had leased, but had left untended since he had joined the permanent garrison of Argyroupolis. So they were to ride together, through the mountain pass and into the farmlands of the thema, as far as the crossroads for Trebizond, and Apion was grateful for the big man’s company.

With the spectre of war temporarily removed, the air had a freshness and lightness, like the land drying after a storm. They had dressed in comfortable linen tunics and felt caps for the first few days — just enough to keep them cool and shade them from the blistering sun — but today, Apion was in his full military garb: tunic, iron klibanion and crimson woollen cloak, boots and leggings, helmet with a scale aventail and a black eagle-feather plume for his return to the farm. He thought back to his recent chat with Cydones over what made a fine soldier: give a man armour and fine weapons and he will be braver and more loyal for it. He wondered at the often rag-tag garb of the banda ranks, far removed from the elite kataphractoi, and he thought back to the damp and mouldy cotton vest and boots Vadim had shoved in his arms on first joining the thema. Then he thought of the shimmering rock he had found up in the mountain cave when sheltering with Kartal the Seljuk. Armour and weapons required funding. Generating funds required initiative. His eyes narrowed. As soon as he returned to the army he would discuss with Cydones the commissioning of new silver and iron mines high up in the mountains, untapped of their riches. Yes, every man in his ranks would march with a fine klibanion, helmet, spathion, good boots and a freshly painted shield.

He sat high and straight in his saddle, remembering father riding home from campaign like this. Then he shuffled in discomfort as the sweat trickled down his back and the klibanion bit into his neck.

Blastares eyed Apion and chuckled. ‘Whoever she is, I hope she’s worth it?’

Apion cocked an eyebrow, thinking of Maria. She was worth it. If only she was not to marry his best friend, he mused wryly, then he saw Blastares’ wicked grin. ‘And I suppose you won’t be using your new kit to impress the ladies?’

Blastares shrugged. ‘Fair point. As soon as I sort out the patch of dust they gave me instead of a proper farm, and the arsehole kataphractos who leased it to me and now thinks he’s my master, then I’ll be heading into the city — the wage of a droungarios weighs heavy on the purse!’

Apion grinned. Despite the gruffness of the big soldier and his initial doubt at Apion’s worthiness, they were like brothers now. Blastares had masked his joy at being promoted to a droungarios, commander of two of Apion’s twelve banda, behind a flurry of increasingly sordid insults. But it was the glint in Blastares’ eye that told him all he needed to know: he could entrust the big man with his life, just as he could with Sha and Procopius, also newly promoted to the same rank. Then he thought of Nepos, the man who should have shared in the glory with them. Blastares had not brought up the topic of the missing Slav, and Apion guessed this was because the gruff soldier was missing the ‘pointy-faced bastard’ but did not know how to properly express the sentiment.

His musings were interrupted when Blastares lifted a leg and let rip with a forced release of foul gas. ‘I’m not eating hard tack bread again for at least a month. . ’

Apion cocked an eyebrow, eyeing the empty wine sack jiggling below Blastares’ saddle; the bread was doubtless only part responsible for his flatulence.

‘. . no, I’ll be spending my days eating pheasant, then my evenings drinking good wine. . and the rest,’ he winked, flashing a stumpy-toothed grin and motioning with his hands as if testing two pieces of fruit for ripeness. ‘So what’s your plans for this spell of leave?’

Apion wished more than anything that the week ahead was for nothing other than spending time with Mansur and Maria. ‘Many neglected duties, Blastares, but I’ll just be happy to get back to the farm. It’s been a while since I rode regularly and my arse is yet to become re-calloused from the saddle!’

‘Aye,’ Blastares snorted, shuffling in his saddle, ‘who’d have thought it, eh? Riding like emperors on horses and it feels like you’re getting buggered by an elephant. Give me a march any day.’

‘Well you’re going to have to get used to it, Blastares, we all are. There’s going to be a long spell of campaigning when we return at the start of the new moon.’

‘Tchoh! Bloody spoil it before it’s even started why don’t you?’ Blastares moaned and then pulled the last of his wineskins from his pack. ‘Right, I’m starting early.’ With that, he pulled the cork from the skin with a plunk and proceeded to gulp at the contents.

The day grew hotter and the dust lined their throats until, at last, they reached a crossroads and a desiccated timber signpost with etchings on each of its pointers. Blastares ambled towards the road for Trebizond, then he stopped and turned in his saddle. He cleared his throat and then issued a brisk salute. ‘Until the new moon, sir!’

Apion nodded sternly then broke into a grin. He reached out a hand. Blastares looked puzzled at first, then he broke out into a matching grin. The big soldier extended a ham-like hand and clasped Apion’s forearm. ‘Until the new moon, Blastares. I look forward to serving with you again.’

‘I might have sobered up by then.’ With that and a throaty cackle, Blastares heeled his mount into a trot onto the highway, then he spurred the beast into a gallop and was soon no more than a dust trail.

Apion watched him go. At last he could think freely without the responsibility of the other men. He heard the faint babble of the Piksidis and a warmth spread in his chest, he sucked in a breath and looked west.