Gordon Doherty - Strategos - Born in the Borderlands

He scrambled back from the Thessallian; the beast was writhing on the ground, chest punctured by a rhiptarion thrown by one of the bodyguards. The spear had also ripped into Apion’s thigh, tearing across the old scar. He heard Bracchus roar with delight, then he felt the ground shake from thunderous footsteps. He looked up just in time to see Vadim’s double-headed axe arcing down on him. He scrambled away just as the hefty blade split a rock where he had lay. Then he pulled round to face the big Rus, feeling his weight push down on the thigh-wound, urging him to crumple to one knee. The other two bodyguards completed a circle around him.

‘Now finish him, just like his Seljuk whore and her father!’ Bracchus’ face was pinched in malice.

Apion sought out hidden reserves of energy to spin at the flurry of sword thrusts and axe swipes, enough time only to defend, no time to strike out. Vadim’s axe blade ripped across his neck and for an instant he feared it was all over, hot blood washing down his chest, but it was not arterial and his strength stayed with him at first, but his limbs began to tire and each parry became weaker, slower as his blood drained into the ground.

Panting, he saw what looked like a dust cloud approaching from Argyroupolis, then he braced as Vadim’s face curled into a grin and the big Rus lurched for a death blow, hoisting his axe two-handed. Apion ducked back and let his foe’s momentum carry him past, the blow falling to the dust, then he saw the glimmer of opportunity; before Vadim could turn to face him again, Apion wrapped his scimitar blade around the Rus’s neck and ripped it back. Vadim spun to face him, snarling, but the lifeblood was already flooding from the gaping wound, soaking the dust. His face greyed and his expression changed to one of confusion, and then he crumpled to his knees. The axe toppled to the ground first, then Vadim fell forward and was still.

The two remaining bodyguards looked less certain now as Apion faced them, emerald eyes searing under his frown. He lurched for the first and hacked down on his shoulder, the man falling in a fit of convulsions, then spun to chop into the second’s neck but he hesitated as this man dropped his sword, hands raised. The scimitar blade hovered at his neck. Apion saw terror in the man’s eyes, a twinge of pity formed in his heart. Then he remembered the catalogue of atrocities he had been involved in as Bracchus’ bodyguard. In one swipe he beheaded the man.

Panting, he turned to Bracchus. He saw the image of Mansur’s body, Maria’s bloodied dress, Father and Mother’s butchered corpses. He lifted his scimitar and pointed it at the mounted figure.

He did not notice the hundreds who emerged from the approaching dust cloud: members of the garrison, who quickly formed a circle around the confrontation, Sha marshalling them. Then there was one figure on horseback. Cydones.

Bracchus looked to them all and then to the strategos. ‘This man has murdered my bodyguards and now he turns his blade on me. Arrest him!’

The watching garrison shuffled but nobody spoke.

‘I said arrest him!’ Bracchus’ words were hoarse.

Cydones held Bracchus’ stare, then quietly heeled his mount round into a gentle trot back towards Argyroupolis. Bracchus’ eyes bulged. The squires and slaves of Bracchus’ column melted through the circle and followed the strategos.

‘A death bout seems fitting?’ Apion said, his chest shuddering.

‘You have no idea, do you, boy?’ Bracchus heeled his steed into a gentle trot, circling Apion. ‘I answer to nobody and nobody defies me. My blood is sacred. You could not comprehend what suffering I could bring upon you if you were to spill a drop of it.’

Apion’s glare was unblinking. ‘You can bring no more suffering on me, Bracchus. Everything I have is gone and now I live only to see your heart torn from your chest.’

Bracchus grimaced, darting glances to the watching garrison. To a man they stared back stonily. He shook his head and laughed. ‘All for the lives of the Seljuk whore and her father? How many Seljuks did you slay in the field, Haga? How many have lost fathers, sons, husbands because of you.’ Bracchus leaned forward and spat: ‘You are everything you hate about me.’

Apion gritted his teeth, his whole body shaking as he turned, his eyes fixed on the master agente as he circled. ‘Never!’

‘You brought it upon them.’ Bracchus continued. ‘I gave you an order, a simple one, and you chose not to obey it. You made that choice. Your Slav died along with them. . all your doing.’

The words stung Apion. He remembered Nasir’s diatribe to the same effect. Then he shook the thought from his head and fixed Bracchus with a fiery glare. ‘And my parents? Did I choose for them to die on your blade?’ The words felt like a fire in his throat.

Bracchus frowned. ‘Your parents?’

‘You’ve never worked it out, have you?’ Apion snarled. ‘You remember the boy who cut the finger from your hand?’

Bracchus stopped circling, his face falling. ‘You. . you!’ His eyes searched the dust for a moment. ‘Of course. . ’ he muttered. Then he looked up again, a terrible grin creeping across his features. ‘Then it is you who has never worked it out, boy.’

Apion snorted. ‘Speak, before you die.’

‘Did you never wonder why your beloved Mansur took you under his wing? Fed, clothed and cared for you?’

‘He did it because he was a good man. That is why you will die for his murder.’

Bracchus shook his head. ‘He did it because he could not live with his guilt! A weak man to his core! He did it because he was there that night, he was there when your parents paid the price for borrowing from me more than they could repay.’

Apion’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins. The other men with the agente that night. They were Seljuk. They were masked. No , he pleaded in his mind. ‘Never!’ He roared. ‘Mansur would never do that. He would never be part of your dealings in any case.’

‘Unless,’ Bracchus grinned, ‘he had another reason to see your parents die.’

Apion shook his head. ‘These will be your last words, Agente.’

Bracchus hefted his spathion in his hand, gripping his legs around the flanks of his mount. ‘He asked me if he could come that night, for he had sought vengeance for the death of his wife for years. He lusted after the blood of the man who led the cavalry charge that saw his wife slain. He longed to see your father dead.’

Apion’s body numbed from blood loss and realisation. His lips tingled in expectation of a retort but there was none. The truth had its claws in his soul. His grip on the scimitar fell slack and the blade dangled from his hand, his vision spotting over.

‘It started nineteen years ago, with your father’s misguided but welcome attack on Mansur’s caravan,’ Bracchus spoke evenly, eyeing his opponent’s lethargy, heeling his mount into a brisk trot to circle Apion, then he hefted his spathion back, eyes bulging, ‘and on my sword point, it ends now!’ He roared and swept the blade down.

Apion saw the blade coming, but his mind was in another place, stood in the dark doorway. He leapt for the flames with a roar. He barely saw Bracchus’ sword spin up and away from his lightning-fast parry. Time seemed to slow as he leapt to grapple the tourmarches by the throat, pulling him down from the saddle and throwing him prone. As Bracchus struggled to pull a dagger from his belt, Apion stamped on his gloved hand, the bones crunching under his boot, Bracchus’ screams distant. He lifted his scimitar to Bracchus’ chest, fixed his eyes on the master agente and then, with a guttural cry, he thrust down, pushing with all his might until the blade was dug deep into the ground below.