Robert Lyndon - Imperial Fire

‘What’s a gyrfalcon?’

‘White falcons that live under the Pole Star, many weeks’ voyage north of Britain. From there we carried them south through Rus and across the Black Sea to Anatolia. The journey took the best part of a year and many of the companions who accompanied us didn’t reach the end.’

‘But you did. You achieved your goal.’

‘A part of me likes to think we did. Another part tells me that the sacrifice wasn’t worth it.’

Lucas sagged back on his pillows. ‘You’re not telling me the half of it, are you?’

‘No. I could never share the joy and heartache of that odyssey with anybody but Vallon and Wayland.’

‘Who’s Wayland?’

‘A remarkable Englishman, a falconer who sleeps tonight in the court of the Sultan Suleyman with his wife, Syth, who travelled every mile of that long journey with us.’

Lucas wanted to know more about his father. ‘Is General Vallon a good commander?’

Hero looked down. ‘I’m not qualified to judge martial prowess. All I can say is that without Vallon’s leadership, cunning and courage, I would be a heap of bones mouldering in some distant wilderness.’

‘How would you rate his skill with arms?’

‘I would say that in his prime, there wasn’t a man alive who had the beating of him.’

Lucas lay still, digesting the claim. ‘It sounds as if you admire him.’

‘I abhor violence, but Vallon is a warrior of honour. I never saw him kill a man wantonly. And no one else could have led us through the wilderness of the world. He’s the only man I’d follow to the ends of the earth.’ Hero snuffed out the lamp. ‘Except I’ve already done that.’

Tomorrow, Hero had said. All day, with rain lashing the shutters, Lucas held himself ready for Vallon’s appearance. He was still waiting, nauseous with anticipation and dread, when the candle died, leaving him in darkness.

The door slamming against its hinges startled him awake. A figure sensed rather than seen forced the door shut, shielding a lamp from the draught. Its light steadied, half-illuminating Vallon’s face.

‘Did I wake you?’

Lucas gargled some response. Vallon beat rain from his cloak, seated himself on a stool too small for him and placed the lamp on a table. Its light threw his face into planes and grooves. Lucas could scarcely breathe. All his bravado leaked away. The general didn’t resemble the blood-dripping monster branded on his memory, but he looked like a killer — a tired and careworn professional slayer. His deep-set gaze was direct, apparently indifferent until one corner of his mouth crooked in a manner that suggested bleak humour.

‘So,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to learn more about the cuckoo in my nest. I understand you travelled from Aquitaine.’

Lucas was glad bandages hid his face. ‘From Osse in the Pyrenees.’

‘I recognise the accent. Your people would be farmers.’

‘Shepherds and horsebreeders, my Lord.’

‘Sir will do. You didn’t have to come all this way to enlist in the military. Why didn’t you find an army closer to home?’

‘I… I’d rather not say. Except that I couldn’t stay in France.’

Another wry twist of the mouth. ‘Well, you wouldn’t be the first outlaw to seek employment in my command. How did you travel to Naples?’

‘I walked, my Lord… sir. It took six months, stopping many times to earn food by my labour.’

Vallon leaned forward, his shadow rearing up the wall. ‘Unnecessary effort. If it’s a soldier’s life you crave, you could have found it in Italy. The Normans have been combing the peninsula for recruits. I’m surprised they didn’t sweep you into their net.’

‘What I saw of the Normans didn’t endear them to me.’

Vallon rocked back. ‘“Endear”? Your speech is more polished than I would expect from a shepherd’s son.’

‘We weren’t peasants, sir. One of my uncles was a priest and saw that I had an education.’

‘Can you read and write?’

‘Tolerably well. That’s to say, poorly by your standards.’

‘Hm. This veteran who pointed you in my direction. What’s his name?’

‘Pepin, sir. He spoke highly of you. He said that your regiment had gained a notable victory at Dyr… at Dyr — ’

‘Dyrrachium, and it wasn’t a regiment and we didn’t win the battle.’ Vallon raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘The only Pepin who served under me lost his life in Castile more than ten years ago.’ Vallon looked down. ‘Horsebreeders, you said.’

‘Yes, sir. And I can break them.’

‘Any experience with weapons? I expect you know how to use a slingshot.’

‘I can handle a sword, sir.’

‘Can you indeed? I don’t suppose many shepherds from Osse can make that claim.’

‘An old soldier who’d fought against the Moors instructed me. From a young age I’ve wanted to follow his calling.’

Vallon grunted. ‘Well, we’ll see how you handle the real thing when your ribs have mended. If you show promise, I’ll find you a place in one of the infantry regiments.’

‘My ambition is to serve in a cavalry unit.’

‘You don’t have the means. A war horse costs two years’ wages, and then there are weapons and armour to purchase. No commander would outfit an unformed youth who’s never seen action.’

‘I’m not as raw as you think.’

‘I take that to mean you’ve taken at least one man’s life.’

Lucas pushed away the sordid image of Krum’s death spasms. ‘I thought I could start as your groom.’

Vallon’s forehead pleated. ‘What makes you think I’d find space for you in my squadron?’

‘You took me into your household.’

‘Not by choice. Why are you so keen to serve under me?’

‘Master Hero described the expedition you led to the north. His account of the way you achieved your goal convinced me that I would like to serve in your Outlanders.’

Vallon picked up the lamp. ‘No, you wouldn’t. That was then. This is now.’

Caitlin didn’t look up from her needlework when Vallon returned from his visit to Lucas. Hero broke the awkward silence. ‘What do you make of our invalid?’

‘An odd case. In one breath he sounds like a bumptious peasant. With the next he gives the impression of someone from better-bred stock.’

Caitlin made a fierce stitch and put aside her embroidery. ‘As soon as he’s well enough, I want him out of here.’

‘He’s no trouble.’

‘No trouble? The families of those boys he attacked are threatening to complain to the magistrate.’

‘It was the Venetians who started the fight.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Their families are of good standing, while that lout is a nobody.’ Caitlin’s breathy voice threatened to break into a higher register. ‘And what was Wulfstan thinking of, breaking Marco’s nose?’

‘He wasn’t thinking of anything. Marco attacked a visitor to our house. He got what he deserved.’

‘It’s all very well for you to treat the matter lightly. You’re hardly ever here. I have to live with my neighbours. I’m the one who has to cultivate friendships, make alliances, consider marriage matches.’

‘Zoe is barely eight.’

‘The same age as Theodora’s daughter and she’s already betrothed.’

Vallon closed his eyes briefly.

Hero had been following the exchanges, his eyes switching from Vallon to Caitlin. He cleared his throat. ‘Lucas should be well enough to leave by Sunday.’

Vallon grunted. ‘Good.’

‘Will you take him into your squadron?’

Vallon shook his head. ‘I need seasoned fighters who can supply their own horse and arms. The boy doesn’t have a penny to his name.’

‘He seems a very determined young man — proud, too. On the ship he ate food I wouldn’t have given to a pig, yet he didn’t beg. And anyone who can walk from Aquitaine to Naples must be resourceful.’ Hero hesitated. ‘How much does a horse cost?’