Robert Lyndon - Imperial Fire

There and back was twenty miles and by the time Lucas hobbled into barracks after sunset, his calf muscles were so cramped that he was forced to walk backwards.

After washing his blistered feet, he fell onto his cot and lay staring at the ceiling.

‘Here,’ said Aiken, sliding across a hunk of bread.

Lucas didn’t thank him. ‘If it had been you who’d done the mocking, no one would have punished you.’

Aiken propped himself on one elbow. ‘I don’t understand your animosity. From the moment we met, you’ve had it in for me. What harm have I ever done you? Well? Answer.’

Lucas rolled over. ‘You’ll find out.’

Two days later Vallon rode into the barracks, provoking a scurry of activity.

‘Everyone to the parade ground,’ Aimery shouted. ‘At the double.’

Lucas heard similar orders ringing out from the other barracks. ‘What’s all the excitement about?’

‘It’s the beginning of the campaign season,’ Gorka said. ‘Vallon’s going to give us our marching orders.’

The unit marched out into a glorious April day. Vallon and his centurions sat their fine horses, the sea behind them the colour of hyacinths under an unclouded sky. For the first time Lucas laid eyes on the other centurions. Conrad, the shaven-headed and craggy German second-in command, looked as if he’d been hewn from rock. Otia, the Georgian, with his jet-black hair, wavy beard and beautiful dark eyes, resembled a melancholy saint in an icon. Lucas had heard that in ordinary life, Otia was the most self-effacing of men, but that in battle he was a maniac.

‘Squadron form ranks,’ Conrad ordered.

The men formed up in three lines, Lucas’s unit on the right of the rear rank.

Vallon pitched his voice to carry. ‘Can everybody hear me?’

‘Sir!’ the squadron shouted.

A breeze blew a lock of hair across Vallon’s face. He brushed it back. ‘No doubt you’ve been wondering where your next tour of duty will take you. Well, I for one won’t be returning to the Danube frontier.’ Vallon raised a hand to quell the cheers. ‘My commission takes me much further afield, on an expedition commissioned by His Imperial Majesty. I’m not at liberty to tell you where, only that it will be at least two years before I see my home and family again.’

Not a sound from the Outlanders, all of them straining for the general’s next words.

‘I’m not taking the whole squadron,’ said Vallon. ‘My orders are to select a hundred volunteers. We can whittle the number down by excluding all married men and those over forty. That still leaves almost two hundred of you. I hope I can find enough brave souls from that number to furnish a sufficient force.’

Lucas saw his excitement reflected on his companions’ faces.

‘Those who join me will receive double wages. Those of you fortunate enough to return will be paid the same again. For those who don’t make it back, there will be generous pensions for your families. That tells you something about the dangers we’ll be facing. I want you to dwell on that aspect before you make a decision.’

Excitement rippled through the squadron.

Conrad rode forward a pace. ‘Silence in the ranks!’

The parade ground fell still. At its rooftop nest, a stork clacked its beak with a sound like the roll of a snare drum. Out to sea, ships heeled against the breeze.

‘Front rank first,’ Vallon said. ‘All those who wish to join the expedition, take two steps forward.’

A grizzled Croat thrust up a hand. ‘Permission to speak, General?’

‘Granted.’

‘What happens to the men you’ll leave behind?’

‘They’ll be merged into a new squadron commanded by Centurion Conrad and posted to the Danube border.’

The front rank looked along their line, shook their heads and stepped forward as one.

Vallon rubbed his brow. ‘I said I’m not taking married men.’

‘Permission to speak again,’ said the Croat.

‘If you must. In your case, it won’t make any difference. As I recall, you have at least one wife and four children you acknowledge as your own.’

The Croat glared at his chuckling companions. ‘General, I’d rather risk the unknown than go back to those fever marshes. As for my wife and children, they know a soldier’s fortunes are uncertain. For the last eight years they’ve lived every day with the fear that I won’t be coming home.’

A murmur of agreement ran through the ranks.

‘Silence!’ shouted the three centurions.

Vallon’s gaze raked over the faces. ‘On this expedition, failure to return isn’t a possibility. It’s a probability.’ He paused. ‘I’m flattered that you put so much faith in me, but I don’t demand loyalty for loyalty’s sake. Let me repeat: the expedition will be extremely dangerous. Many of you who ride out with me won’t return. Their bodies will be consumed by wild beasts in lands where no Christian has trod.’ He left another resonant silence. ‘We’ll try the second rank, as before. All those who wish to volunteer, take…’

With impressive timing, the second rank stepped forward.

Vallon conferred with his centurions before addressing the squadron again. ‘Third rank.’

Lucas took two paces forward, face held high, chest straining. No, not every man had volunteered. Lucas glimpsed a gap to his left and realised that Aiken had held back. Vallon noticed it, too, and made the best of an embarrassing situation.

‘Aiken has no need to volunteer. As my son and shield-bearer, his place is at my side.’

Otia the Georgian centurion stuck out his hand. ‘That man there. What are you smirking about?’

Lucas jerked his head back. ‘Nothing, sir.’

Vallon rubbed his forehead again and sighed. ‘I see there’s nothing for it but to choose for myself.’

He went into a huddle with the centurions and several minutes passed before he broke off and faced the squadron. ‘I’d take all of you if I could. No man left behind must take it as a slight on his courage, loyalty and integrity.’

Vallon dismounted and began the long selection process. From where Lucas stood, he saw that the general had words with every man he came to, and warm gestures besides. After he’d passed by, some of the soldiers clutched their fists at their sides and some went grey with the shock of rejection. One man broke into sobs and Lucas saw gritted faces and the sparkle of tears on several others.

Vallon’s progress meant that Lucas was the last to hear his fate. His tense stance made him tremble by the time the general stood in front of him.

‘Trooper Lucas, by all reports you’ll make a fine soldier in time. You handle weapons well and have a natural way with horses. But you’re too young and green for this adventure. It would be a crime to expose you to dangers you’re not ready to meet. Also, your Greek isn’t up to standard.’

Rejection struck Lucas like a kick in the guts. Vallon had turned away before he found his voice.

‘General, you said we might be away two years.’

‘At least.’

Lucas’s voice shook. ‘In that time I’ll have grown to manhood and acquired the necessary military skills. My training goes well and my Greek teacher is pleased with my progress.’

Vallon looked back. ‘I’m sure that when I return, you won’t disappoint me.’

‘General!’

Gorka seized Lucas’s arm. ‘Shut up! Vallon’s heard your plea. He’s turned down many others more deserving.’

Lucas struggled, features contorting. ‘You can’t leave me behind!’

Gorka’s hand dug into his arm. ‘For your own sake, get a grip.’

Vallon turned, his face conveying puzzlement. Everyone within earshot was spectating. Over the sea, gulls wheeled and mewed.

‘You took me into your home,’ Lucas panted. ‘You put me into your squadron with Aiken. To be spear-companions, you said. You can’t separate us now.’