Robert Lyndon - Imperial Fire

Centurion Josselin jerked his chin. ‘Take him away. Put him on a charge. Failure to obey orders.’

‘Wait,’ Vallon said as Gorka lugged Lucas away. He moved closer and spoke only for the young Frank’s benefit. ‘Yes, I hoped you and Aiken would become companions. Unfortunately, I hear that your attitude towards him is anything but friendly. Spite isn’t a quality I admire.’ He swung on his heel. ‘Dismiss the squadron.’

Lucas made a lunge, but Gorka yanked him back. ‘You’ve said enough,’ he snarled. ‘It’s a flogging for you.’

Blanched and dazed, Lucas knew what he had to do. Vallon, I’m your son, the son of the wife you murdered, brother of your younger son and the daughter I held in my arms before she died two years ago. Sole survivor of a disgraced family reduced to rooting for acorns in the mountains.

He opened his mouth, framing a shout. Father!

‘Let Lucas come,’ Aiken said. ‘Unlike me, he acts as if his life depends on it. He doesn’t like me. I don’t like him. That doesn’t matter. I’ll be interested in seeing how he deals with the reality of life on campaign.’

Vallon waved away the bystanders. ‘Gorka, you were in charge of Lucas’s training. What do you think?’

Gorka slackened his grip. ‘Well, General, it’s like this. Trooper Lucas has a long way to go before he can call himself a soldier, but I’ve dealt with worse raw material. The thing is, he gets up my nose, and what I hate is the thought of him twiddling his dick in some cushy billet while me and my mates are fighting whoever it is you’re leading us against. So… I agree with trooper Aiken. Let him come and take his chances.’

Lucas had been standing to attention for two hours. Vallon’s face seemed to go into eclipse, the darkness not like the dark of night, but the absolute blackness of a world where no sun ever shone. He had no recollection of Gorka catching him just before he hit the ground.

All leave was cancelled. For the next ten days the expeditionary force laboured from dawn to dark. They spent most of the time in a cordoned-off section of the harbour loading supplies onto the dromons — Stork and Pelican — and the two cargo ships. Vallon and Hero sometimes appeared on the quay to monitor progress, and it was on one of these occasions that Lucas, trundling barrels up Pelican’ s gangplank, crossed paths with the Sicilian. He wiped his brow.

‘These barrels weigh as heavy as bullion. What’s in them?’

Hero smiled. ‘Nothing so precious as gold, I’m afraid. It’s a mineral called cobalt, mined in Persia and used by potters to produce a blue glaze on ceramics.’

‘Is it valuable?’

‘I’m not sure. We don’t know what our clients want from us.’

‘Who are they? Where are we going?’

‘Vallon will tell you once we’re at sea. All I can say is that by the time you return, you’ll be grown to man’s estate.’

‘Sir…’

Hero had already turned away.

Lucas delivered his next statement in a flurry. ‘Thank you for buying the horse. I’ll repay you.’

Hero blushed. ‘You weren’t supposed to know.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’m grateful — not just for Aster, but for the way you treated my wounds. I crave your pardon for my churlish behaviour on the ship.’

Hero’s expression gentled. ‘Granted without reservation. I know what it’s like to be a stranger in a strange land. I wasn’t much older than you when I fell in with Vallon.’ Seeing Lucas about to pursue the subject, he made his tone brisk. ‘If you want to show your gratitude, bestow it on Aiken. These last few months haven’t been easy for him.’

‘Lucas,’ Gorka shouted. ‘No one gave you leave to chat. Get back to work.’

Lucas lay in bed that night, turning over what Hero had said, torn between the physician’s request and his own resentment. Resentment won, rising like a bitter froth. So Aiken hasn’t had an easy time of it these last few weeks. What about me? I’ve been carrying pain for ten years. Curdled memory dragged him back to the night when Vallon had lurched into the nursery splashed with his wife’s blood, his sword raised to slay his children. Lucas had been six years old, and since then not a day or night had passed when the hideous image didn’t rear up.

‘Aargh!’

He bolted awake to find Gorka’s face leering down, his features grotesque in the light of a candle.

‘No more pleasant dreams, laddie. We’re off to catch a ship and explore the world.’

‘You mean — ’

‘That’s right. By the time the city wakes, we’ll be gone, and every one of us no more than a memory.’

Stars were multiplying in the east when Vallon’s squadron began filing aboard Pelican. Midnight had passed before everyone had found a berth and stowed their kit. Still no sign of the duke. Vallon couldn’t even send to find out what was delaying him because the Logothete had ordered the quay to be sealed. The general paced the dock with mounting impatience. The stars were paling before Skleros and his entourage trotted up with about as much urgency as a group of clubmen returning from a good dinner. Some of the ambassador’s company were the worse for drink. It was all Vallon could do to contain his anger.

‘My Lord, the minister gave clear instructions that we were to sail under cover of dark.’

The duke’s bottom lip drooped. ‘My dear general, do you really think our departure would have gone unnoticed after all the bustle of the last fortnight?’

‘My Lord, we’re carrying enough treasure to attract every pirate in the Black Sea. It’s imperative we observe all security measures.’

‘Oh, stop fussing,’ Skleros said. He yawned and looked around. ‘Now then, if you’d be so good, I’ll need some men to see to our horses.’

Vallon’s windpipe burned with suppressed rage. ‘That gentleman will learn I’m not to be trifled with,’ he told Josselin.

‘Thank God we’re sailing on separate vessels.’

Lucas was among the party who loaded the duke’s mounts. Josselin had assigned him to one of the cargo ships because of his horse-handling skills, and even in his fuming temper, Vallon noticed how neatly the youth coaxed a high-strung steed up the gangplank.

The sun was sliding up over the rim of Asia when Josselin approached. ‘Everybody aboard and everything loaded, sir.’

Vallon looked around at the empty quay. No one had come to see them off. No priest to bless the enterprise with holy water. No proud flags flying from the mainmast. Vallon had received his last instructions from the Logothete the morning before and bade farewell to his family after a private service in St Sophia. A last glance and he strode up the gangway. ‘Cast off.’

Crew members drew up the plank. A gang of dockers began unhitching the mooring cables. Pelican was almost floating free when a commotion at the far end of the wharf drew Vallon’s attention.

‘Hold hard!’ Wulfstan shouted.

But Vallon had already seen the tall blond man loping down the quay with a bow slung over his shoulder, a dog at his side and a porter pushing a hand cart scurrying in their wake. ‘Get a move on,’ he cried to the dockers.

‘No, wait!’ Hero shouted. ‘We can’t sail away without saying farewell.’

Wayland drew up beside the ship and smiled lopsidedly at Vallon. ‘That was sneaky — telling me you wouldn’t be sailing until next week.’

‘I was acting in your best interests.’

‘I’ll decide what’s good for me.’

‘Who told you we were leaving?’ Vallon demanded. He spun round. ‘Wulfstan, was it you?’

‘It was me,’ Hero said.