Robert Lyndon - Imperial Fire

After the second refill, Vallon placed a hand over his glass. ‘No more, thank you. I’ll need a steady head and legs to make my way back.’

‘Now then, General,’ Skleros said, spitting out the last beak. ‘Tell us what you think of our chances.’

‘Of reaching China?’ Vallon glanced around at the company. ‘There’s no point worrying about the unknown perils. Time enough for that when we run into them — and we will. It’s the logistics that most concern me — finding enough food, fodder and water. We have plenty of gold, but I’m not sure how far that will take us when we reach the deserts of Turkestan.’

Skleros began tucking into a spiced lemon custard flan, shovelling it over his pendulous lower lip. ‘I have every faith in you and your men.’

‘I must say, Your Excellency, that your own attitude is remarkably sanguine.’

Skleros rotated a hand, giving priority to another mouthful. Once he’d swallowed it — minimum chewing — he fixed Vallon with his tiny eyes. ‘I’m a stoic, General. The vicissitudes I’ve suffered mean I can embrace no other philosophy.’ He lifted a querying gaze past Vallon and seemed to nod. Vallon turned to glimpse a figure vanishing through the door. A servant shut it behind him.

Skleros had resumed talking. ‘Yes, Vallon, fortune has dealt me some harsh blows. My estates in Cappadocia were so large you would have needed a good horse to cross them in a day. All gone, lost to the vile Seljuks. I can’t look on those heathen mercenaries of yours without a shiver of rage. Have another slice of flan. I certainly mean to.’

Someone nudged Vallon’s ankle under the table. Hero was pulling a face at him, indicating the door. ‘I think you should take a look outside,’ he said in English.

Skleros laughed. ‘Speaking in a foreign tongue. Come, come. That’s not polite. Share what you have to say with us.’

Vallon made an apologetic grimace. ‘I’m sorry. Hero was reminding me that I’d arranged to test the ship’s catapult this afternoon.’

‘Cancel it. We’ll be in Trebizond tomorrow.’

‘No, my men will be waiting for me. I’m sorry to leave such a splendid meal, but I really must be getting back.’

Skleros’s eyes sidled. His men seemed edgy, keyed up, as if waiting for a signal. ‘I insist,’ he said. ‘We have important matters to discuss.’

Vallon rose. ‘They’ll have to wait until we reach Trebizond.’

Skleros screwed up his soiled napkin and tossed it on the table. ‘Oh, very well, but I must say I find your manners somewhat wanting.’

Vallon stepped out into blinding sunlight to find Pelican cruising an arrow flight off Stork ’s starboard beam. Wayland and Josselin stood on the tower, jabbing towards the south.

‘What is it?’ Skleros demanded.

‘I don’t know,’ said Vallon. ‘Bring me that speaking trumpet.’

Josselin had already found one. ‘Ship to the south-west. Looks like one of ours.’

Vallon peered from under a shading palm and spotted the tip of a white thorn nicking the horizon. ‘What course?’

‘Heading our way.’

Wayland said something to Josselin. ‘Two dromons,’ the centurion shouted. ‘Three-masters. Wayland thinks they’re flying the imperial flag.’

‘How long before they run up to us?’

Josselin consulted Pelican ’s captain. ‘Not more than half an hour. They must be making twice our speed.’ Josselin pointed at the tubby transports wallowing in the dromons’ wake.

The situation left Vallon vexed and uncertain. Almost certainly the approaching ships were Byzantine vessels, but that didn’t mean they were friendly. Since the Seljuks had captured most of Anatolia, dispossessed Greeks had established several pirate bases on the Black Sea coast. If Stork and Pelican heaved to now, allowing him to return to his ship, the delay would enable the approaching vessels to catch up. On the other hand, after the duke’s odd behaviour, he didn’t want to be on Stork when they arrived. He glanced over his shoulder to see Skleros and his men arrayed outside the cabin, waiting to see which way he’d jump.

‘Excuse me,’ Vallon said. He steered Hero out of earshot. ‘Do you think the duke was told about the ships while we were at table?’

‘I don’t see what else it could have been.’

‘Then why didn’t he share the news with us?’

‘Perhaps he was enjoying stuffing himself too much.’

Vallon studied the approaching ships. Now the leading vessel was hull clear and its companion’s sails notched the horizon.

‘Or else he was expecting the ships and wanted to keep us on board until they intercepted.’

‘He couldn’t have known they’d be in this place at this time.’

‘No, but if he’d posted a lookout at the masthead, he would have learned of the ships long before our men spotted them. Long enough to make sure we were still on his vessel when they ran up to us.’

‘But why would he do that?’

‘I don’t know. Stay close.’

Josselin hailed him again. ‘Definitely flying the double eagle.’

Vallon put the trumpet to his mouth. ‘Maintain course. Keep close station with the supply ships. Have the men prepare for battle.’

‘That’s preposterous,’ Skleros spluttered. ‘Rescind your order.’

Vallon ignored him. Majestic under full sail, the leading battleships had closed to within two miles. Another flag ran rippling up the main masthead.

‘Ordering us to heave to,’ Josselin shouted.

‘Do as they say,’ Skleros said. He fluttered a hand at the captain. ‘See to it.’

Vallon stepped forward. ‘Wait.’

The captain hesitated, eyes switching between his two superiors.

‘I’m under orders to stop for no one,’ Vallon said.

‘General, you can’t ignore a signal from the admiral of the Black Sea. That’s his flag flying from the foremast.’ Skleros’s tone hardened. ‘Carry on, Captain.’

‘As you were,’ Vallon snapped. ‘The Logothete assured me that the Black Sea fleet has orders not to hinder our passage.’

‘Perhaps they’re carrying messages that affect our mission.’

‘We’ve had ideal sailing conditions since we left Constantinople. To catch up with us, those galleys would have had to leave port within a day of our own departure.’

‘I know nothing about ships and sailing. Heave to and solve the mystery.’

‘Why would the Logothete despatch two ships to carry a message?’

‘General, I haven’t got the faintest idea. I act on the evidence of my eyes and not according to what affrights my imagination. I see an imperial dromon signalling us to stop and therefore, for the last time’ — the duke rounded on the captain and purple blotches stained his cheeks — ‘I demand that you obey without further delay.’

‘Damn it,’ Vallon shouted. ‘I’m in charge of security.’

But the duke’s title carried more weight, and the captain’s orders to heave to were already being relayed. Ropes rattled, yards creaked, sails luffed.

‘Hero and I are returning to Pelican ,’ Vallon told Skleros. He raised his voice. ‘Lower a boat.’

No one moved. He swung round. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

One of the duke’s men fingered his sword hilt and that was all Vallon needed to confirm his fears of treachery. He had his own blade out before the man could even think of drawing. His eyes darted. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You’re behaving like a lunatic,’ said Skleros. ‘Show some dignity. The dromons will be alongside before you reach your ship.’

Josselin had noticed something was wrong. ‘Do you need help, General?’

‘Send two squads. Transfer all our men on to Pelican , then order the transports to make full sail. You stay where you are and be ready for my instructions.’