Robert Lyndon - Imperial Fire

‘What’s your crime?’

‘My name. I’m a Phocas, cousin of the emperor deposed by Alexius and his scheming bitch of a mother.’

Vallon felt dull-witted. He shook his head. ‘Alexius wouldn’t spend a fortune just to get rid of one of his generals and a treacherous duke.’

When Skleros smiled, his eyes disappeared. ‘How little you understand Byzantine politics.’ He waved at the treasure chests. ‘That gold amounts to less than what it cost Alexius to build a private chapel in which to confess his sins.’ He held up a finger and his voice fell to a hush. ‘But for us, General, a fortune, a solid foundation on which to rebuild our lives.’

Vallon’s hopes, shakily constructed from the start, had collapsed in ruins. Skleros recognised his dismay and followed up. ‘Another thing. You have a beautiful wife. You’ve spent longer on foreign service than you’ve been at home.’ Skleros flinched and held up a placating hand. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I’ve heard nothing to suggest that your lady is anything other than a faithful partner. But at dinner parties I’ve heard several wealthy and well-connected gentlemen who would like to separate you from your mistress.’ He gripped harder. ‘Three years, Vallon. That’s how long we’ll be away, maybe longer. That’s how long your wife will have to endure an empty bed.’

Vallon felt cold. ‘What part does the Logothete play in this?’

Skleros loosened his grip. ‘Who knows? He spins and weaves, knotting saint and sinner into warp and weft.’

Vallon took a shuddering breath. ‘I have to consult my officers.’

‘There’s nothing to consult about. The expedition’s finished. Even if you could escape, you’ll lose the supply ships.’

Vallon looked at Skleros as if seeing him for the first time. ‘I thought you were a fool, a lazy glutton without a thought in your head except where your next meal would come from.’

The duke tittered. ‘Cleverer men than you have made the same mistake.’ He sobered and his eyes grew round with false sincerity. ‘I won’t hold it against you. You’re just a simple soldier trying to do your duty.’

‘Yes,’ Vallon said. ‘A simple soldier.’

‘So I forgive the rough treatment you’ve subjected me to. Now then, do as I command and you’ll receive a share of the gold and treasure.’

‘How much?’

Skleros cocked his head like a bird about to spear a worm. ‘A quarter would be fair, I think.’

Vallon stepped back. ‘I’ll weigh everything you’ve told me.’

His squadron watched in mystified silence as he made for the tower, summoning Pelican ’s captain and Otia the Georgian centurion to join him. He climbed up to the platform and faced his officers. Wulfstan sneaked alongside.

Vallon’s tone was wooden. ‘Those are pirate ships and the duke is in league with them. He says that if we follow them into Trebizond, we’ll be free to start afresh with a share of the gold.’

Wulfstan spat. ‘Well, that was a short expedition.’

‘I don’t believe him. If they wanted us to go to Trebizond, they could simply have waited for us to arrive. I think they hoped to board us without raising suspicions, disarm us and slaughter us. They would have killed the crew and sunk the ships, leaving no trace of their crime.’

‘Are we going to fight them?’ Josselin asked.

Vallon cleared his throat and stood straighter. ‘Only if we have to. Captain, can Pelican outrun those ships?’

‘General, I’m not going to — ’

‘I asked you a question.’

Iannis swallowed. ‘We’re lighter and more nimble. I’d wager we have the beating of them as long as this breeze holds. If it fails, their speed under oars would be greater.’

‘Where would we run to?’ Josselin asked. ‘Sinop is the nearest friendly harbour, but it must lie more than a day upwind. Voyage north and we’ll fall into the hands of Rus warlords or steppe nomads. Sail east and we’ll end up in Armenia or Georgia.’

Vallon’s wits were beginning to fall into place. ‘We won’t find a safe haven in Armenia. It’s in Seljuk hands and has close relations with Trebizond. Our documents guaranteeing safe passage wouldn’t be worth the ink they’re written in.’ Vallon squinted east. ‘Captain, how far are we from Georgia?’

‘If this breeze holds, we should sight the coast tomorrow morning.’

Vallon looked for Otia. ‘That’s your country. What kind of reception can we expect?’

‘Not a friendly one. It’s only forty years since Byzantium went to war against Georgia, and my compatriots have long memories.’

‘We’re not going to invade the place, just make a safe landfall until we work out our next move. Captain, can you find a peaceful spot to put us ashore?’

Iannis eyed the eastern horizon. ‘The mouth of the river Phasis. The coast there is flat and marshy, inhabited only by fishermen.’

‘Make for it.’

Josselin indicated the warships to windward. ‘How do we get away from them?

Vallon’s eye fell on the catapult — a trebuchet with a timber throwing arm twenty feet long, the short end counterweighted with a basket of sand that must have weighed close to a ton. He glanced at Wulfstan. ‘You used catapults in the Mediterranean. What’s that thing capable of?’

Wulfstan studied the machine with a professional eye. ‘I’d say it could hurl a thirty-pound rock more than five hundred feet.’

‘How far would it toss the duke?’

Wulfstan spluttered with laughter. Even Otia’s face twitched in a smile. ‘I calculate that he’d fall a way short of the galley, but he’d make a fair old splash.’

Hero was shocked. ‘Vallon, I hope you’re joking.’

‘Fetch him.’

The Seljuk minder bundled Skleros up onto the roof. The duke looked around at the faces and found no comfort in them. His voice quavered. ‘I trust that I’ve made you see sense.’

Vallon’s nod had all the hallmarks of defeat. ‘Yes, after considering all aspects of our situation, I realise our position is almost hopeless.’

Skleros exhaled in relief. ‘Good. I knew you were a practical fellow at heart. Remember the — ’

‘ Almost hopeless,’ Vallon snapped. ‘A position with which I’m depressingly familiar.’ His gaze flicked towards Wulfstan. ‘Lash him to the beam.’ He turned to face the captain. ‘Raise sail. Josselin, meet any move on the enemy’s part with a volley of arrows.’

Four men dragged Skleros kicking and screaming to the trebuchet and hoisted him onto the beam. The officer on the battleship raised his megaphone. ‘General, what are you doing? If any harm comes to the duke, you’ll pay with your life.’

‘What’s your name?’ Vallon shouted. ‘When someone threatens me, I like to know who I’m dealing with.’

‘Thraco,’ the officer said. ‘A cousin of Duke Skleros.’

‘You asked me to transfer him to you, and since he’s confessed his crimes and I have no more need of him, I’m returning him as promptly as I can.’ He glanced sideways to see the duke held by arms and legs astride the beam, Wulfstan poised to release the trigger that would propel the human missile with the speed of a departing arrow. ‘On my command.’

‘No!’ Skleros screamed. ‘Please God.’

‘Make it quick,’ said Wulfstan. ‘His nibs has shat himself.’

Vallon raised the megaphone again. ‘It seems that the duke has changed his mind and wants to stay on Pelican . If you wish to save him, you’ll let us sail away without hindrance. Remember, we have six more of his men to use for target practice. I’m sure you don’t want to see so much blue blood wasted.’

‘Vallon, if any harm comes to the duke…’