Knights of the Cross by Tom Harper

trembled as the torrent of words poured out of him. ‘After that day, they did not often come in the tent together. They ate apart, and chose different watches. I rarely saw Quino and Odard – that was good. Drogo found other friends.’
    ‘A swordsmith?’ I hazarded.
    Simon looked at me curiously. ‘A swordsmith, yes. He was a Saracen, an Ishmaelite. It was another thing to make Quino angry.’
    ‘And they never spoke of what had passed at Daphne?’
    ‘Never. One or two times, I heard Rainauld mention a house of the sun. I think it was a place they had been that day, for always it drew the same silence from the others.’
    ‘“The house of the sun.” It meant nothing to you?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    He paused, looking at the wilting herbs in his fist. ‘I should go back. Quino is not as good a master as Drogo.’
    ‘Come with me.’ I spoke on impulse: I did not know how I could pay the boy, and I could not even feed myself, but the pain in his face was more than I could ignore. I took his arm. ‘Come and serve me, and I will see you are kept safe from Quino’s rages.’
    He shook free of my grasp. ‘I am bound to Quino. If I left him, he would think it a betrayal. His vengeance would be unforgiving. I must go.’
    At that I wanted to snatch him by the shoulder and drag him away from the Normans. But I resisted the impulse. However miserable the fate he chose, I could not compel him. ‘A final question. Did you ever see a woman named Sarah visit Drogo?’
    Simon’s head jerked up like a rabbit’s; his stare fixed on my face, then swiftly switched to my boots. ‘Never.’
    He was lying, I was sure of it, but I could not in conscience risk causing more delay and provoking Quino’s wrath. I watched him run across the field, back towards the grey ranks of canvas, and wondered what malevolent power swayed the occupants of that cursed tent.
    That evening I went to see Tatikios. The lamplight was bright on the gilded fabric of the room, but he was in a dark mood. He paced before his ebony chair, muttering to himself and constantly darting glances towards the door. In every corner a Patzinak stood holding a spear.
    ‘Demetrios,’ the eunuch snapped. ‘Did you see anyone outside the door?’
    ‘None worth remarking. Why?’
    ‘Bohemond came here. He warned that sentiment in the armies turns against us.’
    Irreverently, I thought that Tatikios ought to find a goldsmith to recast his golden nose in a more imposing form. At present it only served to make him seem petulant.
    ‘The Franks have ever been jealous of our civilisation,’ I answered. ‘When the war goes amiss, it is natural that they blame us.’
    ‘My position is impossible.’ Tatikios had not paid me the least attention. ‘The barbarians blame me because the Emperor does not join their siege, but I can achieve nothing. With less than half a legion at my disposal I am forced to follow a strategy I did not recommend. And the Emperor is deaf to my pleas for aid.’
    I thought back to the courtyard in the palace. When you make allies of your enemies, every battle is a victory . Whom did the Emperor truly wish to see broken by the siege, I wondered?
    ‘I am between Scylla and Charybdis,’ the eunuch continued. ‘And now Bohemond warns that the barbarians may purpose violence against us.’
    ‘Did he name any conspirators?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then it is nothing more than gossip. I walk daily through the Norman camps and I see the hatred they bear us. That does not mean they will slit our throats in our beds.’
    Tatikios slumped into his chair. ‘This is no place for a general of Byzantium. I should be at the Emperor’s side in the queen of cities, or commanding great armies on the frontiers. Belisarios did not conquer Africa with three hundred mercenaries and a horde of murderous barbarians. Will my exploits here ever be carved on the great gate of the palace, or lofted high on a column? I do not think so.’
    He fell into silence. After a minute to