Strategos: Born in the Borderlands by Gordon Doherty

instinctive urge is always to attack, attack, attack, race to victory by brute force. This game lets a budding strategos see, all too quickly, that such an approach often leads to a heavy and embarrassing defeat, and all without a drop of blood being spilled . . . and that’s one of the reasons that this game came about, to tame the hot-headed and power-hungry young men who would otherwise take to the field raw and unprepared. To win at shatranj, you must learn to use your mind. The sword comes later.’
     
    The door creaked open and Maria came in with an armful of kindling.
     
    ‘You’re not playing that game at this time, Father?’ Maria moaned, resting her free hand on her hip. ‘It’ll be light by the time you’re finished!’
     
    Apion smiled at the familiar tone; so disapproving, so serious but so contrasting to that day, two months ago, when they had raided Kutalmish’s farm. Her poise and tone reminded Apion of Mother when she would chastise Father. He smiled and then blinked away the pain that came with the memory and the increasing guilt he felt as he realised that his thoughts of them were becoming less frequent. He supped at his salep, the sweet and creamy liquid rolling across his tongue like velvet and warming his heart, soothing his guilt. He had grown to cherish the times when the three of them were together like this, the fire crackling in the background.
     
    ‘It will be a short game tonight,’ Mansur turned to her with a grin.
     
    ‘Well if I have to wake you in the morning . . . ’ she said, wagging a finger.
     
    Mansur pulled Maria onto his lap and kissed her cheek. ‘Where would I be without you? You are certainly your mother’s daughter.’
     
    The smile faded from Apion’s face. He saw that lost look touch Maria’s features again, just as it had when she had spoken to him of her mother.
     
    ‘Now rest your eyes and your head, dear,’ Mansur continued. ‘You’ve had a busy day.’
     
    Apion watched Maria drop the kindling by the fire and then slink off into her bedroom, her shoulders rounded, hair tousled and her dress smudged with those ever present dirt and grass stains. He wondered quite how she managed to look so scruffy given that it was he who now tended the goats out in the countryside.
     
    ‘So the game,’ Mansur stated calmly, tapping the board, ‘is a means of warring without bloodshed. It is not a direct representation of a battlefield, but it allows honing of tactical thought.’ He placed a finger on the tall, central white piece on the back row nearest him. ‘Primarily we are concerned with the kings: they see far across the field, though do not move vast distances; instead, they relay these movements to their troops. Though, vitally, if they are captured then the game is lost.’
     
    Apion sipped at his salep and admired the intricately carved crown adorning the two opposing king pieces placed on the board, watching as Mansur showed the king’s range of movement, one square in any direction.
     
    ‘His counsellor stands by his side, barely mobile like his king, he is there to advise and protect. Flanking them is the strength of the war elephants!’ Mansur’s voice inflected his love of the game as he placed the elephant pieces either side of the king and the vizier. ‘They shield their king and his vizier and can move to stave off attacks or charge the enemy with thunderous momentum, although with limited agility.’ Mansur proceeded to place two horse-headed pieces either side and two turreted pieces either side again. ‘The knights are the king’s finest cavalry, able to race in and flank opponents at speed, just like the kataphractoi of Byzantium and the Seljuk ghulam riders. Finally, we have the rooks; they hark back to a bygone age when bronzed chariots ruled the battlefield, able to race from end to end in a single manoeuvre!’
     
    Apion Looked to the uniform pieces on the front row of each side. ‘The front line, they are the infantry,