Strategos: Born in the Borderlands by Gordon Doherty Page B
Authors: Gordon Doherty
Tags: Historical fiction
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Apion tried to imagine such a beast come to life from the rock. He shivered at the thought. The ferocity in those eyes . . .
As the afternoon wore on, they came to a region of rolling hillocks. Then he saw something up ahead: atop a baked red hill, the stone edifice of a fort stood proud, seemingly baked into the earth as if it had been there for all time. His father had been stationed at such a fort for a whole year. Apion remembered playing by the hearth, building wooden blocks into an enclosure and then lining up carved soldiers, pretending he was one of them, protecting the walls. Then he realised the walls of this fort were unmanned. He looked to the wide gate but could see only the blue of the sky through it. Then they rounded the hill a little further to see the crumbled ruin that was the other side of the fort. Unmanned, meaning this vast tract of imperial land was left undefended.
‘The man in the purple seems to think that the east needs no funding for such garrisons,’ Mansur said as if reading his thoughts. ‘Perhaps if he lived here and experienced the uncertainty it creates, he might think otherwise.’
Apion nodded, eyes hanging on the stark image of the skeletal fort. ‘Is it the same in Seljuk lands?’
Mansur shook his head. ‘No. My people ride the wave of expansion. Riches are abundant and the lands are well policed. Such prosperity is like a drug, and I fear it is often confused with glory.’
Apion thought over the old man’s words as they rode on, the breeze dancing through his amber locks as he tried to imagine what the land must have been like in more prosperous times of the past.
They rode on for some time, then Mansur whipped the horses into a heady pace as they passed through forest. Apion noticed the old man’s eyes were narrowed and scouring the undergrowth in suspicion, but he could not see why. It was a pleasant setting; leafy shade, brooks and squat waterfalls snaking through the undergrowth. The whole setting made him feel cooler and more relaxed. Then he remembered he had finished his water some way back.
‘Can we stop so I can fill my skin?’ He looked up at Mansur; the old man was still examining the road and the treeline. Apion wondered if he had gone unheard. He pulled on Mansur’s sleeve, pointing to the stream coming up on their left. ‘Can we sto . . . ’
‘No!’ Mansur barked.
Apion pulled back.
‘No,’ Mansur repeated, this time in a calmer voice, looking at Apion, his face firm but his eyes friendly. ‘When we get to the river we can slake our thirst.’
Apion nodded. ‘Very well. What if I need to empty my bladder?’
Mansur’s vexation washed away in a tense chuckle. ‘Then you do it from the side of the wagon. I hope you have good balance and good aim!’
Apion’s shoulders slumped as he thought out the logistics of balancing on his crutch. Soon they rode clear of the trees and Mansur seemed to relax after that as the countryside opened up again.
A long and gentle downhill slope led to a smaller patch of beech forest, behind which the land gave way to accommodate a mighty river, its shimmering waters flowing calmly west. The sheer girth of the river made the Piksidis seem like a stream in comparison. ‘What do they call this water?’
‘When its current is gentle, the Lykos; when it grows turbulent, the Wolf River. Many men have lost their lives trying to cross this river. That’s why we come to this particular crossing point.’
‘Is there a bridge?’ Apion frowned, scanning the waters for sight of such a structure.
‘No, but there is a fine ferryman,’ Mansur grinned, ‘a dizzy old goat by the name of Petzeas.’
The rush of the rapids drowned out the cicada song as they approached and sure enough, they reached a rudimentary ferry dock. The wagon slowed to a halt by a post with a horn tied to it.
Forgetting his thirst, Apion placed his crutch
Apion tried to imagine such a beast come to life from the rock. He shivered at the thought. The ferocity in those eyes . . .
As the afternoon wore on, they came to a region of rolling hillocks. Then he saw something up ahead: atop a baked red hill, the stone edifice of a fort stood proud, seemingly baked into the earth as if it had been there for all time. His father had been stationed at such a fort for a whole year. Apion remembered playing by the hearth, building wooden blocks into an enclosure and then lining up carved soldiers, pretending he was one of them, protecting the walls. Then he realised the walls of this fort were unmanned. He looked to the wide gate but could see only the blue of the sky through it. Then they rounded the hill a little further to see the crumbled ruin that was the other side of the fort. Unmanned, meaning this vast tract of imperial land was left undefended.
‘The man in the purple seems to think that the east needs no funding for such garrisons,’ Mansur said as if reading his thoughts. ‘Perhaps if he lived here and experienced the uncertainty it creates, he might think otherwise.’
Apion nodded, eyes hanging on the stark image of the skeletal fort. ‘Is it the same in Seljuk lands?’
Mansur shook his head. ‘No. My people ride the wave of expansion. Riches are abundant and the lands are well policed. Such prosperity is like a drug, and I fear it is often confused with glory.’
Apion thought over the old man’s words as they rode on, the breeze dancing through his amber locks as he tried to imagine what the land must have been like in more prosperous times of the past.
They rode on for some time, then Mansur whipped the horses into a heady pace as they passed through forest. Apion noticed the old man’s eyes were narrowed and scouring the undergrowth in suspicion, but he could not see why. It was a pleasant setting; leafy shade, brooks and squat waterfalls snaking through the undergrowth. The whole setting made him feel cooler and more relaxed. Then he remembered he had finished his water some way back.
‘Can we stop so I can fill my skin?’ He looked up at Mansur; the old man was still examining the road and the treeline. Apion wondered if he had gone unheard. He pulled on Mansur’s sleeve, pointing to the stream coming up on their left. ‘Can we sto . . . ’
‘No!’ Mansur barked.
Apion pulled back.
‘No,’ Mansur repeated, this time in a calmer voice, looking at Apion, his face firm but his eyes friendly. ‘When we get to the river we can slake our thirst.’
Apion nodded. ‘Very well. What if I need to empty my bladder?’
Mansur’s vexation washed away in a tense chuckle. ‘Then you do it from the side of the wagon. I hope you have good balance and good aim!’
Apion’s shoulders slumped as he thought out the logistics of balancing on his crutch. Soon they rode clear of the trees and Mansur seemed to relax after that as the countryside opened up again.
A long and gentle downhill slope led to a smaller patch of beech forest, behind which the land gave way to accommodate a mighty river, its shimmering waters flowing calmly west. The sheer girth of the river made the Piksidis seem like a stream in comparison. ‘What do they call this water?’
‘When its current is gentle, the Lykos; when it grows turbulent, the Wolf River. Many men have lost their lives trying to cross this river. That’s why we come to this particular crossing point.’
‘Is there a bridge?’ Apion frowned, scanning the waters for sight of such a structure.
‘No, but there is a fine ferryman,’ Mansur grinned, ‘a dizzy old goat by the name of Petzeas.’
The rush of the rapids drowned out the cicada song as they approached and sure enough, they reached a rudimentary ferry dock. The wagon slowed to a halt by a post with a horn tied to it.
Forgetting his thirst, Apion placed his crutch
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