Strategos: Island in the Storm by Gordon Doherty Page B

proud of your efforts.’ Apion met his eyes across the fire. ‘You volunteered to come here with me ahead of all the others, into the heart of Seljuk lands. That shows an iron nerve, lad.’
    ‘It is my duty, sir, that is all.’
    ‘You know very well I don’t come here on imperial duty,’ Apion replied promptly.
    Kaspax at first made to deny this, then sighed and nodded. Apion knew that rumours of his nightmares had spread amongst the men. Some had even heard him calling her name, his cries echoing from his chambers in the citadel of Trebizond.
    ‘I knew only that you had some trouble from the past that you had to address. Tourmarches Sha told me about her – Lady Maria. I would be honoured to help you find her, sir.’
    He beheld the young rider once more. ‘Your father would have been proud of you, Kaspax.’
    The fire glinted in Kaspax’s eyes as he thought this over. ‘Instead I’ll have to make do with Vilyam’s tepid regards on my return home,’ he said with a smile.
    ‘That’s if the Tyrant of Trebizond is not too busy ransacking your neighbours’ larders,’ Apion said with a glint in his eye.
    They finished the wine and chatted on until both men felt tiredness weigh on their eyelids. Finally, they lay back on the soft grass, each drawing warmth from their woollen blankets, finding sleep easier to come by than of late.

     
    ***
     

     
    They rose at dawn to a crisp, cool morning and the sound of a passing Seljuk trade caravan. They bartered for fresh supplies from the friendly wagon drivers, then enjoyed a light breakfast of olives, toasted flatbread and a little honey, washed down with cool water from the rock pool. Replete and refreshed, they set off on the lonely east road to Mosul.
    Not long before midday, the road was lonely no more. Silk traders, cattle farmers and grain-wagon drivers joined them as they ambled east. Finally, the outline of the Seljuk fortress-city emerged from the hazy horizon; vast, sun-bleached walls studded with the fluttering golden bow emblems of the sultanate, wrapping the jutting palaces and domes within. The city was perched on the near banks of the River Tigris, and a thick traffic of trade cogs slipped gently up and downriver through the sparkling turquoise waters, bringing silks and spices to the city’s markets and leaving laden with coin.
    Apion stole furtive glances to the western gates, where they would enter the city. The gates lay open, yawning as if dismissive of any threat. As they approached, akhi spearmen glowered down at them from the gatehouse battlements, eyes shaded by the rims of their conical iron helms, fingers grappling talon-sharp spears and tan, turquoise or green shields, bodies wrapped in mail shirts, horn and leather lamellar or brightly-coloured felt coats.
    ‘Eyes forward,’ Apion whispered to Kaspax once more, acutely aware of the boy’s skittishness as they passed under the shadow of the gatehouse. ‘Again, we are traders, no more. Don’t let fear guide you.’
    Inside, they were swept along amongst the throng and the cacophony of shouting traders, jabbering citizens, whinnying horses and the rhythmic patter of drums and twanging of lutes. A tang of spices and cooking meats seasoned the crisp air. Crowds swelled around them, some glancing twice at their foreign features. Apion avoided their stares, looking up and around the street that wound into the heart of the city. Ancient, towering grain silos hemmed one side of the street and a red-brick warehouse had been converted into a covered market on the other side. He dragged his gaze across to the magnificent domed mosque up ahead, tiled in brilliant white with a lacy pattern of turquoise and azure. He shaded his eyes and looked to the four minarets, stretching skywards, spotting the small, white-robed figures up there preparing to make the midday call to prayer. Behind the mosque, on the citadel hill, he saw a sturdy and high-walled keep, with another towering and finely architected