are little more than blood, bone and blade. But others have something that sets them apart. A touch of charm in their blood, coursing through their hearts. A light that will never dim. I have little doubt that you are one such,’ he prodded a finger into the table top gently, ‘but there are a precious few more who fight for the empire’s cause. Now that all else has been taken from me, my purpose is to fight for those few. And if I die for them and the cause is lost, then I know at least I have stayed true to my heart.’
Alp Arslan smiled wearily at this, leaning back from Apion and then standing as the first rays of dawn spilled through the map room. ‘So be it, Haga. Tonight, no more blood will be spilled. Tomorrow, you, your men and the rest of your people are free to leave this city under amnesty. You will travel safely to your farms and barracks. My men and I will remain here until the next moon. Then we will return to Seljuk territory.’ Then his expression darkened. ‘But know this; the next time we meet, there will be no amnesty. The actions of Bey Afsin illustrate the will of my people.’ He clasped a hand over his heart. ‘The conquest of Byzantium is coming, and I will not relent.’
‘Likewise, you must know I will never yield.’ Apion tapped the shatranj board. ‘I hope that one day we will finish this game. But if not, then we will make our final moves on the battlefield.’
Alp Arslan nodded wistfully, then turned to leave.
Apion was alone. The fire crackled and spat as it died to nothing.
7. Return to Chaldia
The journey home for the weary men of the Chaldian Thema was long and troublesome, and it had taken some months to finally set eyes on their homeland.
They had stalled at first on the banks of the River Halys. In the stifling summer heat, Apion found himself charged with the care of tens of thousands of displaced citizens and farmers. While Caesarea lay in Seljuk hands, there would be no return home for these people. Alp Arslan’s show of magnanimity had been shrewd, for allowing the populace safe passage from their homes had effectively tied up the remaining forces of the mustered themata in organising and policing the homeless rabble. Gaunt and filthy, they lived for weeks in makeshift tents and timber lean-tos under the welcome shade of the beech groves lining the banks of the Halys. It was fortunate that the river was abundant with fish and the surrounding lands rich with game. For without such bounty, thousands would have perished.
Still, the days were long and troublesome. Theft, rape and brawling were rife and the atmosphere suffocating. So, Apion took to waking each morning just before dawn, then setting out to run along the banks of the river, barefoot and dressed only in a light linen tunic. He found the chill air and the babble of the river cleansing to the mind, and he would only stop when the sun was fully past the eastern horizon. After stopping he would stretch his muscles and wash in the shallows. Then he would eat his usual breakfast of bread and honey, washing it down with river water. His mind fresh, he would then return to face the latest troubles of the refugees.
As the weeks passed, imperial trade cogs and the occasional galley docked by the camp and transported some of the refugees to the more westerly themata and gradually the camp shrank. By the ides of August, the camp held only a few thousand souls. It was then that Apion saw fit to delegate his command of the site to the newly appointed strategos of the Charsianon Thema – a young man who had previously been a tourmarches, one of the few who had survived the initial incursions of Bey Afsin.
After that, Apion and the men of Chaldia had set off on the journey home, crossing the Halys and then heading north-east. It was a steady and quiet march as they dotted between rivers and wells, eating from their rations and trapping game. Now, some six months after they had left their farms and towns, they were
Alp Arslan smiled wearily at this, leaning back from Apion and then standing as the first rays of dawn spilled through the map room. ‘So be it, Haga. Tonight, no more blood will be spilled. Tomorrow, you, your men and the rest of your people are free to leave this city under amnesty. You will travel safely to your farms and barracks. My men and I will remain here until the next moon. Then we will return to Seljuk territory.’ Then his expression darkened. ‘But know this; the next time we meet, there will be no amnesty. The actions of Bey Afsin illustrate the will of my people.’ He clasped a hand over his heart. ‘The conquest of Byzantium is coming, and I will not relent.’
‘Likewise, you must know I will never yield.’ Apion tapped the shatranj board. ‘I hope that one day we will finish this game. But if not, then we will make our final moves on the battlefield.’
Alp Arslan nodded wistfully, then turned to leave.
Apion was alone. The fire crackled and spat as it died to nothing.
7. Return to Chaldia
The journey home for the weary men of the Chaldian Thema was long and troublesome, and it had taken some months to finally set eyes on their homeland.
They had stalled at first on the banks of the River Halys. In the stifling summer heat, Apion found himself charged with the care of tens of thousands of displaced citizens and farmers. While Caesarea lay in Seljuk hands, there would be no return home for these people. Alp Arslan’s show of magnanimity had been shrewd, for allowing the populace safe passage from their homes had effectively tied up the remaining forces of the mustered themata in organising and policing the homeless rabble. Gaunt and filthy, they lived for weeks in makeshift tents and timber lean-tos under the welcome shade of the beech groves lining the banks of the Halys. It was fortunate that the river was abundant with fish and the surrounding lands rich with game. For without such bounty, thousands would have perished.
Still, the days were long and troublesome. Theft, rape and brawling were rife and the atmosphere suffocating. So, Apion took to waking each morning just before dawn, then setting out to run along the banks of the river, barefoot and dressed only in a light linen tunic. He found the chill air and the babble of the river cleansing to the mind, and he would only stop when the sun was fully past the eastern horizon. After stopping he would stretch his muscles and wash in the shallows. Then he would eat his usual breakfast of bread and honey, washing it down with river water. His mind fresh, he would then return to face the latest troubles of the refugees.
As the weeks passed, imperial trade cogs and the occasional galley docked by the camp and transported some of the refugees to the more westerly themata and gradually the camp shrank. By the ides of August, the camp held only a few thousand souls. It was then that Apion saw fit to delegate his command of the site to the newly appointed strategos of the Charsianon Thema – a young man who had previously been a tourmarches, one of the few who had survived the initial incursions of Bey Afsin.
After that, Apion and the men of Chaldia had set off on the journey home, crossing the Halys and then heading north-east. It was a steady and quiet march as they dotted between rivers and wells, eating from their rations and trapping game. Now, some six months after they had left their farms and towns, they were
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