Strategos: Born in the Borderlands by Gordon Doherty Read Free Book Online

Instead, he pretended to gaze at the wagon haring along the dirt road far below and gripped his prayer rope until his fingers turned white.
     
    ‘Father says I’ve not to ask you too many questions,’ she started, biting her lip. ‘You can talk to me about them if you want though . . . when you are ready.’
     
    Apion nodded.
     
    ‘Look!’ Maria yelped.
     
    She pointed excitedly to the silvery column entering the northern end of the valley. In silence they watched the clutch of twenty or so kataphractoi that led the procession: iron helmets, iron klibania hugging their torsos over crimson tunics, each rider mounted on a fine warhorse, some of which even wore armour plating over their heads and bodies. Every rider bore an arsenal of iron: the spathion hanging from their belts, crimson skutum like a shell on their backs, hiding a bow and quiver. Each rider also carried a kontarion , the lengthy and broad bladed spear over twice the height of a man, and one also carried the crimson Chi-Rho standard of the thema. Behind the riders, a bandon of just over three hundred skutatoi infantry marched, some garbed in iron helmets and klibania but most wearing padded vests, jackets and felt caps. They too carried kontarion, spathion and skutum. Behind the bandon a mule train followed obediently, laden with supplies. ‘My father was a soldier,’ he heard himself say as they disappeared from the other side of the valley.
     
    ‘Your father was one of them?’ Her face puckered a little, then she shook her head. ‘We see armies set off through this valley all the time. They head east to war with . . . our people.’
     
    Apion felt a flare of anger in his chest. ‘And your people come here to spill blood too!’ He barked, the dark door flitting across his thoughts. Then he gawped at Maria, who stood and shuffled back from him, face paling in fear. ‘I’m sorry,’ he stood to reach out to her but his scarred leg flared with a fiery pain. He fell to the ground, clutching at his thigh. She dropped to kneel by him, hands hovering to help.
     
    ‘Leave me, there’s nothing that can be done for it,’ he panted. The pain subsided and he looked up into her eyes. ‘Look, I’m really sorry for what I said.’
     
    She offered a hand and helped him to his feet. ‘It doesn’t matter. They can fight all they like. We’re all just people in the end.’
     
    He offered her a smile. ‘Can we walk a little? I find walking helps a bit.’
     
    ‘Okay, the goats will be fine on their own for a while.’
     
    They headed down into the neighbouring valley, away from Mansur’s farm. She took his arm so he only needed the crutch for the trickier parts of the descent. His gaze was lost in the ground in front of him as they walked and they didn’t speak but it was an unexpectedly comfortable silence. He found himself gazing into the horizon as they reached the valley floor and walked through the tall grass. Then he heard a crunch.
     
    ‘Mmm . . . best nectarines in Anatolia.’ Maria grinned, mouth half full, juice dripping down her chin, the orange flesh of a fruit glistening in her hand and an overhanging branch quivering.
     
    Apion blinked, realising they had wandered to the edge of an orchard. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he marvelled at the vibrant red-orange fruit dotting the trees. Then he noticed the fence posts encircling the orchard, tucking around the tree trunks. He leaned on his crutch and scratched his head. ‘Isn’t that someone else’s fruit?’
     
    ‘Kind of . . . ’ Maria mumbled, licking her fingers.
     
    ‘Isn’t that stealing?’
     
    ‘Doesn’t matter, it’s old Kutalmish’s farm, he’s rich and old now; he won’t miss a few nectarines.’ She pointed to the edge of a well-kept farmhouse peeking out from behind the orchard. It was everything Mansur’s was not; neatly tiled roof, freshly white-daubed walls and well-tended gardens. On the porch, a white-haired old man lay snoring in a hammock while Maria