Strategos: Island in the Storm by Gordon Doherty Read Free Book Online

sweeten your banquet,’ the tall, elegant lady said. She wore a dark blue robe that clung to her lithe figure, and her silvery locks were swept together in a swirl atop her head. Her fine-boned features were alive with a smile that was at odds with her cold stare.
    John twisted only to glower at her.
    ‘Ah, Lady Eudokia,’ Psellos purred, rising now to bow as if in deference. This woman was the widow of the last member of the Doukas family who had held the throne. By wedding Romanus Diogenes and supporting his rise to power, she had broken the Doukid line and caused the rift in power.
    Eudokia ignored John’s glare and continued as if Psellos had not spoken. ‘The rumours we heard have been confirmed; the rogue mercenary of Colonea, Crispin of Normandy, was taken captive by the Strategos of Chaldia some months ago. He now languishes in exile and will trouble my husband’s campaign no longer.’
    Psellos held her defiant gaze as long as he could, until he felt an incessant itching on his chest. ‘That is good news, indeed,’ he said, his top lip quivering in suppressed ire.
    With that, Eudokia swept from the room and Psellos slumped back to sitting. He glared at the spot where Eudokia had stood, his mood black, the itch on his chest growing ferocious.
    John threw down a duck bone and sighed. ‘We can eat and drink and pretend we are kings. But when the morning comes, we will wake as mere courtiers.’
    ‘You are unhappy, Master?’ Psellos asked through taut lips.
    John snorted. ‘You spent much of my family’s money buying off those useless curs in the border tagmata – and what of them?’ he roared with a mocking laugh. ‘Crispin languishes in exile, and the others you bought were little but an annoyance to Diogenes’ march east. What reason have I to smile?’
    Psellos issued a terse smile. Without my wits, oaf, you would already be in exile or dead. He sucked in a breath through flared nostrils and held John’s gaze. More, the itch on his chest stung like fire. This often happened when he became vexed. He scratched and scratched at the coin-sized spot there. Well, it was coin-sized at first, when that crazed old crone had inflicted the mark upon him – with some hidden brand, he guessed – last winter. But in recent weeks it had grown. Now it was the size of a small plate. Angry red, the flesh was blistered and it wept when he scratched at it too much. He felt the skin split as he scratched at it now and this broke his semblance of calm.
    John leaned forward and repeated in a flat tone; ‘I said; what reason have I to smi-’
    ‘Diogenes is at a critical juncture,’ Psellos snapped, grabbing a cup of cool water and holding it against his chest – this seemed to calm the itch. ‘He has withdrawn all but the scantest of funding from the cities. Almost every coin from the treasury goes to the armies. The people are unsettled,’ he gestured to the Hippodrome, lying empty and unused as had been the case for some six months, ‘they need their races and their games!’
    John shrugged at this. ‘This will not tip the balance. We need Diogenes to fail at the head of his army. When the people and the army give up on him, only then have we won.’
    Psellos smiled coldly, sensing an opportunity to toy with his puppet. ‘Yet the balance might yet swing against us, Master. If he succeeds in strengthening the imperial hold on Manzikert and in seizing Chliat, the eastern passes will be protected and the borders will be safe, the spending can be balanced once more. The people will love him and the army will revere him . . . and his legacy as emperor will be assured.’
    John’s jaw dropped, strings of meat dangling from his teeth and a foul look in his eyes. ‘If you are trying to encourage me, advisor, then you have failed. Remember, it is your job to ensure that the balance tilts in our favour.’
    Psellos ignored the overbearing rebuke. ‘If I was to guarantee you that Diogenes will not take Chliat this