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

year, would this calm you?’
    John frowned. ‘What? No man can make such a guarantee.’
    ‘Oh, but I am no ordinary man,’ Psellos smiled. His thoughts flashed to the numeroi scout riders he had despatched some months ago. Ride into enemy lands. Spread word amongst our foe of the emperor’s planned route.
    ‘What have you done?’ John whispered, a savage grin rippling across his lips.
    Psellos simply reached out to pour more wine into their cups. ‘I will explain all as we eat and drink, Master. As kings!’

     
    ***
     

     
    Doux Philaretos stood on the edge of the timber jetty as the last of the pamphyloi fleet returned from the far banks to be re-moored here. He ran a hand over his sweat-soaked scalp, burning in the morning sun, then looked across the river and off to the east, watching the last silvery flashes and plumes of dust dissipate at the tail of the departing campaign army. They moved with a broad front towards Lake Van. When they slipped into the heat haze and could be seen no more, he issued a contented grunt, then swung round to look over the camp that would serve as the rearguard’s headquarters.
    Six thousand men had been entrusted to him. The sixteen hundred toxotai loosed arrow after arrow at a practice range outside the camp’s western gate, by the saddle of land in the shady valleys. The rest were inside the camp. Some four thousand of them were skutatoi; the majority of these men had laid down their weapons and iron jackets and now milled about their tents, jabbering, cleaning their kit or praying. Meanwhile, the bandon of three hundred kursores riders busied themselves grooming and exercising their mounts. They were content in their activities in this still and warm land, and rations and water were plentiful. He squinted up at the sun. ‘With a little shade, this place will make a fine home for the next few weeks,’ he surmised.
    When an odd rumbling noise sounded from the north, he instinctively swept a suspicious eye around the camp’s mountainous surroundings, then squinted at the shaded face of Mount Taurus. A shower of rocks tumbled from the heights there, the noise echoing across the riverbank. He chuckled and shook his head. Then he remembered the advice of the tourmarches, Procopius, who served under the Haga . Before setting off with the Chaldians in the emperor’s column, the prune-faced old officer had implored him;
    Decrease the size of the camp. Fill in the ditches and throw up new ones that will be more easily defensible for your reduced numbers. You can rebuild the original camp when the emperor returns. And keep a strong watch at all times.
    Philaretos snorted at the notion. ‘Perhaps, old man,’ he spoke into the ether, then turned back to look across the river and east, shading his eyes from the sun. He imagined the emperor’s army moving along the broad, winding tracts of land that led to Lake Van. ‘But you should first concern yourself with your own marching camp – for it will likely be you who encounters any Seljuk foe.’ Then he smirked, drawing his gaze in across the tumbling torrents of the Euphrates. ‘And unless they bring ferries of their own, any invading riders from the east might have to content themselves with watching our fine camp from the far riverbanks.’
    He jostled with laughter at his own joke, then turned away from the river and strode towards the heart of the camp, where his tent now stood in place of the emperor’s. A cup or two of wine? he mused as his guards parted. He made to sweep his tent flap open, but his hand froze. He noticed his mount, tethered nearby, scuffing its hooves in agitation. Then it snorted, its ears pricking up.
    ‘What’s wrong, boy?’ he cooed, stepping over to the piebald stallion.
    His question was answered by a chorus of panicked cries from the western valleys. His eyes widened as he saw the archers out there break into a reckless run, racing back towards the camp. He licked his lips and felt his throat