Free Strategos: Born in the Borderlands by Gordon Doherty Page B

fool.’
     
    ‘Like his brother?’
     
    She nodded. ‘Exactly like his brother. Father says Giyath himself used to be a nice young man and it was only when his mother was . . . ’ she looked away, eyes to the floor.
     
    Apion frowned and sat forward. ‘Maria? What happened to their mother?’
     
    ‘She was killed. Father says I must not speak of it.’
     
    ‘Why?’ Apion said. ‘The truth could never be as terrible as what happened to my parents, Maria.’
     
    She looked up to him, eyes glassy. How much of his past Mansur had told her he did not know.
     
    ‘Nasir and Giyath’s mother, Kutalmish’s wife, was killed,’ she said. ‘A Byzantine patrol fell upon the caravan as they came here from the east to settle.’
     
    Apion pulled his chair around and put a hand to her shoulder, nodding.
     
    ‘They lashed out with their swords without question, assuming the caravan was some Seljuk military supply line. I was there, Apion. I can’t remember it as I was but a baby, as was Nasir. Before they realised we were civilian they had killed his mother and . . . and . . . ’
     
    Realisation dawned on him ‘Your mother was there too, wasn’t she?’
     
    Maria nodded.
     
    Apion pulled his arm around her and let her sob gently into his shoulder. So Kutalmish and Mansur had been widowed on the night they had made the bold step to abandon soldiery and embrace a life of peaceful agriculture in the empire they had once fought. No wonder Giyath was an aggressive beast, and Nasir’s rage was understandable. He wondered if the dark door lived in the minds of them all. Did they seek retribution as he did? Did they see every Byzantine being as he saw the masked men from that night?
     
    ‘I didn’t even know her,’ Maria spoke softly, wiping her eyes, ‘it still hurts to think of her though. Father won’t talk to me about her. It’s as if I never had a mother.’
     
    ‘He hurts, deep inside. I know it,’ Apion rubbed her shoulder. ‘I think he finds it difficult to talk about his past.’ Apion realised the irony of the statement; it was Mansur’s patient ear that had listened to the tale of Apion’s dark past. ‘You can talk to me about her, any time you want to.’
     
    ‘I will.’ She offered a hint of a smile but her eyes remained sad. ‘But I know that you suffered a terrible loss, as cruel as ours. I want you to talk to me of your family as well.
     
    Apion nodded, cupping Maria’s hand, searching her eyes for a glimmer of happiness.
     
    Instead, Maria straightened in her chair, eyes growing wide, staring over his shoulder and through the doorway. Then she pushed back on her chair, shaking. ‘Maria?’ Apion’s blood iced. He twisted in his chair, following her stare to the vision trotting up the dirt path, rippling in the heat haze. Two horsemen approached, armed.
     
    She stood, whispering, eyes searching the floor of the hearth room, fingers grappling at the hem of her dress.
     
    ‘Who is it?’ Apion pushed up from the table, head darting from Maria to the riders until the sunlight splashed from their conical iron helmets and he noticed one wore a golden plume. He recognised the garb: kataphractoi, defenders of the empire, just like father; so why did his gut ripple in unease?
     
    ‘Stay inside,’ she barked, stepping to the doorway, shifting her diminutive figure into the space and bristling, attempting to fill it out in vain. Apion felt only one need at that moment; to protect her.
     
    He shuffled forward on his crutch, then barged past her, out of the doorway and into the growing heat of the morning. Then the gold-plumed soldier slipped down from his horse and strode forward, a smile etched under his blade of a nose that ill-fitted the malevolent grimace worn by his bull of a partner. At that moment Apion recognised him: Bracchus, the soldier who had mugged Mansur that day in the wagon and the big Rus who had accompanied him.
     
    Bracchus sucked in a lungful of air and blew it out