Strategos: Born in the Borderlands Read Online Free PDF Page A

of his horses, muttering words of comfort to them as they munched from their troughs. He turned back to the ever-less patient girl, now grimacing, hands pressed into her hips. ‘Sounds delicious and my belly’s roaring already . . . but before we sit down to eat, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
     
    The girl pursed her lips and frowned, then stared at the wagon. She couldn’t see Apion but he returned her gaze through the slats.
     
    ‘A boy.’
     
    ‘A boy?’
     
    ‘Same age as you, I reckon. He’s not well and,’ Mansur paused, ‘he needs looking after. He’ll stay with us. Our house will be his home.’
     
    Home . Apion thought of the sorry heap of rubble downriver. Somewhere I can never return to .
     
    Mansur flicked his head toward the wagon. ‘Come, I’ll introduce you.’
     
    Apion’s heart hammered, his mouth drained of moisture and anxiety needled his skin. Reality beckoned.
     
    He braced himself as the wagon door swung open with a groan and the dying evening sunlight fell upon him. His eyes narrowed and he pulled a hand over them, peering through the cracks.
     
    ‘He’s a Byzantine,’ she uttered almost accusingly, taking a step back.
     
    Apion bristled, proud of Mother’s Rus ancestry, proud of Father fighting for the empire. A retort formed in his mind but the words lodged in his throat.
     
    ‘He’s a boy who needs a family,’ Mansur sighed, placing his hands on her shoulders.
     
    Apion’s eyesight tuned into the brightness at last and Maria’s face was the first thing he set eyes upon. She was boyish, her eyebrows fuzzy and unkempt, her nose broad and her chin rounded like her father’s.
     
    ‘Well his hair’s a funny colour - like the sunset,’ she wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, her head tilting to one side as she beheld him and then the sun as it slipped behind the hillside.
     
    Apion felt a surge of self-consciousness, reaching to brush his locks from his brow, sitting up straight on the wagon bench.
     
    ‘Aye and he might think you’re a bit different too, madam,’ Mansur added with a chuckle. ‘Maria, I’d like you to meet Apion. Apion, Maria.’
     
    Maria continued to eye him in a petulant standoff.
     
    ‘Well, you two are welcome to stand out here till it gets dark,’ Mansur sighed, ‘but I’m going in for supper . . . as ordered! Join me if you wish,’ Mansur fixed his cap back on his head and strolled towards the farmhouse, whistling. He pushed open the door, revealing a simple hearth room with three cobbled chairs around an oak table bedecked with Maria’s feast. He glanced back at Maria, who remained fixed to the spot, scrutinising Apion, then he groaned and went inside.
     
    Apion held Maria’s glare with a mix of terror and defiance until, with a dismissive sigh, she turned, following her father’s steps with exaggerated strides and made for the farmhouse too. He watched her matted hair swing behind her all the way to the door, which she slammed behind her with gusto. He stared at the farmhouse, mind awash. A gust rattled the wagon, bringing with it the first bite of night chill, then he glanced up as a lone bat rapped across the sky, black against the coming twilight. A shiver danced across his skin.
     
    Suddenly, the farmhouse door was pulled open again and an exaggerated sigh pierced the air. Apion blinked: Maria stood in the doorway, arms folded, face creased with impatience.
     
    ‘Well are you coming in or not?’ She scowled. ‘It’s extremely rude not to eat what someone has cooked for you!’
     

3. The Strategos
     
    The Seljuk ghulam dipped to the right of his saddle as his mount thundered forward through the melee, then he pulled his scimitar to one side and let loose a guttural roar.
     
    Time slowed for Cydones. Grounded, his mount crippled and whinnying in terror in the slop of blood, flesh and bone underfoot, the ageing strategos felt the moment pass where long ago his nerves would have shuddered. The