Strategos: Island in the Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

level too now, barely suppressing a roguish grin. ‘And I’m sure the wedding will be too.’
    While Apion and Procopius grinned, big Blastares seemed to clam up at the mention of his impending marriage. ‘Eh?’ he frowned. ‘Nah, nah. It’ll be a simple affair. One or two guests, that’s all. A few amphorae of wine, maybe.’
    ‘For you to still your nerves?’ Procopius cackled. ‘Though you’d better leave some for me.’
    Blastares cocked an eyebrow. ‘Who said you were invited?’
    Procopius looked shocked momentarily, then smiled, winking at Apion and Sha. ‘Tetradia did. Said she’d need me to bolt the door at the church – stop you fleeing like a slinger at a swordfight.’
    ‘Did she say that?’ Blastares replied a little too quickly, his face paling.
    Procopius, Sha and Apion shared an intrigued glance, then the old tourmarches cocked an eyebrow and replied; ‘No, but perhaps I should come along, just in case.’
    Spirits high, they came to the golden mountains and a winding valley that led down towards the Euphrates. They enjoyed some shade here, and neither heard nor sighted a single threat, only the recent spoor of a lion in the dust giving cause for caution. Moments later, they crested a saddle of land and a great cheer rose when they saw what lay downhill and beyond: the tumbling blue waters of the Euphrates and the vast Byzantine camp hugging its banks. A sea of tents, serried ranks of steel and a forest of fluttering banners. Apion could not suppress a broad grin as he saw the tall purple imperial banner and the bejewelled campaign cross in the centre, where Emperor Romanus’ red satin tent had been set up. Psellos’ manoeuvrings had been troublesome indeed, but the Golden Heart had marched east, unperturbed.

     
    ***
     

     
    The camp was a hive of activity. Soldiers milled by their kontoubernion tents in groups of ten. They stood or sat by their campfires, cooking and chatting, some painting their shields to match the banners of their regiments, others grooming their mounts. Apion noted the vivid banners of the themata that had mustered here. The green of Charsianon, the sky-blue of Opsikon, the orange of Thrakesion, the tan of Colonea. A good twelve thousand spears and bows in there, he reckoned going by the number of tents. In the centre, he recognised the vivid gold banners of the Vigla and the pure-white standards of the Varangoi axemen. These two cavalry tagmata were sworn to protect the emperor at all costs. And then there were the slate-grey banners of the Scholae Tagma, one of the oldest and strongest imperial regiments. Nearly two thousand of these crack kataphractoi had been mustered, it seemed – many new horsemen had been recruited since the near-destruction of that tagma at Hierapolis the previous year. Including Apion’s Chaldians, there were possibly as many as twenty thousand soldiers perched on this river’s edge camp.
    ‘Strategos!’ a familiar voice cut across the babble.
    Apion scanned the sea of faces, then broke out in a broad grin. ‘Komes!’ he laughed, sliding from his saddle to clasp forearms with the scarred figure sporting braided, greying locks. This was Igor, Komes of the Emperor’s household Varangoi. Clad in shell-like, pure white armour, the purity interrupted only by a black spider motif on the shin greaves, a shield strapped to his left shoulder and a huge breidox battle axe hanging behind his right, he was a fearsome sight.
    ‘I heard you had ridden on ahead to take Chliat yourself,’ Apion jested.
    ‘Pah!’ Igor swiped a hand through the air as if cutting with his axe. ‘Given half a chance, I would have! But you know how these marches are – slower than a week in Helenopolis. And apparently we had to wait here . . . for you!’ Igor donned a look of mock-rage then cackled. ‘Now come, the emperor awaits you,’ he beckoned Apion to the imperial tent area.
    Apion turned to speak to Sha. The Malian had already pre-empted him, taking the