Imperial Fire (16 page)

Aiken backed away and Vallon took up position in the bow. He was still standing there at dusk.

‘The war galleys have captured the supply ships,’ Josselin said behind him.

‘I’m not blind.’

Josselin hovered. ‘General, can you tell me your plans? The men are anxious and —’

‘I’m still assessing our situation. As soon as I’ve found a way out, I’ll tell you.’

‘Very good, General.’

It was almost dark when Hero stepped up to Vallon’s side. They watched night drawing down and Venus winking in the east.

Hero broke the silence. ‘Would you really have shot the duke from the catapult?’

‘If I’d had to,’ said Vallon. ‘Only a temporary reprieve, I fear. With the amount of treasure we’re carrying, the pirates might decide that Skleros and all his other nobles are worth sacrificing.’

‘You’ll find a way out,’ Hero said. ‘I remember you telling me that a good commander is one who, confronted by a dead end, would hack out his own path.’

When Vallon turned, Hero had gone and he stood alone under the overarching night.

In a desperate attempt to evade the warships, the crews of
Thetis
and
Dolphin
had taken to their oars, only for the galleys to race down on them, their armoured prows shearing off one bank apiece as if they were toothpicks. Boarding parties had seized the transports, and now they were hull down over the horizon, closely attended by one of the enemy dromons. The other war galley shadowed
Pelican
a mile astern. At one point she’d closed with intent to grapple and had only dropped back when Vallon threatened to dump the gold and treasure over the side, along with Duke Skleros.

Lucas watched the galley’s sails flush red against the setting sun and then fade into the night before appearing again as parchment triangles under the light of a half moon.

He’d been mucking out in
Dolphin
’s hold when the dromons were sighted and clambered on deck to witness the spectacle of the ships bearing down on them. Like everyone else he assumed that Vallon had planned the rendezvous, and when the order came to evacuate, he had to be dragged kicking and shouting away from Aster. He was one of the last onto
Pelican
’s deck, and with his rudimentary Greek it took a long time to find out what was happening. Even after Josselin had assembled the men and told them about the duke’s treachery, there were some who thought the warships were genuine Byzantine naval vessels sent to prevent the general from making off with the emperor’s gold. Men spoke about Vallon’s intention to establish a colony on some foreign shore. Rumour and counter-rumour swirled.

At midnight the enemy sails were still in sight. On either side of the stern, water slopped past the twin quarter rudders. Fatigue weighed on Lucas, but he couldn’t sleep. He was still devastated by the loss of Aster, and Aimery had told him that tomorrow they’d make land and might have to fight a battle. Lucas gave a juddering yawn.

‘So much for our great expedition. Over before it’s hardly begun, and no chance of returning home.’

Lucas blinked round to find Aiken confronting him.

‘I don’t have a home.’

‘We’re as good as dead,’ Aiken said. ‘They outnumber us three to one and they have our horses.’

‘I still don’t understand why they would attack us. We’re here on the emperor’s orders.’

‘So is the duke and did you see what Vallon did to him? Lashed him to the trebuchet and threatened to hurl him into the sea. What kind of man could contemplate that sort of cruelty?’

‘Aimery told me it was a ruse to intimidate the enemy, a ploy to buy time.’

‘You don’t think Vallon would have done it?’ Aiken said. He brought his face close. ‘A man who murdered his own wife.’

Hearing it from another was like a cold blade inserted between Lucas’s ribs. He could barely force words past his throat. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘It was you who gabbled about Vallon having to flee France with a price on his head. I asked Hero and he admitted it was true. Shocks you, doesn’t it? Not what you expected to hear about the great Vallon.’

Lucas grabbed Aiken’s tunic. ‘Tell me why.’

Aiken removed Lucas’s hand and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘His wife took a lover when he was campaigning in Spain. He slaughtered them in the marital bed.’

Lucas responded without thought. ‘What happened to his children?’

Aiken was too wound up to wonder how Lucas knew that Vallon had children. ‘He probably killed them, too. Even if he didn’t, he condemned them to poverty and disgrace. The Duke of Aquitaine seized Vallon’s estate and declared him an outlaw. That’s the man you travelled so far to take service with.’

When Aiken left, Lucas slumped down, memories bubbling like foul vapours. The winter night two years ago when he held his dying sister in his arms, her breath coming in shallow gasps, the roads blocked by snow and not even a priest to administer the last rites. Two years before that and his brother poisoned by a blackthorn, threads of red running up his arm, the glands in his armpit swollen to the size of apples, delirious in his final hours and then so peaceful in death. And before that, long before that, the fiend reeling into the nursery like an ogre drunk on blood, gore dripping off his sword – the same blade Vallon carried to this day.

‘Easy, lad. We’re not done for yet.’

Lucas screwed tears from his eyes and looked up into Aimery’s serene face. ‘It isn’t that.’

‘Whatever fears haunt you, you’ll face them better on a full stomach. Cook’s made a thick broth. Get some inside you. Here,’ Aimery said, extending a hand. ‘I need you fit and strong. Today could be right lively.’

‘Land ahead!’ called the lookout.

Lucas ran with everyone else towards the bow. All he could see was a grey smear. By mid-morning, the sun hot and the air clammy, the prospect was no clearer. It was midday before the first contours began to take on form and colour. The coast was still miles away when Vallon addressed his squadron from the castle. Standing at the rear, Lucas strained to hear the general’s words.

‘I’ll make this short. First, I assure you that the ships pursuing us aren’t vessels of the Byzantine navy. They’re pirates, and the only reason they haven’t closed with us is because we hold the duke, the gold and the treasure. Guess which they covet most? As soon as we reach land, they’ll press home an attack, so we have to disembark with all speed. I’ll go first, together with a squad carrying the bullion. Next, a squad to escort the duke and the other hostages. Officers, work out a drill for an orderly evacuation. I want everyone to reach shore ready for combat. That’s it. Any questions?’

Captain Iannis intervened before anyone else could respond. ‘General, I can’t land you directly on that shore. The water’s too shallow and we’re approaching on an ebb tide.
Pelican
will run aground.’

‘That can’t be helped and may be to our advantage. The enemy ships have deeper draughts than us.’

A trooper put up a hand. ‘What about the horses, sir? Without them the enemy will mow us down.’

Vallon gauged distances. The leading war galley was less than a mile in arrears, its sister ship and the transports only just in sight. ‘We’ll have to fight without horses.’

Lucas spoke without thinking. ‘I’m not leaving Aster.’

Vallon pointed. ‘Put that man on a charge.’

Gorka elbowed Lucas. ‘You twonk.’

Vallon raised a hand. ‘Our situation’s not as bleak as you might think. From what Otia and the captain tell me, horses won’t be much use on that coast. It’s marsh and lake for miles inland, only a few narrow causeways leading across it. I don’t think the enemy will waste time getting the horses ashore. They’re not cavalrymen and they’ll be so keen to lay their hands on the gold that they’ll come after us like hounds after a doe. Don’t worry, though. I’m determined to get our horses and supplies back. Stand down. Get something to eat.’

Lucas dressed for battle in his cast-offs and watched the coast take on definition – a swampy littoral cut by sluggish creeks and lagoons, lush green hills beyond under a backdrop of cloud-swathed mountains, pockets of snow showing through rents in the overcast. South of the rivermouth a few small ships plied in and out of a port. The rest of the shoreline seemed to be empty.

‘Steer to the north of the estuary,’ Vallon ordered.

‘Why don’t we head for that port?’ Lucas asked Gorka.

‘Because the Georgians hate us. And even if they didn’t, running into a foreign harbour carrying treasure and with pirates nibbling our heels isn’t the brightest of moves.’

Josselin supervised the evacuation with his customary calm.

‘Form up by squad both sides of the bow.’

Lucas found himself almost in the rearmost rank, only the muleteers and grooms behind him. In his padded armour his body ran with sweat.

‘Enemy taking to their oars,’ someone yelled.

Lucas looked behind to see foam creaming from the blades, a wave building at the dromon’s bow.

‘Order your men to do the same,’ Vallon told
Pelican
’s captain.

‘General, I’m not going to wreck my ship.’

‘You, your dromon and your crew serve at my will and disposal.’ When the captain hesitated, Vallon raised his voice. ‘Otia, take two squads below and keep the rowers hard at it until I give the word.’

Troopers sprinted below and Lucas felt
Pelican
spring forward as the oars bit. A glance behind showed that the effort wouldn’t be enough. The war galley was only half a mile astern and closing fast.

Vallon pointed at a huddle of shacks set back from a lagoon. ‘Make for that village.’

Lucas saw people fleeing from the settlement. The coast was no more than a quarter of a mile away and the sea had taken on the colour of thin ale.

‘Hold tight,’ said a trooper. ‘We’re going to hit smack-bang and wallop.’

‘Suits me,’ said another. ‘I can’t swim.’

Vallon swung his sword down. ‘Lower sails. Stop rowing.’

Oars crabbed and lifted. Before the sailors could reef sails,
Pelican
shoaled with a long skidding hiss, the deceleration sending Lucas lurching. Only fifty yards separated them from the shore.

‘Boats away,’ Otia shouted.

The two gigs splashed into the sea. ‘Bullion and prisoner squads.’

When the boats had pulled clear, the next two squads jumped into the sea, one on each side of the bow, and waded chest deep towards the shore, holding their weapons above their heads. The war galley was only a long bowshot behind
Pelican
, still bowling along under sail and oar.

‘Next two squads. Go! The rest move up.’

Lucas plucked at his mouth. ‘We’re not all going to get off in time.’

‘Shut it,’ Gorka snapped.

‘The bastards are going to ram us,’ said a trooper.

‘Prepare for boarders,’ someone shouted.

Lucas braced himself and watched the galley’s onrush. By now only four squads remained on board
Pelican
. Forty men against hundreds.

‘Next two squads. Go!’

The first men off had reached the shore and were running up into the village. Lucas concentrated on the oncoming galley. It was still committed to a collision course, soldiers massed on her foredeck and beating on their shields.

They toppled like skittles as the hull ploughed into the seabed and the ship ground to a stop within its own length, the masts groaning with the strain, stays twanging apart.

‘Enemy lowering boats.’

An arrow glanced off Lucas’s helmet and buried its head in the deck. He looked around in bemusement. Gorka tugged his arm. ‘What are you waiting for? Come on. We’re next.’

Lucas faced the shore, sucked in breaths and prepared to jump. Josselin held him back.

‘Not so hasty. We’ve already had a couple of accidents.’ He waited for what seemed an age before thumping Lucas’s back. ‘Off you go.’

Lucas hit the sea, went under and surfaced spitting brine. He ploughed through the water, grunting like a beast, and staggered ashore, tripping over the two javelins he carried. Gorka pulled him upright. ‘Who said you could take a rest?’

Weighed down by his weapons and waterlogged corselet, Lucas jogged through the hamlet onto a causeway elevated a couple of feet above the marsh.

‘What’s the plan?’ he gasped.

Gorka flashed him a look. ‘If I fucking knew, I’d be a general. Keep going.’

Lucas found his second wind. The wetlands stretched away to a mist-softened horizon. All around lay a waterworld of lakes, creeks, bogs, reedbeds and islands overgrown by stands of alder and willow, oak and ash. Beside him, Gorka grunted and clutched his ribcage.

‘Need a hand, boss? I’ll carry your shield if you want.’

Gorka’s glance would have curdled milk.

Lucas lifted his knees and increased pace. ‘Just say the word, boss.’

Half a mile up the causeway, Wayland and his dog stepped out from a patch of boggy woodland. He nodded them past. ‘Not far now.’

Where the causeway emerged from the wood, it made a sharp turn before crossing a wide and reedy lake. A furlong up the track, Vallon was organising two squads into a defensive formation. He held up his hand to halt Aimery’s squad.

‘How long have we got?’

Aimery bent over, hands on knees. ‘Not sure, sir. They hadn’t reached land when we left the coast.’

‘Form up behind the wall. Did you see Wayland?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘There are three squads hidden in the trees each side of him. We draw the enemy onto this wall and block them.’ Vallon nodded towards a squad of Turkmen archers further along the causeway. ‘They’ll make your job easier. When you’ve halted the enemy attack, the squads in the wood will engage, cutting off the enemy’s retreat.’ He interlocked his fingers. ‘We’ll squeeze them between us.’

‘Understood, sir.’

Vallon noticed Lucas. ‘I didn’t expect you to face action so soon. Are you sure you’re up to it?’

‘I want to stay with my squad.’

‘Good lad. Acquit yourself bravely and I’ll forget your insubordination.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Go to it!’

The foremost ten-man squad arranged themselves in a
foulkon
, a defensive formation usually used by infantry against cavalry. The first rank of five knelt on bended knee with their shields resting on the ground in front of them, their spear butts planted in the earth and the points angled upwards to resist a charge. They completely blocked the narrow causeway. The second rank remained standing, their shields locked with those of their companions and their spears held at chest height. To an attacker, the shieldwall would be an intimidating sight, the men behind it invisible and apparently invulnerable. Lucas had practised the formation only once, kneeling in the subordinate position, and had found it intensely uncomfortable, the shields above snagging against his, leaving him no room to manoeuvre.

The second and third squads formed up four ranks deep, shields overlapping, each man armed with two javelins, one in the hand, the other stuck butt down in the peaty soil.