Read Online Strategos: Island in the Storm by Gordon Doherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Gordon Doherty
Tags: Historical fiction, Historical
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riders wheeled away, back to the west. Apion reined in his mount, seeing that the snare had failed, seeing the two jaws of the trap slow to a canter, lances and blades unsullied. Before he had time to look to the emperor for direction, he heard the thrum of Seljuk bows.
The hail was thick but inaccurate, arrows punching down all around the two slowing jaws of the failed trap. It was not meant to be a lethal strike, merely a means to give the fleeing Seljuk horde an extra few moments to make their break. Most of the missiles landed in the dust, but a fair number glanced from the iron coats and helms of the riders, and he heard a thin chorus of cries and whinnies where they found their way in between the iron cladding of horse or rider. As soon as the hail passed, Apion pulled on his reins to swing his mount round. He watched as the ghazis who had turned to flee westwards arced round the southern edge of the plain, behind the myrtle grove, to join with their comrades in the east. Reunited they rode on to the eastern horizon, mercifully subjecting the timber-walled village to just a shower of arrows as they passed.
A wedge of Scholae riders burst away from the emperor’s side, haring after the fleeing Seljuk pack.
‘Come back, you fools!’ Romanus roared, tearing off his purple-plumed helm and throwing it to the dust. ‘You will not catch them. Have you learned nothing in these last weeks?’
A buccina keened to convey this message and the galloping Scholae riders slowed and returned, while the Seljuk horde became but a glint on the horizon. A nauseatingly familiar sight, Apion thought as he joined the emperor.
Romanus was surrounded by Igor, the Varangoi and Doux Philaretos.
‘Like a whore in oil,’ Philaretos grunted, watching the Seljuks slip away.
‘It worked at Hierapolis,’ Romanus hissed through clenched teeth, punching a fist to his palm as he looked to the northern and southern woods from which his two cavalry wings had sprung.
Apion recalled the move, when he and Romanus had led two wings of cavalry, bursting from the cover of the northern and southern walls of the desert city to ensnare the Seljuk ranks amassed by the western gate, pressing them onto the hardy Byzantine spearmen standing firm there. ‘But then our enemy was already engaged with what infantry we had. Those riders,’ he flicked a finger to the horizon, ‘have never stayed in one place long enough to let us draw up our spearmen and archers.’
Romanus looked north. Somewhere beyond the horizon, Manuel Komnenos and the infantry section of the weary campaign army were marching at haste to catch up, but still nearly a hundred miles behind, going by this morning’s report from the scout rider. ‘Then we have to find a way to bring our spears to bear.’
‘We could try to lure them northwards, onto our infantry?’ Philaretos suggested.
Apion shook his head. ‘They will not follow us. They mean only to evade us, to sack towns and cause as much disruption as possible.’
‘Then we should continue the pursuit. We can only hope that they will slip up soon, surely?’ Philaretos grumbled.
‘Hope is a fine thing, Doux, but it is not a strategy,’ Apion replied as gently as he could manage.
‘You are adept at revealing the weaknesses in the suggestions of others, Strategos,’ Philaretos snapped. ‘Perhaps you might offer an alternative solution?’
Apion looked to the red-faced doux and the rest of the retinue. His thoughts swam as he recalled the terrain of this southern thema. They needed two things; a choke point and a regiment of infantry to block it. There were many choke points to the east, where the Seljuk horde were headed, but no infantry bar a few sparse local garrisons. Then he thought of something else, high up in the Antitaurus Mountains. His eyes glinted and a crooked smile pulled at one edge of his lips. ‘This may not be to your liking . . . ’
***
Apion pulled his crimson cloak tighter around his
The hail was thick but inaccurate, arrows punching down all around the two slowing jaws of the failed trap. It was not meant to be a lethal strike, merely a means to give the fleeing Seljuk horde an extra few moments to make their break. Most of the missiles landed in the dust, but a fair number glanced from the iron coats and helms of the riders, and he heard a thin chorus of cries and whinnies where they found their way in between the iron cladding of horse or rider. As soon as the hail passed, Apion pulled on his reins to swing his mount round. He watched as the ghazis who had turned to flee westwards arced round the southern edge of the plain, behind the myrtle grove, to join with their comrades in the east. Reunited they rode on to the eastern horizon, mercifully subjecting the timber-walled village to just a shower of arrows as they passed.
A wedge of Scholae riders burst away from the emperor’s side, haring after the fleeing Seljuk pack.
‘Come back, you fools!’ Romanus roared, tearing off his purple-plumed helm and throwing it to the dust. ‘You will not catch them. Have you learned nothing in these last weeks?’
A buccina keened to convey this message and the galloping Scholae riders slowed and returned, while the Seljuk horde became but a glint on the horizon. A nauseatingly familiar sight, Apion thought as he joined the emperor.
Romanus was surrounded by Igor, the Varangoi and Doux Philaretos.
‘Like a whore in oil,’ Philaretos grunted, watching the Seljuks slip away.
‘It worked at Hierapolis,’ Romanus hissed through clenched teeth, punching a fist to his palm as he looked to the northern and southern woods from which his two cavalry wings had sprung.
Apion recalled the move, when he and Romanus had led two wings of cavalry, bursting from the cover of the northern and southern walls of the desert city to ensnare the Seljuk ranks amassed by the western gate, pressing them onto the hardy Byzantine spearmen standing firm there. ‘But then our enemy was already engaged with what infantry we had. Those riders,’ he flicked a finger to the horizon, ‘have never stayed in one place long enough to let us draw up our spearmen and archers.’
Romanus looked north. Somewhere beyond the horizon, Manuel Komnenos and the infantry section of the weary campaign army were marching at haste to catch up, but still nearly a hundred miles behind, going by this morning’s report from the scout rider. ‘Then we have to find a way to bring our spears to bear.’
‘We could try to lure them northwards, onto our infantry?’ Philaretos suggested.
Apion shook his head. ‘They will not follow us. They mean only to evade us, to sack towns and cause as much disruption as possible.’
‘Then we should continue the pursuit. We can only hope that they will slip up soon, surely?’ Philaretos grumbled.
‘Hope is a fine thing, Doux, but it is not a strategy,’ Apion replied as gently as he could manage.
‘You are adept at revealing the weaknesses in the suggestions of others, Strategos,’ Philaretos snapped. ‘Perhaps you might offer an alternative solution?’
Apion looked to the red-faced doux and the rest of the retinue. His thoughts swam as he recalled the terrain of this southern thema. They needed two things; a choke point and a regiment of infantry to block it. There were many choke points to the east, where the Seljuk horde were headed, but no infantry bar a few sparse local garrisons. Then he thought of something else, high up in the Antitaurus Mountains. His eyes glinted and a crooked smile pulled at one edge of his lips. ‘This may not be to your liking . . . ’
***
Apion pulled his crimson cloak tighter around his
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