Imperial Fire Read Free

waved aside this consideration. ‘There’s only one course for my son – the way of the oath-sworn warrior. Give me your pledge, Vallon. In two days we march into battle. I might be killed. I’ll face that fate serenely if I know that Aiken will follow my calling.’
    Vallon grimaced. ‘In two days it might be me who lies dead and then it will be my lady calling on you for protection.’
    Beorn’s features set in complicated lines. He stared into the flames. ‘I’ve been waiting a long time for this encounter. I still feel shame that I didn’t die with my king at Hastings. This time we crush Duke Robert or perish in the attempt.’
    Vallon reached out and touched Beorn’s shoulder. ‘That isn’t the attitude that wins battles.’
    Beorn looked up, his eyes red in the firelight. He laughed. ‘You’ve always been the foxy one who lives to fight another day.’ He shot out a hand. ‘If I die, swear that you’ll make a warrior of Aiken.’
    Vallon extended his own hand. ‘I swear it.’
    Beorn sprang up and thumped him on the back. ‘I’ve kept you too long from sleep. You aren’t anxious about the battle, are you?’
    ‘Not particularly.’
    Beorn gave a booming laugh. ‘Good. Fate always spares the undoomed warrior.’
    Vallon managed a weak grin. ‘My old friend Raul the German used to say the same.’
    Beorn looked down, his brutish face gentled. ‘And he spoke the truth.’
     
    At break of day, Vallon led his squadron down to the Byzantine camp. Banners and standards glimmered through the dust kicked up by thousands of horses. Centurion Conrad met him at the outer rampart and guided him through the controlled chaos to the headquarters of the Grand Domestic, the emperor’s field marshal. A Greek general received Vallon with ill-concealed suspicion.
    ‘You cut it fine. You should have received your marching orders at the beginning of September.’
    ‘They reached me only two weeks ago, and the Pechenegs were so sorry to see us leave that they chased us halfway to Nicopolis.’
    The general narrowed his eyes in the face of Vallon’s subtle insubordination. ‘I trust that your squadron is in fit shape to fight.’
    Vallon knew there was no point explaining that his men and horses were exhausted. ‘I’ll carry out my orders diligently.’
    The general’s slow, wagging nod conveyed a lack of conviction.
    Vallon cleared his throat. ‘I request permission to scout the enemy’s positions. My squadron will be more effective if we know the lie of the land.’
    The general kept Vallon under dark review. Like most native Byzantine commanders, he resented the fact that the empire’s defenders were largely made up of foreign mercenaries. ‘Very well. Make sure you’re back well before dark. After sunset the camp will be sealed. No one leaves, no one enters.’
    ‘Hear that?’ said Conrad as they left. ‘It must mean the emperor intends to give battle tomorrow.’
    Vallon took his three centurions and a squad of horse archers on the reconnaissance, riding to a low ridge about a mile from the city. From here he could see the breaches pounded in the citadel’s walls by the Norman trebuchets. He could also make out the marshy channel through which the emperor intended sending part of his army.
    ‘If Alexius has thought of that ploy, you can be sure Guiscard has done the same. Gentlemen, I think we could be in for some hot action.’
    He lingered a long time, committing the particulars of the terrain to mind. The season had been dry and the Byzantines had torched the fields to deny the invaders food, leaving a bare undulating plain ideal for cavalry.
    He returned to the camp in a honeyed light and was still dismounting when Beorn ran up and seized his arm. ‘Come. The emperor’s holding his final council of war.’
    They headed towards the double-headed eagle standard flying above the imperial headquarters, a large silk pavilion surrounded by guards three lines deep. Another wall of guards sealed off