by David Capel
“And for your part,” I continued, “you speak of the need for caution. How then did I approach this unit without challenge until I met you? That is hardly the sign of a state of high preparedness!”
The man swore. “You were not challenged by the piquet on the western approach? Just wait until I get my hands on the dozy bastards. I apologise. But yes. Indeed we are travelling to join the main army, and I’m sure you will be welcome to accompany us.”
Just then a plaintive voice called from the tree near at hand.
“Kostas is that you? What’s all this commotion about?”
“A newcomer sir, a fellow taxiarch. He’s looking for the Imperial army,” replied the stocky soldier who had interrupted me.
“Really?” said the voice. “Well, bring him over. The man must be thirsty and tired at this hour. I have hot wine and bread for him. And for you if you will partake!”
The stocky man muttered something under his breath and led the way over to the tent. There in the gloom under the canvas sat a tall, thin man wearing a neat grey tunic with a woollen cloak thrown round his shoulders. He was sipping at a steaming mug and beside him a brazier burned hotly. There were one or two other soldiers moving about here, apparently preparing food and busying themselves around this officer’s headquarters. One of them came over at the seated man’s call.
“Loukas, bring wine and food for this traveller,” and the officer stood and held out his arm in greeting, showing no sign of concern at the raggedness of my appearance. “Bartholomew Tornikos, commanding the seventh Taron regiment.”
“John Lascaris,” I replied, taking his hand, “on the staff of General Comnenus.”
“Lascaris, Lascaris”, he said, rubbing the back of his head. “From Koloneia, is that correct?”
“Was, but no longer,” said I, surprised. “My estate was destroyed by the enemy.”
“Oh dear,” he said, his eyes shifting away. “I never visited the area myself, but heard it was good land. Still, you are very welcome. Do have some wine and then tell me what we can do for you.”
I accepted a cup and sipped greedily at it, burning my lips. “I was simply hoping to accompany you to the main army. The country is crawling with Turks, and I would appreciate the relative security of a body of men.”
“Ah yes,” said Tornikos, “we must be cautious, you are right.” And he turned to his grizzled subordinate. “Kostas, we must proceed with caution. Intelligence is everything in warfare. Let us send scouts along the route and to the North and South as well.”
“Sir, I will. And I will give the signal to prepare to march in a half hour.”
“Not so fast. There is no rush. We must ensure that the ground ahead is secure. Prepare the men by all means, but I want the area thoroughly explored. I will go ahead myself in due course.”
“Sir!” replied the man called Kostas in apparent agitation, “I would remind you that we are expected to assemble with the army at Lake Van in two days time. Yet at our current rate it is still six days march at the very least!”
“No-one is expecting anything, Kostas. The situation is a fluid one. You heard the taxiarch here. We are in hostile territory. Are we not, Lascaris?”
Both men turned to me looking for judgement, which of course I was in no position to give.
“Six days?” I said, prevaricating. “I had no idea it was so far. My errand is of some urgency.”
“I can see you share my concerns, John,” said the other taxiarch. “And I can also see that you are in need of some new apparel. First things first! Kostas, please take the taxiarch to the quartermaster and find him some suitable gear. And then report back to me in an hour.”
The shorter man stomped off and I followed him, marvelling at the exchange I had just heard. When we were beyond earshot of the bivouac I caught up with my guide, who was muttering and grinding his teeth and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Wait a moment,” I said, “what is your full name and rank?”
He turned to me reluctantly. “Kostas Stethatos, centurion of the Seventh.”
“Good, that’s better. And you’ve seen action before, Centurion Stethatos?”
“Yes. I did my service on the Euphrates for many years before retiring to a part time commission with the Taron theme army.”
“And this unit? They are all new levies?”
“A handful of veterans among them, but mostly just farmers, yes. Two hundred all told, more or less.”
“Thank you. Now I’d be grateful for some proper equipment if there is some to spare.”
Stethatos showed me to a cluster of bushes where a group of mules was tethered that I had not spotted from my vantage point earlier. He introduced me to the acting quarter-master and then excused himself. I heard him rousing the men and commandeering some scouts as he went back through the camp.
There was little in the way of spare equipment there, but I helped myself to a leather jerkin, a cloak, a spear and a short sword that I could barely pull from its battered scabbard. I then went over to join some men who squatted nearby, and asked to share their bread, which they did willingly enough. There appeared to be no urgency about breaking camp, so I chatted to them awhile. They varied greatly in age, but mostly were very young or else in early middle age, hardy looking farming folk from the eastern reaches of Anatolia. I found them decent company, but they were lightly armed and had no military bearing in terms of the way they kept their gear or conducted themselves.
With no movement apparent from the company I eventually stood and walked back towards Tornikos’ tent. The canvas was still in place, and the brazier still smouldering, but the taxiarch was not there. One of his aides told me he had gone to speak to the scouts.
With nothing to do, I took some more food and sat down to clean and sharpen my weapons. After an hour my sword was loose in its scabbard and I had applied an edge to it and the spear, trying to quell my growing impatience, but there was still no sign of departure from the surrounding soldiers.
I practiced drawing the Antioch map from memory in the dust, erasing it with a sweep of my foot and repeating the process again as I recited the text from memory. It seemed most unlikely that I would ever get any where near the place to test my recollection, but the exercise passed the time.
My early relief at finding food and shelter was turning to disquiet at the lack of activity, so I decided to go and find either Tornikos or Stethatos. It was nearly noon, and the sun warmed me as I set out following the stream towards the East, and soon saw them both, standing on a knoll a few hundred yards from the camp. Stethatos appeared to be gesticulating wildly, but as I approached they noticed me and fell silent. Presently I heard Tornikos say,
“Very well, Centurion, get the men moving. We’ll advance down the valley and see how we get on.” Then he called out to me,
“Ah Lascaris, I see you’re properly dressed at last. Good! We’re on our way!”
Stethatos left us and we soon heard him bellowing at the soldiers to prepare for the march.
“Terribly impetuous, I’m afraid, our Kostas,” muttered Tornikos almost to himself.
“He’ll get us into trouble if I don’t watch out.”
“Isn’t that we’re looking for?”
“Hmmph?” he grunted at squinted at me in the sunlight. “What do you mean?”
“Trouble,” I replied. “Aren’t we looking for trouble? I mean, we’re on campaign after all, aren’t we?”
“Oh yes, I see what you mean,” he giggled. “Yes, in a manner of speaking, but I’d hardly call it ‘looking for trouble’. That not what soldiering is about, not in these parts anyway.”
He shaded his eyes and looked up the valley. “You’ll join me for dinner later? Good!” and then without another word he stalked off back towards his tent.
In the end we must have advanced about three miles by the end of the day. From our new encampment, east up the valley, I could still see the bend in the river and the cluster of trees and bushes where we had starte
d that morning. I considered pressing on alone, and leaving this sluggish unit to its fate. But my journey to find them had unnerved me. The country was clearly seething with Turks, and if I returned to the main road I risked capture by Bryennius or Gabras and his men. It seemed to me still that my best chance of reaching the army safely stood with Tournikos and his unit.
Despite Stethatos’ best efforts it took time to get the men moving, and when the column eventually set off, the men shuffled and chatted, stopping to defecate or fetch water from the stream. There seemed to be few other officers, and eventually I started to help the centurion. Cajoling the Seventh Taron was more like herding cattle than officering a body of soldiers.
Half way through the afternoon we reached a stony field in a loop of the river and Tournikos called a halt, much to Stethatos’ exasperation. The whole column clustered together once more, and the men started to look for material for their fires while the taxiarch’s tent was assembled among some thorn bushes.
I helped to recruit some piquets and position them, though the camp site was horribly overlooked by the hills on either side, which closed in around the path at that point. As the sun set I went to join Tournikos, who was dressed once more in his comfortable tunic with a merry fire blazing at his side.
“Welcome, John, do come and join me. I have seen you busy along the march, and you must be weary after the day’s exertions. Do sit with me. I have wine for you, and I believe some fowl or another has been caught along the way. Best not to enquire to closely what kind of bird, but needs must on campaign, hey?”
I sat with him, and there began on of the strangest conversations of my brief military career.
I had taken Tournikos for an idiot – an incompetent at best, and at worst a kind of lunatic, with his neat clothing and insistence on a level of personal service that was incongruous with the conditions of his men.
But I quickly realised that he was none of these things. In fact he was perfectly intelligent. It was just that he was deliberately doing his best to sabotage the campaign of the Seventh Taron because he was a coward.
At first I nearly put him on his guard by remarking that it was a shame that the unit was making such slow progress.
“Shame?” he asked, looking at me sharply. “Do you mean to say that you would rather we hastened to battle any old how?”
“Well, surely it’s our duty to ensure the men reach Lake Van in time for a battle if there is one?”
He paused for a moment while he digested my words.
“You speak of duty, my friend, but I see my duty as preserving the integrity of my command. These men,” and he waved vaguely into the gathering darkness, “these men are too ill-trained to fight. They would be more of a hindrance than an advantage to the Imperial cause!”
I bit back the temptation to take issue with this. I had to deliver the news of the plot to Diogenes and his staff. He had to be warned of the Ducas betrayal. Without it, the success of the campaign was in grave jeopardy. Apart from anything else my only chance of regaining my estate lay with an Imperial victory, which I would do everything in my power to provoke and aid. However, I was intrigued to hear more of his preposterous excuses, so instead I changed tack and remarked,
“And of course it is most unlikely that there will be a battle.”
Tornikos seized upon the comment. “Absolutely! You’re right of course! No Turk in his right mind will take on the Imperial host! They will run like rabbits! And so it is all the more important that we hold the ground here.”
“Lying in wait?”
“Well, yes. Who knows which direction they may turn?” he twisted his fingers nervously at the thought.
And so we sipped our wine, and were brought spitted fowl and bread, and we talked into the night. I was intrigued to discover his reasoning, and it was not difficult once he got over his early diffidence. For we got on well, after a few cups of wine. The reason was, of course, that he was just like me. Quite soon our conversation turned to wine, and social gatherings, and then I would turn it back to his predicament. He had never been to the City (much to his regret), but had in effect inherited his command of these part-time troops along with his estate.
Talking to Bartholomew Tornikos was fascinating to me, for it was like talking to the ghost of what might have been. Looking back, I can be pretty sure that I would have behaved in exactly the same way if I had not had the experiences of my journey across Anatolia. If I had somehow been transported to this place directly from my house I would no doubt have colluded in his dereliction of duty with enthusiasm.
So I let him prattle, the wine taking hold of him, because it was like looking in a mirror. And also because it gave me an idea.
ν
The next morning the taxiarch Tornikos woke earlier than usual. Somebody had entered his bivouac almost before the grey light of dawn.
“Who’s there?” he said, grimacing at the pain in his head.
“Bartholomew, I have a proposition for you,” I replied.
“What?” He said, propping himself up on one elbow. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Well, that depends slightly on you. It can be one of two things. Either I am arresting you, or we are making a tactical adjustment.”
“What?” he said again, sitting on his low camp bed, “Have you gone mad? Get out of here at once!”
“After you,” I said, and slowly and deliberately I drew my sword and pointed it at his chest.
“Jesus! Help,” he said to himself, then opened his mouth to shout the same word. But before he did so I stepped forward and held the point of my sword to his throat.
“Silence!” I hissed. “Do as I say and you will not be hurt. Come on out.”
As I had surmised Tornikos was a terrible coward, and faced with the choice between the point of my sword the hope of a way out, he followed my direction as meekly as a lamb.
Beside the shelter stood my accomplices in the grey dawn. Half a dozen tough veterans with Kostas Stethatos at their head, and the quartermaster beside him. Another man knelt with his sword drawn by the taxiarch’s two aides, who had been woken and told to stay mute.
“Now my friends, it’s time for a little discussion. Bartholomew, I am sorry to wake you in this ill-mannered fashion, but you see we have something of a crisis on our hands. Where is that wine of yours, by the way? I think you’ll benefit by a cup or two.”
“Crisis? And you, Centurion, what are you doing here? Surely you are not in league with this lunatic?”
“Taxiarch Lascaris is now in command of the Seventh,” growled Stethatos. “And I follow his lead. You would do well to do the same.”
“Sit down and let me explain,” I interjected, and placing my hands on his shoulders pushed Tornikos down onto his stool. I found the flagon of wine and poured him a cup, which he seemed happy to accept.
“You see, Bartholomew, you are guilty of high treason against the state.” I held up my hand as he started to stammer in indignation and interjected sternly. “Let me finish!”
“You made it absolutely clear to me last night that you had no intention of bringing your command to the assembly point with the Imperial army. Not only is this a direct contradiction of your orders, worthy of a court martial in itself. It brings the state into danger at a time of extreme emergency. Under these circumstances it is within my power as an officer of equivalent rank to remove you from office and place you under arrest.”
The veteran Stethatos had informed me that rules along these lines were in the military manual somewhere, not that Tornikos would have read them. Still he tried to wriggle free.
“I’ve never heard such nonsense. And how do we know that you are who you say you are anyway? You have no proof of rank!” and then turning to Stethatos, he said, “Kostas, release me! You must ignore this impostor, I implore you. And, and… beware your own fate. If this gets out I will have you arrested yourself!”
“Save your breath, Tournikos,” said the centurion. “It has been clear from
the beginning that you have been trying to undermine this campaign. I would have done this earlier, but I lacked the authority that Taxiarch Lascaris has now brought. It’s over.”
“Christ!” exclaimed Tournikos, looking at his aides prone on the ground and then burying his head in his hands. “What are you going to do with me?”
“That depends on you,” I replied. “You see, Bartholomew, I have no desire to arrest a brother officer. So I am offering you a choice. This regiment needs to join the Imperial army as quickly as possible. But you were right that not all of the men here are ready for battle. And we need to leave some strength behind to guard the routes to the hinterland here. So this is my proposal to you. We divide this command. You appoint me as leader of a detachment with Stethatos and the others here, and we will make it hot foot to Lake Van. You will remain in command of the rear guard here. None will be any the wiser.”
I paused a moment for effect. “The alternative is arrest and eventual trial. It is your choice.”
He stared at the ground for a moment and then looked up at me, his face streaked with tears.
“You’ll leave me here in charge of the unit?”
“What’s left of it, yes. Nominally, nothing will have changed.”
“And how many men will you take? How will you choose them?”
“I won’t. They will choose themselves.”
And that I how I acquired my first military command.
Stethatos and I had made our plans the night before, directly after I had left Tournikos. I had found him sitting disconsolately by his fire with a couple of companions. The centurion had been surprised by my idea, but when I explained to him the urgency of my errand, he had quickly agreed. He had wanted simply to arrest Tournikos and take the whole command over, but I assured him that it would be safer in the long run to allow the taxiarch to save face. I would rather avoid having to justify our actions before a military tribunal.
So in the grey morning Stethatos and his veterans went round the campsite, rousing the men and ordering them to assemble at the taxiarch’s tent in double quick time. When most of them were gathered round, bleary eyed and shivering in the cold, I nudged Tournikos and he stood on his stool.
