The Warlord (The Bloody Hand Saga Book 4) by David Pilling

Author:David Pilling [Pilling, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

11.

Months of inactivity followed. I thought Botaneiates would raise the banner of revolt at once, but not a bit of it. Michael Doukas was weak and unpopular, but he still held the Great City. Whoever held Micklegarth held the Empire, or what was left of it.

Botaneiates needed allies. He had forged a secret a pact with the Turkish sultan, Suleyman, but even fifty thousand Turkish riders would never breach the great walls of Constantine. Only Greek siege-engines could do that. Or Greek treachery. So he bided his time, and sent out messengers, and slowly pieced together a vast conspiracy against the hapless Michael and his despised eunuch, Nikephoritzes.

While Botaneiates weaved his plots, I was left with little to do. My men were billeted in the village below the castle, a tumbledown place occupied by a handful of Greek peasants, squatting in the ruins. It had been prosperous, once, but all trade had ceased in recent years. Most of the inhabitants had been killed or taken as slaves by the Turks. The few survivors remained because they had nowhere else to go.

At least there was enough food and drink. Botaneiates traded with the Turks, which was treason, but there was no-one to punish him. Imperial law had gone the same way as imperial trade. Besides, he could not have survived otherwise.

“He doesn't trust us,” I remarked to Digenes, shading my eyes to peer up at the castle. Sunlight flashed off the helms and spears of Greek sentries, high above. “Not a complete fool, then.”

“Botaneiates is no fool at all,” replied Digenes. “Take heart, my friend. If he lives long enough, he may yet gain the Purple. He also knows how to reward loyalty. We could be rich men, Thorkell, rich and powerful! You shall be commander of the Varangian Guard, and I – oh, what title shall I take for myself? Vestarches, perhaps, or Patrikios, or Proedros, or all three. Yes, and I shall wear gold, and silk, and plunder the treasury, and drink and debauch myself to an early grave. Ha, yes! We shall see great things, you and I.”

“I thought you hated the Empire,” I said, giving him a wry look. Digenes's eyes were shining with greed, his white teeth bared in an avid grin. I had seldom seen him so excited, save when he was about to kill someone.

“So I do,” he replied casually. “Which is why I intend to milk it to death. A glorious type of revenge, eh?”

I thought he was an unprincipled cut-throat, myself, which made him ideal for high office. Yet Digenes was impossible to dislike, and an invaluable friend. With so much time on our hands, I asked him to teach me Greek. It was the chief language of the empire, after all, and I couldn't spend my life relying on interpreters.

I was neither the quickest student, or the slowest. Three or four years passed before I was able to speak the language with any confidence. Most Greeks were amused by my efforts. Well done, barbarian.

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