Crystalmist

Akritai

    The Akritai were unique border guards in the frontier lands of the Eastern (Byzantine) Roman Empire. Land was given to groups and peoples from many places for service to the Emperor. Military arms and service for land, a wonderful arrangement for the dispossessed. In the Shire of Crystalmist we liken our service to the Western Thrones as a similar arrangement. Like the Akritai, we have all come from many places, and now have a home at the pleasure of the King.
    We serve as the keepers of the border. Our salute and battle cry is "Aeras!" It means, you will be swept away by one of the ancient winds.
    Additionally our Motto is, "Today we keep this place"

The Frontier of the Akritai

It was a rolling landscape, low hills covered in thorny bushes and patches of brownish-yellow grass, baked under the hot sun. Further away, rock and cliff started to emerge from the ground, growing into barren cliff sides and then into bluing mountains in the distance. Here and there, clung of trees, mostly cypresses, cedar and gnarled old olive trees clinged to the thin soil. Out of this landscape, countless generations had made out a living, watering the dry fields with their own sweat. Orderly rows of olive trees, orchards, golden grain fields and grazing grounds with flocks of sheep and goats, and here and there, cattle, all lined by low, thorny hedges that held the soil firmly in place, told of nearly endless human labour as much as the stony cottages and outhouses of the farms inhabited by the hardy peasants and shepherds toiling this land. Streams ran through the landscape at a high pace, as if the water itself desperately wanted to reach the sea to escape the heat and the sun. This was Roman Anatolia, or rather, what was left of it.

As the shadows grew longer and the sun rapidly set, a building stood out from all others in this magnificent landscape. It was an old watchtower lovingly masoned in stone long ago. Some would say it had first been built during the time of the pagan Hellenes, perhaps during the wars of the heirs of Alexander the Great. It had since been rebuilt, expanded, improved and changed into what it was today - a five story large stone tower with thick walls, arrow slits, murder holes, a cauldron and even the main door a story up, with the stairs interrupted by wooden parts that could be torn down or burned should the enemy try to storm the tower. Surrounded by a wooden palisade with an extensive gatehouse and four square towers, also from wood, the end result was a small fort perched atop one of the higher hills in the landscape. In days long gone, it had protected a stretch of old Roman road running from the east to the west, promising safety from highwaymen and bandits in those days of old. Nowadays, it was unsettlingly close to the border and promised a fragile protection against the heathen Turk and his constant raiding.

And that was indeed the hope of the people streaming into the fort from far and wide. The Turk was coming, and every scared refugee had his own story of the savagery they had seen or even experienced themselves. Men, women, children, sheep and goats were streaming through the open gates. Some came on carts with most of their possessions piled dangerously high and all their livestock shepherded in front of them, others came only with the clothes on their back and barely that. Some came smeared with soot and dirt and the desperate grief of someone who has seen their home burnt to the ground written into their tired faces. All glanced nervously over their shoulders towards plumes of smoke rising in the distance.

Dressed in an old and battered, but well maintained chain mail and a polished helmet with a red plume, the commander of the fort stood on top of the gatehouse and peered out over the landscape. Captain Aristedes was perhaps thirty-five years old and a hard life as a soldier showed in the wrinkles around his hard brown eyes and the dashes of grey in his black whiskers. He was of ordinary stature and his face was of the kind you meet every day and never remember, with little or no distinctive features. It was only his posture and his steel hard gaze that drew attention.

"Denes?" he said, his voice being dark and soft.

"Captain." a man behind him answered. It was a large, strong man with broad shoulders that spoke of many years of wearing heavy armour. A nasty scar ran from his forehead, cleaving the left eyebrow, disappearing under an eye patch to emerge again and run down his cheek. He had not seen more than forty years, but a hard life and an unhealthy love of wine had aged him prematurely and his short-cut beard and hair was all grey, and large bags under his eyes accompanied his wrinkled face and a smile that lacked several teeth.

"I think this is more than a raid." Aristedes said. "There are too many refugees from too many farmsteads in too many directions for this to be a normal raid."

"I would agree, Captain." the old soldier replied and took a swig from a leather pouch.

"So the Turk is coming." the Captain said with a heavy sigh.

"Would seem so." the old one-eyed soldier replied. "And before the wine harvest too, the adulterous bastards!"

The Captain grimaced at the priorities of the old soldier. "We need to get these refugees organised..." he turned and walked over to the other end of the gatehouse, the one facing the courtyard and sighed at the chaos of carts, sheep, goats, refugees and the occasional soldier from the fort's garrison that spent futile efforts trying to bring order to the maelstrom of people and critters in the small courtyard.

Suddenly a boy appeared beside the Captain, peering over the wooden battlement down to the courtyard.

"Who are you? How did you get here?" the Captain exclaimed, surprised at not hearing anyone step so close to him.

"My n-n-name is L-l-l-lysander." the boy stuttered. "I-i-i-i c-c-climbed the ladder over th-th-there." he pointed towards the ladder from the courtyard to the gatehouse roof. He was a small-framed boy of the peasant stock of this land, with unkempt dark hair, large, curious green eyes and the kind of long, lean limbs you would find on a boy of his age, strengthened by several years as a shepherd. He was dressed only in a grey woollen tunic that reached to his knees and looked too large for him. A rope made up his belt and to it a few pouches and strings were tied, as well as a knife with a worn handle. He carried a woollen sack over his shoulder, but did not seem to possess anything else. His face was striped with dirt and his feet bare.

"What are you doing up here, boy?" the Captain said, annoyed by this distraction to his duties.

"L-l-looking for mother and father. I-it seemed easier to see from up here." the boy exclaimed, his stuttering increasing as he came under the steely gaze of the Captain. "The T-t-t-turks came, I think they b-b-b-burned our farm. They c-c-c-came on horseback and took the sh-sh-sheep, I hid." the lad managed to exclaim. Captain Aristedes could not really argue with the flawless logic of the lad, but was just about to open his mouth to bark a good lesson to the careless boy about climbing the battlements of a fort without permission, when Denes said something.

"Captain, I think we have horsemen coming in."

Captain Aristedes forgot all about the boy and his insolence and turned to the other side again. Indeed, a fast-moving dust cloud was closing in along the road from the east...

"Are they Turks?" the Captain said, peering towards the dust cloud that now had closed enough for men and horses to be barely visible.

"I can see a banner." Denes replied. "But my eye is not what it used to be, I cannot make out what is on it." the old soldier said, shrugged and strung his compound Trebizond bow.

"CLOSE THE GATES!" the Captain bellowed and several soldiers rushed to the gate, practically pulling the last refugees inside the fort and then closed the wooden gates shut.

"I can't make out the banner either..." the Captain said, straining his eyes, frustration mounting at the dust, movement and distance making it impossible to make out the features.

"I-i-it has a cross." the boy said, again he had walked up beside the Captain without being noticed.

"That lad is a quiet one." Denes chuckled and took another swig from his leather pouch.

Captain Aristedes was about to give the boy a good slap, but stopped his arm mid-air. "You can see it at that distance?" he said.

Lysander was cowering under the expected blow. "Y-y-yes." he again peered out over the wooden battlement, with one or two nervous glances towards the Captain. "I-it is a c-cross. A-and the m-men in the front w-wear armour like yours. T-t-the Turks I saw had a-a-ar-armour like a fish from the s-s-stream."

"Akritai, then." Denes said and smiled an ugly, uneven smile, lacking several teeth. But the Captain had already reached that conclusion and was directing his attention towards the boy.

"They wore scale armour?" he said sternly.

"I-i-i don't know what s-s-sc-scale armour is." he stuttered. "Th-they had a green b-banner with a crescent."

Denes looked at the Captain and the Captain looked at Denes.

"If the boy remembers correctly, it could be a household cavalry unit of one of the Seljuk Princes." Denes said.

"...and if it is, the Turks are not out to nibble off more of Anatolia, it is a full scale invasion. It could be worse than Manzikert." the Captain filled in.

As the two soldiers talked, the boy was again staring over the battlements. "S-s-some of them are ill. One just f-f-fe-fell off his horse." the boy pointed towards a limp pile in the dust behind the advancing horses. The horsemen were riding hard and not stopping for the poor man that had fallen off his mount.

"Open the gates, and be ready to close them fast." the Captain yelled. "They would not ride that hard if hell itself was on their heels, they are exhausting their horses."

"They got something far worse on their heels, I'd say, Captain. The Turk." Denes replied.

"Boy!" the Captain said.

"M-my name is L-lysander." the boy said back. Captain Aristedes pushed down an urge to smack the lad there and then for his back-talking.

"Very well, Lysander." he said between clenched teeth. "This is the battlements, and you are not allowed here. Get down!" he pointed towards the ladder and to his surprise the lad immediately obeyed, quickly and smoothly climbing down.

Finally the cavalrymen arrived. Panic-stricken sheep scurried in all directions under loud baah-ing as the cavalry rode fast and hard into the courtyard. It was indeed a unit of Akritai, but many saddles were empty and the horses were few from the start, and more than one man were clutching sides and thighs, were broken or still fully fletched arrows pointed out. The faces were haunted, dusty and tired, speaking of a hard battle, comrades left behind and long and hard ride with a victorious enemy hard on their heels.

A tall and thin young man jumped off his horse, kneeled in the dirt of the courtyard, closed his eyes, clasped his hands and started murmuring prayers of thanks as the gates were closed behind them. Even though the sun had tanned his face, one could see that he had not led an outdoor life for long and his armour and mantle was definitely of the better kind. Indeed, two broken arrow shafts protruded from his torso, obviously stopped by his high-quality armour. His face held an aristocratically bent nose and his light-brown hair was cut militarily short. He was young enough to really not need to shave that often, but the patches of fuzz here and there spoke of some days in the field.

Captain Aristedes was climbing down the same ladder the lad had scurried down just before and walked over to the cavalrymen, who were dismounting under groans, curses and the occasional muffled shout of pain. Several of the fort's soldiers had rushed to help, the barber that also doubled as the doctor of the place rushing to help the man who dropped into the dirt when trying to dismount.

"Who is your Captain?" Aristedes said.

"The Turk saw it fit to give him a new career as a porcupine close to the border." one of the Akritai said, limping to the front of his horse, murmuring loving words softly to the frothing and wild-eyed beast.

"Who leads you?" Aristedes inquired with some annoyance at the unwillingness of the Akritai to give up information sharply and rapidly.

"I guess the nobleman does." another man said and groaned as he tried to walk, fingering a cut in his thigh, pointing towards the kneeling man.

"Very well." Aristedes said and glanced somewhat nervously towards the still kneeling nobleman. "Water your horses and tend to your wounds. There should be food for you if you talk to the cook." with those words he turned over to the murmuring nobleman.

"Sire?" he asked. The man kept praying with his eyes closed. Annoyed, Aristedes discretely tapped his boot against the thigh of the man. Still no reaction. What was this? He might be a nobleman, but Aristedes was still the commander of this fort, and judging from the man's armour, he still outranked him, even if he was a nobleman. He pushed the kneeling man's shoulder.

The thin nobleman was on his feet in a split of second and had his sword half-drawn before he realised where he was again and his wide open eyes returned to something of a normal state.

"My most sincere apologies, Captain." he said and saluted. "I am Lieutenant Ioannes Maros of the Akritai." he bowed with style and grace, speaking of an upbringing at the court of a higher nobleman.

”I am Captain Aristedes Michalis, commander of this fort." Captain Aristedes replied. "What happened to your unit?"

A soldier gave Ioannes a goblet filled with water, which he greedily, but still with manners, gobbled down before replying. "We were patrolling along the border, looking for a heathen raiding party, when a Turk household unit descended upon us. We had not expected such strength and were spread out. They showered us with arrows and the Captain fell under the first hail." Ioannes shook his head, in regret. "May the Almighty have mercy upon his soul. I think a forth or a fifth of us had fallen before we had our own bows out, and then they came with swords drawn and lances felled, yelling in their barbarian tongue about how their false God is great. I think we bounced them once before we broke. We did not give as well as we got, I can say that for sure. Many of our comrades died on that rocky slope." he took another drink from the goblet. "Since then we've been retreating, God himself probably steering us towards this fort and salvation for His servants from the heathens, since the horses were on the verge of death from exhaustion."

He fell on one knee and bent his head. "I hereby formally rescind my command, or what is left of it, to you Captain."

Aristedes had not seen such old-fashioned manners in many years and tried to remember his officer's training far in a misty past.

"Very well." he said and placed a hand upon the younger man's shoulder. "I accept... your command and will not dishonour it as long as I am required to hold it." he said.

"Captain!" Denes yelled from atop the gatehouse. "We got more horsemen incoming."

Captain Aristedes pointed to a young soldier brandishing a spear. "Follow me." Then he turned to the slowly rising Ioannes. "If the Lieutenant would follow me, please?" he said, the strain of changing from a commanding to a pleasant tone in his voice showing.

"Of course, Captain." Ioannes replied and followed with a rapid stride from his long legs while the other two soldiers ran for the ladder.

Most of the forts' garrison was already manning the towers and the palisade and some of the Akritai were slowly, with sluggish movement from exhaustion and wounds, climbing ladders and stairs to the battlements.

As the three soldiers reached Denes on top of the gatehouse, the old soldier was peering towards the rapidly closing cavalry.

"Can you make out the banner?" Aristedes said, his question directed generally.

"Not me, Captain." Denes said.

"It is a green one." the spear-wielding soldier said, leaning forwards and squinted his eyes at the dust cloud.

"I think I can make out a crescent on that green, Captain." Ioannes said, himself also leaning over the battlement.

"The Turks are coming then. Probably the same unit that have been pursuing you, Lieutenant." Aristedes said as the cavalry were closing in. Indeed, now that well-crafted scale armour, pointed helmets, chain mailed faces and well-bred, strong horses were visible there was no doubt that this was a household cavalry unit. The men were well fed, rode hard but conservatively, sparing their horses, and held them selves and their lances in a way that told of a well disciplined elite unit. Details in silver and gold could now be seen glittering in the sun, telling of the wealth and power of a Seljuk Prince.

"All Akritai, SIT DOWN!" Captain Aristedes ordered and was immediately obeyed, although at least Ioannes had a very perplexed look on his face.

"No need to let them know you are here right away." Aristedes said with a wolfish smile. "Do you have any Turcopoles among your men?"

Ioannes nodded, seemed to understand and gestured towards one of the Akritai at the battlements of the second wall. The man nodded and crawling on all four to make sure he could not be seen, he quickly made his way to the gatehouse.

"This man is, by the Grace of God, a Christian and speaks Turk." Ioannes said as the brown-skinned Akritai seated himself with his back towards the battlement of the gatehouse, next to Ioannes.

"Good." Aristedes said. "BANNER TO ME!" he roared, and the fort's banner was quickly detached from the roof of one of the towers and a soldier took the role as banner man and quickly appeared at the side of the Captain.

The Turk cavalry had stopped, forming a disciplined line. Aristedes was quickly counting. "At least two hundred men." he murmured to himself.

"Ah, there's at least sixty of us, and two dozen Akritai or so, Captain." Denes said and smiled is ugly smile. "They're cavalry and will come short climbing up storm ladders."

"Perhaps." the Captain replied. "But I do not think they'll be alone for long." he sighed.

There was some ruckus among the Turks, and then a banner of truce appeared, and the leader of the unit, a high officer with intricate decorations on his superbly crafted armour trotted forwards together with the two banner carriers, one for the banner of truce and one for the banner of the unit, two escorts, probably relatives of the officer, considering their almost equally splendid armour and a man, probably an Armenian, with armour of far lower quality.

The leader stopped and then spoke towards the fort. The Armenian, translating to a passable Greek shouted even louder.

"Greetings Greek subjects."

"Subjects?" Aristedes said quietly.

The Turk nobleman resumed talking and the translator continued.

"In the name of your Emperor, Suleiman-shah Komnenos, I order you to open the gates and surrender this fort to his loyal servants, who will make sure you will not come to harm at the hands of the usurpator's forces." the words rang falsely, considering the pillars of smoke rising to the heavens on the horizon.

"WHAT?" Aristedes exclaimed, unable to control himself.

The translator said a single word to the nobleman, and the nobleman resumed talking, with the translator only a few words behind.

"Suleiman-shah has been proclaimed the rightful Emperor and has enlisted the support of the Seljuk Sultan to bring order to a Roman Empire ravaged by civil war and secure his by birthright rightful place upon the throne in Constantinople. Bend knee to your rightful Emperor and open the gates to this fort, and you shall not be harmed."

Denes chuckled and then roared. "Did you hear you hear that lads, we have another! We Romans are truly blessed, other subjects get one ruler, we get four or even five!"

Laughter rolled across the battlements to the obvious irritation of the Turk nobleman.

"How many are there now?" Aristedes said, almost whispering.

"I think there are five. Isaac of Cyprus, Alexius, although he has disappeared, Andronicus the Usurpator, rumour has it that Theodore Lascaris has been proclaimed Emperor by Leonides the Barbarian and his host in Bulgaria and now the Turk has his own candidate in Suleiman-shah." Ioannes replied.

"Five Emperors and no army..." the Captain said softly.

"...and soon no Empire at all." Ioannes replied sadly.

"Very well. We will die sooner or later anyway, let us make a legend to be honoured when the Greek imagine the days of an Empire long gone." Aristedes said with a defeatist smile.

"I am with you, Captain." Ioannes said. The Turcopole next to him nodded tiredly.

"Good." Aristedes said. "Denes, I'll leave our reply to you. Do your worst."

"Trust me, Captain." Denes said with another ugly smile and then turned towards the nobleman on the horse in front of the fort.

"Most honoured goat-shagger of the heathen and ugly Turk tribe." he started. Even with the distance, one could see the translator grow pale.

"Even if your so-called Emperor was a descendant from heaven itself and not bending his knee to the devil of Mecca, we would not open these gates to his leper-stinking, bloated servants. You are nothing but the horrible stench of the demons of hell's privy, your rotten souls shall burn in hell just as your deformed and despicable bodies shall burn in naphtha and Greek fire. May you be boiled in wine and fried in pork's fat, you unclean swines, you slow-witted rejects of the civilised world, you barbarian beasts! You are nothing but the bastards of un-veiled dark-skinned whores and lusty goats. You might have bribed and cowed your brethren of the sheep-loving tribes with fine arses of your younger bastard sons, but true Christian Romans will stand tall and straight while you desecrate your mounts every night. Return to your woolly baah-ing wives and stick your arses invitingly into the western air as you usually do, go back to the infertile mountains whose magic and dark secrets fed your impure beings!" he shouted as laughter rolled across the battlements, higher and higher for each insult.

The translator was stuttering in his translation now as the Turk nobleman grew more and more furious. He yelled something and then expectedly turned his mount on the spot to ride back to his troops.

The words cane from the translator. "You will rue this day, infidel. I will make you eat those words."

The Armenian rode after his master, as did one of the escort and both the banner carriers, but one of the relatives of the nobleman remained behind and started an impressive show of horsemanship, expertly as only from a man who had spent most of his life in the saddle could perform.

The show might have impressed the Akritai, but since they sat down and saw nothing and most of the garrison of the fort were infantrymen and understood little or nothing of horsemanship, the show was rather futile.

Denes quickly took a sip from his leather pouch and then laid an arrow on his bow, increased his angle and let go.

The arrow missed by a good two feet. "Damn." Denes cursed, but the Turk stopped his show and looked towards the fort, where at least twenty or thirty other men were laying arrows on their bows.

"Denes!" Aristedes said sharply.

"What? He was no where near the banner of truce!" Denes retorted.

The Turk suddenly realised he had important business further from the fort as arrows started to rain down around him and his hurried retreat was met with another salvo of laughter from the battlements.

"Well done, Denes." Aristedes grinned. "That Turk is sizzling like lamb kabobs now. He'll order an assault without knowing our strength and waste many good household cavalrymen on a worthless target he could easily circumvent. Thus we will add a little to this war at least." he said grimly.

"Should we bring the cauldron to the gatehouse, Captain?" Denes asked and spat over the battlement.

"Yes, we can't withdraw to the tower anyway, with all these refugees in the courtyard."

"Captain, sir." Ioannes said. "Do you really think this fort is worthless?" his young face had concern written all over it.

Captain Aristedes laughed. "Of course it is worthless, Lieutenant. Maybe not to the three or four hundred refugees in the courtyard, not to you and your two dozen Akritai and not to me, Denes and the other fifty eight of our garrison, but in the larger perspective of things, this place is indeed worthless." he said. "We do not make any passage impossible, half-a-mile a detour from the road and you can pass out of range of our arrows. Three hundred infantry conscripts can easily live off the land here and keep us encircled until we are starved into submission, even if the sheep would not be safe, if one is to believe Denes' rather colourful description of the Turks. This household unit could make up an important part of an army aiming for Smyrna or even Nicea." he smiled a bit and then turned to Denes "Make sure they cook the oil really hot on the courtyard, then we'll lift the cauldron up here, we don't want to warn these bastards with smoke from the gatehouse."

As Aristedes climbed down the ladder he looked at Ioannes again. "Of course we'll make sure we are as little worthless as ever possible, that is after all, our duty, regardless whom ends up our Emperor after all this."

"Hah!" yelled Denes. "We got ourselves a nobleman right here, why don't we proclaim HIM Emperor? The more the merrier they say, then WE can order the Turk to surrender." he laughed heartily, but few joined him this time.

"Denes!" Aristedes said sharply as Ioannes opened his mouth to protest, the young man's face a picture of rejection.

"Sorry Captain." Denes replied sheepishly. "It was just a joke!"

"In bad taste. Do not make our Akritai guests uncomfortable, we will need their skill before this is over. I will organise the refugees, you make sure to organise things for the assault."

"Aye, Captain." Denes said, no protests this time.

Down at the courtyard, the Captain quickly assigned areas for the livestock and areas for the refugees, managed to get tents sewn from blankets and other cloth brought by some, since there would not be enough room under the roofs for everybody, organised a party of water bearers from the well in case the Turks used flaming arrows and sent a small party of short bow-armed peasants experienced in hunting dressed in whatever ill-fitting armour that could be scrounged up from stores and the refugees back to the walls. The smith, together with two of the refugees with experience in the area was set to work, first tending to the Akritai horses, then to make arrow points.

Then he ended up in an argument with one of the peasants, one that had brought a cart with belongings and a flock of sheep.

"You will dig." the Captain said, his irritation rising by the second.

"I see no need for it." the peasant said back.

"It is your sheep, you will dig their fesces down in a deep hole." the Captain said and threw the man's own shovel, a good one with edges of iron, at his feet.

"They're not all my sheep." the peasant complained. "Besides, there's no need to go after the sheep and dig their crap down usually, why would there be one now?"

Aristedes slowly counted to ten in his head and contemplated trying to explain that when a lot of people gathered in one place, fesces had to be dug down, or people would get sick, but he realised the peasant would just claim that they did not need to do that when they took the animals into the farmstead over winter at his farm, so why now? And he did not have the time to talk to this fool who did not realise who was the commander of this fort. Instead he drew his sword and held it at the peasant's chest, pressing the point hard against the brown tunic of the man.

"You dig, if it is your own grave or holes for the fesces of your sheep is your choice, but you DIG." he said, clenching his teeth at the cowering man.

"Y-yes Captain!" the peasant said, his faced white with fear, no doubt in his mind that the Captain was serious in his threat.

"The Captain is quite the officer." Ioannes commented from the top of the gatehouse as Denes directed men bringing baskets of stones to throw at enemies trying to break down the door or scaling the walls and bundles of arrows.

"Yes, he is a fine officer, he allows us to talk because he knows we would die for him. And we would die for him because we know that he would die for us. Everything is fine as long as you obey immediately. He hates slow-wits and those who drag their feet along. He has a bit of a temper, but would probably have made a great general." Denes replied and tested the handle to open the murder holes over the gates.

"Why then is he a Captain in a remote province, of a minor, or as he say, worthless, fort such as this?" Ioannes inquired.

"No-one knows for sure." Denes replied as he took a bundle of wooden forks with long handles, intended to tip over storm ladders, from another soldier and passed them on to another on the battlements. "Some rumours hold that he was of the wrong faction or the wrong family, others that his family could not afford the money needed for an officer to shine - weapons, armour, gifts for other officers and the right patrons." he took a swig from his leather pouch. "Damn, empty..." he said. "Others indicate he was way too harsh on a spoilt weakling boy sent from one of the great houses to become a man in the army or, most sinister of all the rumours, that he charmed the wife of a great man in the RIGHT faction, locking him out from promotion."

Ioannes listened carefully, stroking his fuzzy chin. "What do you think?"

Denes laughed. "Me? I think he had problems with authority, he had his own head and talked back to senior officers and nobility and was sent here to be out of the way, and was then forgotten. Alexius and Andronicus have not really been looking to Anatolia lately."

Denes looked over to the Turks in the distance. "They're busy building a ram and ladders. And they're not doing well." he chuckled. "Nobility and elite soldiers of a household unit. Great fencers, superb bowmen, expert horsemen, but not a single carpenter among them." he smiled his ugly smile. "And what about yourself?" he said and turned to Ioannes. "You are obviously of fine noble stock, what are you doing in the Akritai?"

"It is a long story..." Ioannes began.

"I guess I'll get to hear it someday, but not now. ALARM! THE TURKS ARE ATTACKING!" he bellowed all over the fort as two ranks of about a hundred in each closed in on the fort.

Captain Aristedes quickly climbed the ladder to the gatehouse to see for himself. A battering ram and a dozen storm ladders.

"Alright men, if you kill any of them by the battlements, make sure they fall into the fort rather than outside it." he said. Several soldiers looked perplexed, but nodded that they understood the orders.

"Denes to my right, Ioannes to my left." the Captain said, and the two men nodded and climbed down to man the battlements on either side of the gatehouse. As they did so, the cauldron, sizzling with boiling oil, was brought up to the gatehouse.

"Men!" Aristedes shouted. "These Turks are from a household unit - superb fighters with excellent armour. Do not bother to fire indirectly at them as they approach, it will only be a waste of arrows. They may be good fighters, but their commander is acting foolishly and rashly to avenge his damaged pride. And we will take advantage of it and kill as many of them as ever possible. Long live the Empire!" he shouted and raised his sword in the air, a massive cheer emerging from the soldiers as he did so. Normally, he would have called for a cheer for the Emperor, but since it was uncertain just who that was, and the troops did not need another reminder that they did not know who they fought for, he made it for the Empire instead.

The Turks had left maybe a dozen men to tend to the horses, the rest were advancing, the back rank brandishing their compound bows, the front one carrying the ladders and pushing the battering ram. As the Turks came closer the back rank stopped and started to fire salvoes of arrows against the battlements. The men of the fort crouched behind their battlements and peered through cracks in the log wall at the advancing Turks.

"Stand!" Ioannes shouted, and his side stood up, released a hail of arrows and then crouched again. Shrieks from wounded and groans from dying was the reward for the manoeuvre.

"Damn, why did I not think of that?" Denes murmured to himself as he stood up and released an arrow and then crouched again, as did the men of his side of the gatehouse, one after the other in an uneven sequence. A soldier shouted out as a Turk arrow hit him in the arm and another tried to say something or even yell, but only saw blood pouring out of his mouth as an arrow pierced his armour, tunic and lung. He fell limply down to the courtyard.

Then the Turks were at the palisade and started to raise their ladders. A few were tipped over with the wooden forks, but the others stood as arrows raked the battlement where they were raised. The palisade was not very high and the tipped ladders were soon raised again, since the men did not fall more than a few feet when it was tipped over. A ladder collapsed to the surprised curses of the four Turks climbing it, the lack of carpentry skills of the besiegers clearly showing. Two of them were impaled on the wooden spikes covering the bottom of the dry moat around the fort, the other two limped away, groaning.

The first Turk over the battlement was surprised to meet Denes grabbing his scale mail with both hands before he could get his scimitar over the sharpened logs that made up the battlement of the fort. To the surprise of both men, it was the Turk who had performed the impressive show of horsemanship and had been chased away by arrows, eager to show his bravery after the shameful retreat earlier, that was the first up. Denes smiled an ugly smile at him.

"Welcome, your Greek subjects would like to pay their respect. Allow me!" he shouted into the face of the man and then, with great force, he pulled him over his head and sent him screaming and flying with flailing limbs over the palisade, down to the dirt courtyard. The Turk tried to get up after his hard landing, but a throng of peasant refugees, eager to avenge burned farms and other atrocities, rushed forwards and started to bludgeon the man with clubs and their bare hands and feet. Soon blood and something grey flowed out of the limp Turk's helmet.

"Nasty." Denes smiled and returned his attention towards the wall, picking up a rock and throwing it skilfully down, hitting a helmet of a Turk with a 'clonk'. The man's eyes turned white and he fell to the ground.

At the gatehouse, the Turks were pushing the battering ram hard against the gates. Aristedes had carefully been picking out cracked and small rocks out of the baskets, most not larger than a thumb and then opened the murder holes. "Stand ready!" he said, and then, along with the other soldiers he released the pebbles that fell harmlessly against helmets and shoulder armour of the Turks. It did no ham, but it did make them look up with confusion written on their faces. Then came the oil.

The multiple panicked shrieks of absolute pain that arose from under the gatehouse made Aristedes smile. "Now, larger rocks." he said, and they started to throw down larger boulders through the murder holes at those who had barely or partly escaped the boiling oil.

Another minute or two after that, the first rank of Turks broke and ran. At the same time, Aristedes calculated, the second rank should be just about out of arrows in their quivers. "Give them as much arrows as you can, fire indirectly if you need to!" he shouted and his soldiers rose, almost as one man and started to rain down arrows on the retreating Turks. Denes grabbed a spear and threw it, impaling a man who tried to crawl away on all four. "Just like a roast pig." he chuckled among the carnage.

Indeed, the second rank of Turks was running out of arrows. According to their leader, they should have been charging up the ladders or through the broken-down gate now, finishing the puny fort. Instead they retreated outside the range of those arrows which were landing down with unpleasant frequency.

A cheer went up from the fort as the Turks retreated.

"Report!" Aristedes said grimly, not joining his men in their cheers.

"One dead, one gravely and three lightly wounded." Denes said and took a deep swig from his leather pouch.

"Four lightly wounded." Ioannes reported from the other end.

"We have six dead Turks on the courtyard and five on the battlements." Denes said. "Probably eighty dead or gravely wounded in all, with another two dozen or so lightly wounded."

"Good." Aristedes allowed himself a smile. "Strip them of armour, weapons and clothes and dump the bodies in the moat."

He turned to Ioannes who was climbing the ladder up to the gatehouse.

"If you would please, Lieutenant, chose eleven of the able-bodied peasants and drill them as if they were Akritai recruits."

Ioannes nodded and immediately climbed downwards again.

At the little fort at the border, the dust clouds had turner greater than any man had ever seen before.

"The main army." Ioannes said, standing in the southwest tower together with Denes and Aristedes.

"Indeed. Or at least one of them." Aristedes said. "Now comes the true test."

"True test?" Ioannes inquired.

"Yes. Our humiliated Turk friend. If he has influence enough, it is quite possible that he can shake out a thousand or even two thousand men - and skilled carpenters and siege engineers - from the main army for a few hours and over-run us to avenge his defeat." Aristedes said as the front ranks of marching Turk columns appeared over the road.

"Help me count and assess these troops." Aristedes said, sitting down at a small table and dipping a quill pen in ink, parchment ready at the table.

They counted banners, horses, infantrymen, carts, keeping steady at it as the nobleman of the household unit rode over and apparently argued fiercely with the staff of this large unit. Soon, an infantry unit broke the steady marching along the road, along with several heavily laden carts.

"About four hundred of them." Denes said with a sigh of relief. "They're setting up a fortified camp and are moving to block all sides of the fort."

Aristedes was very relieved as well. The Turks would not sacrifice a few hours of time on this insignificant force, but rather have a smaller unit of light infantry take it and then rejoin the main army later. However, the hard man did not let the relief show. Hours passed and the last stragglers disappeared along the road together with taken cattle and sheep being herded behind the army for food and supply.

"Very well." Aristedes said, went down to the courtyard and sat down at a table there and started to copy his notes down in much smaller print on a much smaller parchment.

Looking up, the boy from the battlements suddenly stood in front of the table, curiously watching.

"I don't have time for you." Aristedes said with a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Wh-wh-what are y-you d-d-do-doing?" Lysander asked, obviously not listening to the comment and absolutely not the tone in which was delivered.

"I am writing, now go away." the boy obeyed the direct order and scurried away.

"Wh-what i-is w-writing?" he asked Ioannes, who stood close by, fletching an arrow.

"You don't know how to read and write, lad?" Ioannes said, a frown on his young forehead.

"N-no."

"I'll have to teach you then." Ioannes said with a small smile.

Aristedes looked up from his writing, at the Lieutenant.

"Sieges are mostly waiting anyway, I don't think it can hurt, Captain." Ioannes excused himself.

"The Captain peered for a second more, declined to comment and then went back to his writing.

"Come back when the sun starts to set." Ioannes said to Lysander.

"I-i will." the lad said and then scurried away. He never seemed to walk, only run.

Denes were coming out of the tower, his hands nearly clasped together.

"Here she is, Captain." he said and held the carrier pigeon forwards.

"Good, Denes." Aristedes replied, rolled up his small parchment and attached it to the pigeon’s leg.

"There were Imperial forces training around Smyrna and Nicea to make a new Legion last time I heard anything." Aristedes said. "And there are rumours that the Condottieri of the Lascaris estates not too far from here are better trained and larger than many others." Aristedes said.

Ioannes looked at the pigeon fly as Denes threw it up in the air.

"Yes, he fielded quite a bit of Akritai, I heard." Ioannes said.

"I heard that they had an old gladiator, master swordsman training them. Heres or something." Denes said, and then took a swig from his leather pouch.

"Hopefully, she can reach friendly forces and our report can be of some use. And hopefully she can return with news and orders for us." Aristedes said and watched the pigeon become a smaller and smaller dot on the sky.

His hopes would be foiled at least in one respect. The Turks had not expected a pigeon being sent so soon, but they had expected something along the lines. The falconer among them cursed as he had not enough time to bring his beautiful bird of prey into action from a wooden cage on one of the carts, but the pigeon would not be allowed to return into the fort, of that he was certain.

Days were growing long at the fort since the falconer’s falcon had killed the loyal pigeon as she returned.

Sitting in the courtyard under the setting sun, Ioannes drew with a stick in the loose soil.

"Alpha." he said.

"Alpha." Lysander echoed, his face a picture of concentration and his stuttering nowhere to be heard, and then drew the symbol himself.

"Good." Ioannes said. "Now, gamma."

Lysander drew a symbol in the dirt and echoed again. "Gamma."

In the meantime, Denes spent the time mostly at the walls, hurling over them time and time again.

"I'll be back, lad."

"Lysander." the boy replied. Ioannes ignored him and climbed a ladder to the battlements.

"How are you, Denes?" he said, with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Not so well, Lieutenant." Denes said and wiped his mouth. "Our beloved Captain has seen fit to ration the little wine we have left. I do not feel too well without my precious wine." he smiled an apologetic smile. "Leave me be, I will get worse before I get better." he said, turning his back to the young Lieutenant and waving him off. Ioannes knew better to challenge the old soldier. Instead, he climbed down and returned to the boy on the courtyard.

"Lysander." the boy said and pointed to the letters he and drawn in the dirt. "L-y-s-a-n-d-e-r."

Ioannes looked down at the letters. "You learn fast, Lysander." he said, with a bit of surprise in his young face. "The epsilon is a bit wrong, see here." He drew the symbol in the dirt, and the boy repeated it. "Good, but now it is time to eat. To the cooking fires, lad." he said with a bit of a smile.

"F-f-food." Lysander replied and scurried away at amazing speed.

The scent of meat cooked over open fire was heavy all over the fort. Despite the desperate protests of shepherds and farmers, who saw their live hood disappear into the bellies of soldiers, Akritai and refugees alike, the fort had almost no fodder, and what little there they had were reserved for the horses. Most sheep and goat were already losing fat, only the ones giving milk were safe, for now.

The Captain sat on a log with his men, eating the same food as they did. Enduring the same hardships as your soldiers was a key point in Aristedes Spartan life. Endure what they endure, live and die with them, and they will respect that your every decision is for the best of the group, since you are a part of it.

Ioannes joined Aristedes at the log, peering at the lamb roasting over the firewood.

"Done soon?" he said. The Captain merely nodded a reply. After a while, Denes sat down on the opposite side, heavily.

"You should try to eat some, Denes." Ioannes said. Denes merely gruffed at the suggestion, but nevertheless cut a piece from the roast and started to devour it. Salt was low in supply, but still some could be brought up. Herbs and garlic of course, from the small garden of the fort and some stale bread, along with water mixed with some vinegar made up the whole meal.

As the sun kept creeping lower and the fires started to go out, they sat there, silently.

"How about we tell some stories?" Ioannes said. The two older men shook their heads.

"Well, how about our own stories then?" Ioannes said. "You start, Denes."

Denes shook his head and then nodded towards the Captain. "I can tell mine, if the Captain tells his." he gruffed.

"Very well." Aristedes said and licked meat juices from his fingers.

"What?" Denes exclaimed. "Everyone wonders about your history and why you are here, and there are a thousand rumours, you have never told, why tell now?"

"No-one has seen fit to actually ask me before." the Captain said with a hint of a smile. "Now, Denes. You made a pledge. Let us hear your story."

Denes grimaced, his plan having backfired most spectacularly and seeing no way out, he started.

"I was born outside Nicea. My father was a farmer and my mother was fertile. Since I had lots of siblings and no desire to become a farmer, I ran away when I was fourteen, walking into Nicea to become a soldier. Long story short, I served first in a local garrison, then in the legions. The life was hard, but I got to see the Empire and most of its local wines and I had bread in my mouth at least. Then, as a loyal soldier of my Theme, I was granted a nice patch of land to retire on after twenty years in the legion. But I never was a good farmer, and I had no desire for it. I celebrated a bit too long my retirement, and missed the spring sewing. I went into debt at the tavern, and to my neighbours, and drank too much, I guess. After a while, I realised I would never get out of debt, regardless if I got up and worked every morning instead of sleeping in like I though I deserved."

Denes drank a bit from his clay mug of water and vinegar and shuddered. It was not what he wanted right now.

"So, I sold my land to the local Magnate and decided to become a soldier again. But the legions did not want an old veteran who drank a bit too much. Besides, the army was deteriorating at that time. Not enough sold for all soldiers, or something along those lines. So I travelled to the city, spent the last money from selling my farm on the sweet pleasures of that great, sinful place and had then nothing for my twenty years of service." he laughed a semi-bitter, rough laugh.

"Then, when things started to go really downhill, it turned. For some reason, there was suddenly plenty of day-by-day work to be had. I heard a rumour that all the good labour was being sucked up by someone named Matteo something, first for building, then for a big foundry and a naval yard, then for a complete folly wall building thing. I remember thinking as I went there looking at it, what do they need another huge wall for? Is not two enough?" he shook his head. "But when that businessman sucked up all the good labourers, there were suddenly money to be made even for a low-life like me." he laughed again.

"Then, for some reason, several great noblemen started to expand their guards, provoking others to follow. Suddenly every nobleman wanted a small condottiere band with him wherever they went in the city. I got an offer of a temporary job, promising very good pay and half in advance, if I could suspend my softer side for a while. It was tempting, but I had already gotten a permanent condottiere position with Lord Belen then, and permanent work is better than temporary." having devoured a small piece, Denes evidently felt well enough to start on another.

"Condottiering is an easy job. You just look impressive and march around when the lord wants to go somewhere. Or so I thought. The Lord was visiting the Barbarian..."

"You have seen the Barbarian?" Ioannes gasped. "They say he is eight feet tall and commands magic like no other, creating gold from water, making arrows fly twice as fast and three times as long and can charm the most beautiful ladies and make the masses love him on his whim."

Denes laughed. "Nah, I don't know about the things you talk about. I only saw him at a distance, and he is actually rather small-framed. Perhaps a bit smaller than the Captain here." he made a gesture towards Aristedes over the dying fire. "He looked focused and energetic, like a man with a purpose and a goal, that is all I can say."

Denes chewed on a piece of lamb, spitting some herbs out.

"Do continue." Ioannes said politely.

"Well, where was I?" Denes said. "Yes, I was standing there looking impressive, the Lord went away and we did what Condottieri mostly do, wait and idle. Then the guy next to me suddenly draws his sword. I was thinking he'll be checking it for rust stains and if it needs sharpening, things you can do when you wait, you know. Instead he turns to me and whacks me over the helmet with it. Quite the cut too. Cleaved my eye in half, I think." Denes said with a distasteful, ugly smile and ran his index finger over the nasty scar and the eye-patch over his face.

"Lucky I still had my helmet on, saved my life, that one." he chewed some more. "Next thing I knew, I woke up to the Captain of the personal guard of the most esteemed Lord Belen firing me, since I could not be trusted. I guess being attacked by your own guard makes you a bit suspicious, but firing me just as I regained consciousness? Bah.

Having only one eye, no-one would hire me as a swordsman. Besides, I decided the City was too dangerous for a soldier who knew nothing of politics like me. I decided to become an archer, I had dibbled with it before. There were lots of offers for archers, and I thought I had a future, then all the offers suddenly expired. Bastards. I was no where near good enough yet. So I travelled east, thinking the eastern lords needed archers to protect against Turk raids, and a few years ago I came across this fort, and the Captain took me in. Been here since."

"Well." Denes said and gulped down some goat's milk, which was evidently more potable to him than the vinegared water. "Your turn." he said and pointed a finger at the Captain.

"I'll allow our Akritai guest to speak first." Aristedes replied and nodded towards Ioannes, who grimaced and then started to speak.

"It was my idea, so I guess I will have to roll with it." he said.

"My family are of noble stock, as you might have noticed." he began "My uncle is the heir to a county in Anatolia. Unfortunately, said county is on the wrong side of the border nowadays." he drank some vinegared water with excellent manners, before continuing. "I was born seventeen years ago, in Adrianople, we have a small estate just outside the city. My father and my uncles wanted to spread the family's influence and decided that my oldest brother would be a soldier, my second oldest brother a clerk and that I would become a priest." he paused.

"A priest?" Denes said. "A priest in the Akritai?"

"Well..." Ioannes continued. "I started studying with our house monk. I have always placed a lot of faith in our Lord, and our monk said I had a good head for study and theology. I looked forward to gaining my own flock to tend for, to be a shepherd of faith..." he smiled a pale smile. "Of course, my father saw that as a simple step towards becoming a bishop or even a patriarch with political influence. However, just as I was about to be sent to a monastery for theological college, things collapsed. We were of the white faction - we were never as influential as the blues or the greens, but we made a living and cared for those of our faction. Some say the blues managed to acquire all our profitable business, some say the greens outmanoeuvred us in political influence, drying up our contracts with the bureaucracy, others said that the traitor Count Vorlean strangled us by bribing all our suppliers, making us unable to deliver as promised, putting us out of business and giving him a monopoly. I have never been much of a businessman, so I never understood the real causes. I was also young at the time." Ioannes cut himself another slice from the now almost bare carcass over the almost dead fire.

"We suffered another blow as my first uncle, the one who had some assets left, lost them trying to join the emerging brown faction at the Hippodrome. It seems like it was a faction formed around the Barbarian, but it collapsed even before it even got started and we lost again. With no assets to speak of, and little influence, we could not contribute and were thus faction less, a destiny worse than many in the City." he said with a bleak smile. "Suddenly, it was hard to feed all mouths that needed feeding, not even speaking of trying to rebuild our lost fortunes." he shrugged. "The contribution to the monastery dried up, of course, as we lost a lot of money and other assets as the white faction collapsed, and with it my future as a priest. So I decided that fighting the heathen is almost as good as tending for the weak and defenceless in the eyes of God. So I was given my father's armour and crossed the Sea of Marmara to join the Akritai. In my young head I had ideas of returning burdened with plundered Turk gold and save my family and perhaps even starting a new faction. However, reality has been different, the life of the Akritai is hard and all too often very short, and I have gained little in fortune and influence, most of my gains making me only a harder man able to kill in cold blood with only a short prayer to the Almighty to have mercy on the poor man's soul, and mine, for killing him."

Ioannes sipped some more water and noticed that the lad, Lysander, had sat down sometime during the talk and seemed to be listening as he with terrible manners ate some meat.

"I have heard many rumours of the Barbarian, that he is a devil of the unending steppes of the east, that Prince Lascaris tamed him to unleash him upon our enemies and that when he has finished devouring Walach, Hungarian , Pecheneg, Cuman and Turk alike, good Christian, pagan and Moslem, he will devour all of us. Others say that he is our vengeful saviour, that he is the sword that will cut our enemies in half, but also all the rotten meat from our bones with painful cuts, so that the blood can gush away all that is infected and bad, and new, healthy meat can grow in its place. I am neither a politician nor a General, I merely trust the Almighty.

I pray everyday to God and Christ to save us from the Turk, it is all in His hands now." Ioannes finished and then bowed his head to murmur a prayer.

The Captain shifted a bit and wiped off his fingers on a small ball of wool, another thing in abundance in the fort nowadays.

"So, me." he said with a hint of a smile and grabbed a clay mug of well water that had been standing at his feet. "I am Aristedes Michalis. My family are prosperous fishermen from Thessalonica. We own a small fleet of fishing vessels." He got something distant in his eyes, as they dimmed a bit talking about the past. "The women of my family are all very beautiful, something the males never seem to get..." he laughed a short, coarse laugh. "It is even said that one of my ancestors was a bastard of one of the Macedonian Emperors, perhaps that is why we do well in business." he smiled again, trying not to pay attention to the whispers among the dozen or so soldiers that had gathered around behind them to hear the story.

"If everyone was so accursed curious, one would believe that someone would have asked during the five years I have been here." he said and glanced to his sides, where soldiers were making their best to look like they were not listening as hard as they could.

"Very well. My father wanted more than fishing for me and sent me to a distant relative in Athens for schooling and hopefully a career as a bureaucrat in service of the Empire. The connections would help the family with tolls, against the factions of the city wanting to control the fishing in order to increase their influence and so forth. I tried, but I have always loved the sea..." once again his gaze became distant, before he corrected himself. "My father was disappointed, but I managed to convince him that I could become a marine officer and that my schooling would benefit me in becoming an officer. In the navy, you need to know more maths, logistics and writing..."

Denes was looking in surprise on the Captain. "You're a sailor?!" he exclaimed. "I could never have known!"

"I am a marine." the Captain replied with a tone that made a chill go down the spine of many that were listening. "I might not be in my true element here, but I do my duty and I like to think I have done it well." he glanced from side to side and everywhere his men avoided his steely gaze.

"Now, I went to The City and joined the Imperial Navy. As it turned out, it was not an excellent career choice." he shook his head. "The navy still existed then, but it was on its last breaths. I officered on a small monoreme, eventually becoming its Captain, before it was pulled up on land and not refitted again, allowed to dry up and eventually be cut up by wood fire-seeking squatters and poor harbour-rats." a sign of sadness could be seen in the Captains face for a short while before he returned to his normal hard-set face.

"Anyway, I Captained a harbour tolling vessel and served as a naval bureaucrat after that, for some reason the naval administration remained despite the ships rotting at their moorings or drying up on land. However, I was becoming a bit too bothersome for some of the noble officials in the administration. I spoke out too often against letting the ships go to waste where they lay, and I refused to take bribes. I busted a smuggling operation run by the blue faction and from that moment my days in The City was numbered. They sat me up to take the blame when a nobleman finally discovered that his young wife was an unfaithful whore, I had not been near her, but it was convenient. I was set up to be sentenced for corruption and neglect of duty, only a sizable bribe from my family saved me from the noose. Instead, I was sent here in an exile. My enemies hoped the Turks would kill me quickly..."

Ioannes face was a study in pain. "At least the job as a commanding officer of a fort should pay well."

At those words, Denes threw his head back and laughed loudly. "When were we last paid, Captain?"

"Three years, four months ago." Aristedes replied with a smirk.

"But... How do you keep the men here?" Ioannes replied, confused.

"Discipline, my honoured Akritai Lieutenant. Discipline, respect, food, shelter and gratitude." Aristedes replied.

"Gratitude?" Ioannes asked, still confused.

"Most of the men you see here are petty criminals, robbers, adulterers, refugees, runaway serfs or simply worthless scum unable to support themselves." he threw a glance at Denes and smiled a short smile. Around him there were some nervous glances and one or two blushes among the soldiers evident despite the dying fire being the only source of light now.

"The Captain speaks the truth." Denes roared between laughter. "I had been dead from starvation had he not taken me in."

"You would be surprised what some hard discipline can do to criminals. Of course, it takes beatings, floggings, horse patrols to bring the occasional deserter back. There is not an armed man in here that is not a soldier. I see no criminals here." the Captain said and smiled. There were a murmur from several of the soldiers, and even one or two peasants and shepherds nodded.

"When the sold stopped arriving, out of spite or mistake, I made a deal with the local peasants. They provide me with food, iron, cloth and some other products, I protect them against the Turk the best I can, and I take all the criminals and other undesirables they wish to be rid off, as long as they are decently able-minded and bodied." the Captain looked up at the stone tower behind him. "This place had only the tower, and it was in a sad state of disrepair and five aging soldiers when I arrived. I am proud of what I have created here the five years and I will be proud to die here defending it."

"You should tell them about all those drawings you have at your desk!" Denes said.

"Those are just fantasies, a nostalgic weakness." the Captain replied and made a gesture to indicate that he did not want to discuss it.

"They are ship drawings..." Denes started to explain, but was cut short by the Captain, who had been sniffing in the air.

"What is that smell?" he said, throwing glances in all directions, his eyes suddenly stopping at Lysander, the young lad, who had undiscovered joined the ring of men around the fire and was chewing on a piece of meat.

"That is not mutt!" the Captain said sternly to the boy.

"N-no." Lysander stuttered back, his mouth full. "I-i-it is h-hare."

"Boy, where did you get hare!?" the Captain exclaimed and got up to walk over to the boy who cowered under the towering man.

"I-i-i d-d-did not steal it!" he said defensively, looking like he wanted to run away. I-i hunted it! W-w-with my s-s-s-sl-sling!" he said and got the weapon out from under the rope that served as his belt, as if the existence of it proved his words as true.

"Where. did. you. get. it?" the Captain said between clenched teeth as he pulled up the boy from his sitting position.

"F-fr-from outs-s-ide!" the boy said and pointed over the dark wooden palisade a bit away, where a lone soldier patrolled back and forth.

Aristedes gave the boy a good slap with the backside of his hand, he was moving quickly, but nevertheless the boy almost managed to dodge it, taking it at the temple instead of the cheek as intended. Laying a strong hand on the boys shoulder, the Captain kept him from running away.

"That was for leaving the fort without my permission. Now that I have your full attention, lad, I want you to listen and answer shortly and exactly to my questions."

The boy wringed under his grip, tried to get away, but to no avail, the grip was strong and steady, and become stronger the more the tried to get away. Soon he gave up and instead stared with courage back into the eyes of the Captain.

"A temper there, I think." Aristedes said with a hint of a smile. "How did you get out of the fort?"

For a moment, it looked like Lysander would refuse to answer, but then he opened his mouth. "I c-cl-climbed over when the soldier looked the other way."

"And how did you get past the Turks outside?"

"I cr-crawled in the grass downwind fr-fr-from the horses and sheep, when it was dark."

"And they did not hear you?"

"I am-am m-more quiet than the sheep and h-h-horses eating and re-eating." the boy said and nodded.

"And you returned the same way?" the Captain said, his steely gaze on the boy, who did not seem to fear returning it.

"Y-yes."

"And no-one saw you, or heard you?"

"No."

"And do you know which soldier patrolled the palisade when you got out, and when you got back?"

"Yes."

"Good. You will show me who, and he will get a flogging for his negligence. Now lad, tell me, do you want to avenge your parents and the burning of your home?"

The lad seemed to think for a while. He had hoped that his parents had managed to hide, or escape to another fort, but he had realised that it was not very likely and had shed a few tears over it alone.

"Yes. I w-w-wa-want to kill Turks!" he exclaimed, a fire in his eyes evident.

"Good." the Captain grinned broadly. "Tomorrow I want you climb out and go hunt the largest animal you can find..." as he talked he walked over to the ladder to the palisade, with the lad in tow and Denes and Ioannes following. The Captain released his grip of Lysander's shoulder and urged him up the ladder. The boy scurried lighting-fast up the ladder, followed by the Captain, Ioannes and Denes. The moon was out, almost full, covering the landscape in a pale, silvery light.

"See the stream, lad?" the Captain said and pointed.

"Y-yes." Lysander answered.

"That is where the Turks water their horses and stolen sheep. They also get drinking and washing water from there. I want you to go two miles upstream and put the animals in the stream. Two large or several smaller animals, far from each other. And make it look like they died there, not that you hunted them."

"L-l-like the sheep tried to cross, sl-slipped, broke a l-l-leg and drowned?" the boy said thoughtfully. As a shepherd, he had seen his sheep do such things, and they would surely have died had he not been there to save them.

"Yes, that will be good. Do you know why I want this?" the Captain said.

"N-no."

"It will kill the Turks, lots of them."

"I-it w-will?"

"Yes." Ioannes said. "The dead animal carcasses will foul the water, and the Turks will get sick when they drink it. Many of them will likely die slowly and painfully."

"Good!" Lysander exclaimed, and suddenly he was halfway down the outer side of the palisade, quietly and rapidly climbing down it, using only his bare feet and hands, to the surprise of the trio still behind the palisade.

"Damn, he is quick. I did not expect him to leave tonight!" Aristedes said.

"Is this really a good idea?" Ioannes said. "He is but a boy, you might be sending him into the arms of bloodthirsty Turks."

"I know." Aristedes said and shrugged. "But he is old enough to hate. He might fail, I even find it likely he will, but the opportunity is too good to pass. If the lad dies, it is regrettable, but not a great loss in the bigger scope of things." he looked at Ioannes. "Unless you want to go in his place?" he said, an eyebrow raised.

"No, I wear armour, I could never be that quiet even without it." Ioannes replies and gazed towards the dark grass, into which the lad had disappeared.

"Yes, you are right." Aristedes said.

"So, the first serious attempt at an assault then?" Denes added with an ugly and appreciative smile.

"I count at least a two dozen storm ladders and half as many storm tents, Captain." Ioannes said, squinting his eyes towards the lumber works far off in the Seljuk camp.

"Very well. How is the training of the peasants going?" Aristedes said.

"Well, they are willing, and training has given them something to do, so it has been progressing decently. Armament is poor though, and armour even worse so. I have about a hundred men, but many are as old as me and some have old injuries poorly healed or have starved over winters and seen their physique detoriate..."

"Let me rephrase that, Sergeant." Aristedes said. "Give me a short and concise report."

"Aye Captain. Two dozen spear-armed decent men, with pressed linen or quilted wool armour, leather helmets, young and strong. Half a dozen with hunting short bows and about a dozen with axes or swords and shields and some kind of protection. The rest, including women and children have wooden clubs and water buckets to quell any fire."

"Good." Aristedes said.

"I wonder why they have not received reinforcements. After all, we have seen several units march past us." Ioannes said.

"My guess is that they have encountered more resistance than expected further west, or they need the men to lay siege to The City. We're insignificant, these herders can keep us contained and there'll be plenty of time to deal with us when the real battles have finished." Aristedes said and watched as the Seljuks were lining up out of archer range, bringing storm tents forwards.

"I actually think they might have some problems. Theodore Lascaris has been known as a military man, perhaps The City rallied to his cause when the Turks closed in. There might be hope for us yet..." Ioannes said, his young face a study in determination.

"Don't get your hopes up yet, Lieutenant!" Denes said and laughed.

"The Lieutenant is right, you know. We exist here as long as the Turk is busy elsewhere, which means at least one of our five or six current Emperors have not rolled over and died. There might indeed be hope for us yet."

The men watched the exchange atop the gatehouse, some wondered if the Captain took an optimistic stance to keep morale up, but in hushed conversations others took them out of that notion. The Captain had never been one to lie to them, if he said so, it was true.

"Alright men, you know the drill. All to walls or positions! We have Turks coming, and this time it will not be as easy as last time, but we are still here, that means that the enemy has bigger fish to fry, and if there are big fish out still, it means the Empire has not rolled over and died." he took the banner and held it high. "So let's keep this flying in defiance, whether we are liberated or die here!"

A roar of acclamation rolled out from the battlements of the palisades, met with a battle roar from the Turks, who had now advanced to the line of arrows in the ground in front of the fort, banging scimitars against round shields, stamping rhythmically in the ground, making their half-a-thousand or so numbers felt, intimidating their enemy. Sitting on a horse was their leader, brandishing a scimitar in the air.

"Denes, do NOT miss this time!" the Captain growled. Denes smiled his ugly, toothless smile and ran off to one of the towers, climbing it and then, dexterous for a man of his size, climbing up on the pointed roof above the tower. There he quickly strung his bow and laid an arrow on it, aiming for a heartbeat or two and then letting it fly.

"Allah Akba..." the Turk leader had his head thrown back, yelling at the sky, when the arrow struck him at the right cheek and went through tongue and neck, coming to a stop protruding from his left shoulder. A stream of blood came from his mouth and he then fell of the horse, to a collective moan from his men at this bad omen.

Then the men at the fort rose and let loose arrow after arrow. The Turks, confused without their leader and surprised that the fort's men could fire further than the furthest out arrows in the ground, broke and ran, leaving their ladders and storm tents in the grass along with many of their comrades, to the cheers of the men at the fort.

"Hah! I got him!" Denes said triumphantly as he jumped down from the roof of the tower to the battlement, the entire palisade trembling under his weight.

"You nearly missed. I take you aimed for the chest." Aristedes said, but could not hide his smile. "The effect was the intended one, and here is your reward as promised." he said and threw a small water sack to Denes. "Last wine of our precious fort."

"To the slow roasting in hell of heathen Turks!" Denes exclaimed, opened the sack and allowed the purple red content to pour down his throat, to the acclamation of the soldiers.

"This is no time for festivities." Aristedes boomed. "This is not over yet." he pointed towards the Turks, who had been rallied under a second in command and now had volunteers rushing forward towards the storm tents. Some of the Turks fell under the arrow fire. But some also got to the tents and rolled them back to their comrades along with the ladders carried in them.

The Turks organised themselves and advanced steadily towards the palisade again, now under good protection from the storm tents. A few arrows hit the tents, but generally, the fort's garrison held their fire, unless a Turk showed himself. Soon the tents reached the palisade and ladders were raised. Screams in panic came as the defenders poured down boiling oil and threw down stones. However, it was like pouring sand in the sea, yet more Turks came and climbed the ladders.

A few ladders were tipped over, but these were higher quality woodwork than the ones before, and held and were raised again. Soon, Turks were at the battlement and a vicious melee ensued. Denes swinged violently, just a little bit drunk and near-berserk and stained by Turk and Greek blood like his sword was like the scythe of death sweeping among the tightly packed Turks, severing a head, sending it flying high and far, plunging his sword through leather armour skewering another Turk. He stood at the front and held the Turk advance towards the tower, while the men beside and behind him used spears to push Turks not back down, but rather down into the fort, where they were assaulted by the peasant militia. A Turk jumped down, rolled when he landed, cut down a peasant and then rushed for the gate, only to be attacked by four or five yelling women bludgeoning him with wooden clubs until a peasant caught up with him and ran him through from behind with his spear.

At the gatehouse, Ioannes threw down rocks upon the Turks milling about, trying to get from under the storm tents to the ladders, while Aristedes carried another pot of boiling oil towards to battlement.

"Damn waste of fine olive oil." he said as he poured the contents over the battlements, seemingly unfazed by the desperate cries of pain that met him from below as he poured. He looked out of the battlement and winced as a Turk arrow missed him by half-a-foot. Archers in the towers were duelling with about a hundred Turk archers now that most of the fort's garrison was busy fighting on the battlements.

"Damn." he said and ducked as another arrow swept by, even closer now.


"They're trying to pay back in kind, Captain." Ioannes said between heavy pants as he threw another stone that bounced heavily off a helmet of one Turk, the man himself falling backwards, with his eyes white and blood from his nose and temples. Ioannes himself had at least three arrow shafts sticking out of his chest, but seemed unaffected by them.

Aristedes took out a small wooden whistle and blew it, the high-pitched sound cutting through the sounds of battle all around. From the two towers and from the gatehouse brave volunteers started to swing ropes around and around, soon letting them fly. The Turks caught on quickly and soon intensive arrow fire was directed at the men with the ropes, and two of them fell with several arrows lodged firmly in their bodies, and one screamed in anger and pain as two hit his shoulder and arm. One missed, but the others managed to get the iron hook at the end of the rope stuck at a storm tent.

"Pull!" Aristedes yelled and at the fort's dirt floor peasants started to pull with all they had. Some Turks realised what was happening and tried to pull the tents down again, hanging from their roofs, but they were too tightly packed to get an organised response in time, and soon dozens and dozens of Turks were without protection as their storm tents flipped over.

That was the turning point of the assault, as Denes drove Turks ahead of him with a fire of hell in his eyes, and the men behind him started to pour arrows and stones down on the now unprotected Turks milling about in front of the palisade. The Turks got over the wall in numbers at the other side of the gatehouse, but a determined counterattack from the tower, from the peasant militia and from the gatehouse drove them into a corner where they were slowly hacked to pieces, until the last few threw down their arms and surrendered, or were bludgeoned unconscious.

They tried to get over the walls one more time, and then retreated to lick their wounds. An eerie silence descended upon the fort, only broken temporarily by the sobbing of grieving women who had lost relatives and the occasional cry from a wounded outside the wall.

"Let us say thanks." Ioannes said, breathing heavily, kneeling among the stench of burned flesh, on the slippery blood-soaked planks of the battlement. The men watched Aristedes, who nodded and made an approving gesture, urging the men to kneel, and doing so himself. Almost to a man the men and women of the little fort kneeled and was led in a short and improvised prayer from the young Lieutenant, saying thanks to the Heavenly Father for the Victory he had bestowed upon them and for delivering them from the Turk, proclaiming their ever faithful and humble belief in Him, fearing no evil, for they knew He was with them.

Denes, surly and angry after his buzz had worn off, took no part in the prayer, instead, he walked back and forth along the battlements, listening for cries from wounded, leaning over and using stones, if any were available, or his bow and arrow, he silenced them.

Eighty, perhaps a hundred Turks had perished or been severely wounded in the assault, but the cost had been high to the garrison too. Eight soldiers, five Akritai and four peasants were dead, along with twelve men too wounded to fight for a long time. Several women, who had bravely bludgeoned the Turk heading for the gate, had been wounded too, one of them not likely to see the sun rise more than one or two times again. Three prisoners had been taken, two of them wounded.

The evening was spent tending to the wounded and, of course, scavenging whatever weapons and armour from the wounded and dead, as well as the Turks, dead or otherwise.

Denes had spent most of the evening and night hurling over the walls again, mumbling something about it being worth it, while Ioannes, being the most scholarly of the garrison, and the only one in possession of a bible, led the fort in a simple ceremony as they buried their dead.

“It is not my place…” Ioannes said, his face a study in grief. “…I am no priest, yet I feel I should mention the Grace of God, and how those that died bravely to protect us all now rest among the saints, free of fear, pain and worry for their loved ones. They knew we loved them as brothers, fathers and sons and they died under a Christian banner defending it. I have faith that our Heavenly Father provides for our friends…” his voice trailed off and the silence was massive as the crowd, with their heads bared in the setting red evening sun. Then a voice came forth from the crowd, an old man’s charred voice, singing a local shepherd’s song of the green hills, the beautiful streams and the warm wind, about the love of the land that nurtured them and loved them, about the generations of toiling and having no fear, for his children would follow, and heaven was surely as beautiful as his beloved Anatolia. Slowly, more and more voiced added to the first. The shepherds knew the song by their hearts, its slow pace settling worried sheep and goats, as well as worn shepherds, the peasants would remember it from long winters of singing and story-telling by the fire stead. Soldiers remembered it from earlier lives and lost youth.

It was dark when the last words of the song flowed over the palisade. In the silence that followed, a faint sound could be heard from the Turk camp as they sang a sad song in their own language to mourn friends, brothers, fathers and sons who had perished that day. For a moment, they were all humans, small in the eye of God, first, and Greek, Christian, Turk and Muslim second. Then the moment passed and the magic was gone as the wind turned ever so little, carrying the Turk song in other directions.

Slowly, the fort settled down, peasants and shepherds going to sleep in makeshift tents and huts, while the soldiers went to their barracks, except for a dozen or so guards.

The horizon had just started to turn paler when Aristedes was roused from a simple bed by one of his men. Instantly awake, he rose quickly and started the soldier down.

“The boy has returned, Captain.” The guard said. “You wanted to be informed if he did.”

“Very well. Return to your post.” The Captain said and donned his armour and sword before stepping out. Denes had guard duty, but Ioannes was also awake, as was several of the fort’s inhabitants. Apparently, the rumour of the lad’s expedition had spread, and his return had created some ruckus.

“Lad!” Aristedes said as he walked up, the circle of people who had surrounded the boy dispersing only enough to allow him in. Lysander’s face was marked by grief, pain and quite a bit of exhaustion. He had been crying.

“C-c-cap-captain.” The boy greeted. Properly, surprising Aristedes a bit.

“Report.”

“I p-put t-three hares and one two-y-y-y-year old-d-d sheep in t-the stream, f-f-fa-far from each oth-other.”

“Excellent. Well done, lad.” Aristedes said, not liking to give praise to a young boy, but he had risked much and done well, and when praise was due, it was due.

“I-I r-request to t-t-take p-part in the next b-b-ba-bat-battle.” Lysander said and straightened his back, trying to look as tall as ever possible.

Aristedes threw a glance around the people. Someone had told the boy things about discipline and how Aristedes liked things. Denes stared back with an ugly smile, but Ioannes averted his eyes. Ioannes then.

“So you want to kill more Turks?” Aristedes asked. “Why?”

”Y-y-yes, sir.” the lad replied. “I w-went home d-d-during the day…” his voice trailed off, his throat becoming thick with sadness. He did not need to finish the sentence though, those present understood what the boy had found. Ioannes stepped forward and simply put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. There were really no words for a moment like this. Lysander steadied under his touch and straightened his back again.

“How old are you lad?” Aristedes asked.

“I-I have s-se-s-seen fourteen w-winters, sir.” Lysander replied, doing his best not to squirm under the steely gaze of the Captain.

“Fourteen?” Aristedes said, suspicion evident in his voice. “You don’t look that old to me, lad.”

“W-we had v-ve-very little food one winter...” Lysander stuttered back. Then Denes stepped forward, bent his back and simply lifted the too-large tunic Lysander was wearing.

“Yeah, I’d say that he’s speaking the truth, Captain.” Denes said, let go of the tunic and straightening his back, not bothering with Lysander’s suddenly dark red face.

“Very well.” Aristedes said, the he turned to Denes and whispered a few words, and the large old soldier walked away.

“I’ll let you prove that you can do battle, lad.” Aristedes said, and then quietly and slowly unsheathed his sword. It was not for what people might have thought, for soon Denes returned with the unwounded Turk. The man was struggling in vain with the two soldiers who held him firmly.

“Here, lad.” Aristedes said and handed Lysander a Turk bowstring taken from one of the dead Turks. “Strangle him.”

Lysander took the bowstring and watched the Turk, who, even if he did not understand the language, got the general message and struggled even harder. In the lad’s eyes fear and grief soon turned to a glitter of hate, and soon he had rounded the Turk and the guards and with a smooth move he got the string over the Turk’s head and jumped up on his back, putting his knees against the man’s back for increased strength. The two guards let go of the man, who flailed desperately to get the little bastard off his back. His eyes bunged out, muffled gurgles came from his throat as he tried to throw Lysander off his back. He panicked, running back and forth, even trying to roll around in the dirt, but Lysander held on, not letting go and with great dexterity he countered all the movements the poor Turk could produce. Soon the man turned blue in the face and his movements became more sluggish and weaker, and soon he dropped on his knees, and then face first in the dirt, his fingers still weakly clawing at the bowstring around his throat, then he became still. Lysander held the string tight for another minute or so, before he stepped off the now dead Turk.

Aristedes nodded approvingly and sheathed his sword, as it was not needed.

”Train him as a swordsman.” He said to Denes, who nodded in reply.


The Turks had, under a flag of truce, asked for the permission to collect and bury their dead, and Aristedes had, through one of the Akritai Turcopoles translating allowed it. Of course, archers had been posted to make sure no Seljuk tried any trick. Ioannes had accurately pointed out that they allowed the enemy to take a close look at the palisade and the earthworks, but Aristedes had countered that indeed, they were giving the enemy a close look at their defences, but the defences were nothing really non-standard, and having rotting corpses just outside the wall would spell troubles in the long run. If the Turk offered to clean up for them, who was he to deny them the honour? The two wounded Turks had been killed, and the one Lysander had strangled had his throat cut to hide that fact. All three were dumped among the other dead Turks outside the palisade.

The Turks tried to assault twice more, both times they failed, but the third time they entered the fort in strength, only to find that the defenders had piled stone and log behind the gate, making it impossible to open it quickly. Hard fighting ensued, but archers on the palisades not taken picked off Turks by the minute, making it difficult for them to organise, and then the Captain himself led a counter-attack of the soldiers of the fort. They formed a tight shield wall with a porcupine of spear points ahead of it and pressed the Turks up to the palisade, denying them the room to make the most of their scimitars and mobility and soon the Turk broke and ran, scurrying over the wall, back to their own again.

All the time, Lysander had been standing on top of the roof of one tower, behind a large makeshift square wooden shield, dodging arrows and picking off Turk archers with his sling. The Captain had allowed him to use the small supply of led left to make balls better suited for combat than the stones he usually used  there was really not enough led to pour on assaulters left anyway.

After that assault, the Turk did not try again. Lysander could report from his now nightly excursions that many of them were indeed sick and the losses from the last assault had shaken their confidence. They were not strong enough to take the fort, not before the garrison had been reduced by starvation and disease anyway.

The lad became more or less the focal point of the people in the fort after that. He represented their hopes and their freedom when he left the fort every night and many would sit up and wait for him to return, to hear stories and share whatever he brought in.

Supplies were dwindling. The sheep and goats lost fat for lack of fodder and were eaten. Then there was too little fodder for those goats and sheep which gave milk, and they dried out and were eaten. Then the fodder ran out completely and the horses started to become dangerously thin, despite attempts to feed them wood shards, moss and what little grass that grew within the fort. Finally, they were put down and put in the soup of the civilians, the Akritai flat out refusing to eat their friends, companions and steeds.

The Captain had long since rationed the food, still they were running out. The soldiers got more than the civilians, of course, yet stocks ran dangerously low and stomachs growled as the daily soup became thinner and thinner by each passing week. The watchtower was originally intended for thirty men, the fort had held sixty and modest stocks, and more than four hundred souls crowded the small area. In the long run, despite rigorous discipline, disease could not be kept away and the weak were first to be stricken. Wounded, elderly and the children were worst hit and soon not a single day passed without Ioannes reading from his bible a few words over a poor soul taken by God, relieved of a painful fight against an over-powering disease while hungry, dirty and weak from malnutrition. The young nobleman wept like an abandoned child every time the hole in the ground was smaller than normal. There were no singing when a child died, for what use was there singing of children coming to take over, when it was the very child that had died?

Aristedes maintained a harsh discipline, hanging two peasants for stealing food from another, flogging several soldiers and sheepherders for neglect of duty, undisciplined behaviour or failure to abide by the rules of the fort, such as where to put latrine and garbage. Among some of the peasants it was whispered that he would drive them out to the Turk in order to keep his soldiers fed and the fort his, such rumours were quickly detracted if heard by others though.

In the despair that was slowly, slowly creeping out, Lysander was a shining exception. The lad left every evening and returned the same night, just before dawn, at times, and at times he was gone for several days, worrying the fort’s population stiff before he slipped over the palisade in the cover of darkness. He checked that the dead animals were still in the stream, and if the Turk had found them, he put new ones in there, as happened a few times. Every time he entered the fort, he carried food he had managed to salvage, hunt or otherwise acquire. Most often it was the prepared bodies of hares, sometimes half a sheep, sometimes a bit of flour found in an intact barrel in a burned-down farmstead not far from the fort. It was not much considering the fort had almost four hundred souls still, but it was always something, and fresh food usually helped keep disease at bay, this Aristedes knew and specifically ordered the boy to not return unless he carried as much food as he ever could without being detected.

The lad usually slept all morning, but during the afternoons, he could be seen training with a light Turk scimitar, one taken from one of the dead of the bodyguard unit, a master craftsmanship, with Denes. He could also be seen reading Ioannes bible and having endless theological discussions with the nobleman about what he read, often to the amusement of the rest of the fort, since the often childish and very simple questions could dumbfound the educated nobleman, like why God must send his son to die for the sins of man, when God, who is good and all-powerful, probably can do it without his son? And how three could be one and one three, at the same time.

After finishing Ioannes bible three times, Aristedes, after much doubt, lent the boy two books, one on shipbuilding and one on naval tactics, the only two he owned, a dire mistake, as he would never cease to fire battery after battery of questions about what he read and did not understand. It was not until a very real threat of a flogging that the lad instead took to talking to one of the Turcopoles, talking about horses, horse breeding, archery and many other things, first in Greek, then a mix of Greek and Turk, and finally, after a month or so, almost entirely in Turk. After that, Aristedes ordered the lad into the Turk camp at times to gather information. Not much new was to be had, only that what they has suspected was real, that a Greek General named Andros was advancing from the coast and at least holding his own against the Turk hordes. Few riders made their way to the Turk camp, especially after disease had broken out, and little more news were to be had, other than wild rumours, one stating that the Georgians were marching onto the Seljuk hinterland, crushing all before them, another that Arabs had sailed into the Aegean and laid siege to Constantinople, yet another that a huge Hungarian crusade was heading south to pick the spoils of war and was laying siege to Adrianople. Some spoke of the Franks of the Kingdom of Jerusalem marching north, catching the Turks between the anvil of Andros’ troops and the hammer of the heavy crusader knights.

It was the news of the possible approach of General Andros that lifted the spirits, it might be a false hope, but it was a hope and the desperate resident of the small fort clinged to it for all they were worth.

Prayers answered, hopes fulfilled and wishes granted, General Andros had come to the rescue! While many of the inhabitants of the fort had envisioned ranks upon ranks of legionnaires marching in tact wearing polished parade armour and attire on the old road, and the General himself on a white steed congratulating them on holding out, any rescue really was a God-sent.

As the Pechenegs attacked, the inhabitants of the fort quickly pulled away lumber and rocks piled against the gates, wishing to aid the rescuers in any way they could. Denes simply jumped over the wall, landing heavily in the dry moat below it, almost impaling himself on a still intact sharpened pole in the bottom of the moat. However, he only had time to loosen one or two arrows before the Turk succumbed under the torrent of fire from the mounted Pechenegs, breaking and running being the death sentence for all of them.

"Oh, nice porcupining." Denes said with a whistle.

"Sweet God merciful in heaven above!" Ioannes exclaimed from the battlement as Aristedes finally got the gate open and rushed out with most of the garrison, finding that his efforts were in vain, the Turk already slaughtered like lambs for a feast. "I have never seen such a storm of arrows, not even from the best of the mercenary Turcopoles." Ioannes said.

It did not take many words of exchange between the Pecheneg chief and Aristedes for the latter to realise that they were being rescued, not liberated. The fifteen minutes needed was mostly for the civilians, and for some other issues.

There was some disappointment when they realised that they were rescued, not liberated. They had hoped to go home to rebuild farmsteads, re-gather flocks of livestock and sheep and face the famine that would inevitable come after having fields and homes scorched, but still to rebuild their lives. Instead, they would trade a secure prison for an insecure run as refugees. But they trusted the Captain by now, he lead by example and maintained a harsh discipline equal for all. Most of them had survived thanks to him, and while many of them hated him for floggings or public shaming beratings, no-one dared go against him, a devil they knew was always better than the unknown Turk devil!

As they walked away, pulling wounded and sick on handcarts or carrying them on stretchers, they made good progress. Some threw a glance over their shoulder at the fort that had been their home and protection for what seemed like an eternity, emotional attachments hard to throw away at the blink of an eye like Aristedes did. He only looked back to make sure that the fort was indeed burning. Whatever they could carry was brought along, everything else had been destroyed. The well had been poisoned with the contents of the latrine and a few quickly dug-up carcasses of self-dead goats and now flames was licking the battlements, the gate had been broken down and smoke was bellowing from the arrow slits of the central stone tower. Leave nothing to the enemy that can make him stronger!

The Akritai, especially the Turcopoles, attached themselves closely to their escort, begging for permission to ride the spare horses, to feel the wind on their faces again. Of course, the idea of more men on horseback and stronger patrols around the refugees was the primary reason put forth to the Pechenegs. Considering their nomadic habits, the first reason would probably have held more sway.

Aristedes wasted no time in organizing the march though. Knowing that mounted Turks could show up at any time, he had the peasants make large braided twig shields and spent part of the nights drilling them in how to use the handcarts and shields to form a laager-shield wall combination to give them at least some protection against arrow fire. He knew that it was mostly useless, if the Turks cut through their Pecheneg escort and the garrison from the fort, they would also slaughter the civilians, but against a few stray Turks getting through, it would be enough. Besides, it would give the civilians some hope and make them stay in one place where he knew where he had them in case of a Turk attack.

Some of those who were ill died during the first nights, the strain of the march being too much, but many of the others quickly recovered with the healthier environment and fresh nutrition both from the land and the Pecheneg rations so generously shared. The scurvy quickly went away.

Of course, the Pechenegs were assaulted by a hurricane of questions. Had they been so-and-so many miles west, or north, or south, or east, and seen this or that farmstead? Had the fields been burned, or did the rye and barley still grow? Had they liberated any other forts? Had they seen or heard of this or that loved one? Was anything left of the north barn? Why were they not going home, they had defeated the Turks outside the wall, right? When were they going to see General Andros in triumph invade the Seljuk lands? Who was Emperor now? Was there any truth to the Turkish rumours they had heard? Were the Frank and Norman crusaders laying siege to Iconium and Ceaserea?

At the outskirt of the column, Lysander continued to train with his wonderfully crafted Turk scimitar, not realizing how valuable the highly professionally smithed and lavishly decorated weapon was, more than he had ever seen, or perhaps even heard of except for the old legends of Midas and Croesos. The lad learned quickly, and soon Denes had trouble keeping up with him, having to rely on dirty tricks and all the feints and special moves he had learned throughout his years to keep the quick and quiet lad on his toes. The bad thing was that every trick was useless after two or three times, the lad learned quickly.

Paragraph.