Conquest

The sun had already started its late afternoon decline as Leo reached the high pastures where he knew the man he sought had his simple home. He approached a crescent of open ground fringed by trees with, at its centre, a small wooden hut set hard against the rocks that rose sharply to the crest of a hill behind. It was an idyllic spot from where, on a clear day, it was possible to see the distant shimmer of the Mediterranean, a full two days’ walk away to the west. The basic wooden shelter was a lean-to jutting from the rocks, its roof covered with animal skins weighted down by large stones. The roof extended a little to cover the doorway where a simple frame of interwoven reeds acted as a door. At the back of the hut a dry-stone chimney and hearth had been built.

It was a harsh world in the depths of winter, but today, warmed by summer’s heat and surrounded by meadows bristling with life, it seemed perfect. Two goats were tethered in the open pasture, poultry ran around in aimless circles, neat rows of vegetables and herbs grew against the edge of the rocky backdrop and, over to the east, a small lake was home to a plentiful supply of fish. The surrounding hills, which seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, offered good hunting, with boar, deer and rabbit. As Leo surveyed the scene, he could see several animal skins stretched out to dry in the sun and piles of freshly cut firewood.

It was the distant screech of a hawk that made Leo turn round. As he did so, he saw his quarry silhouetted on a large rock no more than ten steps from him. Leo shuddered at the sudden apparition; the man’s large frame obscured the sun, the rays of which burst around him.

‘This is a surprise visit, Father. You have had a long walk.’

The dark presence spoke firmly and deliberately. Leo averted his eyes as the figure moved away from the line of the sun, allowing its glare to fall on his face.

‘Come to my hearth, we’ll eat. You must be hungry.’

The voice was deep in tone with the croak of age and, although his Greek was good, it had the harsh edge of a foreign accent. Leo decided he should explain himself straight away.

‘I come with a reques-’

Leo was interrupted before he could explain.

‘I know.’

There was almost a sigh of resignation in his host’s voice as he led the priest towards his simple shelter. Leo felt even more ill at ease. How could the Northerner know he was coming? In what mysteries had he become embroiled?

For a while they drank and ate, exchanging simple pleasantries, before Leo again decided to come to the point.

‘I have been given an amulet to return to you. It has been carried here by Prince John Comnenus, the son of Alexius I, and his friend, Prince John Azoukh. They travel with a column of Imperial Guards. It pains me to carry the ungodly thing but it apparently has great meaning — ’

Leo was halted in full flow.

‘Are there Varangians among them?’

‘Yes, and Immortals.’

The man’s face creased into a warm smile as Leo handed over the amulet. A large hand clasped it and a pair of deep-blue eyes fixed it in their gaze. The priest noticed the arthritic knuckles, the two broken fingers and the patchwork of scars that disappeared beyond the man’s forearm under the sleeve of his smock. The biggest of them was the width of a finger — a pale, jagged gash across a skin wrinkled by age and desiccated by the sun. Even more striking were the scars on his face. His left cheek was sliced from under his eye to the corner of his mouth, and there were several more souvenirs from a long life of mortal combat. Nevertheless, his face retained a rugged dignity which the sun seemed to have cast in bronze. The scars were like illustrations in a manuscript: what stories could they tell? Who had inflicted them?

‘I wondered if I would ever see this again.’

Leo’s host became quiet as he thought of home, an island kingdom many miles away to the north-west. He could see the chalk cliffs of its south coast. He imagined the verdant swathes of its forests and heathlands and the myriad wildflowers in its glades and clearings. He remembered its pungent odours of burnt ash and fresh manure and the sweet smells of mown hay and woodsmoke. He heard the blether and rush of its brooks and rivers and the din of birdsong and insect life. It had been a much-troubled land but, in his mind’s eye, it seemed timelessly peaceful.

‘What does the amulet mean?’

Leo’s question broke the spell of the old man’s reminiscences of home.

‘It’s called the Talisman of Truth and is said to be as old as time. I first saw it nearly three score years ago. It seems to follow me around.’

‘You make it sound like a curse.’

‘Maybe it is. Some say it is a guiding light, meant for kings, to allow them to see the wisdom of ages.’

‘A prince who will soon be an emperor has travelled here with this Talisman. He asks to speak with you.’

As the Northerner got to his feet, Leo noticed the pain on his face.

‘I sensed that if I lived for another summer, this prince would come.’