Judas’ Gold
Cilician Armenia, September 8th 1071

The clouds had parted and with the sun now high in the sky, heat-waves obscured the horizon. Tarchaneiotes and his men were in the lead. A small company of a barely a hundred men with Methodios’ and his men given the rearguard detail.

Nothing had transpired of their mission or their destination since Methodios had reported to the command tent with his men in full battle-gear.

They had ridden for four hours now, picking their way across this hilly and barren country.

Finally the gorge into which they had ridden some time ago opened into a large clearing.

To Methodios’ surprise, the clearing was not devoid of life. And the sight sent a chill down Methodios’ spine…

In a middle of the clearing sat a huge pavilion on the summit of which floated in the feeble breeze a pennant with a blood-red crescent on a field of green.

“Turks…” growled Sergios, right behind Methodios “By the tits of my last whore… What is this ?”

Methodios was nonplussed. They had been looking for the Turks for almost a month now, riding north and south, east and west, not even catching a whiff of their scent… And now, leaving the main force behind them, Tarchaneiotes led them unswervingly to the Turkish camp. Something was afoot.

Turning to his men, Methodios issued a warning in a low voice. “Remain vigilant and prepared to ride. Loosen your weapons.”

Seeing that his orders had reached the last of his men, Methodios turned back to see his general reaching the command tent.

The Byzantine riders spread on either side of the General’s bodyguard. As rearguard, Methodios and his men remained a bit further to the back of Tarchaneiotes.

The Turks had arrayed themselves on both sides of the tent. Methodios counted less than 500 men., still more than three times the number of Tarchanieotes’ men in the clearing. Was that the army that hoped to surprise us ? Methodios mused.

Tarchaneiotes got down from his horse as a Turkish dignitary came out of the tent, a large smile upon his face. He wore a large red black turban on his head and long flowing gold-embroidered robes, of a Persian design.

“As Salaam Aleikum, General” said the Turk, bowing low. “Finally, we meet. I am Abu Ali al-Hasan al-Tusi Nizam al-Mulk, Vizier of our Great Sultan Alp Arslan, may Allah bless his name.”

“Greetings, Vizier. Forgive me if I seem gruff but what news do you have ? It’s been a long time since we’ve had contact with the Emperor.” Tarcheneiotes asked.

Hearing the greetings exchanged, Methodios’ anguish deepened.

“You are forgiven. I have great news. All went according to plan. Diogenes has been defeated at Manzikert…” An outcry of incredulity rippled across the assembled kataphraktoi, drowning the remaining words from al-Mulk. “… and captured. Though our Sultan in his great mercy has freed him and sent him back to his own lands, along with all other prisoners.”

“Great news indeed” Tarchaneiotes answered “A nice victory for your Sultan but a victory he could not have achieved had my forces been there at Manzikert.”

“True, true indeed, General.” Al-Mulk acquiesced. “A devious plan you devised…”

Methodios had not lost a word of the exchange between the two men. Tarchaneiotes had betrayed the Emperor, taking his whole army off the main battlefield, forging a defeat out of what should have been a victory.

“Yes… A devious plan… But deviousness has a price, no ?”

“True, once again… You are not one to dally in double-talk, General. We had an agreement. You fulfilled your part of the bargain. I will fulfil ours in the name of our Sultan.”

Al-Mulk made a sign to one of his aides. Instantly, four soldiers came forward carrying a large coffer, depositing it in front of Tarchaneiotes.

“Here are your thirty pieces of silver, General…” Al-Mulk said, a wide grin on his face. “…though there a bit more than thirty of them in there, nor are they silver…” A short laugh… “But you get my meaning…”

Tarchaneiotes eyes burned with anger. The Turk had just called him a traitor and there was nothing he could do. Instead he simply said, his voice hardly masking his fury “And that other service, we required of you ?”

Methodios sat his horse, dumb-struck. Tarchaneiotes, a traitor… And for what ? Not glory, not honours but gold… Only gold… Fury welled up in him but he had to contain it. If he let it run its course, fury would destroy him (no great loss there) but he had taken the responsibility of seeing to the welfare of his men.

“That should be over as we speak. Anything else you require of us, friend ?”

Visibly relieved, Tarchaneiotes nodded. “One more small favour… I would prefer if there were not so much witnesses to our bargain.” Inclining his head to left and right, indicating the kataphraktoi standing in a line facing the Turks.

“I thought so” Al-Mulk said, raising his right arm.

Suddenly, a cry reverberated over the clearing where the Seljuk camp was set up.

“Archers !!”

The spearmen that had stood in the front rows of the Turkish lines, dropped to one knee, lowering their lances. The archers in the back rows banded their bows.

“Fire !!”

A rain of arrows shot at the lined-up horsemen, felling horses and men alike, both on the left and right of Tarchaneiotes. Methodios and his men were spared only by standing behind the General and his own bodyguard.

“Forward !!!”

The spearmen lunged from their crouching positions running for the few riders still standing, driving their spears to the horses’ breasts, making them fall thus pinning their riders, before slaughtering them.

Wheeling his horse and drawing his sword, Methodios howled to his men “Run, men !!! Run for your lives !!!”

Spurring his horse forward, Methodios drive his charger between the fast closing sides of the Turkish pincers, seeing that his men had not lost time in following but were hard on his tail. The gorge through which they had entered the clearing was the only way out.

As he neared the entrance, Methodios saw that some fifty Turkish spearmen had taken position there, blocking the way, bracing behind their shields, spear-points driven forward. Slowing his horse to a canter, Methodios let his men catch up to him, forming up in a wedge.

“Either we break them or we die trying…” Methodios said to his men.

Spurring his horse, Methodios howled his father’s battle cry “Odin !!!”

The cry was answered by twenty voices covering the noise of the horses’hooves “Odin !!!”

Methodios saw that Bjarki had placed himself on his left and Adrastos on his right.

The horses gained speed, the spear-points came rushing forward… With a bone-jarring impact, Methodios’ kontos struck one of the Turks, hurling him five feet backwards, into the rows of men positioned behind him, the momentum of Methodios’ horse crushing several men, the hooves crushing arms and ribcages.

A quick look to the sides showed that both Bjarki and Adrastos had made successful charges.

Then the line of spearmen lay behind Methodios… He was in the gorge, racing like mad in the narrow space between the high cliffs. The clatter of the horses’ hooves reverberated on the rocks, a noise of thunder, a noise of impending doom…

Coming out of the gorge, Methodios took stock of his surroundings. A brief look shown him that all of his men were still with him though one or two seemed wounded, riding slouched in their saddles.

“Let’s hope they can make it back to camp”, Methodios thought. “I must warn the others of Tarchaneiotes’ treachery”.

No chasers seemed to be coming out of the gorge but Methodios let his horse run at full speed. Not fearing for his life but fearing instead for the rest of the army.

******