approval and placed a fur-trimmed hat on his head before leaving. Wayland sat on his bed, trying to steady his nerves. He kept coughing as if a hair were caught in his throat. He jumped up in relief when a trumpet blast announced that the day’s sport was about to begin. He hooded the falcon, mounted his horse and rode with Ibrahim and the underfalconers to the arena at the centre of the camp. Emerging into the open space, he pulled back, astonished to find a thousand armed and armoured horsemen milling across the ground. It looked more like a military muster than a hunting party.
Vallon rode smiling out of the crowd. ‘Welcome, stranger. We heard about your achievement. Not many falconers kill a crane at their first attempt.’
‘It wasn’t a sporting flight. It was bagged quarry.’
Vallon took him to one side. ‘I know the contest means a lot to you. So it should after all the work you’ve put in. But there’s more to it than that. I didn’t tell you earlier because nothing I said could have made Suleyman call off the challenge.’
‘I don’t want the contest to be called off.’
‘The night Suleyman agreed to the contest, he set conditions. Win and we ride away with a reward. Lose and you forfeit your freedom.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Lose and you’ll become Walter’s slave.’
‘I won’t be anyone’s slave. I won’t bow to any man. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want the threat preying on your mind while you trained the haggard. I’m telling you now because I can make the Emir grant you your freedom if your falcon doesn’t claim the prize.’
‘What if he doesn’t? What will happen to Syth?’
‘You won’t be parted. Trust me. Put up your best performance, but don’t worry too much about losing. Do exactly what the Emir tells you and don’t attempt anything too ambitious.’
‘I won’t.’
Wayland was still dazed when Hero greeted him. ‘Don’t worry. Whatever the outcome, Vallon won’t hand you over to Walter.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘The night before last we had another meeting with Suleyman. It went well. He nurses more ambitious plans than beating his rival in a duel of falcons. He wants to create a sultanate in Anatolia. If you lose, Vallon will offer his services in that cause.’
‘But what about his plans to join the Varangians?’
‘His first loyalty is to his company. Now put it out of your mind and concentrate on the contest.’ Hero pointed to a knot of riders wearing uniforms emblazoned with an eagle motif. ‘See the man in the golden coat? That’s who you’re up against. His name’s Temur. It means “Iron”.’
Wayland studied the plump figure in the centre of the group. His face was as round as a dish and wreathed in a smile. ‘He looks like he’s made of butter.’
‘Appearances deceive. You recall that he asked for a postponement so that he could settle a dispute. Something to do with the theft of camels. He condemned the guilty party to be sewn into a wet hide and then left in the sun so that the hide would crush the life out of him as it shrank.’
Wayland looked around the arena and spotted Walter suited in mail with a group of Seljuk friends.
‘Why is everyone wearing armour?’
‘It’s a military exercise as well as a sporting event.’
‘Is Syth here?’
Hero shook his head. ‘Women aren’t allowed.’
The crush parted in front of them. Suleyman rode up at the head of his entourage, clad in a leopard’s skin cape over a coat of scale armour. He quizzed the hawkmaster and then he turned his cat’s gaze on Wayland and spoke to Faruq.
‘He wants to know how the falcon will perform,’ Hero said.
‘Tell the Emir that, due to his Excellency’s generosity and the skills of his hawkmaster, the falcon is at the peak of her powers and is equal to whatever challenge presents itself. God willing.’
Suleyman felt under the falcon’s wings, assessing muscle tone. He said something to Ibrahim and the hawkmaster bowed. One last searching look at Wayland and the Emir wheeled his stallion. Trumpets blared and the horsemen began to flow out of the arena.
Hero grinned at Wayland. ‘How far you’ve come. When we first met, you couldn’t speak. Now you’re exchanging diplomatic niceties with a Seljuk emir.’
The army fanned out under an ice-blue sky and commenced to kill every wild animal in its path. It was some time before Wayland realised that the slaughter was methodical, an exercise for war. Spotters carrying flags had been sent out to locate quarry. One of them signalled from the skyline ahead and a trumpet blast brought the field to a stop. Another note and the wings of the army detached themselves with precision and advanced at a canter. They disappeared over the horizon, leaving the plain in front empty. The two emirs waited at the centre of the line with their retinues.
Distant bugles sounded. A puff of dust rose on the horizon and the first horsemen of the returning advance party appeared, streaming over the skyline in two lines a mile apart. A herd of gazelles raced into view between them. Behind the gazelles, rising from the earth, rode the rest of the Seljuks in crescent formation, driving the quarry between the horns. Suleyman pointed right and left with his mace and two more squadrons peeled off, galloping forward to prevent the game from breaking around the flanks. Every fifty yards one of the Seljuks dropped out, until by the time the foremost riders had linked up with the tips of the horns, they’d thrown a cordon around the quarry. They began to tighten it, waving flags, forcing the gazelles towards a funnel between the two emirs.
Thirty gazelles entered the corridor and so sure was the aim of the waiting archers that not a single animal broke through to the rear.
Walter rode over to Vallon. ‘Now you know what we faced at Manzikert.’
They moved on and Wayland’s recollection of events became disjointed. The Seljuks staged impromptu horse races and archery matches. They flushed a jackal in a dry riverbed and thirty riders lashed their horses in pursuit, Suleyman’s men on one bank, Temur’s on the other. One of Suleyman’s men drew ahead of the quarry. Twisting right round in his saddle he shot straight back over his horse’s tail and hit the jackal square in the chest. Suleyman showered silver on the marksman.
The two emirs selected saker falcons and cast them off at hares and bustards put up by the advancing army. Wayland thought it poor sport. The falcons coursed the hares, buffeting them until their wits were so scattered that they didn’t know which way to turn. The flights at bustards were tail chases that rarely rose above fifty feet. If the quarry put in to cover, the Seljuks kicked it up and flew it again, repeating the process until the bustard was brought down or escaped.
‘It’s a rat hunt,’ Wayland told Vallon. ‘I’m not going to fly my falcon like that.’
‘Careful. First, it’s not your falcon. Second, the Emir hunts in any way he pleases.’
A trumpeter signalled the end of the morning’s entertainment. Servants erected a kiosk and the two emirs dined on skewered lamb and rice, figs, melons and pomegranates, walnuts in syrup, sherbets cooled with ice brought from the twin peaks.
Wayland picked at his own meal and then withdrew from the bustle, worried that the commotion would unsettle the falcon. A figure slipped down beside him.
‘Don’t look. I’m not supposed to be here.’
‘Syth!’
‘I would have joined you earlier if the puppy hadn’t pissed on my leggings. I had to change and then wait for a chance to sneak out.’
Their hands slid towards each other.
The breeze had strengthened from the north-west and the servants striking camp struggled with the flapping tent panels. The army resumed its advance, skirting the southern shore of Salt Lake. The sun was in steep decline and the serious business was about to begin.
