A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (i am reading a book txt) 📕

of the pastureland, stretching away east and west. The road drove straight through the huge bank of earth and then another mile ahead approached a high wooden inner stockade.

The space between was spread with clusters of pit-house dwellings, more grazing land, and several vast livestock enclosures, each filled with herds of horses, cattle and sheep. Erlan noticed workshops and forges, even kilns. The further they rode, the larger the crowd that fell in behind them. Children mostly, laughing and calling out to them. Passing through the inner stockade, Erlan touched his hilt for luck, and a glance at Einar showed his friend looking serious for once.

More riders fell in around them as they came, at last, to the heart of the settlement which seemed half city, half herder’s camp. At the centre of it stood an enormous hall, big as any in the north. In style, it was more like a wooden palace in imitation of the Byzantines’ stone buildings than the simple grandeur of, say, Sviggar’s Hall. It even had two floors, supported by massive pillars of oak and dressed with scores of skulls of horses and horned oxen.

To one side of it was a kind of shrine, where pungent oils burned in silver censers before a crude lump of limestone, blood-spattered and buzzing with the first flies of the year. Erlan noticed a cross as well. That, too, was covered in blood. The smell was appalling.

The leader of their escort halted and told them to dismount.

‘Bring the gold,’ Erlan said to Davit and Bringas.

‘Who put you in charge?’ growled Davit.

‘You think you can represent the emperor? What are you going to say to him?’

‘Well,’ Davit blustered, ‘I suppose that the khan has to honour the treaty, that we’ll pay him for it—’

‘Just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.’ Erlan snorted. ‘One barbarian to another.’

Another Bulgar appeared, an important one judging from his attire of expensive furs and silks. Erlan looked around while the newcomer and their escort leader conversed in a rapid patter. He noticed a large pit, perhaps fifty feet across, on the west side of the hall. He wondered what it was for. Seemed a strange place for a midden heap. . .

‘You go with him,’ the escort leader declared abruptly, bustling them forward. ‘He is Kavhan. He takes you to Khan. . .’

Tervel, Khan of the Bulgars, looked like an overfed ox draped in an expensive bearskin cloak. He sat on a large brass throne behind a broad wooden table arrayed with a sea of vittles, which he attacked with an appetite that saw no signs of abating even as the emperor’s representatives stood before him.

So this was the Bulgar khan, chief of the Dulo, son of the famous Khan Asparukh the Vanquisher. His small eyes still on them, he snapped his fingers. A servant rushed forward and furnished him with the biggest beaker of ale Erlan had ever seen. In the space of five heartbeats, the khan had sunk its contents. He leaned back in his throne as his servants set about clearing the table, and delivered a belch like a war-horn.

His stomach now settled, he stabbed a fat finger at the saddlebags resting at the guards’ feet. ‘You have something for me, I think,’ he croaked in heavily accented Greek. Erlan gave the two Byzantines a nod and they heaved their loads onto the table, spilling a slew of gold coin and precious objects before the khan.

‘You’ve come a long way to deliver a few trinkets of gold,’ he grunted.

‘The basíleus sends heartfelt assurances of friendship, one sovereign to his brother.’

‘Does he, by heaven! Then let’s see what this brotherhood is worth to him.’ He leaned forward, prodding at various priceless articles before him, then shoving them away. He tipped a pouch full of gold solidi over the table, sending the coins scattering to the floor. He seemed to take pleasure in creating an almighty mess.

‘My lord, all this is a mere token. Emperor Leo promises far more. He asks only in return that you remember the treaty that still holds between Bulgar and Byzantine.’

The khan leaned heavily back in his chair and regarded Erlan with his full attention. ‘I may be an old man now, but my memory is not so dim I cannot think back two years. The man with whom I made my alliance was not your master.’ His vast belly shook, but whether with mirth or anger, Erlan couldn’t be sure. ‘The basíleus – as you call him – is a usurper. He stole his throne from my ally. Does that not make him my enemy?’

This was as Leo had warned him. ‘The emperor took the crown in order to save the empire.’

‘Did he? Well, that was most selfless of him!’ roared the khan. ‘And I suppose he will return it once the empire is safe.’

‘His Majesty is willing to honour the terms of the agreement you made with Theodosius—’

‘We agreed annual tribute. I’ve seen nothing since the Byzantines departed. That was two years ago.’

‘He promises double tribute for the years missed while the caliph’s armies have been harrying the east.’

‘Triple.’

He could feel Davit’s indignation burning behind him. These were enormous sums of gold which Erlan had no authority to promise. But he figured that could be someone else’s problem. ‘Triple then, for the years missed. And the resumption of the agreed annual sum once the Arabs have been swept from the empire. And Byzantium is safe.’

The khan smiled, his greasy lips catching the light. ‘So now we come to the point.’

‘Besides tribute, we offer you plunder. Anything won from the Arabs is yours.’

‘That goes without saying,’ scoffed Tervel. ‘But what plunder is there to be had? The last I heard, the Arabs were eating their own shit.’

A fair point. ‘They still have weapons. Siege machines.’

‘What do I want with siege machines?’

‘Every man still alive carries things precious to him,’ continued Erlan, pressing on. ‘All this. Besides which, the basíleus promises you a further payment—’

‘This