Stargazers

by Phil Carradice

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Action & Adventure Romance; Ancient World Romance

Synopsis

In a Middle-Eastern state, Yaniv plans to follow in his father's soldiering footsteps - he wants to travel, and find adventure and respect. So the offer to escort some stargazers on a mysterious journey seems like a great chance. But his first mission isn't as straightforward as it is expected to be.

Along the way Yaniv meets treachery, violence, danger and royalty, as well as a very attractive young girl. What are the stargazers really searching for? And who can he really trust?

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 67

Sample

The early sunlight glinted like shards of silver off Yaniv’s armour. A short stabbing sword with its elegant ebony grip, given to all Palace Guards on enlistment, hung lightly at his side. He held it to his thigh as his horse plodded easily forwards among the twelve-strong troop, and smiled happily.

Then, an unexpected doubt eased into his mind. Would he, Yaniv wondered, be ready when the moment came? Would he be able to cope in the cut and thrust of battle, would he ever be good enough?

He shook his head to clear away the thoughts and glanced across at the man riding alongside him – Omar, the veteran of a dozen campaigns, victor and vanquished in hundreds of desert battles.

Yaniv envied the old soldier his confidence, his easy way of riding, even the scar across his left cheek. He doubted he would ever be so sure of himself.

As he watched the old man from the corner of his eye, Omar looked up, winked and grinned at him.

‘Cheer up, lad,’ he drawled. ‘We’ll soon be rid of this lot.’

He pointed at Yaniv’s gleaming breastplate and the tall plumed helmet that all Guards wore. Yaniv stared at him, not understanding.

‘All this useless junk,’ Omar said. ‘Another hour and we’ll be well away from the city. Then we can dump the gear in one of the wagons and ride like proper fighting men. After all, it’s only for show, so the people can see us in all our glory.’

He paused and stretched in the saddle, squinting at the low sun that was still climbing over the western hills.

‘Not that there were many of them to watch us leave this morning. A God-forsaken time to start any patrol, I say.’

Yaniv nodded, pulling at his body armour where it had ridden up and was now digging into his neck. Omar studied him.

‘You’ll be all right, boy,’ he said at last.

‘Really? How can you tell?’

Omar shrugged and eased his weight back in the saddle.

‘I just know. Call it a gut feeling. Of course, nobody can really know, not one hundred percent. If we did there’d be a hell of a lot less grief around the place, I can tell you, and fewer snotty-nosed officers thinking they can change the world in a moment. No, nobody knows how they’re going to react until they see the first flight of arrows blotting out the sun. But when you’ve been around as long as I have, you get a feeling about people, good or bad. And I tell you, you’ll be all right.’

Yaniv set his gaze on the far hills. He thought about the old soldier’s words. They were reassuring but, at the end of the day, they were still only words. If only he could be as sure as Omar. His mind began to wander back over the events of the past few days. So much had happened.

* * *

Right from the beginning, Yaniv’s mother had been against it.

‘He’s only sixteen, for God’s sake,’ she had stormed.

Nearly seventeen, Yaniv thought but, wisely, kept silent. Miriam Sharon was standing in the courtyard of their house, a cool, quiet spot, surrounded by high walls and lemon and olive trees to give shade.

The house stood on a small rise half a mile beyond the city wall where the cool summer breeze and the welcome winter sun were regular visitors. The soft red sandstone of the city buildings shimmered distantly and, despite his mother’s anger and temper, Yaniv was glad to be away from the stench of unwashed bodies and rotting rubbish that always seemed to hang around the place. He had seen the gangs of prisoners whose job it was to keep the city clean, sullen and unhappy men who went about their job in a half-hearted and resentful way. He was sure there must be a better system than using what was little more than slave labour.

‘It’s not right!’ his mother shouted, bringing him back to the present. ‘He’s too young.’

Yaniv’s father, Daniel Sharon, was sprawled across a wooden bench set against the rear wall of the house. A Sergeant in the Palace Guard, Daniel was a tall, tough man, confident in his rank and ability.

‘I was twelve when I fought my first action,’ he shrugged. ‘The boy’s got four years on me.’

Miriam stamped her foot. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Daniel. You were always meant to be a soldier. I thought Yaniv might be a doctor or a physician. Or maybe a lawgiver. That was my dream for him.’

‘Your dream, Miriam, not mine. And not Yaniv’s either, eh boy?’

Daniel and Miriam stared at Yaniv. He was leaning against a shadowing mulberry tree, already dressed in his new leather tunic and leggings. He nodded in agreement with his father’s words.

‘See, Miriam?’ said Daniel. ‘The world will always want soldiers. And Yaniv wants to be one.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Besides, I didn’t hear you complain when we started courting. You knew what my job was.’

Miriam snorted and glared at him. ‘The world’s more civilised now. At least that’s one thing the Romans brought, a little peace, with no need for boys to go marching off to war.’

Yaniv stepped forward, unable to stay silent any longer.

‘It’s not war, Mother, just a short patrol, taking people over the mountains. And whatever you say, I really do want to go.’

Daniel grinned contentedly and spread his arms.

‘See? The boy’s right. This job will mean just a few weeks away, a gentle ride across the desert and then up over the mountains. All we’re doing is providing a guard for two of the Palace stargazers.’

Miriam snarled. She snatched a lemon from the tree and hurled it at her husband. The fruit smashed into the wall beside his head. Daniel stared at the mess, then back at his wife.

‘Not quite ripe yet, my love.’

Yaniv tried hard not to grin – his mother’s tempers were famous. . .