Shadow of Ararat ки-1

by Thomas Harlan

  While she talked, she arranged some twigs and leaves into a map on the rug that made a floor of the tent. The men leaned close, filling her nostrils with the smell of horses, sweat, and leather. Sahul grunted and made a downward gesture with his hand.

  “Yes,” she said, “we saw one other thing. The banner that flies above the gates of the city is the same blazon as I saw on the shield of the horseman two days ago. I believe that it is the mark of the Persian general Shahr-Baraz-he who is called the King’s Boar. If this is so, then the city will be very difficult to take. Shahr-Baraz commands the Immortals of the King of Kings, their finest warriors.”

  Dahvos coughed and tapped a grass stem on the little map of the city. “Do we run away, then?”

  Thyatis grunted in turn, sharing a wry glance with Sahul. Young men! she thought. They’ll be the death of me yet.

  Sahul shrugged, his face impassive. His eyes glinted with merriment, though.

  “No, we will have to be very careful. The first thing that we need to do is find a local who is willing to help us- we have to find out something about the layout of the city. Then we get inside and then we see about bringing about the ruin of the Boar.”

  The discussion continued for a little while and then Sahul excused himself. Thyatis blinked when he was gone. The oldest brother moved like a ghost. Dahvos yawned hugely and made a show of leaving, but dallied for at least ten grains before Jusuf pushed him out the tent. The middle brother bowed as he closed up the door. Thyatis sat alone in the dimness, feeling the quiet close around her. The tent had been a gift of Sahul’s on the first night she had spent with the Bulgars in the valley of Tauris. The nomad never said anything, even in the guttural language of the steppes, but his meaning was clear-if a woman traveled with them, then she would be treated well.

  Thyatis was in no mood to dispute him. The trip from Ararat had been grueling without a companion to watch her back. Sleeping again among men who could stand watch in the darkness was a relief, though she never slept deeply. A wind began to pick up outside, blowing from the east before the rising, still invisible sun. Thyatis snuffed the candle out and lay down, her head on a rolled blanket. The Bulgars amused her; for scouts in hostile land, they carried an inordinate amount of baggage. Still, they were the finest woodsmen and trackers she had ever met. Even better than Nikos or the Sarmatians.

  Thinking of her men, particularly of Nikos’ broad brown face, tore at her self-control. She wanted to mourn them, but there was no time and these strangers might not understand her grief, or take it wrongly. With an effort, she turned her thoughts from the dead and back to the efforts of the days to come.

  She had almost fallen asleep when a light scratching came at the tent flap. She opened one eye and peered up at the little circle of stars she could see above. Night was almost done. Sighing, she whispered “enter” to the darkness.

  Jusuf slid into the tent, a lean dark shape against the wall of felt. Thyatis felt sleepy surprise; she had been almost certain that it would be Dahvqs that came calling first.

  “Your pardon,” he said, in better Greek than his younger brother had, “I wanted to talk to you.” His voice was a deep timbre, reminding Thyatis of dim forest and massive trees. He sat, cross-legged, next to the door. She sat up quietly and waited for him to speak.

  “Sahul and I have discussed you, and…”

  Thyatis covered her mouth in embarrassment; she had not intended to laugh.

  “Sahul speaks?” she said, her voice bubbling with amusement. She felt Jusuf smile in the darkness. Her heart warmed a little for him, he seemed so humorless most of the time.

  “Yes,” Jusuf said judiciously, “on occasion. When he feels that it is warranted. Also, sometimes he sings, but only upon important days, or festivals. He has a beautiful voice.”

  “Go on,” Thyatis said, “I need some sleep before we move on in the morning.”

  “Even so. Again, I apologize for the intrusion, but Sahul and I are concerned. You come out of the woods like Diana, hunting, with death in your face. You say that you are Roman and that you are oathbound to enter this city, Tauris, and prepare for the coming of your Emperor. You say nothing of how you came here. Dahvos, who by tradition commands this band, is smitten with you and follows you like a boy after his first woman. We are here to offer him counsel and advice, so that he might learn from our experience. Yet he does not command now, you lead us. We wonder, Sahul and I, whether you came alone and where might your own men be.”

  “Dead,” Thyatis said with a dull voice. “Killed by the

  Persians on the shores of the great lake or lost on the road since then. Only I escaped-their sacrifice bought me that much, at least.“

  “I feared so,” Jusuf said. In the darkness, Thyatis sensed that he made some gesture, but she could not see what it was. “Sahul would say that a raven rides on your shoulder, carrying the smell of death. We see that you wear command like an old cloak. Know this, O Roman lady, that we will follow you while Dahvos follows you-he is the bagatur- but should he die or have a change of heart, then we will take our own counsel.”

  “You think that I will bring your deaths?”

  “Roman lady, I know that you bring my death. I care for Sahul and the others. Do not spend them needlessly to feed your grief.”

  With that, Jusuf rose and crawled out of the tent, leaving Thyatis alone again. Weariness overcame her and she slept.

  Thyatis shaded her eyes, her gloved hands cutting the light of the late-afternoon sun. Across the blue-green of the river, the walls of Tauris rose like sandstone cliffs. Banners of gold and red fluttered over the parapet in the northerly breeze. She and the Bulgars were crouched on a sandy bluff west of the river in a stand of larches and hazel. Jusuf and one of the others had gone down to the river to scout the banks. While they waited, Thyatis was counting the men on the walls and the horses in the encampments under the city walls.

  Sahul touched her shoulder and she turned in time to see Jusuf push his way through the screen of trees. He shoved a short brown man in front of him. Sahul took a step into the direct line between Thyatis and the stranger. Jusuf pushed the brown man down to his knees, and then knelt himself. He was winded and sporting a bruise on his cheek.

  “Trouble?” Thyatis asked quietly, looking the captive over.

  Jusuf shook his head, “I was down by the bank, in the high reeds, and I saw a banda of Iron Hats bathing in one of the streams that empty into the river. I swung around upwind of them, which was upstream, and found this fine fellow taking a piss in the water. So I convinced him to come along to see you.“

  Thyatis grinned. The stranger was looking around, sizing up the green and brown men among the trees, their manner and their weapons. He was short, just four feet tall, with curly dark-brown hair. His beard was short and neatly trimmed, and he wore a baggy gray shirt with stitching at the collar and the cuffs. His boots were very well made but scuffed with long use. Dark-red woolen pants completed his outfit. Jusuf laid a bag, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and two daggers against the nearest tree. Thyatis smiled at the stranger, but he answered only with a scowl.

  “You speak Greek?” she ventured. “Latin? Aramaic?”

  Their captive looked around again and then crossed his legs and sat down rather than kneeling.

  “I speak little Greek,” he said in a very bad accent.

  “I am Thyatis,” she said, taking a way-loaf out of her bag and breaking it. She placed one-half of the thick biscuit in front of him and bit off an edge herself. “1 greet you in peace and offer you the hospitality of my house.” She pulled the wax plug from the mouth of her wineskin with her teeth and drank a swallow before offering it to him.

  The man stared at the biscuit on the ground, at her, and again at the Bulgars, most of whom had disappeared back into the brush while Thyatis was speaking. Gingerly he picked up the biscuit and bit a piece off. He chewed it, made a face, and took the wine. He drank a long draft from the skin, squeezing the bottom to squirt it into
his mouth from a distance. Done, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and belched loudiy. Thyatis finished her biscuit. It tasted awful.

  “I am Bagratuni,” said the brown man. “I accept your hospitality.”

  “Welcome, Bagratuni,” Thyatis said. “Do you like the Persians?” She pointed across the river at the walls of the city.

  The man laughed, a short, sharp, barking sound.

  “I piss on the lowlanders,” he said, making a gesture that Thyatis assumed was obscene. “Do you come to fight them?” He pointed at Jusuf’s sword and bow, then at her own.

  Thyatis looked at him and cocked her head to one side. She had a feeling about this little man, but how much to trust him?

  “We hunt the lowlanders,” she said, indicating herself and the invisible Bulgars. “They make fine sport. Can you help us hunt them? Have you been inside the city?”

  Bagratuni slapped his leg, smiling in delight. He rubbed his nose, thinking. “The city is a bad place to hunt the lowlanders. There are no free True People inside-all lowlanders and their women. Very dangerous to go there.”

  Thyatis’ eyes narrowed. “You say no free True People, what about slaves? Are there many True People slaves in the city?”

  Bagratuni nodded, his grin fading.

  “Yes,” he said more slowly, “there are many True People who serve the lowlanders in the city. Many True People die when the lowlanders come to build the city. Many’work on city, but no food, no rest. Only death. The lowlanders, they put bones of children in brick mortar. Then they laugh.”

  “Bagratuni, can you get us into the city?” Thyatis leaned a little forward. “Not all of us, only a few need go.”

  The brown man rocked back on his heels. He made a clucking sound with his lips.

  “Maybe,” he said, speaking slowly. “If you let me go, I will come back and lead you into the city by a secret way. But I have business to attend to, so I must go quickly.”

  Thyatis glanced at Sahul, who remained as impassive as ever, and at Jusuf, who shook his head glumly. She looked back at the brown man and smiled a little. “Honored guest, I would not think of keeping you at my hearth if you are late in your travels.”

  She stood up, careful to keep a screen of hazel between her and the distant city. Bagratuni rose as well, though his face was puzzled.

  “Go in peace,” she said, and motioned to Jusuf to give the little man his weapons back. Bagratuni buckled his sword and daggers onto his belt again, bowed sharply, and crashed off through the brush. Thyatis jerked her head after him at Sahul. The elderly Bulgar nodded and glided off into the trees, barely a leaf stirring in the wake of his passage. She turned to Jusuf, who was leaning on his spear with a disgusted look on his long face.

  “You want a local-I find one, a perfectly good one, even healthy. His teeth are good, hardly worn down at all! And you let him go.”

  Thyatis gave him a hard look and he straightened up.

  “Leave a man here to watch for his return-with or without friends. Everyone else moves camp with me. If he is not back by sunset, we go across the river my way.”

  Jusuf nodded and slipped off between the trees. Thyatis turned, staring across the river. How much time do I have? No news of the advance of the Roman army had come to her. The Bulgars knew nothing, and she couldn’t wait like the Boar, if it was he sitting over there in the city of tan and gold.

  THE OLD PORT OF OSTIA, LATIUM

  Ziusudra smiled broadly, spreading his muscular arms wide. “You see, my lord, did I not say she was beautiful?”

  Gaius Julius swung up over the side of the ship. He was quite impressed, though he took pains to keep his face even and calm, showing no particular emotion.

  “She is swift, like the wind over the water, and light, like a young girl dancing.”

  Gaius Julius raised an eyebrow and surveyed the broad teak deck of the Nisir. The long ship was clean and spartan, its ropes and line tied up in neat bundles. High walls rose up on either side of the deck, and two masts rose out of the polished wood of the foredeck. A high prow curled up at the front, painted in gray and dark blue. Two tall steering oars flanked a steering deck at the back of the ship. None of the Tyrean crewmen was in evidence, leaving Gaius Julius and Ziusudra standing alone under the tall masts.

  “She seems sound,” the Roman said, testing the weave on one of the ropes tied off to the main mast. “How long would it take you to reach Alexandria, say, or Tingis on the coast of Mauretania?”

  The Tyrean smiled, his strong white teeth gleaming amongst the bushy red beard. “My love is swift and sure-I can plot a course by the light of the stars. I have made course from Ostia to Alexandria in eight days, Cadiz on the coast of Hispania in four. Nisir will take you anywhere you desire to go, like the chariots of the sky gods.”

  Gaius Julius shook his head in amusement-no ship captain on the Inner Sea would say any less. He rubbed the side of his long nose, considering the captain, the ship, the strength of the timbers under his feet.

  “I understand that you have had… some ill luck of late.”

  Ziusudra’s eyes narrowed, seeing a slight smile on the patrician’s face. “There was some… trouble… with a cargo of eels a month ago. But it was the fault of the shipper! We made our run in plenty of time!”

  “The eels,” Gaius Julius said slowly, “got loose and escaped through the bilge hatches, my good Tyrean friend. Two of your men had to go to the surgeon to have the creatures detached from their bodies. A terrible calamity. My sympathies. I wonder, then, if it is safe to carry precious cargo on your ship.”

  The Tyrean glared back at Gaius, his hands on his hips. If he had been a pot of hot water, he would have been boiling over. “Those baskets were supposed to be eel-proof! Ah, and the stench! It took a week of scrubbing to get it out of the planking. You’re not looking to move rare and precious animals, are you?”

  “No,” Gaius said, relenting at last and cracking a smile. “Only some tourists-but, my friend, this is a private voyage, so no other passengers will be allowed aboard. Oh, and no cargo either, just me and my friends.”

  “No cargo!” Ziusudra was outraged. “How shall I make a profit then? I have notes to pay, my lord. I must turn some shekels with this voyage!”

  “No matter,” Gaius said, pulling a plain wooden scroll case out of his tunic. “I took the liberty of acquiring your notes from Zuscis the banker. He was quite pleased and so am I. This seems a fine ship to own.”

  Gaius Julius grinned, showing his own even white teeth to the Tyrean. Ziusudra glared back at him with beetling brows.

  “If you do well, then you shall have the Nisir back when we are done.”

  OUTSIDE OF SAMOSATA, THE NORTHERN EUPHRATES PLAIN

  Dwyrin woke with cold water sluicing over his head. He gasped and sputtered, blowing water out of his nose. A rough hand dragged him up from the water trough that he had been held over. He shook his head, feeling.cool water spill down inside of his shirt. Against the hot air around him, it felt blessed.

  “Wake up, lad!” a familiar voice growled. The nervous whine that had marked it for so many days was gone now. “Back to the land of the living!”

  Blinking his eyes clear of the stinging water, Dwyrin looked around. Another Imperial camp surrounded him, filled with tents and, above them, a rampart of hastily packed earth. He was standing by the side of a large tent with a wooden frame rising behind it. The frame supported one side of a broad canvas sunshade a good thirty feet on a side. The sunshade covered a camp within the camp, shielding it from the westering sun.

  Colonna peered into his eyes, holding back the lid with his thumb.

  “Huh,” the soldier said, “you’re in good shape now. You faint a lot?”

  Dwyrin pushed his hand away and stood up. His knees felt weak. “Where’s my unit? I have to report.”

  “Well…” Colonna said, scratching at his beard and staring off into the distance. “Why don’t we have something, to eat first, and then we’ll go see the Tribune
. You’re a little late as it is, so waiting a mite more won’t hurt.”

  Dwyrin considered, and his stomach voted for him. Dinner it was.

  A large tent had been pitched near the middle of the camp for the cooks. Unlike the carefully laid out pattern of the camp at the port, this one was a jumble of tents, ditches, and the low wall. Many sunburned barbarians with long blond hair and tattoos were present, sitting under the flaps of their hide or horsehair tents. Colonna held aside the canvas door of the big tent and Dwyrin passed in. There were no tables, only a series of big pots rilled with stew. Colonna handed the boy a battered tin bowl and a spoon carved out of horn.

  “Don’t forget to give it back, lad, it’s my only extra.” Dwyrin nodded and held out the bowl for a grizzled le gionnaire with a missing arm to ladle some dark-brown slop with chunks of unrecognizable meat into. Colonna was right behind him, holding out a bigger bowl for his share.

  They ate outside. Colonna stood against the wall of the mess tent and shoveled food into his mouth with his own spoon, a bent copper thing. Dwyrin squatted on the ground. He was too tired to stand. The meat might have been goat, or maybe pig, but he really didn’t care. When they were done, Colonna made him wash it down with sour tasting water. When he took the first gulp, he coughed and nearly spit it out.

  The soldier slapped him on the back, making him cough more.

  “The Legion’s drink, lad, watered vinegar. Quenches the thirst, they say. Hate it myself, but you’d better get used to it.”

  It was nearly full dark when Colonna took Dwyrin to see the tribune. The inner camp was surrounded by a fence of wands driven into the ground, each about a foot apart. A single guard sat on a triangular stool just inside the one opening into the domain of the sorcerers. He was dressed in a plain tunic and boots. Colonna identified himself and Dwyrin and each showed the man their identification disks. Dim lights gleamed among the tents within the paling. As they passed through the fence, Dwyrin felt a chill pass over him, and he looked around. The guard laughed and pointed them toward the tribune’s tent.