Heraclius rubbed his nose and frowned at the suggestion. “That would leave a Persian garrison right on top of our line of retreat. They would play Hades with our communications back to Constantinople.”
Galen nodded.
“If we have to take the city, brother,” he said, “we’ll, have to build a bridge anyway, to move the army to the other side of the river so that we can invest the walls and begin siege works. That will take even more time, and as you’ve doubtless noticed, the nights are beginning to chill.”
Heraclius sighed and pursed his lips in thought. He signaled to one of his servants for wine.
“The Persians,” he said slowly, “built a fine stone bridge across the river, with a bed of bricks and mortar.”
The Western Emperor scowled at the Eastern Emperor. Heraclius gratefully accepted a brass cup filled with dusky red wine.
“A fine stone bridge,” Galen said, “that runs into a double towered gate at the center of a city occupied by several thousand veteran men as well as militia, and perhaps-just perhaps-this general who has taken down your breeches and given you a whipping three times before. If-if, mind you-we were to try to take the bridge and the gates by assault, it would be my men who would bleed for it.”
Heraclius nodded somberly and drained his cup.
“You’ve the heavy infantry,” he said, raising the empty cup in salute, “and the experience. How soon can we make the attempt?”
Galen settled back in his chair and thought. Heraclius downed another cup. The Western Emperor sat forward again and began making notes on his tablets. “I’ll need six days to prepare. Then we’ll see. I shall need all the men you can give me, or find, for the preparations.“
There was a note in his voice that made Heraclius look at him quizzically. Galen arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. A predatory look had entered his eyes. He had the beginnings of a plan. He pulled one of the tablets over to him and made a quick notation, grease.
“The rumors are true,” Nikos said, sitting on the edge of one of the rough stone crypts. “A Roman army is on the south side of the Talkeh, and it seems to be digging in to stay. At least, they’ve gone beyond a night camp. From the top of the grain silo, I could make out some kind of big effort east of the city, up the river. I’d guess a bridge, or maybe some kind of diversion canal to lower the waters.”
Thyatis nodded and turned around slowly in the circle of space in front of the crypt wall. She met the eyes of the assembled Bulgars, Armenians, and townsfolk one by one. In the wake of the disappearance, the Persians had enforced a very strict martial law upon the city. No one was allowed out after nightfall, and gatherings of more than two people during the day were forbidden. Twenty or thirty people were crammed into the lower vault of the crypt of the Se-sain family. It was the only hidden place left that was large enough for them to meet in.
“The Roman army is very fond of siegework,” she said, stopping next to Nikos. “In other circumstances, they would bridge the river and surround the city with an earthen rampart on all sides so no one could break out. Then they would really get to work. This army is in a hurry, so I fear that they have a more drastic effort in mind.”
Thyatis reached behind her and dug around in the open coffin. Some of the Armenians began muttering among themselves, but Jusuf and Sahul, who were standing by the trapezoidal doorway, glared at them and the locals quieted down. Thyatis pulled out a handful of bones and two skulls, hooked on her fingers through the eye sockets. Nikos brushed aside some of the dust on the floor with his boot.
“The key to the city, to the whole situation, is the bridge over the Talkeh.”
She laid a pair of thigh bones in parallel and then two femurs across them at right angles. “Wide enough for two wagons, and the only crossing in the area. It runs into the center of this city, through two octagonal towers.” She placed the two skulls at the end of the femurs and laid a forearm splinter across the crowns. “Behind the two outer towers is a courtyard, and then two more towers. There are three gates, one at each end and a gate of iron bars in the middle.”
Ribs were placed behind the skulls to mark the inner walls, and then shattered jawbones the gates.
“Most of the Immortals remaining in the city are in that bastion. Our work in the sewers tells us it has its own water gate, so unless the Roman army diverts or poisons the river, they’ll have plenty to drink. Doubtless there are food and arms as well. Inside the inner towers…” ? Another pair of skulls, these markedly smaller than the first, were placed to mark the final two towers.
“… is another open yard. Right now it gets used as the winter market and to hold caravans when they are assembling to go south. A fine use, but in this siege, it’s fifty feet of open pavement between the nearest building”-Thyatis moved Nikos’ boot over to demonstrate-“and the inside wall. The bridge has only a low retaining wall on either side, the plaza is wide open. Each is a fine place to die, skewered by a Persian arrow.”
She stood, sighing, and brushed her hands off on the long dark dress she had recently taken to wearing, along with the headdress and veil. Jusuf had finally had to appeal to Sahul to convince her that she had to hide her looks. The Persians were offering a heavy bag of royals for the heads of those responsible for the disappearance.
“The Roman army only has one option that I can see-to launch an assault across the river in boats or rafts and try to scale the walls in a rush. If they can seize the rest of the city, then they can bring up siege engines and hammer the bastion to rubble. We must be ready when that day comes. You have all said that you will fight Persia.“
There was a muttering of agreement. The harsh policies of the Boar had made him no friends, and since the Disappearance, the threat against the families of these men had faded. Thyatis had been listening to the Armenians while they talked at night, in the darkness, and knew that they counted Rome’s presence in these high and distant valleys to be brief, like a summer snow. If the Persians were driven out, they would be the kings of their own land again. She noted that Sahul and Jusuf listened too, and she wondered how the Khazars would like to trade their snowy lands in the north for more temperate valleys closer to the sun. But she said nothing; her mission was simple and straightforward.
“Well,” she continued, “we will see our fill of battle. My plan is this to split our men into two forces. One force, which friend Jusuf has volunteered to command, will hide close to the Dastevan, or northern, gate. When the Romans attack, he and his men will rush the gate even as the Romans reach it. With luck, Jusuf will be able to open the gate and the Romans can enter. The second, larger force, which I will command, will see about the southern bastion.”
Thyatis smiled in the gloom, her eyes bright in the light of the few flickering candles. “Friend Jusuf has expressed to me his concern about my chances of capturing the bastion. I will tell you, as I told him, that I have sworn to deliver the city to my Emperor, and I will.”
Nikos eyed her surreptitiously. His commander was growing very bold.
Full night was passing, stealing away into the west at the rumor of the sun. Two Persian soldiers, Immortals, in their gold and red cloaks, stood on the southeastern tower of the city wall. The river gurgled at the foot of the tower, wash ing against the stones. The land was still covered with darkness, but the air began to change a little with the hidden touch’t›f the rising sun. The older of the two soldiers, his head covered with a furry leather cap with long ear flaps, stared out into the darkness. The land around the city was desolate and swathed in midnight. His companion shuffled his feet, holding his hands out to the lantern that illuminated the wall below their post.
“Quit doing that,” said the older man, his voice muffled by the woolen scarf he had wrapped around his lower face. “You’ll ruin your night vision.”