“If you go north or east, tread lightly. There are foul powers on the hunt in those lands.”
Ahmet nodded again. He had been feeling a growing unease the farther north he had come with the caravan. The air seemed brittle and thin, the sun dimmer than usual. In his othersight, odd f?ckerings and half-heard voices filled the empty spaces of the desert. Lines of unexpected tension and force were gathering in the unseen world.
“Master, I will be careful in my travels.” Ahmet bowed, his head almost touching the tiled floor.
Monimus made the sign of the god and watched the young man go. The sense of unease did not leave him. He turned back to the rolls of the Temple and the order for timbers to begin construction of a new lodging house behind the main building.
Mohammed was waiting in the shade of the great entrance hallway to the sanctuary of the Temple of Zeus, staring up at the giant marble figure of the god of storms. The Zeus reclined on poorly carved clouds, but his body was well cut, standing forth from the rock. One arm supported the god against the clouds and held a cluster of bronze thunderbolts, the other raised a torch of stone. Oil-fire gleamed on that sconce, casting flickering light-on the ceiling of the temple. Under the wavering light, the skin tones and painted hair of the statue seemed close to life. Ahmet coughed politely.
Mohammed shook his head and looked around at his friend. Though his face was properly solemn for such a place, Ahmet could see that a huge grin was threatening to break out under the brushy black mustaches.
“Come,” the merchant whispered in a voice quiet as a shout, “I’ve done well this morning!”
Outside, Mohammed fairly bounced down the steps. Ahmet lengthened his stride to keep up. The merchant bustled across the square, stopping only to purchase a wooden skewer with roasted meat on it. Chewing, he began talking to Ahmet.
“There will be a council of the chieftains and Princes tonight, my friend, in the Roman citadel. All of the lords who were summoned have arrived as of last night, and the governor has called this meeting to lay out the plans of campaign. There is no better way to find out where the Third is stationed, and where it is going to be stationed, than at this meeting. Everyone will be there, even the Princes of Nabatea and Palmyra.”
“And how,” Ahmet asked with asperity, “are we going to get into this conclave of the great?”
“Ah, my friend, that is the beauty of the thing. You are traveling with me, so these things are possible! As luck would have it, one of the bands of lancers that have been hired by the Palmyrenes are cousins of my wife’s brother’s wife’s uncle. I convinced their war captain-an old rascal named Amr ibn’Adi of the Tanukh-that we should ride with them, and just by the by, attend the conference tonight as his aides.“
“Oh,” Ahmet said. “Do you usually get your friends into this much trouble?“
Mohammed laughed aloud at that. “Nay! All of my friends take great joy in my company-all of them say that I am the most interesting of men to be around! Besides, Amr ibn’Adi does not speak Latin or Greek-so you and I will have to translate for him.”
Night in the streets of the city was almost as bright as day. Thousands of lanterns hung from the entrances of the market stalls^and over the doorways of the houses. Torches ornamented the walls that enclosed private gardens. Parties of men, led by link-boys with burning wicks, moved through the streets, slowly converging upon the gates of the Roman camp that lay near the northernmost of the city’s eight gates. The light glowed off low clouds that had gathered over the city in the late afternoon, bringing a cool rain to wash the streets.
Ahmet and Mohammed were among those who approached the gates, in the party of the desert chieftain Amr ibn’Adi. The sheykh was a villainous rogue with long curling mustaches and a salt-and-pepper beard who affected a ragged cloak and hood over his rich garments. His three bodyguards-the most allowed by the governor-held no such flimsy disguise. They were stout men with broad shoulders, plain weatherworn cloaks, and well-used armor and weapons. Mohammed, in turn, was dressed in a subdued red shirt, dark pants, and long cloak of white-and-green stripes. Ahmet, who did not account himself one for fashion, thought that his friend looked rather dashing in the outfit-obviously his best, carried in a small trunk for just such an occasion. Ahmet owned no pretense such as this;
Thomas Harlam he had cleaned his simple white tunic and robe before entering the city. He had his staff and the leather book bag that he habitually wore at his waist. He had tied back his long raven-black hair with two braids and a silver clasp.
The residence of the Roman governor was no more than a fortified Legion camp carved out of the buildings of the northwest corner of the city. Stout wooden and iron gates barred the way into the camp, watched by a band of slightly overweight men in ill-fitting armor. Ibn’Adi’s party was halted by their commander, an elderly man with close-cropped white hair and a scarred face. The retired legionnaire searched them, even Ahmet’s bag and staff, before waving them through into the camp.
Ahmet looked around curiously at the fired brick buildings, arranged in neat rows, with paved streets between them. Though there was every sign of the regular presence of a strong garrison in the city, it was obvious that all of these residences had been carefully closed up, their owners departed. Mohammed was looking around too, with a slightly puzzled look on his face. The broad street that led down the middle of the camp was busy, though, with parties of chieftains and their retainers in a broad array of desert robes, silks, linens, and partially hidden armor.
“Why have all these chiefs come to fight for Rome?” the Egyptian asked as he and Mohammed trailed along after ibn’Adi’s ruffians. “Most seem to be bandits or vagabonds. I thought that the men of the frontier were at odds with the Empire.”
Mohammed nodded, his face creasing in a sharp smile. “Few here love Rome, if any do, my friend. But near every man here knows that Persia is not better and perhaps worse. Under Roman rule, or Roman ‘protection,’ there is law of a sort. Under this King of Kings, this Chrosoes, there is no law. These chiefs are here to protect the rights and usages that they own today. With Rome, the way that things are done has not changed in hundreds of years. If Persia conquers these lands, everything will be different.”
The shuctow of Ararat 3‹si
Ahmet nodded at this, tlien»uid, “Su none of them see an opportunity to better themselves by siding with Persia? To my mind, that would seem a good way to dispose of rivals and make oneself stronger at their expense.“
The Southerner laughed, but softly, for one of the guards with ibn’Adi had turned a little, trying to catch their conversation while they walked into the inner camp. They passed through another vaulted gate, but these walls were of worked stone. Four towering men in mail shirts and boiled-leather pteruges stood in the shadows of the passage. They were red-haired and taller by two hands than any man that passed between them. Longswords were hung at their belts, and they wore many rings and bracelets on their arms. Ahmet returned the steely gaze of the nearest one as he passed. German?, he thought to himself as they entered the governor’s camp.
“The men that have made that calculation, my friend, and have chosen to side with the King of Kings are not at this meeting tonight.- No, they have already ridden north to An-tioch, to join the army of the great Prince Shahin.” Mohammed’s voice was low and clear. He had drifted a little behind Ahmet, though he walked close by.
“These are men who have made themselves and their tribes strong under the tutelage of the Empire. If it is driven out, they will suffer by it. These are the men who have ruined their enemies by naming them traitors, or heretics, or taxless. Chiefs like these, whose families have held power for generations under the eye of Rome, are the creatures of the Empire. They use that patronage to control the best trade routes, and to drive out the smaller clans or break them to their will.”