How has this happened? She was leaving, a penitent on a long journey into emptiness!
Shahr-Baraz, the Royal Boar, Emperor of the Persians and the Medes, stood beside the throne, one booted foot lodged carelessly against the precious wood. His massive torso was girded in mail, his long salt-and-pepper hair tied behind a thick neck with rawhide.
"Within the week," Shahr-Baraz boomed, his voice a little less than a roar, "the fleet will have completed unloading our men and goods. Within two weeks, our wagons will be filled, our regiments ordered. I say, my friends, in four weeks we shall move south in full array."
Standing on the other side of the throne, her hair combed back in a glossy wave, stood Zoe, queen of Palmyra. She eschewed the Boar's martial display, her neck framed with gold and electrum, smooth arms kissed with silver circlets. Khalid hid a sneer, seeing her brilliant blue eyes enhanced with powdered pearl and antimony. Even her gown, clinging like a skin to her young, lithe body was opulent-a golden-hued silk, like the sky at dawn, cinched with supple kidskin. The Queen was smiling, watching Shahr-Baraz declaim. Beside her, the Palmyrene prince Odenathus leaned on a staff. Khalid tried to catch his friend's eye, but the Palmyrene's attention was focused on the King of Kings.
"Our goal is this," the Boar said, voice settling into a basso rumble. "To strike down upon Roman Egypt like a storm, overpower her defenses and seize the great port of Alexandria. We do not aim to capture the whole of the country, not yet, but we must secure the port of Pelusium-the first barrier we will encounter-and then Alexandria. With both harbors under our control, we choke off the flow of grain to Rome." Shahr-Baraz smiled, showing fine white teeth amid the thicket of his beard.
Khalid nodded absently, turning his head a little. Where was-a cold shock made him flinch. Behind the king, hidden in shadow, surrounded by four more of the Shanzdah, stood a slim, dark figure.
Prince… Rustam. Khalid's heart hammered, then slowed. He licked his lips. My… ally.
The prince was watching the King of Kings as well, standing at ease, hands clasped behind his back. Khalid's eyelid twitched. A gleam passed across the prince, making his skin shimmer and twist, as if scales caught the light of a candle. Al'Walid forced himself to remain upright, though a terrible, pressing desire to kneel came over him. He swayed and Shadin-his gruff face pinched in disapproval-caught his arm and held him upright. Khalid wrenched his attention back to Shahr-Baraz.
"The fleet," Shahr-Baraz continued, "under the command of the noble Odenathus, will parallel our course. I expect-no, I know-the Roman fleet has regrouped. They will come against us as soon as we show our intent. Odenathus, you will have to fight, and perhaps you will have to flee."
The Palmyrene was surprised by the shahanshah's sober tone and he shook his head. "My lord, we will not abandon you!"
"You will," Shahr-Baraz said, raising a hand to forestall further protest. "The fleet is our only advantage; it must be preserved. Because of this, the army will march on land with all supplies necessary to cross the desert to Pelusium. Once we are within the Nile delta, we will forage for what we need. But while we engage the Romans ashore, the fleet must keep out of danger."
"Very well." Odenathus nodded dubiously.
"Good!" Shahr-Baraz beamed at the assembly, tugging at the ends of his mustaches. "Now, the rest of you… the lands between here and Pelusium are harsh, with little water, no feed, no browse for our horses. Therefore we must march swiftly, taking advantage of the fine Roman road along the coast. We must reach and take Pelusium before we starve." The King of Kings smiled broadly.
Khalid frowned at the various commanders around him. These fat Persians make such a bold march? I think not… my Sahaba have been tempered on the An'Nefud, the anvil of the lord! The Huns are canny men and used to long days in the saddle with few rations-they will pass the test. Even the men of the Decapolis are hardy and used to the sun… but these diquans from their fat, well-watered land? He stifled a derisive laugh.
"You will be ready in three weeks and your men will keep up. If they do not, they will be left behind, without wine or grain." Shahr-Baraz drew a long knife from his belt. He considered his profile in the mirror-bright blade. "A man might live a day without water, perhaps two, under this sun. His death will be slow and agonizing as his skin burns black and ants consume his eyes. This pleases me-I would not want to sully my steel with the blood of a fool or a coward!"
Off to Khalid's left, a tall, broad-shouldered Persian stepped out of the crowd. "Great king," the man declared, sweeping the assembly with a fierce gaze. "We will reach Pelusium at your side and we will crush the Romans as your lightning arm! Nothing will stop us!"
"Well spoken, Lord Piruz." Shahr-Baraz smiled at the man. Khalid looked closer, disturbed by the gaunt features of the Persian lord. There was a brittle spark in the noble's eyes and the Arab found his attention drawn to a flash of black silk at the man's throat. Ah, one of Purandokht's suitors… then he is mad, and reckless for honor too.
"Consider this," Shahr-Baraz said, stepping away from the throne. His voice took on a considered tone, as if he spoke to children in the temple. "The army of Persia can usually travel ten to fifteen miles in a day. Pressed, my old army of Syria-veterans every one-did twenty. A Roman legion-men accounted throughout the world for their stamina and speed of march-account twenty-five miles a day excellent progress. Between Gazzah, the last town of note before the desert, and Pelusium are no less than one hundred and twenty miles of sand and barren stone. There are no wells, no qanats, no oases. Once we reach the edge of the delta, we must fight our way through the Roman army to the arm of the Nile. Our wagons and pack camels can carry enough food, water and feed for our strength for seven, perhaps eight days."
Khalid whistled, impressed. That was an enormous amount of baggage. The army encamped at Caesarea numbered sixty or seventy thousand men. How many skins of water will a man drink, unused to this sun? Too many. Al'Walid had seen men, overcome by the heat, drink so much from a well their stomachs burst. He hid a grin. Soon they will all look like the lovesick Piruz, he thought, scratching his short-cropped beard.
"Great king?" Khalid turned to the voice, unable to help himself. Zoe stirred, stretching, and smiled in a languid way at Shahr-Baraz. "Many of these men-the princes of the Decapolis, the Sahaba, even the T'u-chueh-are used to swift movement over poor ground. But your Persians… how will they make twenty miles a day? They have so much baggage, so many servants…"
The Persian diquans bristled at the Queen's tone, and she smiled at them like a cat, eyes half-closed. Khalid felt a stab of anger, then quelled his temper. She taunts us, with her body, with her place of favor… does she kneel for the King of Kings, or-Khalid snuck a glance sideways at the dark corner where prince Rustam stood-for him?
"We do not need servants," Lord Piruz barked, one lean hand sliding to the hilt of his sword.
"Really?" Zoe cocked her head to one side, considering the northern prince. "Who will bathe you, Lord of Balkh? Who will tend your wounds, or repair your boots after the sand wears away the stitching?" She smiled lazily, the pink tip of her tongue appearing for an instant between white teeth. "Who will cook your food and keep your tent warm at night? Your squire?"
Piruz snarled and took a step forward. The rasp of metal on metal was very loud as his sword slipped from the sheath.