"Royal brother! The Empress is safely away?"
Heraclius, Emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire, avtokrator and Augustus of the Greeks and Romans, turned to face his younger brother. The open, guileless smile was gone, and now his face was stern, the face of the ruler of half the known world. He raised his hand and clasped his younger brother's fist in his own.
"Greetings, Prince of Persia. Yes, Martina and my son are safely away. They will reach Constantinople and the luxurious refuge of the Imperial Court within the week. While we, dear brother, will still be here sorting out men and cargo and loot and assignment:."
Theodore smiled broadly at the sound of the loot, his teeth gleaming white in the thicket of his red beard. Where Heraclius was tall and broad, his younger brother was thick and stout, but each showed an echo of their father's pugnacious nose and blunt personality. The Prince was clad, as was his wont, in cavalryman's leather and halfarmor, with a long blade slung over his back and riding boots. While the Emperor's cloak was a thick red woolen with purple thread and ermine edging around the hood, the Prince affected a shorter, Oriental-style cloak with a fur lining and a silk outer layer. Heraclius had considered mentioning to his sib that though Theodore was Prince of Persia in name, he need not ape its fashion- but he had held his tongue.
"Have you eaten yet? My servants are already up and making breakfast:"
Heraclius shook his head, no, and began walking along the pier. His brother fell in beside him, as he had done for twenty years, and the guardsmen shook themselves out into a loose cordon around the two. Some of the hulking Northerners went ahead, while others trailed behind. Their cold blue eyes watched everything, even the dark water, and their hands rested easily on the hilts of their swords.
"I have summoned the Legion commanders to join us just after full light," Heraclius said, "and we will begin deciding which cohorts and regiments will return to the capital, or to Egypt, and which will stay. Many of the men will need to return to their farms or cities in the provinces- some will stay, and new recruits will need to be trained and integrated into the existing cohorts. Too, we must decide what to do with the two Western Legions that my brother Emperor left with us."
"Garrison duty!" Theodore scoffed, sneering. "Over-the-hill infantry and engineers! If we were besieging something, we would bless them, but now? We have little use for them at all. He would have done better by us by leaving all those fine Sarmatian knights whom he brought with him."
Heraclius eyed his younger brother carefully; the rash youth who worshiped the horse-god and the romance of the equites was showing strongly. For a moment he reconsidered placing his brother in charge of the newly won Persian provinces, but then pushed the thought aside. I need someone I can trust there, he thought. He will have able advisors and cooler heads to counsel him.
"Emperor Galen left us something we are sorely lacking, dear brotherexperienced infantry and specialists. They will be pure gold to train the four new legions of recruits that will be debarking here within the next six months. You will need more than cavalry to-"
Rashly, Theodore interrupted his brother. "I don't need infantry to rule Persia! I need horsemen and lots of them! Persia is vast and lightly populated. I need cataphracts to garrison and rule and patrol. Infantry works here, in Syria and Egypt and Asia, but there?" He pointed east, past where the slopes of Mount Silpius were tinged with pale dawn. "There I need cavalry, and four legions of it will not be enough."
Heraclius caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. Theodore closed his still-open mouth. "I have considered this," Heraclius said after a moment. "I have been considering a massive change in the way the provincial armies work, both within the Empire and in the newly won provinces. In fact, I want to revise the way we raise armed men for war and support them in the field. You know I have made some changes already: well, that is only the beginning of this. The current provinces will be reapportioned into themes:."
The Emperor and his brother left the dock, deep in discussion, and the guardsmen drifted with them, a silent wall around the two men. Dawn continued to swell in the east, and light grew on the stone quays and docks of Seleucia. Hundreds of ships rode at anchor there, fatbellied transports and massive galleys. The streets began to fill with dockworkers and draymen. Too, long lines of Western Imperial troopsnot able by their archaic-seeming armor and ready discipline on the march- began to file out of the town, directed by bull-voiced centurions to their ships. They were the last to leave, following their Emperor, who had put to sea the day before.
The ghost of the broken tile faded away, touched by the sun, and Dwyrin came to a halt. The finder had led them on a merry chase through darkened streets and empty plazas, across public gardens and bridges. Finally it came to the eastern gate, the same that Dwyrin had passed through on the great road the day before. The gate was closed for the night, and the torches of the guard post were guttering low. Still, with the dawn coming, there was enough light to see.
"Where now?" wheezed Odenathus from behind him. The Palmyrene was flushed and panting hard.
"I don't: wait. There she is."
A huddled figure was curled up at the base of the gate, just by the guardhouse door. Even in the poor light, Dwyrin could pick out the red cloak and dark boots. He ran up, his heart in his mouth, suddenly stricken by unexpected fear. What if someone had attacked her? Taken her by surprise with a knife?
"Zoe?" His voice sounded harsh in the still air. He crouched down, Odenathus at his shoulder. There was a sour smell of far too much wine and something else, a bitter aftertaste hanging in the air. "Leaderof-five?" He touched her shoulder.
The figure lay still for a moment, then twitched away from his hand. Dwyrin sighed, smelling the wine, and motioned with his head for Odenathus to take her other arm. Together they dragged her up. The hood fell away, and Zoe's head lolled to one side. Her front was covered with dried vomit and other less recognizable stains. A cheap pottery jug fell out of her hand; she had been wrapped around it. The jug cracked on the pavement, but it was empty. Only a dark trickle, like sap, oozed out of it.
"Oh, that is a fine smell," Odenathus gasped. "What was she drinking?"
"What was she thinking, you mean. So much for finding us soft beds and a hot bath!"
Zoe's eyes twitched open, and she snarled at the light. One weak hand raised, trying to shield her eyes from the dawn. The two lads dragged her away from the gate, into the shade of a nearby shop awning. Soon the street would be thick with peasants coming into the city with wagonloads of vegetables and goods to barter or sell. Dwyrin lowered the girl to the steps in front of the shop, carefully holding her head so that it did not bang on the wall.
"Zoe?" Odenathus said, crouching down next to her, his lean face worried. "Do you know us?"
The leader-of-five lay back against the door of the shop, her hair in a tangle around her head. Odenathus held one hand in his own. The other moved feebly to her face and brushed the hair away. Slowly, her eyes came open, but only to a narrow slit. Even the pale dawn was too much light for her head.
"Odenathus?" Her voice was weak and raspy. Dwyrin realized that Zoe had been crying for a long time at some point. He looked around, hoping to spy a well. There was a public fountain at the side of the little square behind the massive construction of the gate. He jogged to it, pulling a wine cup out of his carryall. It only took a moment to fill the cup with water and hurry back to the front of the shop.