Shadow of Ararat

TRAPEZUS, THE EASTERN THEME OF PONTUS

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A bitterly cold wind cut across the deck of the Mikitis. Thyatis and Nikos, wrapped in all of the cold-weather gear they had, huddled in the lee of the forward deckhouse, staring across the choppy waters of the bay at the shore. A steep headland plunged down to the sea, leaving only a narrow margin of black-sand beach at the wa-terline. The sky was gray, the color of old pipe. The ship was anchored a quarter mile from the harbor quay. Rain spattered out of the sky at random intervals.

Nikos, bundled up in a fur-lined coat he had browbeaten out of one of the Turks, muttered something unintelligible at Thyatis’ side.

She turned her face away from the wind. “What? I didn’t catch that.”

Nikos pointed up in the sky. Black birds with broad wings were soaring above the ship on the gusts of wind from the north.

“Colchis,” he said. “The cormorants.”

Thyatis shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Nikos turned away from the barren shore as well, his arms crossed over his chest. He leaned close. “In the tale of the Argolid-the sailors came to Colchis, a barren and dreadful shore, and the birds would have attacked them if they had not made a great noise by beating on their shields.”

Thyatis shook her head. She did not understand the reference.

Nikos looked sideways at her and sighed. “The benefits of a classical education, Centurion. A band of Greek pirates under their captain, Jason, came here looking for a fleece of gold. They put ashore, legend has it, here and made common cause with the daughter of the King. They murdered her father and took the gold. When they got home, they were heroes.”

Thyatis grimaced. “A parricide doesn’t sound very heroic to me.”

Nikos smiled. “I think you’d like her, the Princess in the story. She was strong and beautiful and knew her own mind. Later her husband is unfaithful, so she feeds his children to him in a stew.”

Thyatis smiled at that. “You think I would kill an unfaithful husband?”

Nikos shrugged, he had never thought of his commander in that light.

“I think,” she said, “that I would just leave. If he was dishonest, then there is no reason to stay. I can make my own way in the world-a man would have to be a companion, not a lord.”

The wind dropped a little. Boats put out from the harbor, though the heavy sea made it rough going. She gestured toward the boats. “Play it low key with the customs officers. The ship will draw enough attention in these waters without some run-in with the local prefect. I’m going to go below and get into my demure-daughter-of-nobility outfit.”

Nikos nodded, wondering if she would be able to carry through and not cold-cock some minor official for getting fresh with her. He smiled at the thought of his commander in a dress-it was true she looked great, but she did hate it so. He too scrambled down onto the lower deck and shouted for Arastus and Jochi to join him. There were palms to grease.

The town of Trapezus was built on a broad shelf of land above the cliffs of the harbor. In ancient days, a road had been cut from the harbor shore and the blackstone quays to the plateau. Trapezus was built to the edge of the cliffs, all whitewashed buildings with dark streets. The houses were covered with vines and ivy with little pearly flowers. Here, under the looming massif of the Tatus Mountains, the rain was plentiful and the growing season long. The main road south out of the city was ancient too, with mile markers far older than the coming of Rome. The dark pine and spruce forests that clung to the mountainside had seen kingdoms rise and fall on the narrow plain between them and the sea.

Nikos scratched at his new beard. It was scraggly and grew in irregular tufts. He did not like it, but’it was necessary. He jammed the colorful triangular hat back on his head and settled the leather vest that he now wore over his tunic. Even in summer it was nippy here in early morning, under the shadow of the mountains. He pushed open the stableyard gate. Behind him Jochi and his brother, Kurak, urged the two mules forward. The wagon rolled out of the back of the inn and the other members of the detachment mounted their horses.

The Sarmatians could not be happier; they had purchased some good horseflesh with Thyatis’ coin back in Constantinople and had suffered with their beloved charges all through the sea voyage to Trapezus. Now they were mounted again and seemed, at last, to be happy. They cantered off down the road, whooping with joy.

The others either rode in the wagon, now with clapboard sides advertising the traveling show, or walked behind. All of their gear was in the wagon or on their backs. Nikos was not particularly pleased that the centurion had elected to have them travel in the guise of players, but it did mean that they were both beneath the contempt and the attention of all but the meanest officials that they might encounter.

Thyatis was still in her demure-daughter outfit, though now she was riding on the top of the wagon, with her boots hooked into the back of the wooden seat that the two Turks were sitting on. Hidden by the top of the clapboard sides, she had a bow and her shortsword by her side. Nikos scrambled onto his own horse, a bay stallion with a gentle disposition. He urged the horse ahead to the turn in the lane that led into the back of the inn. The cock had barely crowed, so the street was empty. He waved an all-clear back to the wagon and the whole troop set out. It was a long road to the south, and the first days were a hard pitch up the passes of the Tatus.

Thyatis sat in the shade on a mossy boulder by the side of the road. The oilskin packet that the Emperor had given her was open in her lap. She spread the vellum map out, carefully creasing down the corners. Ravens complained in the pines just up the slope from her. The shade fell from the steep side of the canyon and the granite cliffs that loomed at either side of the road. Here there was a narrow verge by the side of the road, and the little caravan was stopped in a grassy area. The other side of the road was edged with worked stones and a swift stream rushed past at the bottom of the canyon. One of the Greeks, Tyrus, had stopped by while she was reading over the orders and had left her a lunch of bread, dried meat and cheese. She idly picked at the cheese.

Above her the looming cliff sheltered a thin four-story building wedged into a flat ledge above the trees. Empty windows stared down at the road. Parts of the brick walls were crumbling or covered with the thick wild ivy that grew in the mountains. The peasants in the valley below said that it was haunted and that it had been a temple in the time of their fathers’ fathers. Crows and ravens roosted in it now, and owls hunted from it at night. Thyatis had scrutinized it when the party had stopped for lunch, but it did not have an ill-feeling.

A pebble bounced past her from upslope. She turned slightly to see that Nikos was descending from the trees. He cursed as he waded through a thicket of gorse and blueberry bushes. There were trailing streaks of blood on his chest and arms as he reached the boulder and clambered up its side. He had abandoned the tunic and vest that he had affected as the master of ceremonies for the traveling company. He wore loose, baggy, checkered pants and heavy boots. His torso, corded with muscle and etched with old scars, was brown with the sun. Thyatis smiled at him as he sat down. Tiny scratches covered most of his body. He rearranged the shortsword and the brace of heavy knives that he favored.

“A beautiful day,” he said, looking up at the swatch of pure blue sky showing between the cliffs. “A pity to be about a dirty business with such nice weather.”

“Yes,” she said, leafing through the papers, “a pleasant holiday. How are the men?”

Nikos grimaced, saying “They’re getting used to riding again. All of that city work took the edge off of everyone, I think.”

Thyatis nodded and the smile was gone from her face. A shadow of doubt crossed it. “Once we are out of these mountains, we’ll be in territory neither friendly nor easy. High desert valleys, rough mountains, clans and tribes hos tile to both the Empire and to Persia. We’ve a long way to go as well. Our first waypoint is to meet with an Imperial agent at the city of Van, on the eastern shore of Lake Thos-pitis. By my reckoning, that lies almost four hundred miles frdm where we now sit.“

Nikos nodded, saying “Three, maybe four weeks, with the wagon and the weather. Half that if we were just on horses.”

“Without the wagon, we’ll just look like what we are-a suspicious group of hard-assed characters that look like they belong in prison with one innocent girl among them.”

Nikos laughed, but he watched her face closely too. The orders, which she had not discussed with him, troubled her. He figured that she counted their chances of getting out of this alive to be very low. Nikos had been in one army or another for almost thirty years, and he had long ago come to terms with sudden death. Each day was only as it was.

He poked at the bread. “You should finish eating that, you’ll need it.”

Thyatis grimaced back at him. “It tastes like dirt. Couldn’t you steal anything fresher?”

“The best kind of bread is free. Are you going to tell me what we’re lollygaging around up here in the high country for, or shall I guess?”

Thyatis did not answer right away. She gathered up the papers and the map and packed them away in the oilskin again. Then she ate the rest of the bread and the cheese. The meat.she tucked into one of the pockets of her shirt. After they had left the last of the valley towns, she had shucked the dress and had Anagathios pack it away with the rest of the actor’s apparel. She had gone back to the dark-burgundy linen shirt and baggy woolen pants that she favored for cooler weather. Not the raiment of a Roman lady-the pants alone would have caused a riot in the Forum-but it wore well on the road. She checked each of the weapons that she was carrying-long dagger on her thigh, short sword in a case sheath on her back.

Nikos sat, patient as a stone, saying nothing.

“All right,” she said at last, after she had unbraided and rebraided her hair. Two small braids now framed her face, glittering red with gold highlights in the sun reflected off of the water. The rest was woven back behind her head.

“At Van we meet this agent, and he makes sure that we get over the mountains into Persia proper. Two hundred miles and a mighty mountain range east of Van is the Persian city of Tauris. It sits like a cork in a bottle at the end of a long valley that runs north toward the Mare Caspium. About a month after we’re supposed to have arrived, all unnoticed, in Tauris, the entire Roman army is supposed to show up at the south end of the valley, below the city. Maybe at the same time, and maybe not, a mothering great host of Khazar horsemen are supposed to show up at the north end of the valley. Now, these barbarians have said that they’ll join up and help beat the living daylights out of the Persians-whom they hate-but unless Tauris is in Roman hands, it’s not going to be easy.”

Nikos held up a hand, then carefully counted the men sleeping on the grass next to the wagon, or cleaning their gear, or standing watch at the ends of the canyon. “Ah, Commander, I count that we have a grand total of fourteen men to hand-including yourself. There is no way that we’re going to capture some Persian fortress in the back of beyond by ourselves.”

Thyatis shook her head. “That’s not what our orders say. They say that we’re to have Tauris secured when the two Emperors arrive.”

“They say how?”

Thyatis gave him a lopsided grin. “That’s to the discretion of the commanding officer.”

Nikos sighed, seeing the delight hiding under his centurion’s tanned features. “I don’t suppose that you read any Greek poets when you were younger?”

“No,” Thyatis said, her face showing a nicker of old pain, “my education came late in life. I learned to read and to write, but no poet suitable for a young lady.“

Nikos cocked his head. Thyatis’ past was an unopened book-though it was hotly discussed in private among the men who served her. “What did you read from?”

Thyatis shook her head and stood up, brushing pine needles and leaves from her pants. “That doesn’t matter now. What poet did you want to quote?”

“Homer,” he said, looking up at her. “Odysseus to Achilles, before Troy, ‘a noble death does not bring victory- only victory brings an end to death.’ ”. t

Thyatis smiled, but it was wintry. “My poet says: ‘when on desperate ground, fight.’ ” gPMQWQHO)‘l(M)M0H0MQMOH()W(M)MQM0M0WQW()HQMQH0MQHQg|