Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

Mohammed looked the youth up and down, his beard lighted by a grin. When the army of the companions had left Mekkah, the Quraysh had sent the young rascal and his band of mercenaries to the south, toward the coastal highlands of Yemen. That land had been under the sway of the Sassanids for almost thirty years and there was supposed to be a Persian garrison at the city of San'a. Mohammed had wanted to know if this was still true and if it was, to make sure that the Persians did not meddle in the affairs of the Arabs while he was in the north. After he had scouted the Imperial frontier and divined the lay of the land, then he would deal with them.

"The Persians ran you off, did they? Where did you steal these boats? They're not mine, are they?" Mohammed's eye glinted dangerously. It would be just like the pup to commandeer Bani-Hashim or Quraysh ships from one of the coastal ports to catch up with the army.

"No!" Khalid looked hurt at the implication. "These are spoils of war-and fairly gained, too. We captured them in port at Muza. They were just sitting there, and everyone was so eager to meet you… I decided that you needed a fleet. Here it is!"

Mohammed turned the youth around and gestured at the ships that had come into the harbor. All of them had found a place to tie up, and more men were debarking from each one. The ships seemed to be packed to the railings with men, hobbled camels, bundles of goods, and barrels. "I sent you south with two thousand men-both yours and mine-to scout a position of the enemy. You seem to have come back with rather more than that…"

Khalid clapped the older man on the shoulder, still grinning widely. "Come, let's get in out of the sun and I'll tell you all about it."

Mohammed shook his head-more troubles were sure to come of this. He signaled to Shadin, and the mercenary moved to join them.

"Shadin, incorporate these men immediately. Separate them out, one or two to each qaitaba. All save Khalid's own men-put them with the other muqaddama scouts."

Shadin nodded sharply. They had already gone through all of this before, during the ride north.

– |"…and so I told them that you had foretold a great war, one that would drive the demons from the earth and cast down Rome and Persia both. I told them of your visions and the Light that touched us all at Ka'ba. I tell you, Lord Mohammed, it was like a spark in grain dust-there were four thousand men pledging themselves to the Straight Path before I could blink."

Khalid leaned back on the couch, scratching at his closely cropped beard and smiling at the memory. He, Mohammed, Shadin, Jalal, and Uri were sitting in the upper room of the governor's house. Platters that had held bulgur wheat in paprika sauce and roast lamb and hummus were scattered on a low table between them. The Quraysh was seated at the head of the little gathering, his back to the window, facing the door. Outside, warm night lay on the port and the town, broken only by the lights of watch fires on the crumbling walls and the murmur of men going about their business after dark. Mohammed looked around, gauging the mood of the other men.

Jalal and Shadin were as solid as ever, their weatherworn, scarred faces at rest. The brothers had seen armies come and go, fighting in a hundred wars around the rim of the world. He supposed they had been born in some dusty frontier town-Rome's frontier? Persia's?-it did not matter. They had sworn themselves to him in the ruin of Palmyra and had not left his side since. Jalal looked back, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a hidden smile. The bowman had never been a general before and found that it suited him. Shadin nodded, too. The hulking swordsman would do whatever the situation demanded.

Uri was another matter. The Ben-Sarid had always found Mekkah a hostile place because they lived apart with their own traditions, laws, and God. It must grate upon the proud chief to see his tribesmen subsumed into the Army of the Companions. The lean, dark man had the bearing of a prince. Was Mohammed his king, then? Mohammed lifted his chin in question, catching his boyhood friend's eyes. Uri shrugged and then nodded. Mohammed made a mental note to talk to Uri later, alone, to see what troubled his mind.

The Quraysh turned back to Khalid and nodded slightly himself. The addition of five thousand fresh troops was welcome, even though most of the men who had followed the youth from the south were sailors. Then there was the matter of horses or camels for them-they had brought only a few hundred in their ships. The rest would have to walk. The Lord of the Wasteland had blessed them, though, for the capture of the Persian armory in San'a had netted them a full hundred suits of the lamellar mail favored by the Sassanid knights. The Sahaba now counted nearly eight hundred fully armored horsemen among their number.

"Well met, then, young Al'Walid. We had been waiting for the next merchant convoy to come into the trap, but now that you are here, we will move north."

Mohammed unrolled a map inked on a scroll of parchment. It had been part of the spoils of the governor's house. Spidery lines and crabbed little writing in the Imperial script showed the land between Leuke Kome at the southern end of the map all the way to the highlands of Nabatea and beyond, up into the Decapolis on the east and Judaea on the west. Mohammed traced a line overland from the port along the narrow arm of the sea that ran up to Aelana. "Our first march must be to follow the garrison road to the Roman port of Aelana, here at the southern end of Wadi Arabah. My intent is this, to make a strong raid into the Nabatean heartland, here beyond their capital at Petra, and see what forces have returned to the area."

He looked up, his face grim. The singing voice that had first come to him on the mountaintop urged him to all speed, but he knew that he had to temper that with caution. He did not have an army of jinn at his disposal.

"All of the Imperial Legions were stripped out of the entire Judean coast last year and sent into the far north to fight the Persians. The armies of Nabatea, Palmyra, and the cities of the Decapolis were smashed at Emesa and then ground to bits in the siege of Palmyra. If luck holds, there will be little to prevent us from ranging far and wide, unhindered."

Jalal raised an eyebrow, his own eyes straying over the map.

"And our destination, Lord Mohammed? We can strike as we please with this force, but the changes you have made and the training we undertake at your direction-these things indicate that you have more in mind than a simple raid."

Mohammed smiled grimly. If the singing voice in his mind did not fill him with surety, he would have turned aside from his course as a sure road to death and bleached bones beside some desert road.

"Our first destination is here." His forefinger marked the distance from the symbol that represented Petra to the north and east, to a square marked in red squatting at the center of the Decapolis. "The great Legion encampment at Lejjun. If memory serves, there is a great armory there and, more to my liking, a store of heavy siege equipment: rams, disassembled towers, ballistae, all kinds of artillery. Enough for two full Legions."

The Arab generals raised their heads at this. The use of such equipment was known to all of them, but it was not the way of the tribes to spend effort against the walls of cities and fortresses. That was Rome's game, and its great strength. The desert peoples came and went like the wind, taking what they would and then retiring in the face of the plodding Legion. A siege? That was not in their blood.

"What city?" Khalid leaned forward, his face filled with eagerness.

"You will see," Mohammed muttered, looking down at the map. It was a long way to go to reach the great Legion camp, and anything could happen between here and there. "But there is little time…"