Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

"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 brother-experienced 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, fat-bellied transports and massive galleys. The streets began to fill with dockworkers and draymen. Too, long lines of Western Imperial troops-not 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. "Leader-of-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.

He stopped, hard, when he reached the two Palmyrenes. Odenathus was staring up at him with the face of a dead man, bleached almost white, his eyes stunned. The young man sat down heavily, staring sightlessly at Dwyrin. The Hibernian turned, his mouth half open in surprise, and flinched back from the pure brilliant hatred in Zoe's eyes.

The young woman staggered up, one hand against the wall, the other curled into a claw. "Bastard Roman!" Her voice cut the early dawn stillness like a knife digging into flesh. "Your blessed Empire has destroyed us, every single one of us!"

"What?" Dwyrin managed to blurt before Zoe crossed the space between them and slammed her fist into the side of his head with all her strength. Pain blossomed from his ear, and he staggered back.

"Filth-eating Roman pig!" Another punch slammed into his throat and he rolled, gasping for breath. She pounced on him, fists raining down, cracking against his ribs. He scrambled away, breaking free, and sprang up, his face flushed with anger, his own fists raised. Zoe circled, howling insults at him, her entire body electric with rage. She jumped in and Dwyrin blocked her strike frantically, pushing her away. She spun, kicking at his knee and he barely skipped back in time.

"Irrumator! I will kill you and everyone who looks like you, you… urk!"

Odenathus, tears streaming down his face, tackled his cousin from behind, and they crashed to the cobblestones together.

"Help me!" Odenathus shouted at Dwyrin as Zoe thrashed and squirmed like a marsh eel under him. Dwyrin piled on, trying to pin the woman's legs. There was a flurry of arms and knees and a searing pain as she bit him. Dwyrin managed to push a wad of cloth between her teeth, and then they had her pinned down. Odenathus was gasping for air, barely able to speak for the tears that were dripping from his face.