Harry Turtledove - Justinian

Every now and then, as we traveled east toward Atil, the town in which the khagan kept his court, we would pass a band of Khazars. When I first saw such a band, I marveled that the nomads had not overrun the entire world, for it overspread an enormous area with herds of cattle, sheep, and horses; with men riding round those herds and from one of them to another, and with the felt tents in which dwelt those riders and their women and children.

But there were, as I discovered, surprisingly few of those tents in each band of Khazars, and each band required an enormous stretch of territory on which to pasture the animals by which it lived. Constantly dealing with the herd trains the nomads for martial struggle in a way a farmer's life cannot match: they are ever in the saddle, and accustomed since childhood to riding through gaps in the herds and cutting out groups from among them, tactics they also apply in war. In war, though, their forces, while fierce, are also small, which allows their neighbors to survive.

Barisbakourios and Stephen speaking their language, we were able to ask for food and shelter in the Khazars' tents. The food was of the simplest sort, meat both roasted and sun-dried, curds, and little flat wheatcakes in place of bread, a proper bake oven being too heavy to transport on their constant travels.

For drink, they made a liquor not from grapes as we do or even from barley like the barbarous Sklavenoi, but from the milk of their own mares. To a man used to wine, the stuff is thin and sour, but it has the same virtue as does wine. And when, having drunk to excess in the evening, one wakes the next morning, it makes one regret such overindulgence even more vigorously than does wine.

The Khazars sleep, and expect their guests to sleep, wrapped in furs and carpets on the ground. This gave me no difficulty whatever. As we were leaving a band one morning, an old man- notable because so few of the nomads live to be old- said something to Barisbakourios, who turned to me: "He is surprised, because most travelers he has seen like sleeping softer."

"Tell him that after nine years of a thin pallet on the stone floor of the monastery xenodokheion, I am sleeping softer," I answered with a laugh. Barisbakourios translated that for the old man. He laughed, too, displaying teeth worn down almost to his gums from years of gnawing at leathery strips of dried meat.

As I have said, each Khazar band took up a wide area of the plain. But the spaces between bands were wider yet. Most of the time while we were journeying to Atil, we might have been the only men on the face of the earth. We hunted partridges and pheasants. Myakes proved to be as good with the bow as anyone else in our band, which made him swagger above due measure.

Idid nothing of the sort, Brother Elpidios, and I haven't the slightest idea why Justinian says I did. Just because I managed to put one right into the eye of a partridge two days running, I suppose. Nobody else came close to that, not in all the time we were on the road- not that there was any road, mind you. How could anyone blame me if I let people know about it?

The sin of pride, Brother? Oh, no, not me. What do you mean, why not? Because\a160… That is, because\a160… What does Justinian say next? Maybe it won't be about me.

From Doros to Atil is a journey of upwards of a month, even for men riding steadily, as my companions and I did. In all that time, the landscape changed little. We could have ridden east for another month from Atil, and it would have changed little. Having departed Doros, we could have ridden west rather than east, and the landscape would have changed little. We could also have ridden north; again, it would have changed little. If I harp on the vastness of the plains north of the Black Sea, it is indeed because of the strong impression that vastness left on me.

At last coming to Atil, now, that was a change. The town the Khazars have made for their capital lies close by the northern shore of the Caspian or Hyrcanian Sea, a body of water known to us Romans more in legend than in fact, though, in the Persian wars after the death of the Justinian for whom I am named, one Roman general did reach it by way of the Caucasus, built a small fleet, and ravaged Persian commerce on it.

A great river, the Volga, flows south into the Caspian Sea. Nearing the sea, its stream breaks up into a number of channels, as the Egyptian Nile does in what is called the Delta on account of its shape. Atil straddles one of these channels, the district to the west being larger than that to the east, though less populous. The khagan's residence is in the western part of the town.

Calling Atil a town, now that I think on it, stretches the meaning of the word. In many ways, it more closely resembles the encampments of the Khazar bands in which I had sometimes passed a night on the journey from Doros. Only a few of the dwellings are of timber or of mud brick; far more of the inhabitants dwell in tents like those of their nomadic fellows. These tents, however, do not wander over the plains, the natives making their living for the most part by agriculture. They sow crops for miles around in the rich soil of the Volga Delta, and bring in a good harvest.

But enough of that. On our reaching Atil, Stephen brought us to the khagan's palace, if a building made of clay and sticks may be dignified by such an appellation. Servants in coats and tunics of fine wool took charge of us and led us to Ibouzeros Gliabanos, khagan of the Khazars.

Rather than a throne, the khagan used as his high seat a gilded cart ornamented with a cloth-of-gold canopy, another remembrance, I suppose, of the nomadic life most of the Khazars lead. The khagan's servitors spoke to Barisbakourios, who translated their words into Greek: "We are to prostrate ourselves before the lord of this land."

He and the rest of my companions went to their bellies without hesitation. I remained upright. Ibouzeros Gliabanos spoke. Barisbakourios and Stephen, who understood him, rose; the others soon followed their example. He spoke again, and again Barisbakourios served as interpreter: "He asks why you did not go down."

"He is the khagan of the Khazars. I am the Emperor of the Romans," I answered. I daresay Ibouzeros Gliabanos took that to mean I assumed we were equal in rank. If he did, I did not correct him. In fact, though, I reckoned myself his superior. The only equals Emperors of the Romans have ever acknowledged are the Persian kings and their successor to power on our eastern frontier, the Arabs' miscalled commanders of the faithful. German kings? Barbarous khagans? They have more pretensions than true quality.

Ibouzeros Gliabanos spoke again. Barisbakourios looked relieved. "He says you are a man of spirit. He says you would not have come to him if you were not a man of spirit."

"Tell him I thank him for inviting me to his court," I replied, studying the khagan as I did so. He was younger than I had expected, being not far from my own age. He had a broad, rather swarthy face, black hair, and a thin, straggling black beard. His nose was low and flattish, not much more impressive than the one Auriabedas had restored to me. His eyes, narrow and dark, seemed clever.

He said, "You have endured much to claim the rule still." Henceforth I shall omit mention of Barisbakourios's translations, which sometimes slowed our speech together to a crawl.

"It is mine," I said simply.

He nodded. "You speak as one who rules should speak. And yet\a160…" His voice trailed away. He looked sly. I understood him well enough. I was not the only man to claim the title, and the other sat in Constantinople while I stood here in Atil.

"It is mine," I repeated. "In times gone by, the khagan of the Khazars aided the Emperor of the Romans, Herakleios, who was my great-great-grandfather, against the Persians. We Romans and you Khazars have fought together against the Arabs. We are allies by interest and allies by blood. In fact, is it not so that my great-great-grandfather once sent a portrait of his daughter to the man who was then khagan, offering a marriage alliance?" My opinion at the time was that this spoke more of Herakleios's desperation than anything else, but I hoped Ibouzeros Gliabanos would not see it the same way.