Several mornings later, accompanied by Prudentius whom he had ‘suggested’ might care to join him, Khusro looked down upon Antioch from the wooded slopes of Mount Casius. Fanned by a strong wind blowing onshore from the sea, fires now raged throughout the city, the distant crackle of flames and the crash of falling masonry mingling with a faint hubbub of despairing cries, as the slaughter carried on unchecked.
‘Stop them, Great King!’ cried Prudentius, aghast, his previous complacency destroyed by an object-lesson in the grim realities of war, and now replaced by disbelieving horror. ‘In the name of humanity, I beseech you — put an end to this.’
Khusro shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Even I, the
‘To see Antioch destroyed!’ cried Prudentius in a stricken voice. Choking back a sob, he whispered, ‘It is unbearable.’
‘Courage, friend.’ Khusro placed a reassuring hand on the other’s shoulder. ‘Antioch will rise again. For those who survive this unfortunate event, I shall build a new city on the banks of the Tigris, where they may live in peace and freedom as honoured guests of Persia. Greeks have long been welcome in my realm — an ornament to our society, like those professors from Athens when Justinian closed the Schools.’
When the blood-lust of his soldiers was eventually slaked, Khusro continued his progress through northern Syria, exacting tribute from city after city (all paid promptly, encouraged by the fate of Antioch), returning to Persia in the autumn,* well-pleased with the fruits of his campaign against the Romans. These included promises by Justinian to pay an annual subsidy in gold towards ‘protection’ — ostensibly for both Romans and Persians — against the nomads of the steppes.
Accompanying the mighty host as it headed homewards beside the Euphrates was a long, long train of captives (among them Macedonia) — the survivors of the Sack of Antioch.
* The title of the Shah’s chief minister and plenipotentiary.
** How curiously the wheel of history revolves. All these territories (for Lazica read Georgia, for Mesopotamia, Iraq), for centuries mere pawns in the ‘Great Game’ between powers such as Rome, Persia, Russia, Britain, the Ottoman Empire, and more recently, America, are all now independent nations. (Perhaps, in the case of Iraq, that should be ‘semi-independent’!)
† See Notes.
* See Notes.
** Aleppo.
* Or White Huns. (Gibbon refers to them as Nephthalites.)
* One-who-is-born-beautiful — a complimentary mode of address. (The title was originally bestowed on the priestess supervising certain ancient Greek rites.)
* Of the year 540.
* The same Liberius who, nearly sixty years earlier, had masterminded the division of land in Italy between the Romans and Theoderic’s Ostrogoths — an immensely challenging and delicate task.
TWENTY-TWO
The ground over a wide area being thus waterlogged. . had turned the
whole area into a quagmire. . covered by swarms of gnats and flies
Ammianus Marcellinus (referring to terrain near the western end of
As the booming of the horns signalled the end of that day’s march, the long line of captives shuffled gratefully to a halt. To their left — a ribbon of gold in the late sun — rolled the broad Euphrates, to their right, thanks to the network of irrigation channels, fields of standing crops, bordered in the distance by a line of low and arid hills. Accompanied by Pelagia, a strapping kitchen-maid, and a tough old nun called Sister Agnes, Macedonia joined one of the queues forming at the various distribution points where rations (usually barley or wheaten bread, and dried fish) for the next twenty four hours were being issued.
The three women, who had all lost friends, colleagues, or loved ones in the destruction of their city, had become close companions in the course of the long journey south-east from Syria. They were now in the Persian zone of Mesopotamia, having left Roman soil two days previously after passing the border city of Circesium. Unlike the majority of their fellow captives (who had reacted with relief and gratitude to the news that they were to be given a new home in Persia), the three friends, each for their own personal reasons, had formed a pact to escape from the column and make their way back to Roman territory. Pelagia was betrothed to a young baker in Apamea (one of the cities spared by Khusro after it had paid the ransom price); to Sister Agnes, the thought of breathing sacrilegious air for the remainder of her life was anathema; while Macedonia could not bear to contemplate never seeing again the love of her life, Theodora.
Their plan, based on Macedonia’s knowledge (gained from conversations with suppliers in her previous business) of the terrain they would eventually traverse, was, like all the best schemes, simple. Three hundred miles downstream from their present position, the Euphrates entered a marshy region — a vast area of reed-beds and waterways, which should offer an excellent chance for the trio to slip away undetected. As the captives were neither to be ransomed nor sold into slavery, their value to Khusro was not commercial, rather a measure of his great-heartedness; thus the glory of his soubriquet — Nushirvan, ‘the Just’ — would be augmented. In consequence, the Antiochans were only lightly guarded, more in fact for their own protection against lions* or the occasional band of brigands, than to prevent escape. After entering the marshes, the three would then head back to Roman territory, keeping to the marshland for a time in order to avoid detection, then following the Euphrates upstream back to the Syrian border. For food against the journey, they had regularly saved part of their daily rations; water, thanks to the initial topography and the excellent irrigation systems maintained by the Persians, which they would encounter thereafter, should not be a problem — barring the risk of infection. Pelagia, however, had managed to pilfer a strike-a-light and pannikin; provided they could find dry fuel, they would be able to boil their water.
Twenty days after leaving Circesium, the column reached the marshes, the road here replaced by a broad causeway laid over a foundation of piles and sunken earth. On the morning of the second day’s progress through this fenny area and before the day’s march had begun, the three friends slipped away from the causeway and concealed themselves in a patch of reeds. Soon, roused by the booming of the horns, the column was on its way. Some time after the rearguard had passed out of sight, the three judged it safe to rise and take stock.
Macedonia felt excited, her exhilaration tinged with awe and apprehension. To be free! That was wonderful, yet at the same time challenging. All around stretched a strange and (bar the whine of insects and the croak of frogs) silent world of pools, lagoons, and reeds. Keeping to solid ground where possible, at times forced to wade thigh- or even waist-deep, the trio began to make their way north-west by keeping parallel to the causeway, staying far enough from it, however, to avoid being spotted should any pursuit come looking for them. (Though no roll-call was maintained, a rough count of the captives was made daily at the various stations where rations were issued. If noticed, any escape would be held to lessen the prestige of the Great King; so efforts to recapture any fugitives could be expected to be rigorous.)
Progress through the waterlogged terrain was slow and exhausting — the humidity, August heat, and biting insects adding to the travellers’ discomfort. Around noon, to their inexpressible relief, they came to a deserted village on an artificial island, cunningly created from bundles of reeds rammed one atop the other into the yielding mud. The reed huts had mostly collapsed, but one habitation (a guest-house?) more stoutly built than the rest,
