by veiled hints about the possibility of troops being available for other purposes. As he and his party clattered off towards the eastern gate, Ballista considered why Emesa had become a hotbed of revolt. For centuries, if it existed at all, it had not troubled history. Now, in just over a generation, it had produced a series of imperial pretenders. First had come the perverted youth who was widely known by his god's name, Elagabalus (he had been despatched, shoved in a sewer in Rome in the year in which Ballista was born). Then, a few years ago, there was lotapianus (decapitated), and only last year Uranius Antoninus, who had been dragged in chains to the imperial court.
It might be money. The ever-increasing demand of the Romans for luxury goods had vastly increased trade from the east. Emesa was on the best trade route: India to the Persian Gulf, up the Euphrates to Arete, across the desert via Palmyra to Emesa and on to the west. It might be chance. A woman from the family of the priest-kings had married a senator called Septimius Severus, and he had later, quite unexpectedly, become emperor. Her sons had inherited the throne. Once a town has produced a couple of emperors, it feels it should produce more. It might be Roman failings. When Rome could not protect her from the Persians, the rich, confident, god-loved town of Emesa had to look to her own salvation.
The pretenders were all from different branches of the same family of priest-kings. You could see why the emperors had chosen to elevate this Sampsigeramus to the throne of Emesa. Surely if anyone in this extended family of turbulent priests would cause no trouble it was this ineffectual, mincing little man? But now he seemed to be acting true to his line: in these troubled times Emesa could not spare any men to defend Arete, a town far away and probably already doomed – but the brave men of Emesa would always answer Elagabalus's call in a just cause with a hope of success. There had been vague but not very veiled implications of revolution in the god's message to Ballista- 'the ordered world will become disordered… a dark-skinned reptile… raging against the Romans… a sideways-walking goat' – probably treasonous, although the obscurity of the prophetic language might make that hard to prove.
The reptile was, presumably, the Persian king. Was the goat meant to be Ballista himself? They could have come up with a rather more impressive animal, say a lion or a boar. It mattered little. He would write to the emperors with his suspicions. Despite Sampsigeramus's insinuations, Ballista doubted they would think him already implicated.
Allfather knew what sort of chaos they would find at the Palmyrene Gate. Yesterday, Ballista had agreed to a caravan owned by a merchant from Arete travelling with them. Turpio had strongly urged it. The merchant, larhai, was one of the leading men of Arete. It would be unwise to offend him. While it might avoid offence (had that bastard Turpio taken a bribe?), it would almost certainly cause confusion and delay, with camels, horses and civilians wandering all over the road.
The sky was a delicate pink. The few clouds were lit from underneath by the rising sun. Mamurra was standing in the middle of the road, waiting.
'How is it looking, Praefectus?'
'Good, Dominus. We are ready to march.' Mamurra had the air of wanting to say more. Ballista waited, nothing happened.
'What is it, Praefectus?'
'It is the caravan, Dominus.' Mamurra appeared troubled. 'They are not merchants. They are soldiers.'
'From what unit?'
'They are not from a unit. They are mercenaries – part of the private army of this man larhai.' Mamurra's almost square face looked baffled. 'Turpio… he said he would explain.'
Surprisingly, Turpio looked, if anything, slightly less defensive than usual. There was even the hint of a smile. 'It is quite legal,' he said. 'All the governors of Syria have allowed it. The great men of Arete owe their position to protecting caravans across the deserts. They hire mercenaries.' It was unlikely that the man was telling a straightforward lie.
'I have never heard of this, or anything like it,' said Ballista.
'It happens in Palmyra as well. It is part of what makes these two cities so different from anywhere else.' Turpio smiled openly. 'I am sure that larhai will explain more eloquently how it all works. He is waiting to meet you at the head of the column. I persuaded Mamurra it would be best if larhai's men led the way; they know the desert roads.'
Turpio and Mamurra mounted and fell in on either side of Ballista. With his bodyguard and secretary just behind, he set off at a loose canter. The white draco whipped above their heads. Ballista was bloody furious.
As they passed, men from Cohors XX called out the sort of well-omened things that one says before setting out on a journey. Ballista was too angry to do more than force a smile and wave.
The mercenaries were silent. Out of the corner of his eye the northerner inspected them. There were a lot; all mounted, drawn up in columns of twos, probably the best part of a hundred in all. There had been no attempt by authority to impose uniformity on them. Their clothes were of different colours, the colours faded by the sun. Some had helmets, pointed eastern or Roman ones, some none. Practicality had imposed uniformity in some things. They all wore eastern costume suitable for the deep desert: low boots, loose trousers and tunics, voluminous cloaks. They all had a long sword on a baldric, and a bowcase, quiver and spear strapped to their saddle. They looked disciplined. They looked tough. 'Marvellous, bloody marvellous, outnumbered by mercenaries we know nothing about. Bastards who are every bit as well kitted out and organized as we are,' muttered Ballista to himself.
One man waited at the head of the column. There was nothing showy about him or his mount, but it was obvious that he was in charge.
'You are larhai?'
'Yes.' He spoke quietly, in a voice that was used to being heard the length of a camel train.
'I was told that you were a merchant.'
'You were misinformed. I am a synodiarch, a protector of caravans.' The man's face backed up his words. It was deeply lined, the skin coarse, blasted by the sand. The right cheekbone and nose had been broken. There was a white scar on the left of the forehead.
'Then where is the caravan that your hundred men protect?' Ballista looked round, as much to check that none of the mercenaries was moving as for rhetorical effect.
'This was not a journey to help the merchants. It was to fulfil a vow to the sun god.'
'You have seen Sampsigeramus?'
'I came to see the god.' larhai remained expressionless. 'Sampsigeramus is why I needed the hundred men.'
Ballista did not trust Iarhai one inch. But there was something about his manner which was appealing, and mistrusting the prancing priest-king struck Ballista as a good thing. larhai smiled, a not altogether reassuring thing. 'A lot of you westerners find it hard to believe that the empire allows the nobles of Arete and Palmyra to command troops. But let me prove that it is so.'
At a gesture, one of the riders moved forward, holding a leather document case. It took Ballista a moment to realize that it was a girl, a beautiful girl dressed as a man, riding astride. She had very dark eyes. Black hair escaped from under her cap. She hesitated, holding the case out.
They are not sure if a northern barbarian can read, thought Ballista. He pushed aside his irritation (Allfather knew he had practice). It could be useful if they believed he could not. 'My secretary will tell us what they are.'
As she leant across to hand the case to Demetrius, her tunic pulled tight across her breasts. They were bigger than Julia's. She looked more rounded in general, a touch shorter. But fit from riding.
'They are letters thanking larhai for guarding caravans, from various governors of Syria and some from emperors – Philip, Decius, others – Iarhai is sometimes referred to as strategos, general.'
'I must apologize, Strategos. As you say, we westerners do not expect such a thing.' Ballista held out his right hand. Iarhai shook it.
'Do not mention it, Dominus.'
It was not just the girl that had made Ballista decide that he would ride with larhai in the lead; it was Turpio's discomfort in his presence.
The white draco of Ballista and the elaborate flag of larhai, a semicircle with streamers, a red scorpion on a
