“Oh,” Ahmet said. “Do you usually get your friends into this much trouble?“

Mohammed laughed aloud at that. “Nay! All of my friends take great joy in my company-all of them say that I am the most interesting of men to be around! Besides, Amr ibn’Adi does not speak Latin or Greek-so you and I will have to translate for him.”

Night in the streets of the city was almost as bright as day. Thousands of lanterns hung from the entrances of the market stalls^and over the doorways of the houses. Torches ornamented the walls that enclosed private gardens. Parties of men, led by link-boys with burning wicks, moved through the streets, slowly converging upon the gates of the Roman camp that lay near the northernmost of the city’s eight gates. The light glowed off low clouds that had gathered over the city in the late afternoon, bringing a cool rain to wash the streets.

Ahmet and Mohammed were among those who approached the gates, in the party of the desert chieftain Amr ibn’Adi. The sheykh was a villainous rogue with long curling mustaches and a salt-and-pepper beard who affected a ragged cloak and hood over his rich garments. His three bodyguards-the most allowed by the governor-held no such flimsy disguise. They were stout men with broad shoulders, plain weatherworn cloaks, and well-used armor and weapons. Mohammed, in turn, was dressed in a subdued red shirt, dark pants, and long cloak of white-and-green stripes. Ahmet, who did not account himself one for fashion, thought that his friend looked rather dashing in the outfit-obviously his best, carried in a small trunk for just such an occasion. Ahmet owned no pretense such as this;

Thomas Harlam he had cleaned his simple white tunic and robe before entering the city. He had his staff and the leather book bag that he habitually wore at his waist. He had tied back his long raven-black hair with two braids and a silver clasp.

The residence of the Roman governor was no more than a fortified Legion camp carved out of the buildings of the northwest corner of the city. Stout wooden and iron gates barred the way into the camp, watched by a band of slightly overweight men in ill-fitting armor. Ibn’Adi’s party was halted by their commander, an elderly man with close-cropped white hair and a scarred face. The retired legionnaire searched them, even Ahmet’s bag and staff, before waving them through into the camp.

Ahmet looked around curiously at the fired brick buildings, arranged in neat rows, with paved streets between them. Though there was every sign of the regular presence of a strong garrison in the city, it was obvious that all of these residences had been carefully closed up, their owners departed. Mohammed was looking around too, with a slightly puzzled look on his face. The broad street that led down the middle of the camp was busy, though, with parties of chieftains and their retainers in a broad array of desert robes, silks, linens, and partially hidden armor.

“Why have all these chiefs come to fight for Rome?” the Egyptian asked as he and Mohammed trailed along after ibn’Adi’s ruffians. “Most seem to be bandits or vagabonds. I thought that the men of the frontier were at odds with the Empire.”

Mohammed nodded, his face creasing in a sharp smile. “Few here love Rome, if any do, my friend. But near every man here knows that Persia is not better and perhaps worse. Under Roman rule, or Roman ‘protection,’ there is law of a sort. Under this King of Kings, this Chrosoes, there is no law. These chiefs are here to protect the rights and usages that they own today. With Rome, the way that things are done has not changed in hundreds of years. If Persia conquers these lands, everything will be different.”

The shuctow of Ararat 3‹si

Ahmet nodded at this, tlien»uid, “Su none of them see an opportunity to better themselves by siding with Persia? To my mind, that would seem a good way to dispose of rivals and make oneself stronger at their expense.“

The Southerner laughed, but softly, for one of the guards with ibn’Adi had turned a little, trying to catch their conversation while they walked into the inner camp. They passed through another vaulted gate, but these walls were of worked stone. Four towering men in mail shirts and boiled-leather pteruges stood in the shadows of the passage. They were red-haired and taller by two hands than any man that passed between them. Longswords were hung at their belts, and they wore many rings and bracelets on their arms. Ahmet returned the steely gaze of the nearest one as he passed. German?, he thought to himself as they entered the governor’s camp.

“The men that have made that calculation, my friend, and have chosen to side with the King of Kings are not at this meeting tonight.- No, they have already ridden north to An-tioch, to join the army of the great Prince Shahin.” Mohammed’s voice was low and clear. He had drifted a little behind Ahmet, though he walked close by.

“These are men who have made themselves and their tribes strong under the tutelage of the Empire. If it is driven out, they will suffer by it. These are the men who have ruined their enemies by naming them traitors, or heretics, or taxless. Chiefs like these, whose families have held power for generations under the eye of Rome, are the creatures of the Empire. They use that patronage to control the best trade routes, and to drive out the smaller clans or break them to their will.”

Ahmet glanced back; Mohammed’s voice was verging into bitter anger. “Do you hate Rome, then? Have these things happened to your family?”

Mohammed blinked, apparently unaware of his tone. “Hate Rome? No, I do not hate the Empire. It is as it is. I hate those that oppress the weak, those that drive out the less favored, but the Empire is like a boulder on a mountainside. If it is urged to motion, it cares not what it crushes in passing. The nature of a boulder is to ignore the things that are insignificant to it. A man like you, or I, is immaterial to the boulder. We are too small to harm it. But I do not love Rome either. How can I? It does not love me.“

Ahead of them, ibn’Adi and his men stopped at the bottom of a set of steps that led up to a broad veranda. Guardsmen stood in the shadows between pools of warm light cast by lanterns hung from iron sconces bolted to the wall. The sheykh turned and motioned to Mohammed, who moved forward and made a small half bow. Ahmet leaned closer as well.

“Remember, my new friends, that I speak none of these barbarian tongues favored by our hosts.” Ibn’Adi’s voice was deep and very strong, like a high wind on the desert. Ahmet could understand him well, though Aramaic was not his best language. “Al’Quraysh, you will speak for me, while your Egyptian friend will translate what others say. Speak softly, priest; I hear well and I know that others of the chieftains will not have this small advantage that the Lord of the Sky has given me. Let us not give away rams for free, eh? Also, keep your weapons handy. There are those who may cause trouble, and if such comes, we must be ready. But do not draw steel unless I command it!”

Mohammed and Ahmet both bowed. The sheykh looked them over, lingering a long time on Mohammed, who assumed a pleasant and inoffensive expression. The old man smiled at last and turned to go inside. As he mounted the steps, he seemed to shrink, one leg seemingly weaker than the other, and he leaned more heavily on his staff. Mohammed caught Ahmet’s eye and winked.

Within the wooden house was a high-vaulted room with wooden beams supporting a roof of slate tiles. Fifty or sixty men had already gathered in the room, where many couches and divans had been arranged in a rough circle. Tables had been pushed back against the walls, clearing this space. At the far end of the room from the door a raised dais stood ith an altar of light-colored stone upon it. Behind it, on wall, was the cast image of a bull in corroded greenish bronze. Two rows of fluted wooden columns ran the length of the room. The old chieftain, rather than pushing forward through the men clustered at the center of the room, moved through the crowd to the right, taking up his position in front of one of the pillars with Mohammed just in front of him and Ahmet to his left. The three guards settled in behind the pillar.