The discussion continued for a little while and then Sahul excused himself. Thyatis blinked when he was gone. The oldest brother moved like a ghost. Dahvos yawned hugely and made a show of leaving, but dallied for at least ten grains before Jusuf pushed him out the tent. The middle brother bowed as he closed up the door. Thyatis sat alone in the dimness, feeling the quiet close around her. The tent had been a gift of Sahul’s on the first night she had spent with the Bulgars in the valley of Tauris. The nomad never said anything, even in the guttural language of the steppes, but his meaning was clear-if a woman traveled with them, then she would be treated well.

Thyatis was in no mood to dispute him. The trip from Ararat had been grueling without a companion to watch her back. Sleeping again among men who could stand watch in the darkness was a relief, though she never slept deeply. A wind began to pick up outside, blowing from the east before the rising, still invisible sun. Thyatis snuffed the candle out and lay down, her head on a rolled blanket. The Bulgars amused her; for scouts in hostile land, they carried an inordinate amount of baggage. Still, they were the finest woodsmen and trackers she had ever met. Even better than Nikos or the Sarmatians.

Thinking of her men, particularly of Nikos’ broad brown face, tore at her self-control. She wanted to mourn them, but there was no time and these strangers might not understand her grief, or take it wrongly. With an effort, she turned her thoughts from the dead and back to the efforts of the days to come.

She had almost fallen asleep when a light scratching came at the tent flap. She opened one eye and peered up at the little circle of stars she could see above. Night was almost done. Sighing, she whispered “enter” to the darkness.

Jusuf slid into the tent, a lean dark shape against the wall of felt. Thyatis felt sleepy surprise; she had been almost certain that it would be Dahvqs that came calling first.

“Your pardon,” he said, in better Greek than his younger brother had, “I wanted to talk to you.” His voice was a deep timbre, reminding Thyatis of dim forest and massive trees. He sat, cross-legged, next to the door. She sat up quietly and waited for him to speak.

“Sahul and I have discussed you, and…”

Thyatis covered her mouth in embarrassment; she had not intended to laugh.

“Sahul speaks?” she said, her voice bubbling with amusement. She felt Jusuf smile in the darkness. Her heart warmed a little for him, he seemed so humorless most of the time.

“Yes,” Jusuf said judiciously, “on occasion. When he feels that it is warranted. Also, sometimes he sings, but only upon important days, or festivals. He has a beautiful voice.”

“Go on,” Thyatis said, “I need some sleep before we move on in the morning.”

“Even so. Again, I apologize for the intrusion, but Sahul and I are concerned. You come out of the woods like Diana, hunting, with death in your face. You say that you are Roman and that you are oathbound to enter this city, Tauris, and prepare for the coming of your Emperor. You say nothing of how you came here. Dahvos, who by tradition commands this band, is smitten with you and follows you like a boy after his first woman. We are here to offer him counsel and advice, so that he might learn from our experience. Yet he does not command now, you lead us. We wonder, Sahul and I, whether you came alone and where might your own men be.”

“Dead,” Thyatis said with a dull voice. “Killed by the

Persians on the shores of the great lake or lost on the road since then. Only I escaped-their sacrifice bought me that much, at least.“

“I feared so,” Jusuf said. In the darkness, Thyatis sensed that he made some gesture, but she could not see what it was. “Sahul would say that a raven rides on your shoulder, carrying the smell of death. We see that you wear command like an old cloak. Know this, O Roman lady, that we will follow you while Dahvos follows you-he is the bagatur- but should he die or have a change of heart, then we will take our own counsel.”

“You think that I will bring your deaths?”

“Roman lady, I know that you bring my death. I care for Sahul and the others. Do not spend them needlessly to feed your grief.”

With that, Jusuf rose and crawled out of the tent, leaving Thyatis alone again. Weariness overcame her and she slept.

Thyatis shaded her eyes, her gloved hands cutting the light of the late-afternoon sun. Across the blue-green of the river, the walls of Tauris rose like sandstone cliffs. Banners of gold and red fluttered over the parapet in the northerly breeze. She and the Bulgars were crouched on a sandy bluff west of the river in a stand of larches and hazel. Jusuf and one of the others had gone down to the river to scout the banks. While they waited, Thyatis was counting the men on the walls and the horses in the encampments under the city walls.

Sahul touched her shoulder and she turned in time to see Jusuf push his way through the screen of trees. He shoved a short brown man in front of him. Sahul took a step into the direct line between Thyatis and the stranger. Jusuf pushed the brown man down to his knees, and then knelt himself. He was winded and sporting a bruise on his cheek.

“Trouble?” Thyatis asked quietly, looking the captive over.

Jusuf shook his head, “I was down by the bank, in the high reeds, and I saw a banda of Iron Hats bathing in one of the streams that empty into the river. I swung around upwind of them, which was upstream, and found this fine fellow taking a piss in the water. So I convinced him to come along to see you.“

Thyatis grinned. The stranger was looking around, sizing up the green and brown men among the trees, their manner and their weapons. He was short, just four feet tall, with curly dark-brown hair. His beard was short and neatly trimmed, and he wore a baggy gray shirt with stitching at the collar and the cuffs. His boots were very well made but scuffed with long use. Dark-red woolen pants completed his outfit. Jusuf laid a bag, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and two daggers against the nearest tree. Thyatis smiled at the stranger, but he answered only with a scowl.

“You speak Greek?” she ventured. “Latin? Aramaic?”

Their captive looked around again and then crossed his legs and sat down rather than kneeling.

“I speak little Greek,” he said in a very bad accent.

“I am Thyatis,” she said, taking a way-loaf out of her bag and breaking it. She placed one-half of the thick biscuit in front of him and bit off an edge herself. “1 greet you in peace and offer you the hospitality of my house.” She pulled the wax plug from the mouth of her wineskin with her teeth and drank a swallow before offering it to him.

The man stared at the biscuit on the ground, at her, and again at the Bulgars, most of whom had disappeared back into the brush while Thyatis was speaking. Gingerly he picked up the biscuit and bit a piece off. He chewed it, made a face, and took the wine. He drank a long draft from the skin, squeezing the bottom to squirt it into his mouth from a distance. Done, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and belched loudiy. Thyatis finished her biscuit. It tasted awful.

“I am Bagratuni,” said the brown man. “I accept your hospitality.”

“Welcome, Bagratuni,” Thyatis said. “Do you like the Persians?” She pointed across the river at the walls of the city.

The man laughed, a short, sharp, barking sound.

“I piss on the lowlanders,” he said, making a gesture that Thyatis assumed was obscene. “Do you come to fight them?” He pointed at Jusuf’s sword and bow, then at her own.

Thyatis looked at him and cocked her head to one side. She had a feeling about this little man, but how much to trust him?

“We hunt the lowlanders,” she said, indicating herself and the invisible Bulgars. “They make fine sport. Can you help us hunt them? Have you been inside the city?”