The Gate of Fire (60 page)

Mohammed raised a hand, stopping the merchant from continuing, and shook his head. "There is no quarrel between our
people
, noble Licinus. But I have a dispute with the Emperor of the East, this one called Heraclius. He has done great evil, and I will call him to account for it before the great and merciful God. I see the question in your eyes. I have taken this town into my hand because it furthers the will of the Merciful and Compassionate One. No one will be taken slave or murdered while I command."

The merchant's face was a carefully controlled mask, but Mohammed had stood across the bargaining table from too many men like this one. Each word was being weighed and considered while an agile mind tried to piece together a fabric that bore a recognizable pattern. "You have not answered my question, noble Licinus. Has trade from the north ceased?"

The Roman nodded sharply, having come to some conclusion in his own mind. "Yes, Lord Mohammed. The last two caravans that we expected from Petra have failed to arrive, while ships have continued to come in from the south. The town sent a party out to the north a week ago, attempting to find out what had transpired. Do you know?"

Mohammed shook his head and turned away, lost in thought. The Sahaba took the Roman by the upper arms and marched him back into the
taverna
. Jalal stood waiting, now joined by the blocky shape of Shadin and the leaner more elegant figure of Ben-Sarid. Mohammed nodded to them, his mind turning over the meanings of the merchant's report. "Jalal, send scouts out to the north and east," he said. "Find out if the way to Aelana and Petra is clear or not. We must know, and quickly, if we are to make our way past Wadi Rum before full summer is upon us. Find the missing caravans, if you can. Shadin—quarter the town and bring me every merchant you can find. I will want to speak with each in turn. Round up all of the horses, mules, donkeys, and camels that you can find as well. This is our last opportunity to outfit our men before we enter the Empire. Do not waste it. The Lord of the Wasteland loves a well-prepared man."

The two Tanukh nodded and moved away through the loitering crowd of Sahaba, gathering up their lieutenants and subcaptains in their wake. The Ben-Sarid raised a thin, elegant eyebrow and leaned forward on his spear. Mohammed clapped him on the shoulder, inclining his head.

"And you, my friend, I need you to find me guides—both men who know the way from here to Nabatea and those who have been into the Empire before... we will need to move quickly. Apportion these men among the
qatiba
so that each squadron has a guide of their own. Go among the townspeople as well and find those who can work metal or stone. We will need engineers where we are going. Sailors, too."

Uri nodded sharply, his dark eyes sharp with appreciation. The army of the Sahaba would not be a motley horde of desert bandits once it reached the Roman border.

Five days on the road from Mekkah, after his evening devotions, Mohammed had been walking among the campfires of his army when he had heard the ring of steel on steel and harsh shouts of rage. Even his Tanukh guards had been surprised by the speed he showed, sprinting among the tents and into the middle of a knot of struggling men.

"This is not the righteous path," Mohammed had shouted, clouting one of the two men locked in a death embrace on the side of the head with his pommel. The man went down hard, sprawling on the sandy ground. "We are brothers here, and brothers do not raise a hand in anger against one another!"

The other man, shouting in rage, tried to shove Mohammed aside. He was an al'Taif tribesman, his face marked by ritual scarring and lines of ink driven into his flesh with needles. The Quraysh chieftain shrugged aside the man's hand and cracked him in the face with his fist. The al'Taif warrior staggered, turning and seeing Mohammed for the first time. The man's eyes widened, making out the simple robe and the bristly black beard. Then the Tanukh were there, forcing themselves into the crowd.

"All those who ride under my banner are brothers." Mohammed raised his voice, letting it carry over the heads of the men at the campfire and beyond. The noise and commotion had drawn many from the other tents. "Why did these men fight?"

There was a moment of silence, and Mohammed saw that there were two groups: more al'Taif and some of the Ben-Sarid.
So
, he thought, a
clan feud
. He considering unleashing his anger upon them, but then a thought occurred, and he put the blazing rage away. "The al'Taif was insulted by the Ben-Sarid?" He motioned to the Tanukh to clear a space around the fire, which was still burning merrily. "There was old blood between them? A matter of a cousin's uncle, killed in a night raid a generation ago?" He stopped in front of the al'Taif that he had struck. The man's nose was bleeding, matting his beard. "Had you seen this Ben-Sarid before today?"

The man refused to meet his eyes. Mohammed nodded, his face marked by disgust. "Alone of all men in the world, you are Sahaba, you are my companions. You put behind you the race or a clan or a tribe of your birth when you joined me. Each day you bow down before the Great and Merciful God, submitting yourselves to His will, as is right. In the eyes of the Lord of the Heavens, you are all equals. There will be no matter of grudges or revenge in this brotherhood. Our enemy is terrible and strong, grown fat with hate and sin and fear. If we are to throw him down, we must be as one—a single hand striking a furious blow."

Mohammed turned, leaving the harsh words hanging in the air, and stalked off into the night.

The next day, each man in his army was assigned to a squadron or
qatiba
by lot, without regard for clan or nation. Henceforth, each man would eat, drink, ride, and sleep only with his
qatiba
-brothers. The Tanukh, Quraysh, and Ben-Sarid troopers—by necessity—were parceled out as officers and commanders. Jalal was placed in command of the left wing of the army, what Mohammed termed the
maisarah
and Shadin the right or
maimanah
. Had the brash youth Khalid been with them, Mohammed would have set him to command the scouts, foragers, and outriders. Instead, he placed Ben-Sarid in command of the
muqaddama
. For himself he retained command of the core of heavy armored cavalry, the
qalb
. So ordered, the army continued riding north through the harsh land.

The house of the governor of the port was a simple two-story affair, set back from the shore a hundred feet or so. Mohammed stood on the roof of plaster and mud over interleaved timbers. At some time in the past the governor's wife had erected a sunshade of striped linen held up on wooden poles. Today it was welcome, for the heat of summer was beginning to make itself felt. The sun was a brassy disk in a pale white sky, and even the waves of the sea seemed flattened and subdued. Sahaba messengers squatted in the shade, waiting for Mohammed's word. His bodyguards were downstairs, sleeping in the cool recesses of the house's common room and
triniculum
.

Mohammed shaded his eyes, peering out to sea. Bright-colored triangles in red, blue, and green could be made out on the horizon. A fleet was coming up from the south, making slow headway with the mild wind. Within the day the ships would make landfall in the port, carrying unknown cargoes and news from Yemen or San'a or India. Ben-Sarid's outriders had seen them first, down the coast, and had hurried back with the news. Mohammed was unsure as to whether he considered this a good omen or not. The loot of the port was in hand, most of it already packed onto mules and camels. He had little drayage for more, though he could be supremely lucky and find that a shipload of Indian water-steel blades was about to fall into his hand.

He doubted it, though. Most likely it would be more pepper and cotton and bolts of raw silk. He scratched his beard in thought, wondering if there was anything else that it could be.

Bah! Shadin's men are in place. They know the plan. We shall just see what we shall see.

The new war banner, a triangular pennant of green cloth with a crescent moon and a white saber marked on it, flapped slowly in a desultory breeze. Mohammed looked at it as he turned to go downstairs, shaking his head in amusement. Jalal had been quite proud of it when a contingent of the men presented it to Mohammed the day before they had attacked the port.

"A crescent moon?" Mohammed had not liked the symbol. It reminded him of the statue-crowded temples that infested the cities of northern Syria. "What does that mean?"

Jalal had grinned and stroked his curly salt-and-pepper beard. "It is the moon that watched us go forth from Mekkah, my lord. You say that the merciful and compassionate one watches us always; well—he watched us from the moon that night."

A sixty-foot coaster, lateen-rigged and showing a high prow and stern, drifted close to the stone quay. The ship was painted with cracking light blue paint and ornamented with yellow and black eyes facing forward. Sailors in turbans and loincloths leaned on the railing, long poles in their hands. A pair of long sweeps, driven by the hollow beat of a drum, had edged the ship into the harbor. A dozen more merchantmen just like it were also crowding into the bay. Two of Shadin's men were on the pier, reaching for the first rope to be thrown from the ship.

Mohammed stood in shadow, just inside the open double doors of the warehouse at the end of the pier. The building had been emptied out and was now filled with his men. The small Imperial garrison had been overwhelmed in the initial attack—many of them had still been in bed, sleeping off a night of drinking—when the Sahaba had swarmed over the walls and through the southern gate of the town. The legionaries were now living on bread and water in the basement of the governor's house and their
lorica segmentata
were providing a brace of Mohammed's men with badly needed armor. The Quraysh did not think he would need men armored from head to toe in
spangenhelm
-style helmets and full armor for today's work, but it never paid to underestimate one's enemy, even unsuspecting sailors and merchants at the end of a long haul up from the ports of Aden and Abyssinia. Most, like the crews of the
dhows
that were coming into the harbor, would be more interested in drink and food and women than girding their loins for war.

The coaster bumped against the quay and settled. Shadin's men tied the ship off to the stone buttresses that served as mooring poles. On the ship, the sailors clustered on the central deck, and a long plank walkway appeared. It dipped in the air and then fell, rattling, to the stone pier. A man dressed in a flamboyant orange hat shaped like an inflated octopus with tassels coming off it strode down the springy walkway. When he reached the shore, he fell onto his knees and kissed the earth. Behind him a crowd of men were piling off the ship, their legs wobbling. Some of them had spears.

Mohammed hissed, and the Sahaba in the warehouse tensed. There was a faint rattle of metal on metal as men drew their swords or put arrow to string on their bows. At Mohammed's side, Shadin was whispering quick orders to his runners. Two boys slipped through the press of men in the dark warehouse.

"Bowmen, front." Shadin's growl seemed loud in the enclosed space, but Mohammed knew that no one outside could hear. "Make ready to charge."

On the quay, men continued to pour off the boat. Another coaster had tied up at the next pier to the south, and more men were debarking. They had swords, spears, and bows as well. Mohammed felt a sick queasiness in his stomach. An army was debarking on the docks, and he had only Shadin's
maimanah
to face them. Jalal, the heavy cavalry, and the scouts were all up in the hills behind the town, learning to fight in formation. The Quraysh clapped Shadin on the shoulder and moved up to the edge of the door. The armed men on the dock were moving forward carefully, their spears a thicket in front of them. The captain in his ebullient hat was at their head, looking about carefully. The town remained sleepily quiet, dozing in the sun.

Mohammed squinted at the bright light. The fellow in the hat seemed to be peering back at him.

"Hello? Is anyone around?" The voice sounded familiar, but it was out of context here.

Mohammed grunted in surprise as the sea captain took off the orange bladder and wiped sweat from a high and noble brow. The Quraysh stepped out of the warehouse and slid his saber back into its sheath with a
ting
of metal on metal. The sea captain and his men started with surprise to see the figure appear before them.

"Are you lost?" Mohammed's voice rang off the storefronts and stone walls of the harbor. "This is not Yemen and San'a! You will have to turn around and go the other way." He raised his hand and pointed south.

The sea captain laughed in surprise, showing bright white teeth and a neatly trimmed black beard. He swept the fantastical hat into a flourish and bowed, going down on one knee. Some of his men knelt as well, though others were looking around in suspicion, their faces clouded with uncertainty. Mohammed strode forward, and the warehouse at his back suddenly vomited armed men. The men on the quay backed up hurriedly, taken aback by the appearance of grim-looking Sahaba.

"I am not lost," declared Khalid Al'Walid in a loud voice as he tossed the hat into the water. "I am returned from the south, from San'a and Yemen! Just a little early, is all."

Mohammed looked the youth up and down, his beard lighted by a grin. When the army of the companions had left Mekkah, the Quraysh had sent the young rascal and his band of mercenaries to the south, toward the coastal highlands of Yemen. That land had been under the sway of the Sassanids for almost thirty years and there was supposed to be a Persian garrison at the city of San'a. Mohammed had wanted to know if this was still true and if it was, to make sure that the Persians did not meddle in the affairs of the Arabs while he was in the north. After he had scouted the Imperial frontier and divined the lay of the land, then he would deal with them.

"The Persians ran you off, did they? Where did you steal these boats? They're not mine, are they?" Mohammed's eye glinted dangerously. It would be just like the pup to commandeer Bani-Hashim or Quraysh ships from one of the coastal ports to catch up with the army.