The Shadow of Ararat (69 page)

Zenobia frowned but controlled her temper. "Can you repel the efforts of the Persian
magi
? Can you master them and their powers?"

Aretas smiled, a wintry thing that touched only his lips and did not crawl up to his eyes, which were cold and dispassionate. He opened his right hand, the fingers uncurling like a claw. A dark light spilled from between his fingers, rippling with lightning.

"I think that I will do as honor demands," he said, and banished the glamour. "Rome will prevail this day, I think. The Persians did not expect us to field such strength of men."

A dangerous glitter entered Zenobia's eyes at the mention of Rome, but she let it pass.

"Then, if all do their duty, we shall have victory this day," she said, and saluted the Prince. "Tell your
dekarchoi
to await my signal before they commit to the battle. We must prepare our Persian guests for such a meeting first!"

Aretas inclined his head and stood. Zenobia nodded back and turned her horse and galloped away. From the bluff, as they rode down onto the field, Ahmet could see that the army of the desert cities had managed to reach the plain. The bluff formed the right wing, with Aretas' cavalry
tagma
clustered in a dull red mass at its foot. In front of them, a hundred yards down the slope, the Nabatean infantry
arithmoi
formed a line of blocks of spearmen, archers, and slingers reaching to the west. More cavalry, these lighter armored, trotted past behind the infantry to take up positions at the far right end of the Nabatean line.

Zenobia and her officers, including a pack of Tanukh, rode along the length of the line. Her Bactrian guards, now kitted out in furs and heavy armor, rode in a block around her, their lances socketed into cups at their right stirrups. At the center, two great blocks of infantry—one of the Palmyrenes who had joined them at Emesa under the command of Zenobia's brother Vorodes, and the other formed of the cohorts of the cities of the Decapolis under Akhimos Galerius—were slowly gathering. Zenobia rode past and shouted instructions at Galerius, the commander of the Decapoli
arithmoi
. He waved back at her and then resumed his argument with the commanders of the various bands of city militia.

Behind the gangs of infantry, clad in shields and carrying spears, was a motley collection of mercenary horsemen—the expatriate Persians in full lamellar mail from head to toe and cone-shaped helmets, the Indian knights in bright tabards and glittering chain mail with long bows that stood up their saddles. Another band of Axumite javelin men ran past, down the road, heading for one of the avenues that had been left between the blocks of infantry. Zenobia took up a position on a rise to the left of the road, fifty or sixty yards from the mercenary horse. Ahmet was pleased beyond measure that they had stopped for a moment, for it gave him an opportunity to relax against the constant fear of being thrown from the horse.

Farther to the left of Vorodes' infantry, a great block of Palmyrene knights stood at the ready. Clad in half-armor for the riders and felt barding studded with metal plaques for the horses, the assembled nobles of Palmyra, Damascus, and the other cities of the Decapolis anchored the western, or leftmost, end of the line. Beyond them, the Tanukh light horse was a haze of small bands of riders screening the knights and the flank of the army.

Zenobia stood up in her stirrups and stared out over the battlefield. Unobtrusively Ahmet supported her legs, her thighs firm and strong under his hands.

"That is Shahin's banner, all right, and his usual flock of pretty birds are with him."

The Persian army had drawn up on the near side of the shallow stream in a shallow crescent. From the greenery along the banks at the eastern end of the plain, it seemed that there was a marshy area along the streambed. The Persian line began on the far right with a wedge of medium cavalry. From where he sat astride the stallion, Ahmet could barely make out a thicket of lances strapped to the backs of the riders, their tips gleaming in the morning sun, and dull armor. The horses seemed unarmored, and the men were holding bows at the ready, resting on their pommels.

Next, the center of the Persian line was composed of four blocks of infantry—first a rank of spearmen with wicker and leather shields, then archers, then more spearmen. Though the bands of men were not as precisely ordered as a Roman army, there were sharply defined breaks between each block. Behind the infantry, almost at the ford where the road crossed the stream over a broad wooden bridge, there was a great green tent, and before it, mounted on a shining white horse, was the small figure of the enemy commander. His armor reflected the sun with a golden glow and around him his companions were brightly attired in silks and jewels. Behind him, a great standard with a white wheel on it had been hung from a tall pole. Two parasols shaded the enemy commander, each of green silk.

"They seem better suited for a hunting party and picnic than battle," Ahmet mused.

Zenobia snorted. "At Nisibis, when the Boar smashed the army of the Eastern Empire and opened the road to Antioch, Shahin had command of the right wing—it is said that he and his cronies spent the day in a pleasant feast while ten thousand men died on the field of battle. He is the King of King's cousin, and well beloved of Chrosoes, but he is a poor leader of men. While he holds command, we will win the day."

To the left of the Persian spearmen, there were two large wedges of heavy cavalry—and these men, Ahmet could see, were clad in mail from head to toe, as were many of their horses. Many banners danced in the air above the Persian horse. Finally, a hundred yards in front of the Persian army, many lightly armed archers in kilts and metal caps were deployed in a long line. The black men, the Blemmenye who served Zenobia, had also advanced before the line of the Palmyrene army, and now the air between the two hosts was briefly marked by the sparkle of arrows in flight. A few men fell, but Ahmet could see no great purpose in their action.

"Odd..." Zenobia whistled and one of the Tanukh couriers pushed his horse through the throng of Bactrians deployed around the Queen. He grinned saucily when he pulled his horse alongside Zenobia's.

"Gadimathos, I see no light horsemen to screen the Persian line from our archers. Where are they?"

The Tanukh shrugged easily, his lean brown face wrinkled in a smile. "The Lakhmids are afraid to face the true men, the Tanukh. They refuse to fight."

Zenobia shook her head in dismay. "Go to ibn'Adi and Al'Quraysh and tell them to watch for the Lakhmids. They must be somewhere about—send out scouts to cover the flanks. They may be trying to ride around our line."

The Queen reached back and squeezed Ahmet's leg as the command troop cantered forward. "Worry not, priest, soon the battle will begin in earnest and you'll forget your fear of riding!"

Ahmet held her a little tighter and she laughed, her voice gay. They turned and rode back along the length of the Palmyrene line at a slower pace.

"Why is the absence of these Lakhmids a cause for concern?" Ahmet was confused.

Zenobia frowned again and pointed back to the west, where the Persian knights were lined up. "Without their own horse-archers to protect their heavy cavalrymen, our Tanukh will spend the day shooting at them with arrows. The heavy horse cannot catch these desert raiders, so they'll do nothing but bleed! I had heard that Shahin had employed a tribe of the Lakhmids to provide him with light horse for scouting and such work in battle. Another mistake. If they are not here, that will cost him dearly."

Ahmet nodded.

"What is happening in the unseen world?" she asked suddenly. It took Ahmet a moment to focus; the ether had begun to crackle with invisible forces.

"Aretas is putting forth his strength," Ahmet said, his voice breathy. It was sometimes difficult to breathe and speak and see in the world of the unseen all at the same time. "The Persian
magi
have raised a shield to protect their men from anything we might send against them. He is probing it, seeking weakness or a crevice. The Red Prince is strong!"

Zenobia nodded and looked quizzically out over the battlefield. There was a tang in the air, like before a storm, but the sky was clear and blue. Trumpets rang out, and there was a rattle of drums among the Persian battalions. The Persian center, to her surprise, began to advance at a walk up the slope. Their spears moved in a shining wave, falling forward. She stood in the stirrups again and looked east and west. To the right, on the east, opposite the Nabateans, bands of light infantrymen—wearing no more than woolen kilts and carrying long spears—had run out between the end of the infantry line and the cavalry at the end of the Persian front. These men, too, advanced up the slope toward the Blemmenye skirmishers. Arrows were flying a little thicker now.

To the west, the two wedges of Persian heavy cavalry remained at rest, though their banners and flags were dipping and rising in response to those of the main command group at the bridge. Along the center of the line, the Persian archers began to fire over the line of Palmyrene slingers, ranging for the blocks of infantry behind them. Zenobia considered the movement of forces.

"This is strange," Ahmet whispered from behind her. "The Persian shield is proof against Aretas, even though the air boils with his power and the strength of his priests. And, it advances in concert with their men."

"Why is that strange?" Zenobia said absently. She whistled again and called out to her own officers. "Send the Tanukh against the Persian
cataphracti
and
clibanari
." One of the couriers spurred his horse away and pelted off toward the west. At the same time, two of her banner men raised a dark flag with a white symbol on it and dipped it twice. Soon afterward, the bands of Tanukh on the left coalesced into three big groups and rode off toward the Persian lines at great speed.

Ahmet began to sweat and hum a focusing meditation under his breath. The light shield that he had raised around Zenobia and himself as soon as the word had come in the morning that the Persians were near surged with power in the unseen world, becoming a complex series of geometric lattices around them. The lattices separated, becoming shells of light that counter-rotated around him in dizzying array. The hidden world was afire to his eye. The Persians continued to advance, and the flickering dark shield that protected them advanced as well. Aretas and his priests hammered at it with increasing ferocity, their sendings cutting sizzling tracks through the universe of forms and patterns whose reflected shadows were men and stones and the sky. Ahmet could feel the power drain like a tugging on his sleeve as the Nabateans began leaching the currents under the earth and in the sky to power the cyan bolts they hurled at the dark shield.

"Lady, the Persian sorcerers are very strong. Unless this defense is taxing their full strength, which it may, Aretas will not be able to withstand them if they choose to counterattack."

The strain in Ahmet's voice caught Zenobia's attention and she half turned in the saddle to look at him eye to eye. "What does this mean? Will they be able to defeat my army with magic?"

Suddenly the Nabatean attack ceased, and the boiling fury that had been building to a breaking point faded. The dark shield remained, impenetrable, over the Persian lines.

"No, now they've stopped. I think Aretas has realized that raw strength will not unravel this puzzle. My lady, while each coterie of wizards remains there is a balance on this field—but if one should gain an advantage, there will be a terrible slaughter."

Zenobia nodded fiercely and raised her hand. One of her command banners matched the movement of her arm. Looking down the slope, the Persian center was continuing its advance. The Tanukh had galloped, on the left, to within arrow range of the Persian heavy horse and had begun lofting arrows into the middle of the formation. Zenobia chopped her hand down, and there was a peal of trumpets from her banner men. The war flags slashed the air. Ahmet stared down the Palmyrene line to the right. It began to move.

"Attack!" Zenobia screamed, and she goosed her horse forward. She and her guardsmen trotted east along the length of the line, watching, as the
arithmoi
of infantrymen leveled their long spears and began walking forward, downhill, toward the Persians. Behind her the Decapoli heavy cavalry that had been screened behind the Tanukh horse began walking forward, angling towards the Persian heavy cavalry, which was suffering under the arrow fire. The entire Palmyrene force was in motion. Ahmet stared around him as they rode past the mercenary horse that was mounting up, a shiver of movement across the lines of horses. There was a terrible majesty about it.

Baraz scratched at his ear. The grand brocade hat that he was wearing, along with Shahin's armor—as ill-fitting as it was—was rubbing against his ear. He felt half a fool in the opulent costume, but as long as it served his purpose, he would suffer it. It was hard to move his head, though. The desert tribes were in full advance along the length of their line now, and the courtiers that he had "borrowed" from Shahin were beginning to mutter nervously.

He smiled and nodded to the Luristani guardsmen who had attached themselves to him. The hulking infantrymen edged up behind the pretty birds to make sure that none of them took flight.

The skirmishers who had occupied the space between the two armies scattered back through his lines now, as the advancing Romans closed to within a hundred and fifty yards of the Persian front. He could see, though his angle was not good, that the tribesmen had committed their heavy horse on his right as well, and there seemed to be an advance of infantry on his left.

Baraz nodded to one of his signalmen, and the man raised a black banner with a skewed cross on it. Behind the group of riders, men crouched over great hide drums began to beat a long rolling tattoo. Ahead, the blocks of Persian spear, axe, and swordsmen began to advance up the hill at a walk. Within instants of starting their advance, the clear avenues between the formations disappeared as the men at the edges of the infantry battalions spilled out into the open space to avoid hitting the men in front of them. Baraz grunted.
Just like foot soldiers—no discipline!