Fire in the East

XVII

'Nobody knows what the late evening may have in store,' Bathshiba said. She was laughing. Her eyes were very black.

How the hell did you get in here? Ballista was thinking. Obviously Demetrius was not near by. The young Greek disliked Bathshiba. He would have done all that he could to keep her away from his kyrios.But Maximus and Calgacus were definitely in the living quarters, through which she would have had to pass to reach the terrace of the palace. Ballista had no doubts about what had been in their minds when they let her through.

She walked across the terrace towards him. She was dressed as one of her father's mercenaries, but the tunic and trousers, the boots, the sword on her hip, did little to conceal that she was a woman. Ballista found himself watching the movement of her breasts, the roll of her hips. She stopped in front of him, just out of reach. Ballista felt a hollowness in his chest.

'Does your father know you are here?' As he spoke the words sounded ridiculous to Ballista.

Bathshiba laughed. 'He is part of the reason that I am here. But no, he does not know that I am here.'

'You did not cross town alone?' Ballista thought of what he had seen as he walked to the palace. By now, hours later, the whole town would resemble a wild Dionysian orgy. The celebrating soldiers would have no more trouble than Ballista in seeing through Bathshiba's disguise. Many among them would have fewer qualms than the northerner in stripping that disguise from her. Ballista did not doubt that she could use the sword on her hip, but against a gang it would do her little good. Her resistance, the edge of danger, would only increase their pleasure in taking her.

'No. I'm not a fool. There are two well-armed men waiting in the great courtyard. By now they will be drinking in the guardroom.'

'And is one of them again your father's faithful captain Haddudad with his sharp sword?'

She smiled. 'No, I thought it better to bring others this time. Men whose discretion I think I can trust.'

Ballista stared at her. He could think of nothing to say.

Bathshiba took off her cap. As she shook out her long, tumbling black hair, her breasts swayed, heavy, full, inviting. 'Are you not going to offer a girl who is risking her reputation so much as a drink?'

'I am sorry. Of course. I will get Calgacus to bring some more wine.'

'Is that necessary?' She stepped round Ballista, just out of arm's reach, and picked up his cup from the wall. 'Do you mind?' She lifted the cup to her lips and drank.

'Why are you here?' He knew that his behaviour was awkward, even unwelcoming. He was unsure what he wanted, what he would do.

'As I said, in part because of my father. He did not go to the walls today. He stayed in the house, locked in his private rooms. I think he was praying. He has not been himself for some time. In part I am here to apologize.' She took another drink.

'There is no need. One more man would never have made a difference. He left his men in the hands of Haddudad. He is capable.'

She poured what remained in the jug and handed the cup to Ballista. He took it and drank. She was closer now. He could smell her perfume, her skin. Her long hair curled black round the olive skin of her neck, down over her tunic, over the swell of her breasts. 'Your soldiers know how to celebrate a victory. Do you?' She looked up at him. Her eyes were very black, knowing, full of promise. He said nothing. He did not move. 'Tell me, do you think that Shapur and his nobles would have restrained themselves had they taken the town?'

'I doubt it.' His voice was thick.

'Should the saviour of a town enjoy the same rights as a conqueror?'

Allfather, Ballista thought, if ever a woman has offered herself to me this is it. He was breathing hard. Her scent was strong in his nostrils. He could feel himself starting to get an erection. He wanted her. He wanted to rip the neck of that tunic, to expose her breasts. He wanted to pull down those trousers, lift her up on to the low wall, spread her legs and enter her. He wanted to take her there and then, her bottom on the wall, him standing in front of her, thrusting into her.

He did not move. Something stopped him. The fierce, smothering morality of his northern upbringing, the thought of his wife, the superstition that had grown in him about infidelity and battle – he did not know what, but something stopped him. He did not move.

Bathshiba stepped back offended. Her eyes were hard and angry. 'You fool. You may know how to defend a town, but I doubt that you could take one.' She swept up her cap, turned and walked furiously back across the terrace.

For a time after Bathshiba left Ballista stood by the wall. His desire slipped away and he was left with a feeling of frustration and an ill-defined sense of foreboding. The cup was still in his hand. He finished the wine.

At length he walked back into the palace. He called for Maximus. The Hibernian came clattering down the stairs from the flat roof.

'What were you doing up there?'

'I do not know to be sure. Certain, I was not spying on you. As always these days, fuck all to see there. I was just looking around. Sure, I cannot put my finger on it, but something is not right.'

'For once I know what you mean. Fetch a cloak. Tell Calgacus we are going out. We will walk the defences.'

The orders of the Dux Ripae had been obeyed to the letter. All along the wall walks and at every tower were twice the usual number of sentries. Blue warning lanterns hung ready on every tower. Looking mulish, the sentries paced slowly or leant against the parapets feeling resentful at their enforced sobriety and envious of their fellow soldiers' celebrations. From within the town came the noise of the celebrations: bursts of laughter, indecipherable shouts, girls' squeals, the sounds of running feet and cups being smashed – the distinctive cacophany of Roman soldiers baying for alcohol and women.

The sentries saluted Ballista and Maximus as they walked south along the desert wall. 'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' There was unhappy resignation, sometimes bordering on insubordination, in their voices. Ballista shook their hands, praised their disciplina, promised them three days' leave and a carefully unspecified sum of money as a donative. It did not seem to do an iota of good.

To the west the great dark plain stretched away. Beyond it were the lights of the Persian camp. There were men awake there. Lights flickered as they passed in front of the torches or fires. Yet it was strangely quiet. There was none of the keening mourning, the plaintive music and high-pitched wailing Ballista had expected. The silence of the Sassanids was unnerving. It added to Ballista's feeling of foreboding.

In the depth of the night Ballista and Maximus returned to the palace. They had a cup of warmed wine and Ballista retired to his sleeping quarters. He stripped off his clothes and lay down in the big, very empty bed. After a few moments' regret, he fell asleep.

It was well after midnight, maybe towards the end of the third watch, when Ballista heard the noise. Instinctively, his hand closed on the pommel of his sword. He knew it was pointless: somehow he knew what he would see. Ballista forced himself to look. There by the door was the big man, the great pale face under the deep hood of the shabby dark-red caracallus. The big man walked forward. He stood by the foot of the bed. The light of the oil lamp glittered on the thick golden torque and the eagle carved in the gem set in the heavy gold ring.

'Speak,' said Ballista.

'I will see you again at Aquileia.' The great grey eyes shone with malice and contempt.

'I will see you then.'

The big man laughed, a horrible grating sound. He turned and left the room.

The smell of the wax that waterproofed the hooded cloak lingered.

Ballista was sweating heavily. He threw back the covers, got out of bed and opened the window to let in the fresh night air. Naked, he stood by the window, letting the sweat dry on his skin. Outside, he saw the Pleiades low on the horizon.

It would all fall out as the Allfather willed.

Ballista went to the washbowl, splashed cold water on his face, towelled himself dry and got back into bed. After what seemed an eternity he fell into a deep sleep.

'Wake up! Wake up!'

Ballista struggled to the surface.

'Wake up, you lazy little shit.'

Ballista opened his eyes. Calgacus was standing by the bed shaking his shoulder.

'What?' Ballista felt drugged, stupid with sleep. Calgacus's sour, thin mouth was more pinched than ever.

'The Sassanids are in the town.'

Ballista swung himself out of bed. Calgacus talked as he handed the northerner his clothes and he dressed.

'I relieved Maximus up on the roof. I saw a blue warning lantern on one of the towers on the south wall. It shone for a moment, then went out. Pudens is raising the alarm. Castricius is turning out the guard. Maximus is saddling the horses. Demetrius and Bagoas are taking your armour down to the stables.'

'Which tower?'

'The one nearest the desert wall.'

Dressed, Ballista picked up his sword belt. 'Then we should go.'

The stables, when they reached them, were in a state of just controlled chaos. Grooms ran here and there carrying saddles, bridles and other bits of tack. The horses shook their heads, stamped their feet and called out in indignation or excitement at being woken at this unusual hour. In one of the further stalls a horse was misbehaving, rearing up and plunging against its headstall. Calgacus went off to find what had become of Demetrius and Bagoas.

Ballista stood still, a point of calm in the eye of the storm. He breathed in the familiar homely smell of the stables, the evocative mixture of horse, leather, saddle soap, liniment and hay. He was struck by the timelessness of the scene. Stables would always be much the same; the needs of horses did not change. Give or take the odd marble manger or bit of fine wood panelling, stables were the same in the imperium as anywhere else. They were the same in his homeland as they were in Sassanid Persia. Horses were not much affected by the culture of the men who rode them.

In the golden glow of the lamps Ballista saw Maximus making his way down the line of horses. The air was thick with dust raised from the straw by the boots of men and horses' hooves.

'I have saddled Pale Horse for you,' Maximus said.

'Thank you.' Ballista thought for a few moments. 'Thank you, but leave him in his stall-leave him saddled. I will ride the big bay gelding.'

Maximus did not question the order but went off to carry it out.

Calgacus appeared, chivvying along Demetrius and Bagoas, who were carrying Ballista's war gear. Ballista was pleased to see that they had not brought the fancy Roman parade armour of earlier that day but his old war-worn mail shirt. Asking just Calgacus to attend him, Ballista stepped into an unoccupied stall. As the aged Caledonian helped him into his armour Ballista spoke, his voice low so no one else could hear.

'Calgacus, old friend, I have a very bad feeling about this. When we are gone I want you to collect our essentials, saddle all the remaining horses, pack supplies on three of them: skins of water, army biscuit, dried meat. Wait here in the stables with Demetrius and the Persian boy. Have your sword drawn. Do not let anyone touch the horses. I will leave five of the equites singulares here in the palace. I will tell them to take their orders from you. Post one at each of the three gates, one on the terrace and one on the roof.'

Outside in the narrow alley between the palace and the granaries, Ballista rapped out orders. He organized his little mounted column and told his staff, the house slaves and the five guardsmen who were staying behind to do as Calgacus instructed. The latter received the command with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

Ballista squeezed the big bay gelding with his thighs and set off, around the small temple of Jupiter Dolichenus and down the wide road that led to the campus martius. The small column rode at a loose canter in single file. They kept well closed up. After Ballista came Maximus, Castricius, Pudens and the five equites singulares.

Trumpet calls echoed through the town. In the distance men were shouting. There were the sounds of crashing and banging. Yet the military quarter was strangely deserted. A few soldiers were running, some staggering, but not nearly the proper number were heading to their posts. In some doorways soldiers lay unconscious through drink. As he clattered past the military baths Ballista saw one soldier lying on the steps dead to the world, a half-naked girl next to him, one of her pale white legs across his. A large wine jar stood next to them.

Emerging on to the campus martius, Ballista saw Antoninus Posterior standing in the centre of the broad open space. The centurion was bareheaded, his helmet in his hand. He was shouting at his men. There were but ten of them. One or two appeared none too steady on their feet. Ballista rode over.

'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' The irony in speaking the ritual phrase on behalf of his reduced company did not appear to have struck the centurion.

'Is this it, Antoninus?'

'Afraid so, Dominus. I have sent five others off to try and rouse more of the boys.'

'It is as the gods will. As soon as you have a few more, I want you to lead them down to the tower on the south wall that is nearest the desert wall.'

'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.'

Ballista started to turn his horse.

'Dux, wait.' Out of the darkness from the north came Acilius Glabrio. The young patrician was riding a fine horse and wearing gilded armour. There was a sword on his hip. Ballista felt a jet of pure anger rising in himself, but before he could speak, demand to know how the young bastard dare break his house arrest, dare disobey another command and arm himself, Acilius Glabrio slid from his mount. The horse was well trained; it stood stock still. Acilius Glabrio walked up to Ballista, then knelt in the dust, arms up in the gesture of supplication.

'Dux Ripae, I have disobeyed your commands. But I would not have you think that I am a coward. If the Sassanids are within the defences you will need every man. I ask your permission to accompany you as a private soldier.'

Ballista did not like and did not trust the perfumed aristocrat at his feet, but he had never doubted that the loathsome young man was a fine soldier. 'Get on your horse and come with us.'

Ballista wheeled his mount and set off south. There was no gate in the wall that separated the campus martius from the civilian part of the town, so they had to backtrack. After three blocks they struck the main street which ran across town from the Palmyrene Gate to the Porta Aquaria. There were more people here, soldiers and civilians, but too many of the latter and not enough of the former. Ballista turned right and reined in outside the great caravanserai. Throwing his leg over the gelding's neck, he jumped down and ran inside. In the light of guttering torches, the scene was much the same as on the campus martius. In the middle of the courtyard, bareheaded and exasperated, was Antoninus Prior. The centurion, since the disgrace of Acilius Glabrio the temporary commander of all the legionaries in Arete, was yelling at his men. Again there were only about ten of them. Again several looked the worse for wear. Ballista snapped out the same orders as before and ran back to his horse.

This was all taking time. No one knew what was happening. There was as yet no sound of fighting. But all this was taking time.

They rode towards the Palmyrene Gate for a block then left down the street that would bring them out near the tower where Calgacus had seen the blue warning lantern. There was a great deal of noise but still nothing that spoke unambiguously of fighting. It could be a false alarm. But Calgacus was not given to fancies. In all the years he had known him, Ballista had never seen the Caledonian give way to panic. The lantern could have been lit by mistake. Allfather, let that be the case. But if it was, why had no messenger come from the tower to explain and offer profuse apologies? Ballista kicked on, pushing his horse into something near a gallop.

Apart from a drunken soldier who stepped out into their path then went reeling back, they reached the end of the street without incident. Ballista held up his right hand and reined in. The tower was about fifty yards away, just off to their right, across open ground.

The tower was in darkness. Ballista thought he could see men up on the fighting platform. He sat, playing with the horse's ears, thinking. A bend in the wall prevented him seeing the next tower to his left but, to his right, all looked normal on the southernmost tower on the desert wall. Torches burnt there, unlike on the tower in front of him.

He indicated that they should move forward. Walking their horses on to the open ground, they fanned out into line. Maximus was on Ballista's right, Pudens on his left. It seemed very quiet, the background noises very far away. The only sounds that Ballista could hear close to were the hooves of their horses on the hard-packed ground, the hiss of the breeze blowing through the jaws of the draco above his head and his own harsh breathing.

Halfway across the open space Ballista called a halt. The horses stood in line, shifting their feet. It was very quiet. The inner wall of the tower was about twenty paces away. The door was shut. Ballista sucked air into his lungs to hail the tower.

He heard the twang of the bows' release, the wisp, wisp sound of the fletchings in the air. He caught just a glimpse of the arrow. He jerked his head to the left and took a jarring blow as the arrow ricocheted off the right shoulder of his mail coat, sparks flying. The bay gelding reared up. Already off balance, Ballista was thrown. He lost his shield as he landed heavily. He rolled to get clear of the gelding's stamping hooves. The next horse was plunging, its hooves cracking down on the hard ground inches away. Ballista curled into a tight ball, his arms up covering his head.

A strong grip under his armpit hauled him to his feet. 'Run,' said Maximus. Ballista ran.

They ran towards the desert wall, arrows skittering off the ground around them. They veered right to put a fallen horse, its legs flailing, between them and the bowmen on the tower. Head down Ballista ran.

They reached the earth bank inside the desert wall. Running, scrambling on hands and knees, they reached the top. His back against the wall, Ballista crouched in the angle where the southern and desert walls met. Maximus covered both of them with his shield but no one was shooting at them now. Ballista looked around him. Acilius Glabrio and two of the equites singulares were still with him. There was no sign of Castricius, Pudens or the other guardsmen. He looked back the way they had come. A column of Sassanid warriors was pouring across the open ground. They seemed to erupt from the very ground beneath the wall on the near side of the tower.

'Fuck, there was another mine,' said Maximus.

Ballista raised himself up and peered over the wall. Outside in the starlight a long column of Persian warriors snaked up the side of the southern ravine. Lights flared on the Sassanid-held tower. Torches were waved to signal. In the sudden light Ballista saw a familiar figure on top of the tower. 'No, they are coming up through the Christian tombs cut in the wall of the ravine,' he said.

Bald head catching the torchlight, bushy beard thrust out, Theodotus, councillor of Arete and Christian priest, stood motionless on the tower amid the mayhem.

'Never did trust the fuckers,' said one of the guardsmen.

The Persian column was streaming north into the town, up the street that, moments before, Ballista and his party had ridden down.

There was a commotion on the wall walk to the north. Ballista drew his sword and, with the others, turned to the left to face the new threat. 'Roma, Roma': the newcomers shouted the night's password. Turpio and half a dozen troopers of Cohors XX ran into view. 'Salus, Salus,' Ballista and his group shouted back.

'More bad news,' said Turpio. 'Another group of Christians has overpowered the sentries on the Palmyrene Gate. They are letting down ropes for the Sassanids to climb. There are not enough sober men on the wall walks to dislodge them.' Turpio smiled. 'Who would have thought they had it in them?' His manner suggested that he was merely making a light, throwaway comment on the social foibles of a group; who would have thought that they of all people would be so devoted to the baths or the circus? Nothing about him betrayed the fact that he had just announced the death sentence for the town of Arete and almost certainly for most of his listeners.

Everyone was looking at Ballista. He ignored them, withdrawing into himself. His eyes, unseeing, gazed out over the dark ravine. They were trapped in the south-west corner of the town. Calgacus and the horses were waiting in the palace in the north-east of the town. The direct route, the streets just below them, were filling with Sassanid warriors. If they went north along the desert wall they would run into the Persians coming in over the Palmyrene Gate. The route along the southern wall walk was blocked by the enemy on the tower where Theodotus stood. Whichever way Ballista chose, they would have to cut their way out. He thought of Bathshiba. She should be in her father's house. Iarhai's mansion lay near the Porta Aquaria in the south-east corner of the town. Ballista made up his mind.

'There.' Ballista pointed at the glinting bald pate of Theodotus up on the tower to the east. 'There is the traitor. We will have our revenge.' In the near-darkness there was a low growl of approval from the men. 'Form up quietly, boys.'

The wall walk was wide enough for four men abreast. Ballista took the position on the right, next to the parapet. Maximus fell in beside him, Acilius Glabrio beyond him, Turpio next. Ballista ordered Turpio to the rear. It would be senseless to commit all the senior officers to the front rank. A trooper from Cohors XX, unknown to Ballista, took the place vacated by Turpio. Ballista looked round at the tiny phalanx. It contained just twelve men all told: four wide and three ranks deep. Maximus told one of the troopers in the rear to hand his shield to the Dux. The man reluctantly complied.

'All ready?' Ballista asked. 'Then let us go – quietly: we may yet give them a surprise.'

They set off at a jog along the wall walk. The tower was not above fifty paces away. There was a group of a dozen or so Persians by the open door which led from the wall walk to the interior of the tower. They were looking into the town, pointing and laughing. The Roman phalanx was almost on them before they realized. The Persians may not have been expecting a counterattack, but they stood up to it.

Ballista accelerated over the last few paces into an all-out run. The Sassanid facing him raised his long sword to bring it down on Ballista's head. Ballista ducked down and, with all his momentum behind it, smashed his shield into the man's body. The Sassanid went flying backwards. He crashed into the warrior behind him. Both fell back on to the wall walk. As the first Persian tried to get to his feet, momentarily his left leg was not covered by his shield. Ballista brought his sword down, cutting savagely into the man's knee. The Sassanid howled. All thought of defending himself overcome by the pain, he clutched his shattered kneecap. Ballista drove the point of his sword into the man's crotch. He was of no further account.

The second Sassanid had got to his feet. Ballista jumped at him over the man whimpering on the floor. The Sassanid brought his sword down in a fierce cut. Ballista took it on his shield; splinters flew from it. Quick as a flash, from Ballista's left, Maximus's short sword thrust into the Persian's armpit. The man crumpled and fell against the parapet.

With about half their number down, the Persians turned and fled.

'After them,' bellowed Ballista. 'Do not let them shut the door.'

The Roman soldiers burst into the tower on the heels of the fleeing Sassanids. The pursued hurled themselves down the stairs to find safety in the numbers pouring into the town from the Christian necropolis. Ballista went for the stairs up to the roof. He took them two at a time.

As Ballista emerged on to the fighting platform, he saw two Persians with torches, their backs to him. They were signalling to those outside still ascending the ravine. A backhand cut to the head dealt with the one on Ballista's right. A forehand cut caught the other at the left elbow as he turned. He looked bemused, at the blood fountaining out of the stump of his arm until Ballista drove the point of his sword into his mouth. For a second the blade snagged. Then Ballista pulled it free, fragments of teeth and blood coming away with it.

'Come!' A voice like thunder echoed round the tower. 'And I saw, and behold, a pale horse, and its rider's name was death, and Hades followed him.'

Theodotus was pointing at Ballista. Between the two men was a line of men fighting. Ballista could clearly see the tall Christian priest over the crouched, ducking figures of the combatants. Theodotus's face was shining. He was shouting, his voice carrying over the clash of weapons.

'The sixth angel poured his bowl on the great river Euphrates and its water was dried up, to prepare the way for the kings from the east.'

The words made no sense to Ballista.

'Why, Theodotus? Why betray your townsmen?'

Theodotus laughed, his great bushy beard bobbing. 'The number of the troops of cavalry was twice ten thousand times ten thousand; I heard their number… the riders wore breastplates the colour of fire and of sapphire and of sulphur.'

'You fool,' Ballista yelled. 'They will kill us all. They will not spare the Christians. They will not spare anyone.'

'I saw a beast,' Theodotus continued to rant, 'with ten horns and seven heads, with ten diadems upon its horns and a blasphemous name upon its heads… let him who has understanding reckon the number of the beast, for it is a human number, its number is six hundred and sixty-six.'

'Why?' Ballista roared. 'Why let the Sassanids massacre the people of this town? For pity's sake, man, why?'

Theodotus stopped chanting. He looked keenly at Ballista. 'These Sassanids are reptiles. I do not do it for them. They are no better than you. They are merely God's instrument. I do it for pity – pity for the sins of the people. The Sassanids are the punishment that God has ordained in his infinite mercy for the sins of the people of Arete. Christians and pagans, we are all sinners.'

Outnumbered, the Sassanids on the fighting platform were falling. A trooper broke through their line and made for Theodotus.

'If anyone worships the beast… he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the lamb.'

The trooper swung his sword, catching Theodotus on the leg. The Christian staggered.

'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.'

The trooper swung again. Theodotus fell to his hands and knees.

'Salvation…'

The trooper despatched him in drill-book style: one, two, three heavy cuts to the back of the head.

Persian resistance on the fighting platform had ended. Ballista numbered his remaining men: Maximus, Turpio, Acilius Glabrio, two equites singulares, three troopers of Cohors XX; nine men including himself.

'Are there any wounded who cannot run?'

There was a pause. Turpio came forward. 'They have been… dealt with.' Ballista nodded.

'This is what we will do. The Persians are coming up under the wall. They are going straight on into the town. There are no Persians on the wall.' Ballista had no idea if this last were true. He found that he was pacing, crackling with energy. 'We will head east along the wall towards the river. When it is safe we will come down from the wall. We will make our way to the house of Iarhai. There we should find… should gather some more men. We will make our way up through the eastern part of the town to the palace.'

Ballista saw the blank looks. 'There are horses waiting for us there.' The men nodded. Ballista knew they had no idea what he intended they would do if they made it that far and got mounted, but any plan seemed good to the men now, at least it gave them something to work towards, provided a tiny glimmer of hope.

With Ballista in the lead again they clattered down the stairs and out of the eastern door. As they exited, there was a shout and a volley of arrows. Just behind Ballista men screamed. He ducked his helmet down to meet his shield and ran. An unlucky arrow in the leg here and it was all over.

In a short time the incoming arrows stopped. The shouts of the Sassanids fell away behind them. It was a long run to the next tower. Ballista's lungs were burning. All around him he could hear laboured breathing.

The door to the next tower was open. Ballista hurled himself inside, ready to fight. The tower was deserted. He plunged on through it and out the other side.

The next tower was not far. Again it had been abandoned by its defenders. This time Ballista led them down the stairs and to the ground-floor door into the town. Just inside the door he stopped to let them catch their breath. He looked round. Just two men were missing.

Ballista peeked around. The alley by the wall was empty. He led them out and, turning right, they ran on in the direction of the river.

By the time they crossed the open area where the soldier had been hit by the arrow intended for the traitor – Theodotus, you bastard – there were people about, soldiers and civilians heading the same way as Ballista and his men, down towards the Porta Aquaria and the river.

After a time Ballista turned north into the street that brought him to the mansion of Iarhai.

The main gate of the house stood open. There were six mercenaries there, their weapons drawn. They looked anxious. Ballista pulled up by them. Bent over, hands on his knees, sucking air into his lungs, it took him some time to speak.

'Iarhai… where is he?'

A mercenary jerked his head. 'Inside.' He spat. 'Praying.'

As Ballista stepped inside Bathshiba ran straight into his arms. He held on to her. He felt her breasts against him. We are all about to die, he thought, and I am still thinking about fucking her. A man remains a man.

'Where is your father?'

She took him by the hand and led him to the caravan protector's private quarters.

In a sparsely furnished white room larhai was kneeling on a rug praying.

'You bastard. You knew, didn't you?' Ballista's voice was savage. 'Answer me.'

Iarhai looked at him.

'Answer me.'

'No.' A muscle twitched in larhai's broken cheekbone. 'Yes, I have become a Christian. I am sickened by life, sickened by killing. Theodotus offered me redemption. But no, I had no idea he would do this.'

Ballista tried to rein in his anger. He believed Iarhai. 'I will give you a chance of redemption, in this life if not the next.' Iarhai regarded Ballista incuriously. 'If I can help it, I do not intend to die in this fly-blown dump of a town. I have horses waiting saddled in the palace. If I can reach there, I have a plan which may work. I will take your daughter with me. But we will never reach the palace unless someone holds up the Sassanids.'

'It will be as God wills,' Iarhai said in a flat monotone.

'Get up and arm yourself, you gutless bastard,' Ballista shouted.

'Thou shalt not kill,' intoned Iarhai. 'Never again will I take the life of another man.'

'If there is one thing in this world that you love it is your daughter. Will you not stir yourself even to try to save her?'

'It will be as God wills.'

Ballista looked around in fury. Bathshiba was standing near. Without warning, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him. She shrieked in surprise and pain. Ballista held her in front of him, his left hand in a strong grip around her throat.

Iarhai half rose. Automatically his hand went to his left hip, seeking the sword that was not there.

'Will you let her fall into the hands of the Sassanids?' Ballista spoke quietly. 'You know what they will do to her.' Iarhai said nothing. 'They will rape her. One after another they will rape her. Ten, twenty, thirty men, a hundred. They will mutilate her. She will beg them to kill her long before they do.'

There was a look of agonized indecision on Iarhai's face.

'Is this what you want?' With his right hand, Ballista gripped the neck of Bathshiba's tunic. With a savage yank he ripped it down. Bathshiba's breasts spilt free. She screamed and tried to cover her dark-brown nipples with the palms of her hands.

'You bastard.' Iarhai was on his feet, a look of indescribable pain on his face.

'Arm yourself. You are coming with us.' Ballista let Bathshiba go. She ran from the room. Iarhai went to a chest in the corner. From it he took his sword belt and buckled it on. Ballista turned and left.

At the gate there were just the six men who had arrived with Ballista.

'The mercenaries have run,' said Maximus.

In a few minutes Iarhai appeared from the depths of the house with Bathshiba. She was wearing a new tunic. She did not look at Ballista.

'Time to go.'

At a steady jog they set off north towards the palace. There was a nightmare quality to the journey. None too far in the distance they could hear screams. Already there was a smell of burning in the air. At every street junction they had to fight their way across the streams of panic-stricken people running east to the Porta Aquaria and the river. Ballista knew that there would be scenes of almost unimaginable horror down on the riverbank at the jetties, where thousands of terrified individuals would be fighting for a place on one of the very few boats. Children separated from their mothers, trampled underfoot: it did not bear thinking about. Ballista put his head down and ran north.

They had just passed the temple of Zeus Theos, were within a block of the open ground on the other side of which was the palace, when they heard the pursuit.

'There he is. Ten pounds of gold for the man who takes the King of Kings the head of the big barbarian.' For a second Ballista thought he recognized the voice of the Persian officer he had tricked that dark night in the ravine, but he realized it was only his own tired thoughts tricking him.

The Sassanids were still a hundred paces away, but there were a lot of them and they looked fresh. Ballista and those with him were exhausted.

'Go on,' said Iarhai. 'The street is narrow. I can delay them.'

Ballista looked at Bathshiba. He expected her to scream, to cling to her father and plead with him. She did not. She looked at her father for a time, then turned and ran.

'You will not delay them alone. I will stay.' Acilius Glabrio turned to Ballista. 'You do not care for patricians. But I will show you how one of the Acilii Glabriones dies. Like Horatius, I will hold the bridge.'

Ballista nodded and, with Maximus, ran after the others.

Soon there was the sound of fighting. When he had passed the artillery magazine Ballista stopped and drew breath. There was only fifty yards to go to the palace. He looked back. The end of the street was full of Persians. He could not see Iarhai. The caravan protector had not had time to put on his armour. He could not have lasted long. But there was Acilius Glabrio, a small figure in the distance ringed by the enemy. Ballista ran on.

'You took your time.' Calgacus was beaming.

Ballista smiled weakly. He was too tired to answer. He leant against the stable wall. Compared with earlier, the stables were deserted. Ballista roused himself to ask the guardsman where the other equites singulares were. The man looked embarrassed.

'We… they… ah, they thought that you were not coming back. There is only Titus outside and me.'

'There were a few moments when they were nearly right.' Ballista ran his hands over his face. 'What is your name?'

'Felix, Dominus.'

'Then let's hope that your name is an omen.' Ballista asked Calgacus about the slaves attached to the palace and was told they had all vanished. He shut his eyes and breathed in the reassuring smells of the stables. His chest hurt. All the muscles in his legs were jumpy with fatigue. His right shoulder was raw where his sword belt had made his mail coat rub. He was tempted just to lie down in the straw. Surely he would be safe, surrounded by these homely smells, surely the Sassanids would not find him here? He just needed to sleep.

The northerner's childish fantasy was shattered by the arrival of Maximus.

'We are ready to go. Everyone is outside and mounted except us.' The Hibernian threw across a water skin. Ballista tried and failed to catch it one-handed. He juggled it with two hands until he had it secure. He unstoppered it, tipped some water into a cupped palm and washed his face, rinsing his weary eyes. He drank.

'Time to go then.'

Outside, the moon was up, nearly full. The narrow alley between the palace and the granaries was bathed in its light. Ballista tried to remember if this was the harvest or hunter's moon at home. He was too tired to remember. He walked to the mounting block. Demetrius led up Pale Horse. Ballista mounted painfully.

In the saddle he felt a little better. He looked up and down the alley at the horses and riders. Apart from himself there were fourteen riders: Maximus, Calgacus, Demetrius, Bagoas, Turpio, the two remaining members of his official staff – a scribe and a messenger, the two equites singulares Titus and Felix, and another four soldiers who had crossed the town with him – three troopers from Cohors XX and another guardsman. And there was Bathshiba. There were three horses loaded with supplies.

'What shall we do about the other six saddled horses in the stables?' Calgacus asked.

Ballista knew that he should order them killed or hamstrung in case they aided the pursuit. 'Cut the girths and bridles.' Calgacus swung off his horse, disappeared into the stables and was back in a few moments. When the Caledonian had remounted, Ballista gave the signal to move out.

For the second time that night Ballista led a column of riders around the temple of Jupiter Dolichenus. They came out on to the broad road heading to the campus martius and Ballista pushed Pale Horse into a gallop. In case he should fall, he had hurriedly told Maximus, Calgacus and Turpio his plan, such as it was. They had not looked thrilled. He had not told the others. There was no point in scaring them even more.

The military quarter through which they thundered was empty. The Romans had fled; the Persians had not yet arrived. Smoke blew across the road from the south. As he flashed by the military baths Ballista noticed that the comatose soldier had gone from the steps. So had the girl. Good luck to you, brother, he thought, and to your girl.

The cavalcade careered down the street, the sound of thundering hooves echoing back off the walls.

From a street off to the left came the sound of fighting. Ballista glimpsed one of the mercenaries backed up against the wall of the amphitheatre, his sword flashing in the torchlight as he tried to keep at bay a howling mob of Sassanid warriors. In a moment the sight and sound were cut off by the building on the next corner.

'Haddudad!' Bathshiba shouted. She reined in her horse savagely. Those following her had to swerve or pull up quickly to avoid her.

'Leave him,' Ballista shouted, 'there is no time.'

'No. We must save him.' Bathshiba turned her horse and, kicking her heels in, set off back towards the corner.

'Bugger,' muttered Ballista. As he turned Pale Horse he called to Turpio to carry on with the others, Maximus to come with him. He set off after Bathshiba. What was it with her? She had left her father to certain death with no more than a significant look, but now she was risking her life for one of his mercenaries. Was it guilt at leaving her father that was making her do this? Was it something about Haddudad? Ballista felt a stab of jealousy.

Pale Horse skidded around the corner; Maximus's mount was just a neck behind. Haddudad was still upright. There were a couple of easterners prone at his feet. The press around the mercenary had slackened off with the arrival of Bathshiba. As Ballista watched she cut down a Persian on her near side. But then the mob closed. Two men grabbed her reins. Another seized her right boot and pulled her from the saddle. A loud cheer went up.

All the Persians' attention was on the girl or the mercenary. They were completely oblivious to the approach of the two horsemen. Ballista held his sword out straight along the neck of his horse, his arm rigid. The Persian jerked his head round just before the impact. It was far too late. The sword punched through the mail coat and on between the shoulder blades. The shock pushed Ballista back in his saddle. He let his arm swing through, down then up straight out behind him as the easterner fell away, the man's own weight freeing the blade.

Ballista was out of the other side of the knot of Persian warriors. Maximus was next to him. They wheeled their horses. Kicking in their heels, they drove forward again. Out of the corner of his eye, Ballista saw Haddudad launch a fierce attack on the two Sassanids still facing him.

A Persian aimed a cut at Pale Horse's head. Ballista blocked it with his shield, then brought his sword across and down in a bone-crunching blow to the top of the man's domed iron helmet; sparks flew, a loud crack, and the blade bit down into the skull.

Again Ballista was through the mob, Maximus as ever at his side. The remaining Persians were running. There were several on the ground. Among them was Bathshiba, motionless.

Haddudad ran forward. He cradled the girl's head.

'It is all right. She is coming round.' He helped her to her feet. Her legs seemed unstable. Maximus trotted up, leading Bathshiba's horse. Haddudad helped her into the saddle. Then, with a lithe jump and complete familiarity, the mercenary jumped up behind her.

'Time to go,' said Ballista, damping down his irritation.

The horses clattered back the way they had come.

Ballista and Pale Horse plunged through the inky black shadow between the principia and the barracks and emerged on to the moon-washed emptiness of the campus martius. This time there was no chance that the figure of Acilius Glabrio would appear. Ballista pointed Pale Horse towards the temple of Bel and the north wall.

He reined in as he reached the northern postern gate. It stood open. Turpio and one of the guardsmen were climbing back into the saddle. They must have had to dismount to open the gate. Most likely its sentries had left it shut when they fled. Ballista wondered where the sentries had gone. They may have taken flight on foot east along the ledge outside the wall. They would be trying to climb down the cliff near the river, hoping to find a boat – although maybe, just maybe, they had had the same idea as himself. Without horses it could not work. Without horses they would have no chance of escape.

Ballista briskly ordered that the supplies be cut from one of the packhorses. Haddudad jumped down from behind Bathshiba and mounted in their place. Grabbing one of the smaller bags of discarded provisions, Ballista asked Bathshiba if she was all right. She simply said yes.

'Time to go again.'

Ballista walked Pale Horse through the gate and turned right. The rest followed. The ledge was wide enough for two horses abreast, but the threat of the sheer drop to their left kept them in single file. He walked his horse until he reached the big landslip he had first spotted all those months ago on the day of the lion hunt. He signalled a halt and turned to face the others. He pointed down.

Ballista had half-expected a collective gasp, a flurry of protest. None came. He looked down the great ramp formed by the landslip. It started about three foot below the ledge then pulled away at a hideously steep angle, forty-five degrees or worse. In the strong moonlight the soil looked loose and treacherous. Here and there a wicked rock stuck up. It seemed to stretch away for ever.

Ballista looked back at the others. They were very quiet. No one moved. Under their helmets, the soldiers' eyes were pools of black shadow. Ballista well understood their hesitancy. A rider edged forward. It was Bathshiba. Her horse stopped at the lip. Without a word she kicked her heels and the horse jumped forward. Ballista watched it land. Fighting to keep its balance, its quarters almost on the flat on the ground, it began to scrabble and slip downwards.

Ballista forced himself to look away. He nudged Pale Horse next to the mount of Demetrius. He took the reins from the boy's hands and led the horse to the edge. He looped the reins over one of the horns of the boy's saddle. He leant close and quietly told him to forget the reins, just lean back and cling to the saddle. The boy was bareheaded. He looked terrified. Hold tight. Ballista drew his sword. The boy flinched. The sword glittered as it swung in an arc through the air. Ballista brought the flat of the blade down hard across the rump of the boy's horse. It leapt forward into space.

'So are you afraid to follow where a girl and a Greek secretary dare go?' Ballista called for the leading rein of one of the packhorses. He led it to the edge. He looked down at the vertiginous drop. Allfather, to think that on the afternoon of the lion hunt I thought I would like to do this for fun. He kicked hard with his heels.

As Pale Horse dropped, Ballista was lifted up, almost out of the saddle. As the gelding's hooves found the ramp, Ballista crashed back into the saddle, the impact jarring up through his spine. The lead rein went taut, snapping his right arm back, wrenching his shoulder, the leather slipping through his fingers, burning. The packhorse followed and the pressure went.

Ballista leant as far back as he could, bracing his back against the rear horns of the saddle, wedging his thighs up under the front ones. The ramp dropped in front of him. Jagged, sharp rocks poked up. The floor of the ravine looked infinitely far away. He wondered whether to shut his eyes, remembered how the awful reality had flooded in when he had opened them again in the siege tunnel and fixed his gaze on Pale Horse's mane.

Down and down they plunged. Down and down. Then it was over. Pale Horse was gathering his legs under him, and they were running on the flat of the bed of the ravine.

Ballista circled the two horses round to where Demetrius and Bathshiba were waiting. Maximus thundered past, whooping like a madman. One after another, Calgacus, Bagoas, the messenger and the scribe arrived at the bottom. Then disaster struck.

Halfway down the ramp the mount of one of the soldiers – it was impossible to tell which – lost its footing. The horse tipped forward; its rider was half thrown. The horse landed on him. Together, in an avalanche of stones and earth, they rolled down. The following rider was almost on top of them. At the last moment the bloodied, broken tangle of horse and man toppled to their fate over the far edge of the ramp. The way was clear again.

All the rest made it to the bottom. Turpio came last, leading one of the packhorses. Brave man, thought Ballista. The more horses that had made the descent the more the surface of the ramp had been cut up, the more unstable it had become.

Ballista chivvied them into line. Felix was missing. His name had not proved prophetic. The horse of one of the other soldiers was lame. Ballista jumped down to inspect its leg. It was the near fore. It was far too lame to run. Ballista cut the baggage from one of the two remaining packhorses and told the trooper to mount. He turned the lame horse free. It stood looking disconsolate.

Waving for the others to follow, Ballista pointed Pale Horse up the ravine away from the river. At the head of the line he kept them to a steady canter.

They had not gone far when they heard the shouts. Far up above them to the left, torches flared. A trumpet shrilled. Mounted Sassanid warriors were moving along the ledge, following in their tracks. Ballista felt absurdly depressed. Somehow he had hoped to be able to sneak away unnoticed like thieves in the night. Allfather, he prayed, Deep Hood, High One, Fulfiller of Desire, let their horses refuse the dreadful drop, let the courage of their riders fail them. He had little hope that the prayer would be answered. He moved to hoping that their own horses had so dislodged the surface of the ramp that it would give way and betray the Persians to share the bloody fate of Felix.

As the sounds of the pursuing enemy swelled, Ballista mastered the urge to kick his mount into a gallop. He could feel the thoughts of all those behind him willing him to increase the pace. He ignored them. It would not do. He remembered the rough going from his chase of the onager. He forced himself to keep Pale Horse at a steady canter, letting the gelding pick his own way.

Soon the bend of the ravine hid them from their pursuers. The heat of the previous day still hung heavy in the depths. Ballista rode through clouds of gnats. They got in his eyes and mouth.

Ballista approached the fork in the ravine. Before steering Pale Horse into the narrow turning to the right-hand passage, he looked behind. Bathshiba and Calgacus were close. He could not see Maximus. He had not heard a horse fall. There had been no commotion. He was surprised but not unduly worried. He cantered on. The path was beginning to rise more sharply.

Maximus had enjoyed the descent of the ramp. He prided himself on having known from the start what Ballista intended. As soon as they had seen the landslip on the day they killed the lion, Maximus had known that one day they would try to ride down it. Admittedly, he had not thought it would be in the dead of night fleeing the sack of the town. But that just added spice to the adventure.

When he heard the sounds of pursuit Maximus twisted in his saddle and looked back down the column. Everything seemed fine. But he noticed Bagoas pull his horse to the side and let others begin to pass him. Maximus did the same. Gradually he dropped back down the column. By the time they entered the right-hand fork of the ravine, there were just three riders behind Maximus. When the passage opened up again, he pulled his horse against the rock wall and waved the guardsman Titus and Turpio past.

Maximus sat still. There was no sign of the Persian boy. Maximus wheeled his horse and, drawing his sword, set off back the way that he had come. So that is your game, you treacherous little bastard. Sit at the fork and direct them after us. Well, you will be in Hades before that happens, you little fucker. He kicked on, stones rattling out from under the hooves of his horse.

Sure enough, there at the fork Bagoas sat motionless on his horse. Maximus pushed his mount faster. The Persian boy saw Maximus coming, saw the blade in his hand. He threw up his hands, palms forward.

'No, please no. Please do not kill me.'

Without a word Maximus came on.

'No, please, you do not understand. I am not going to betray you. I am trying to save you. I will point them down the wrong turning.'

Maximus reined in savagely, his horse almost back on its hocks. He reached across and grabbed the boy's long hair. He half pulled him out of the saddle. The Hibernian's sword flashed and found the boy's throat. The tip of the blade just broke the skin. A trickle of blood, very black in the moonlight, ran down the gleaming steel.

'And why should I believe you?' Bagoas looked into Maximus's pale-blue, terribly blank eyes. He could not speak. The noise of the pursuit echoed up the ravine. With the sounds bouncing off the rock walls, it was impossible to tell how far away the pursuers were. 'Come on, we haven't got all night.'

Bagoas swallowed hard. 'Ballista and you are not the only men who have honour. You saved my life when the legionaries attacked me. Now I will repay that debt.'

For a long, long time neither spoke. The sword remained at Bagoas's throat. The staring blue eyes gave nothing away. The sounds of the pursuit were getting louder.

The sword was gone. Maximus was carefully wiping it on a rag at his belt. He sheathed it. He smiled. 'Until the next time, boy.' Maximus spun his horse round and kicked on back the way that he had come, up the right-hand branch of the ravine after the others.

High on the hills, Ballista sat on Pale Horse and looked down at the burning city. The south wind was picking up. It pulled long streamers of fire into the night sky. Now and then dense clouds of sparks like an erupting volcano rose up as a building collapsed. The dying city was at least a mile and a half away. No sounds reached Ballista. He was glad of that.

All our efforts and it has come to this, he thought. Is it my fault? Did I concentrate so much on the Sassanid siege works that I did not pay enough attention to the possibility of treachery? If I had thought properly about the Christians, would clues have been there; would I have seen them?

Another large building fell and a whirl of sparks rose up. The undersides of the racing clouds were tinged pink. An ugly, unwanted thought rose like a big pike with a mouth full of sharp teeth to the surface of Ballista's mind: this was meant to happen. This is why I was sent, not Bonitus or Celsus. This is why I was given no additional troops. This is why the kings of Emesa and Palmyra felt able to refuse my requests for troops. There never was any hope of relief. The emperors already knew that the two field armies would be needed elsewhere this campaigning season; that one would go to the Danube with Gallienus to face the Carpi, and one with Valerian to deal with the Goths in Asia Minor. Arete was always expected to fall. The town, its garrison, its commander were expendable. We were to be sacrificed to buy time.

Ballista found that he was laughing. In a sense he had succeeded. The city had fallen, but he had bought the Roman imperium some time. At the cost of so much suffering, of so many lives, so many thousands of lives, he had bought the Roman imperium some time. The emperors should welcome him like a returning hero. Of course, that would not happen. They had wanted a dead hero, not a living witness to their heartless betrayal of the city of Arete. They had wanted their expendable barbarian Dux Ripae dead sword in hand in the smoke-blackened ruins of the town, not staggering back into the imperial court reeking of failure and treachery. Ballista would be an embarrassment. He would be blamed, made the scapegoat, his reputation left in tatters.

One day, he vowed, this imperium will regret all the things it has done.

The city was still burning. Ballista had seen all he wanted to see.

Turning in the saddle, Ballista looked back down the line. All those he cared about were there: Calgacus, Maximus, Demetrius. And there was Bathshiba. Other thoughts came into his mind – the hooded figure of the big man, Mamurra entombed in the dark beneath the walls. He pushed them away. He looked back beyond the column. There was no sign of any pursuit. He gave the signal to move on.

At the rear of the line the last remaining frumentarius looked at the burning city of Arete. He wondered what report he would write to the emperors about all this. He took a last look at the fire in the east and kicked his horse to follow the others. He sneezed. And he wondered how this new journey would end. Appendix Historical Afterword Fire in the East is a novel, but I have taken care over the historical background. The following notes aim both to show where history has been 'played with' to fit the fiction and to provide further reading for those who would like to try to create their own interpretation of the reality.

When I told my colleague Bert Smith, the Lincoln Professor of Classical Archaeology and Art at the University of Oxford, that I was writing a series of novels set in the second half of the third century AD, he congratulated me on picking a period about which so little is known for sure that no one could prove me wrong. 'The Third-Century Crisis' The period between the murder of the emperor Alexander Severus (AD235) and the accession of Diocletian (AD284) is traditionally known as 'the third-century crisis' of the Roman empire. It is a time for which we have very few and poor ancient literary sources. Undoubtedly it was a time of relative instability both in high-level politics (too many emperors in too few years) and in military operations (increases in the numbers of civil wars and in barbarian victories over Rome: for the first time, Roman emperors were killed and captured in battle by barbarian armies). Yet scholarly estimates vary widely on how far beyond this the crisis spread. At one extreme, G. Alfoldy, 'The Crisis of the Third Century as Seen by Contemporaries' (Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 15 (1974), 89-III), holds that the empire suffered a 'total crisis' in all areas of life; social, economic and ideological, as well as political and military. At the other, H. Sidebottom, 'Herodian's Historical Methods and Understanding of History' (Aufstieg und Niedergang der Romischen Welt II.34.4 (1998), 2775- 2 83 6), argues that, outside the political and military, the 'crisis' is largely an illusion created by various modem preconceptions playing upon the paucity of our ancient sources.

The standard modern attempt at a narrative of the years AD235-84 is that of J. Drinkwater in The Cambridge Ancient History (eds. P. Garnsey and A. Cameron, vol. XII, 2nd edn, Cambridge, 2005, 28-66). More accessible (i.e., in paperback) is D. S. Potter, The Roman Empire at Bay AD180-395 (London and New York, 2004, 167-72; 217-80).

For the history behind this novel, M. H. Dodgeon, and N. C. Lieu, The Roman Eastern Frontier and the Persian Wars AD226-363: A Documentary History (London, 1991) is an extremely useful collection of sources translated into English with commentaries.

An indispensable tool for all research into the classical world is The Oxford Classical Dictionary (3rd edn, Oxford, 1996, eds. S. Homblower and A. Spawforth). People Ballista

There was a Roman officer called Ballista (or Callistus) active in the east in this period. Ironically, the very brief ancient biography of him which survives is itself largely a work of fiction (Scriptores Historiae Augustae [now more commonly referred to as the Historia Augusta or Augustan History], Tyranni Triginta 18).What little we think we may know about him features in the third novel in this series, Lion of the Sun. For reasons that will emerge later I have given him the praenomen and nomen Marcus Clodius. It is extremely unlikely that the historical Ballista was an Anglo-Saxon nobleman. However, in the fourth century AD many German warriors rose to high command in the Roman army. The Ballista of these novels should be seen as a forerunner of this historical phenomenon. Places Delos An enjoyable way to learn about the island of Delos, and much else in classical culture, is the magnificently illustrated, but very hard to find, volume by P. J. Hadjidakis, Delos (Athens, 2003). A very short, offbeat introduction to the island can be found in J. Davidson, One Mykonos (London, 1999). In this novel I have made the island flourish rather more after the sack of 69BC than archaeology suggests was the case. Paphos F. G. Maier and V. Karageorghis, Paphos: History and Archaeology (Nicosia, 1984), with a wealth of pictures, plans and an accessible text, is the standard work. The 'House of Theseus' is illustrated and discussed in W. A. Daszewski and D. Michaelides, Guide to the Paphos Mosaics (Nicosia, 1988, 52-63). Antioch Discussion and reading for this city will be given in King of Kings. Emesa The modem city of Horns has obliterated virtually all archaeological traces of the classical city of Emesa. The first century AD funeral monument of Caius Julius Sampsigeramus, almost certainly a member of the ruling dynasty, was pulled down to make way for the railway station. Modern certainties about the site of the great temple seem misplaced. As so often, the best way into the archaeology and its literature is the now somewhat elderly Princeton Encyclopedia of Classical Sites (eds. R. Stillwell et al., Princeton, 1976), see under Emesa [Horns].

The description of the temple of Elagabalus draws on images on coins. Some of these are nicely reproduced in R. Turcan, Heliogabale et le Sacre du Soleil (Paris, 1985, see esp. plates 1-7), although my interpretations are slightly different.

For the rituals, the main inspiration (somewhat altered) is book five of Herodian's History (translated by C. R. Whittaker in two volumes in the Loeb series (Harvard, 1969/1970).

Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East 31BC-AD337 (Cambridge, Mass. and London, 1993, 302-4), has doubted that the elite Emesene family which produced the Roman emperors Caracalla, Geta, Elagabalus and Alexander Severus in the third century AD was descended from the royal house of Emesa of the first century AD. However, it should be noted that some of the former carried close variants of the names of the latter (Sohaemias / Sohaemus; Alexianos/Alexio); above all, both families had the nomen Iulius. It suggests that at the very least the third-century family wished to be seen as the descendants of the old royal house. Similarly, the pretender Uranius Antoninus carried the name Iulius and, like Elagabalus, was a priest of the god of Emesa. So again, pace Millar (308-9), it is likely that either he was or wished to be thought of as a member of the same family. The priest-king Sampsigeramus of this novel is a fictional member of this family. Palmyra A popular (but not always totally accurate) introduction to this great caravan city is R. Stoneman, Palmyra and Its Empire: Zenobia's Revolt against Rome (Ann Arbor, 1994). The best place to discover the unusual world of the caravan-protecting leading men of the city is J. F. Matthews, 'The Tax Law of Palmyra: Evidence for Economic History in a City of the Roman East' (Journal of Roman Studies 74 [1984], 157-80). Further reading will be given in Lion of the Sun. Arete (Dura-Europos) The town of Arete is of course modelled on the town of Dura-Europos on the Euphrates, which was besieged by the Sassanid Persians probably in AD256. (Actually, Dura was one ancient name for the town, used by locals, Europos another, used by its original settlers; the combination is modern). For the benefit of the plot I have played around with the topography of Dura and the siege works, mainly simplifying them, and have imported the political/social structure of neighbouring Palmyra. A good introduction to the place is an account of its excavation by one of the directors of the dig, C. Hopkins, The Discovery of Dura-Europos (New Haven and London, 1979). The essential study of all military aspects of the town is now S. James, Excavations at Dura-Europos 1929-1937. Final Report VII: The Arms and Armour and Other Military Equipment (London, 2004), which is both wider ranging and more interesting than its title suggests. For the atmosphere of the place, it is still well worth looking at the boxed set of pictures published by F. Cumont, Fouilles de Doura-Europos (1922-1923), Atlas (Paris, 1926). Possibly the most accessible introduction to Dura-Europos in the Roman period currently available in English is in N. Pollard, Soldiers, Cities and Civilians in Roman Syria (Ann Arbor, 2000).

The speeches made by Callinicus and Ballista on the arrival of the new Dux at Arete are drawn from the roughly contemporary treatise on rhetoric ascribed to Menander Rhetor, specifically the section on making a speech of arrival (translation by D. A. Russell and N. G. Wilson, Oxford, 1981, 95-115). Warfare Naval H. Sidebottom, Ancient Warfare: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford, 2004, 95-9; 147), provides an introduction to ancient Mediterranean naval war. R. Gardiner and J. Morrison (eds.), The Age of the Galley: Mediterranean Oared Vessels since Pre-Classical Times (London, 1995) is a superbly illustrated guide. Any idea of what it was like to sail a trireme must be based on the sea trials of the reconstructed Athenian trireme the Olympias: J. S. Morrison, J. E. Coates and N. B. Rankov, The Athenian Trireme: The History and Reconstruction of an Ancient Greek Warship (Cambridge, 2000, esp. 231-75). Yet, for very understandable reasons, the Olympias never goes out in a storm (it is no part of the project to see how quickly and nastily a crew of some two hundred can drown!). However, Tim Severin's far less scientific reconstruction of a galley was caught in a gale: T. Severin, The Jason Voyage: The Quest for the Golden Fleece (London, 1985, 175-82). Siege A brief overview of siege warfare in the classical period is given in H. Sidebottom, Ancient Warfare: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford, 2004, 92-4; 146). Other scholarly introductions are P. B. Kern, Ancient Siege Warfare (Bloomington, Indiana, and London, 1999), which covers from earliest times to AD70; C. M. Gilliver, The Roman Art of War (Stroud, 1999, 63-88; 127-60), which looks at Roman siege warfare down to the fourth century AD; and P. Southern and K. R. Dixon, The Late Roman Army (London, 1996, 127-67), which considers the late empire to the sixth century AD. A nicely illustrated popular introduction is D. B. Campbell, Besieged: Siege Warfare in the Ancient World (Oxford, 2006). Sassanid Persians Introductions to the history of the Sassanid (or Sasanid, or Sassanian, or Sasanian) dynasty can be found in E. Yarshater (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran, volume 3 (1): The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods (Cambridge, 1983, 116-77), R. N. Frye, The History of Ancient Iran (Munchen, 1984, 287- 339); and P. Garnsey and A. Cameron (eds.), The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. XII (2nd edn 2005, 461-80, by R. N. Frye).

For an overview of the military practices of the Sassanids, see Michael Whitby, 'The Persian King at War', in E. Dabrowa (ed.), The Romanand Byzantine Army in the East (Cracow, 1994), 227-63. D. Nicolle, Sassanian Armies: The Iranian Empire: Early 3rd to Mid-7th Centuries AD (Stockport, 1996) is a splendidly illustrated guide designed for a non-specialized readership. Some of Nicolle's attributions of images are corrected by St. J. Simpson in a review in Antiquity71 (1997, 242-5). Religions Classical Paganism Two well-written and enjoyable ways into Roman paganism are R. MacMullen, Paganism in the Roman Empire (New Haven and London, 1981) and R. Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians (Harmondsworth, 1986, 7-261). Norse We have no literary sources to tell us the religious views of an Anglo-Saxon nobleman in the mid-third century AD, so I have drawn material from earlier – Tacitus's Germania, written in AD98 – and later – using both Beowulf, composed some time between c. AD680 and 800, and the even later Norse Sagas. For the latter two my guides have been Kevin Crossley-Holland's wonderful books The Anglo-Saxon World (Woodbridge, 1982) and The Penguin Book of Norse Myths: Gods of the Vikings (London, 1993). M. P. Speidel's provocative Ancient Germanic Warriors: Warrior Styles from Trajan's Column to Icelandic Sagas (London and New York, 2004) suggests that such a 'long view' has some scholarly credibility. Christianity As with paganism, the two most enjoyable works that I know to begin the study of early Christianity are written by Ramsay MacMullen (Christianizing the Roman Empire (AD100-400), New Haven, 1984) and Robin Lane Fox (Pagans and Christians, Harmondsworth, 1986, 7-231; 263-681). Zoroastrianism A very brief introduction to Zoroastrianism under the Sassanids is given by R. N. Frye in The Cambridge Ancient History (eds. P. Garnsey and A. Cameron, vol. XII 2nd edn, Cambridge, 2005, 474-9). A rather more detailed introduction is J. Duchesne-Guillemin, 'Zoroastrian Religion', in E. Yarshater (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran: volume 3(2): The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods (Cambridge, 1983, 866-908).

While Zoroastrianism seems to have been rather more tolerant under Shapur I than is suggested here, the alert reader will have noted that the main characters' impressions of the religion are totally derived from the views of just one Persian, Bagoas, and Ballista comes to suspect that Bagoas is something of a fanatic. The Roman Day Based on profound knowledge of the classical sources, J. P. V. D. Balsdon, Life and Leisure in Ancient Rome (London, 1969, 17-81), is a superb guide to the ways the Romans thought about time and passed their days. There is no better introduction to Roman social life in general. Linguistic Problems Unlike English, Greek and Latin were inflected languages (i.e. the endings of words changed with their case or tense). After some thought and discussion I decided that to mirror this in this novel (e.g. Dominus changing to Domine, Dominum, etc., depending on its role in a sentence) would be a scholarly affectation which would irritate many English-speaking readers. The only exception to this is the plural (thus a siege engine, a ballista, becomes ballistae when there is more than one). Previous Historical Novels Any historical novelist who claims to have used only contemporary sources and modem scholarship is lying. All historical novelists read other historical novelists. In each novel in this series it is a joy to include homages to a few of those novelists whose work has greatly influenced me and given me a lot of pleasure.

The late Mary Renault should need no introduction. Bagoas is named after the hero of her novel The Persian Boy (London, 1972).

Mystifyingly, Cecelia Holland seems little read on this side of the Atlantic. Maximus's original name, Muirtagh of the Long Road, is a combination of two of her heroes, Muirtagh from The Kings in Winter (London, 1967) and Laeghaire of the Long Road from The Firedrake (London, 1965). Various Quotes The Anglo-Saxon poetry from his youth that comes into the mind of Ballista, of course, is Beowulf.The translation used here is that of Kevin Crossley-Holland, The Anglo-Saxon World (Woodbridge, 1982, 139).

The 'Persian poems' sung by Bagoas are (gloriously anachronistic) quatrains from Edward FitzGerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (ist edn, 1859).

When Acilius Glabrio and Demetrius quote sections of Ovid, The Art of Love, the translation is that of Peter Green in the Penguin Classics Ovid: The Erotic Poems (Harmondsworth, 1982).

The translation of the Iliad of Homer is that of Robert Fagles in the Penguin Classics (New York, 1990). Thanks As with all first novels, the list of people whom I have to thank is long. First, my family. My wife, Lisa, for looking after our sons, Tom and Jack, and keeping some normalcy and contemporary fun in our lives when I have been living so much in an imaginary version of the third century AD. My mother, Frances, and my aunt, Terry, for their wonderful faith in the idea and for taking on the roles of tireless unpaid publicity agents. Then, colleagues and friends: Maria Stamatopoulou at Lincoln College, Oxford, and John Eidinow at Greyfriars Hall and St Benets Hall, Oxford, for helping me find the time away from teaching to write the novel. All my students at Oxford – especially Vicky Buckley, Ed Maclennan and Mohan Rao, who managed to take excellent degrees, despite their tutorials often turning into extended discussions of historical fiction. Simon Swain of the University of Warwick for checking the Historical Afterword and the Glossary for any really awful mistakes. Anne Marie Drummond, Senior Tutor at Lincoln College, Oxford, and Michael Farley of Woodstock Marketing, for providing me with two ideal refuges in which to write the thing. All my friends in Woodstock for their encouragement – especially Jeremy Tinton. Last, but crucial, Jim Gill, my agent at United Agents, and Alex Clarke, my editor at Penguin – I could not hope to have a better team around me.

Harry Sidebottom Woodstock Glossary The definitions given here are geared to Fire in the East. If a word has several meanings only that or those relevant to this novel tend to be given.

Accensus: The secretary of a Roman governor or official. Adventus: An arrival; the formal ceremony of welcome of a Roman emperor or high official. Agger: Latin term for a siege ramp. Agora: Greek term for a marketplace and civic centre. Agrimensores: Roman land surveyors. Ahriman: In Zoroastrianism, the evil one, a demon, the lie, the devil. Alamanni: A confederation of German tribes. Angles: A north German tribe, living in the area of modern Denmark. Antoninianus, plural antoniniani: A Roman silver coin. Apodyterium: Changing room of a Roman bath. Archon: A magistrate in a Greek city; in the fictional city of Arete the annual chief magistrate. Auxiliary: A Roman regular soldier serving in a unit other than a legion. Bahram fires: The sacred fires of Zoroastrian religion. Ballista, plural ballistae: A torsion-powered artillery piece; some shot bolts, others stones. Ballistarius, plural ballistarii: A Roman artilleryman. Barbalissos: A town on the Euphrates, scene of a defeat of the Roman army in Syria by Shapur I, probably in AD252. Barbaricum: Latin term for where the barbarians live, i.e., outside the Roman empire; in some ways seen as the opposite of the world of humanitas, civilization. Barritus: German war-cry, adopted by the Roman army. Borani: A German tribe, one of the tribes that made up the confederation of the Goths, notorious for their piratical raids into the Aegean. Boukolos: A Greek official supervising the entry and exit into a town of herds of animals. Boule: The council of a Greek city, in the Roman period made up of the local men of wealth and influence. Bouleuterion: The council house in a Greek city. Bucinator: A Roman military musician. Caestus: Roman boxing glove, sometimes with metal spikes. Caldarium: The hot room of a Roman bath. Caledonia: Modem Scotland. Campus martius: Literally Field of Mars, a Roman parade ground. Cantabrian circle: A Roman cavalry manoeuvre. Caracallus: A northern hooded cloak. Carpi: A barbarian tribe on the Danube. Centuriation: Roman system of marking out land in squares or rectangles. Clibanarius, plural clibanarii: heavily armed cavalryman; possibly derived from 'baking oven'. Cingulum: A Roman military belt, one of the symbols that marked out a soldier. Coele Syria: Literally 'Hollow Syria', a Roman province. Cohors: A unit of Roman soldiers, usually about 500 men strong. Cohors XX Palmyrenorum Milliaria Equitata: A double-strength Roman auxiliary unit, consisting of about 1,000 men, part mounted, part infantry; historically part of the garrison of Dura-Europos; in Fire in the East part of the garrison of the city of Arete. Commilitiones: Latin term for 'fellow soldiers', often used by commanders wishing to emphasize their closeness to their troops. Concordia: Latin term of harmony, concord; in Fire in the East the name of a Roman warship. Conditum: Spiced wine, sometimes served warm before dinner. Consilium: A council, or body of advisors, of a Roman emperor, official or elite private person. Conticinium: The still time of the day, when the cocks have stopped crowing but men are usually still asleep. Contubernium: A group of ten soldiers who share a tent; by extension 'comradeship'. Curule: A chair adorned with ivory, the 'throne' that was one of the symbols of high Roman office. Cursus publicus: The imperial Roman posting service, whereby those with official passes, diplomata, would be given remounts. Denarius: A Roman silver coin. Dignitas: Important Roman concept which covers our idea of dignity but goes much further; famously, Julius Caesar claimed that his dignitas meant more to him than life itself. Diplomata: Official passes which allowed the bearer access to the cursus publicus. Disciplina: Discipline; Romans considered that they had this quality and others lacked it. Dominus: Lord, Master, Sir; a title of respect (Latin). Draco: Literally a snake or dragon; name given to a windsock-style military. standard shaped like a dragon. Dracontarius: A Roman standard-bearer who carried a draco. Drafsh-i-Kavyan: The battle standard of the Sassanid royal house. Dromedarii: Roman soldiers mounted on camels. Dux Ripae: The Commander, or Duke, of the Riverbanks; a Roman military officer in charge of the defences along the Euphrates river in the third century AD; historically based at Dura-Europos, in this novel based at Arete. Elagabalus: Patron god of the town of Emesa in Syria, a sun god, also name often given to one of his priests who became the Roman emperor formally known as Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (AD218-222). Epotis: The 'ear timber' of a trireme projecting out from the side of the vessel just behind the ram. Equestrian: The second rank down in the Roman social pyramid, the elite order just below the Senators. Equites singulares: Cavalry bodyguards; in Rome one of the permanent units protecting the emperors; in the provinces ad hoc units set up by military commanders. Eupatrids: From the Greek, meaning the 'well-born', aristocrats. Exactor: The accountant in a Roman military unit. Familia: Latin term for family, and by extension the entire household including slaves. Franks: A confederation of German tribes. Frigidarium: Cold room of a Roman bath. Frumentarius, plural frumentarii: They were a military unit based on the Caelian Hill in Rome; the emperors' secret police; messengers, spies and assassins. Germania: The lands where the German tribes lived. Gladius: A Roman military short sword; generally superseded by the spatha by the mid-third century AD; also slang for 'penis'. Goths: A confederation of Germanic tribes. Harii: A German tribe, renowned night fighters. Haruspex, plural haruspices: A priest who divines the will of the gods; one would be part of the official staff of a Roman governor. Hibernia: Modern Ireland. Hyperboreans: Legendary race of men who lived in the far north, beyond the north wind. Hypozomata: A rope forming the undergirdle of a trireme; there were usually two of them. Ides: the thirteenth day of the month in short months, the fifteenth in long months. Immortals: A Sassanid guard unit of (possibly) 1,000 men. Imperium: The power to issue orders and exact obedience; official military command. Imperium romanum: The power of the Romans, i.e., the Roman empire. Jan-avasper: Those who sacrifice themselves, a Sassanid guard unit. Kalends: The first day of the month. Kyrios: Lord, Master, Sir; a title of respect (Greek). Lanista: A trainer of gladiators. Legio IIII Scythica: A Roman legion from the second half of the first century AD based at Zeugma in Syria; in Fire in the East a detachment, vexillatio, of this legion forms part of the garrison of the city of Arete. Legion: A unit of heavy infantry, usually about 5,000 men strong; from mythical times the backbone of the Roman army; the numbers in a legion and the legion's dominance in the army declined during the third century AD as more and more detachments, vexillationes, served away from the parent unit and became more or less independent units. Libertas: Latin for liberty or freedom, its meaning was contingent on when it was said and who by. Librarius: The bookkeeper or scribe of a Roman military unit. Liburnian: A name given in the time of the Roman empire to a small warship, possibly rowed by about fifty men on two levels. Limes imperii: Latin for the limits of empire, the borders of the Roman imperium. Magi: Name given by Greeks and Romans to Persian priests, often thought of as sorcerers. Mandata: Instructions issued by the emperors to their governors and officials. Margazan: Persian term for one who commits a sin, like cowardice in battle, and deserves death. Mazda: (Also Ahuramazda) 'The Wise Lord', the supreme god of Zoroastrianism. Mentula: Latin obscenity for penis, i.e., 'prick'. Meridiatio: Siesta time. Meshike: The site of a battle fought some time between 13 January and 14 March AD244 in which Shapur I claimed to have defeated Gordian III. Greek and Roman sources do not mention this battle. Renamed Peroz-Shapur, the 'Victory of Shapur', by the Sassanid king, it became known as Pirisabora to the Romans. Miles, plural milites: Soldier. Mobads: Persian name for class of priests. Murmillo: A type of heavily armed gladiator with a helmet crest in the shape of a fish. Nones: The ninth day of a month before the ides, i.e., the fifth day of a short month, the seventh of a long month. Numerus, plural numeri: Latin name given to a Roman army unit, especially to ad hoc units outside the regular army structure, often units raised from semi- or non-Romanized peoples which retained their indigenous fighting techniques; thus in Fire in the East the titles of the units formed from mercenaries and local levies and commanded by the caravan protectors. Oneiromanteia: Greek term for telling the future by the interpretation of dreams. Oneiroskopos: A 'dream-scout', one of the Greek names given to an interpreter of dreams. Optio: Junior officer in the Roman army, ranked below a centurion. Paideia: Culture; Greeks considered it marked them off from the rest of the world, and the Greek elite considered it marked them off from the rest of the Greeks. Parexeiresia: The outrigger of a trireme which allowed the upper level of oarsmen to row. Parthians: Rulers of the eastern empire centred on modern Iraq and Iran overthrown by the Sassanid Persians in the 2205 AD. Paedagogus: Schoolmaster. Pepaideumenos, plural pepaideumenoi: Greek term for one of the highly educated or cultured. Peroz: Victory (Persian). Pilus Prior: The senior centurion in a Roman army unit. Porta Aquaria: The Water Gate; in this novel the eastern gate of the city of Arete. Praefectus: 'Prefect', a flexible Latin title for many officials and officers, typically the commander of an auxiliary unit. Praefectus fabrum: A Roman army officer, a general's Chief of Engineers. Praepositus: Latin term for a commander; in this novel the title given to the caravan protectors as commanders of numeri. Praetorian prefect: The commander of the Praetorian Guard, an equestrian. Princeps peregrinorum: The commander of the frumentarii, a senior centurion. Priricipatus: (In English, the 'principate') Rule of the Princeps, the rule of the Roman imperium by the emperors. Principia: The headquarters building of a Roman army camp. Procurator: A Latin title for a range of officials, under the principate typically a financial officer of the emperors operating in the provinces. Provocator: A type of gladiator. Pugio: A Roman military dagger, one of the symbols which marked out a soldier. Retiarius: A type of lightly equipped gladiator armed with a trident and net. Sassanids: The Persian dynasty that overthrew the Parthians in the 220S AD and were Rome's great eastern rivals until the seventh century AD. Senate: The council of Rome, under the emperors composed of about 600 men, the vast majority ex-magistrates, with some imperial favourites. The senatorial order was the richest and most prestigious group in the empire, but suspicious emperors were beginning to exclude them from military commands in the mid-third century AD. Spatha: A long Roman sword, the normal type of sword carried by all troops by the mid-third century AD. Speculator: A scout in the Roman army. Strategos: General (Greek). Strigil: A scraper used by bathers for scraping oil and dirt off their skin. Subura: The district of Rome between the Esquiline and Viminal hills, a notorious slum. Synodiarch: Greek term for a 'caravan protector', the unusual group of rich and powerful men historically known in Palmyra and in this novel in the city of Arete. Tadmor: The name for the city of Palmyra used by the locals. Telones: Customs official (Greek). Tepidarium: Warm room of a Roman bath. Testudo: Literally, tortoise (Latin), by analogy both a Roman infantry formation with overlapping shields, similar to a northern 'shieldburg', and a mobile shed protecting a siege engine. Touloutegon: A Roman cavalry manoeuvre. Tribunus laticlavius: A young Roman of senatorial family doing military service as an officer in a legion; there was one per legion. Trierarch: The commander of a trireme, in the Roman forces equivalent in rank to a centurion. Trireme: An ancient warship, a galley rowed by about 200 men on three levels. Turma, plural, turmae: A small sub unit of Roman cavalry, usually about 30 men strong. Venationes: Beast hunts in the Roman arena. Vexillatio: A sub unit of Roman troops detached from its parent unit. Vinae: Literally Latin for vine trellises; name given to mobile covered siege shelters because of their shape. Vir egregius: Knight of Rome, a man of the equestrian order. Xynema: A Roman cavalry manoeuvre. List of Emperors in the First Half of the Third Century AD

List of Characters To avoid giving away any of the plot, characters usually are only described as first encountered in Fire in the East.

Acilius Glabrio: Marcus Acilius Glabrio, Tribunus Laticlavius of Legio IIII, commander of the detachment of the legion in Arete; a young patrician. Alexander: A nondescript councillor of Arete. Anamu: A synodiarch (caravan protector) and councillor of Arete. Antigonus: A trooper in Cohors XX, selected to serve in the equites singulares of Ballista. Antoninus Prior: Pilus Prior, First Centurion, of Cohors I of Legio IIII. Antoninus Posterior: Centurion of Cohors II of Legio IIII. Ardashir: King of Adiabene, son and vassal of Shapur. Bagoas: The 'Persian Boy', a slave purchased by Ballista on the island of Delos; he claims his name before enslavement was Hormizd. Ballista: Marcus Clodius Ballista, originally named Dernhelm, son of Isangrim the Dux, warleader, of the Angles; a diplomatic hostage in the Roman empire, he has been granted Roman citizenship and equestrian status, having served in the Roman army in Africa, the far west and on the Danube. When the novel starts he has just been appointed Dux Ripae. Bathshiba: Daughter of Iarhai. Bonitus: A famous Roman siege engineer. Calgacus: A Caledonian slave originally owned by Isangrim sent by him to serve as a body servant to his son Ballista in the Roman empire. Callinicus of Petra: A Greek sophist. Castricius: A legionary in Legio IIII. Celsus: A famous Roman siege engineer. Cocceius: Titus Cocceius Malchiana, a decurion in command of the first turma of cavalry in Cohors XX. Demetrius: The 'Greek Boy', a slave purchased by Julia to serve as her husband Ballista's secretary. Dinak: Queen of Mesene, a daughter of Shapur. Felix (1): A centurion in Cohors XX. Felix (2): An unlucky trooper in the equites singulares of Ballista. Gallienus: Publius Licinius Egnatius Gallienus, declared joint Roman emperor by his father, the emperor Valerian, in AD253. Haddudad: A mercenary captain serving larhai. Hamazasp: King of Georgia, a vassal of Shapur. Hannibal: A nickname given to a frumentarius from North Africa serving as a scribe on the staff of Ballista. larhai: A synodiarch (caravan protector) and councillor of Arete. Ingenuus: A Roman general on the Danube. lotapianus: A pretender to the Roman throne in AD248-249, from Emesa. Isangrim: Dux, warleader, of the Angles, father of Dernhelm/Ballista. Josephus: A Christian mistaken for a philosopher. Julia: Wife of Ballista. Karen: A Parthian nobleman, the head of the house of Karen, a vassal of Shapur. Lucius Fabius: Centurion of Cohors I of Legio IIII, stationed at the Porta Aquaria. Mamurra: Praefectus Fabrum (chief of engineers) to Ballista. Mariades: A member of the elite of Antioch who turned bandit before going over to the Sassanids. Maximinus Thrax: Gaius Iulius Verus Maximinus, Roman emperor AD235- 23 8, known as 'Thrax' ('The Thracian') because of his lowly origins. Maximus: Bodyguard to Ballista; originally a Hibernian warrior known as Muirtagh of the Long Road, sold to slave traders and trained as a boxer, then gladiator, before being purchased by Ballista. Odenaethus: Septimius Odenaethus, Lord of Palmyra/Tadmor, a client ruler of the Roman empire. Ogelos: A synodiarch (caravan protector) and councillor of Arete. Otes: A councillor of Arete, a eunuch. Philip the Arab: Marcus Iulius Philippus, Praetorian Prefect under Gordian III, became Roman Emperor AD244-249. Priscus (1): Optio, second-in-command, of the trireme Concordia. Priscus (2):Gaius Iulius Priscus, brother of Philip the Arab. Prosper: Gaius Licinius Prosper, a young optio serving in Legio IIII. Pudens (1): Centurion of Cohors II of Legio IIII. Pudens (2): A lumpen Macedonian soldier who ends up as standard-bearer to Ballista. Romulus: A trooper of Cohors XX appointed standard-bearer to Ballista. Sampsigeramus: King of the Roman client kingdom of Emesa and high priest of Elagabalus. Sasan: Prince, 'the hunter', a son of Shapur. Scribonius Mucianus: Gaius Scribonius Mucianus, Tribune commanding Cohors XX. Seleucus: Pilus Prior, First Centurion, of Cohors II of Legio IIII. Sertorius: Nickname given to a frumentarius from the Iberian peninsular, serving as a scribe on the staff of Ballista. Shapur I: (or Sapor) Second Sassanid King of Kings, son of Ardashir I. Suren: A Parthian nobleman, the head of the house of Suren, vassal of Shapur. Theodotus: A councillor of Arete, a Christian priest. Turpio: Titus Flavius Turpio, Pilus Prior, First Centurion, of Cohors XX. Uranius Antoninus: Lucius Iulius Aurelius Uranius Antoninus, from Emesa, pretender to the Roman throne AD253-254. Valash: Prince, 'the joy of Shapur', a son of Shapur. Valerian (1): Publius Licinius Valerianus, an elderly Italian senator elevated to Roman emperor in AD253. Valerian (2): Publius Cornelius Licinius Valerianus, eldest son of Gallienus, grandson of Valerian, made Caesar in AD256. Vardan: A captain serving under the Lord Suren. Verodes: Chief minister to Odenaethus. Vindex: A trooper in the equites singulares of Ballista, a Gaul. Zenobia: Wife of Odenaethus of Palmyra. Warrior of Rome