Immortal: A Novel of Belisarius (The Last of the Romans Book 2) by William Havelock

Author:William Havelock [Havelock, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Havelock Books
Published: 2021-10-13T22:00:00+00:00

Curse of the Magus

CEPHALAS WOKE ME well before dawn. After a light breakfast, I met with Fulcaris and Barzanes at the edge of camp, and we vaulted onto light ponies that would guide us through the Persian lines and into Nisibis.

All signs of our Roman allegiance were left with the army. My armor, clothes, and weapons were exchanged for Persian equipment that had been taken on the raids of our foederati, and I was forced to leave Ignis behind for a separate horse. The Persian garb felt oddly heavy against my skin, but I did not doubt its authenticity, especially when Barzanes remarked on our resemblance to Persian armies and mercenary forces.

Last of all, I tucked Theodora’s ring, as well as the chain that bore Mariya’s golden dragon and my bronze cross, into a soft leather pouch, possessions I dared not risk falling into Persian hands. Tying the bag shut, I kissed it, then handed the lot to Father Petrus, who promised their return upon my safe arrival back into Belisarius’ forces.

Under the cover of profound darkness, we removed ourselves from camp and pushed our horses hard to the northeast, seeking a strip of unguarded territory along the extensive Roman–Persian border by which we could sneak into Nisibis unnoticed. Fulcaris chatted excitedly about how we would present ourselves to Persian city guards, and whether pretending that we were slaves to Barzanes would provide sufficient cover.

“The Persians don’t keep slaves,” Barzanes corrected. “They feel it is an affront to their God, the Ahura Mazda.”

Fulcaris snorted, seeming to believe it a joke.

“Fine, then,” I replied. “Fulcaris, you’re a mute. Keep your mouth shut and pretend that you cannot speak a word.”

“Well, that’s going to be impossible.” Fulcaris snickered, and Barzanes rolled his eyes insisting upon the urgency of the ruse. I was reluctant to chastise my young Herulian volunteer but did my best to impress upon him the gravity of our mission, which needed utter seriousness of purpose to succeed and survive. Fulcaris nodded, his usually joyful face marred by a light frown.

“That means now, both of you,” Barzanes snapped. “From now on, we speak only Persian. Any scout within a mile of our position would know that Roman spies were heading eastward by now.”

Visibly nervous, Fulcaris obeyed Barzanes’ commands, keeping silent as we galloped along the southern bank of the Euphrates. We kept as vigorous a pace as possible, traveling by night and resting during the heat of midday, taking care to ensure that our horses would not collapse from exhaustion or injury as we proceeded toward the Tigris just south of Amida.

That night, low fires in the evening horizon betrayed the presence of Xerxes’ army nearby, which appeared to be moving in force at a heavy pace. Torches danced in the distance atop the heads of walking and mounted men, with the din from their movements carrying well across the flat plains.

“The army is on the move south, with some haste,” Barzanes remarked in Persian, choosing his words carefully. Ignoring

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