Chersonesos, A Port on the Sea of Darkness
"This is poor news," Dahvos said, toying with the gnawed remains of a lamb shank. "It seems we've come too late."
Master Nomes nodded, spreading thin, gnarled hands wide to show that such things were the will of the gods. A Greek from Trebizond, the old merchant controlled the business interests of the House of de'Orelio, here on the northern shore of the Sea of Darkness. Lank, stringy hair fell to his shoulders and he was lean to the point of cadaverousness. When he spoke, it was in a hurried, accented Greek punctuated with wet-sounding coughs. Jusuf had to listen closely to make out what he was saying.
"Young man," the merchant wheezed, "you're too late to hire any sizable number of hulls. The governor has already sent off all those ships that are rigged to carry horses or cohorts of men. This new trouble in the Syrian provinces is ruining commerce as usual." Nomes paused, hacking, and dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. "At best, there are some coasters, each able to carry ten to fifteen fully grown horses, plus an equivalent number of men."
"That's not enough," Dahvos said in a remote tone. Jusuf saw the authority of a prince had come stealing over his brother like a graven mask. The carefree youth pranking and laughing on the road from Itil was gone, replaced by a stern young man, a leader. "We would need substantially more ships than a few coasters. The grain fleet will not return?"
Nomes shook his head sadly. Jusuf was sure the man saw considerable profits disappearing in the wake of the Crimean grain haulers, so recently recalled to the capital. The pinched look on the merchant's face indicated he felt the missed opportunity keenly. "Not until the summer harvest is in, my young friend. A ship could be dispatched, I-cough!-suppose, to carry word to the capital. But when the Imperial authorities might respond, I do not know. It could be months."
Dahvos mulled this over, sipping from a copper goblet filled with steaming spiced wine. Jusuf watched his brother with interest. This expedition might be his idea, but its execution was in the hands of the young khagan.
"Master Nomes," Jusuf ventured, while Dahvos was thinking. "Have you any news from Italia or Syria? The last message that reached me told of Theodore's defeat in southern Phoenicia."
The old merchant shook his head sadly. "No," he said. "Not so much as a scrap. All the news I've heard of late is bad, and out of the capital. There is a bitter struggle in the Imperial household, though none of it, I warrant, is in the streets yet. The factions are waiting for Heraclius to die."
Jusuf settled back in his wicker chair, disheartened. "Nothing new from Italia?"
Again, Nomes shook his head.
"Well," Dahvos said suddenly, "we will have to go around, then, if we cannot take ship directly to Constantinople. It will take some time, I'm sure, but the distance is not much greater than what we have already covered, if memory serves."
"Around? That's a long road through lands we've just crossed, and over two sizable mountain ranges to boot."
Dahvos wagged a finger at his brother. "Not east, dear Jusuf, west. Through southern Sarmatia, across the Danuvius and then down the coast into Roman Thrace."
Nomes guffawed. "To the west? Young sir, all that land is fine riding, but also the domain of the Avar khanate! They are ancient enemies of both Khazaria and Rome-you will have to fight your way through such a passage, and that will delay you for a long time indeed."
"I wonder," Dahvos said, with an unprincely twinkle in his eye. "The Avar khan was soundly beaten during the siege of Constantinople last year. His dependent chiefs will be restless, his own status debased. We are a strong force and we can move swiftly, with your help."
"My help?" Nomes squinted suspiciously at the young man. "How can I help you with this business of armies? I'm a simple merchant!"
"Yes," Dahvos smiled, "a merchant with numerous shallow-draft coasters and extensive contacts all along the coast of the Sea of Darkness. I think it would not tax your abilities too much to provide us with a following fleet."
"A what?" Nomes' lip curled up, gnarled hands wrapped around his walking cane.
"A fleet," Jusuf interjected in a dry voice, giving his little brother an arch look. "A fleet that will sail along the coast while our army rides on land-a fleet that can bring us fodder, food, supplies, news. A fleet to ferry us across the mouths of the Danuvius and other rivers barring our passage along the coast."
"Hmph." Nomes settled in his chair, wrinkled face filled with distrust. "And who will pay for this excursion? You?"
Jusuf looked to Dahvos, who raised an eyebrow, then withdrew a folded, sealed packet of parchment from his tunic. He placed the papers on the table between himself and the merchant.
"I am an agent of the house of de'Orelio," he said softly, so that the servants loitering in the alcoves around the dining room could not hear. "As are you. This is a draft upon the Duchess' account in Constantinople. I think you will find it covers your expenses in this matter."
Nomes raised an eyebrow, then poked at the edge of the parchment with a knobby finger. "Did the Queen of Day set you about this business, then?"
Jusuf wondered at the strange title, but nodded. "We have discussed it, she and I."
Nomes coughed again, suddenly seeming tired and very old. "Then I'd best help you, I suppose. But not tonight. I am tired."
Jusuf rose and bowed to the old man. Nomes ignored him and, helped by his servants, shuffled out of the hall. Dahvos also stood, pocketing some early apples from a tray on the table.
"A good idea."
Dahvos nodded amiably, saying, "I thought so. Your fault, really."
"How so?" Jusuf slung his cape around his shoulders. Rooms had been provided for them in the upper story of the merchant's house, but the Khazar was planning on spending the night in the stables with the horses. It promised to be cleaner, quieter and less infested with biting insects.
"All that hideous Greek you made me read when I was a stripling lad and didn't know any better."
Jusuf frowned at his brother. "What are you talking about?"
Dahvos sighed, shaking his head, then scooped the remainder of the lamb roast into a fold of his own cloak. Jusuf shuddered, thinking of the pungent smell the grease would leave after turning rancid on the inside of the heavy wool. Dogs would follow them for miles!
"Herodotus," the khagan chided. "Don't tell me that you didn't read it yourself?"
Shrugging, Jusuf strode out of the dining hall. "I wasn't the prince in waiting, you were! So what did this Herodotus say?"
Dahvos scowled and followed after, grumbling. "A fine brother you are! Can you even read Greek?"
"I can make do." Jusuf paused outside the doorway to the courtyard. The air was a little nippy, but quite pleasant. A breeze was coming down off the hills above the port. Above the flat roofs of the town, the stars were out and burning with a fierce brilliance. Jusuf felt a delicious anticipation-he had never ridden in the Sarmatian steppe or seen the snowcapped wall of the Dacian Alps rising on the horizon. The birds of the Danuvius' marshes were said to be extraordinary in their diversity. "Was this Herodotus a general?"
"No," Dahvos said, still disgusted. "He was a historian. A Persian, Xerxes the Great, invaded Greece long before Rome or even Alexander. He built a great fleet in Syria and used it to supply an enormous army. A force far larger than the land would allow, if they had to forage."
"Did he win?" Jusuf turned, interested.
"No," Dahvos allowed, breathing deep of the clean night air. "But we will."