Fall of Empires

Chapter 45

The arrival of Shahrbaraz at the Roman encampment four days later was an occasion that Theophanes would always remember with absolute clarity. Many incredible and terrible sights had been emblazoned upon his mind over the past three and a half years; sights that he would take to his grave with their memory undimmed by the years: The flames of a burning city lighting up the night, the heaps of dead upon the bloody fields of battle crawling with swarming flies, the sea filled from shore to shore with smashed timber and drowning men and the blood pulsing from Isaac’s wound as he held his friend, helpless to save him. He would remember too the moment that the two men whose actions had shaped his destiny finally met.
Shahrbaraz appeared from out of the dusty haze like a hero of legend. His armour was polished to a brilliant shine, his horse Rakhsh, with coat gleaming, stepped proudly as he bore his master. From beneath his tall helmet Shahrbaraz’s long black hair, now increasingly shot through with silver, blew in the breeze and his gaze was imperious as if he were already lord of all Persia. He was attended by a dozen Savaran knights all turned out as splendidly as their general. Heraclius rode to greet him on the fringes of the camp, accompanied by an honour guard of Excubitors. Theophanes had scrubbed with sand at his cuirass and helmet until he could see his face in them, determined to look his best for the occasion.

Heraclius himself appeared equally resplendent. He too had chosen to meet his former adversary on horseback and dressed for war, but in the place of a helmet the imperial diadem rested upon his head and the purple cloak and buskins that he wore proclaimed his status as Emperor of the Romans. Shahrbaraz showed no hint of deference to the emperor as the two brought their mounts face to face and Rakhsh and Dorkon exchanged friendly snorts. The respect between the two men however was evident. As they briefly clasped hands in greeting, Theophanes could not decide which of the two he admired the most.

Shahrbaraz noticed Theophanes at last amongst the attendants of Heraclius and his eyes smiled in greeting, though after a moment the shadow of a question showed in the general’s gaze. Theophanes shook his head sadly in silent reply and Shahrbaraz closed his eyes for a heartbeat and bowed his head before returning his attention to the emperor.

Heraclius escorted Shahrbaraz to a pavilion that had been erected on the edge of the camp for the occasion. It was a splendid creation, stitched from alternate panels of white silk and cloth of gold, embroidered with fantastic creatures from legend. It had been amongst the haul of plunder captured in the looting of the summer palace which Heraclius had commandeered for his own use. If Shahrbaraz recognised it he gave no sign.

Within the cool interior Heraclius received his guest with courtesy and emperor and general settled themselves upon gilded couches once reserved for the use of the king of Persia and his guests, drinking the emperor’s wine from Khusrow’s exquisitely fine rock crystal goblets. To Theophanes’ immense pride, he had been permitted to attend upon the conference in the role of translator so that each man could speak freely in his native tongue.

‘Men speak of your duel with Rhazates on the plain of Karamlays in tones of wonder, oh Emperor of the Romans,’ Shahrbaraz began. ‘Many deserters from the army of Rhazates have come into my camp, voluntarily or otherwise. They speak of your prowess and of the perfidy of Rhazates in seeking to slay you when you had already vanquished him in single combat.’

‘Were it not for the courage of a young man well known to you I would not be sitting here before you now,’ the emperor replied gravely once Theophanes had translated the general’s words.

Shahrbaraz’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. ‘It was Isaac who rode out from the Roman lines to protect the emperor and was shot down by Rhazates?’ Theophanes could only nod in response. The general shook his head sadly. ‘He was a young man possessed of a bold and noble spirit. I mourn him.’