Fall of Empires

Chapter 1

Antioch 623 AD

Theophanes shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun and struggled to focus on the far horizon. Beyond the swaying tops of the olive groves and the scrubby plain, where dust devils danced in the warm afternoon air, the land met the sky in a shimmering haze at the limit of his vision. Try as he might, screwing up his eyes and concentrating on a single point until bright spots appeared before them, he could not see any further along the road that led southwards, following the course of the lazy Orontes River. At the vanishing point where road and river merged into an indistinct, sparkling blur he thought that he could just make out  a tell-tale cloud of dust.

‘It’s just the wind,’ said Isaac, who was bored by Theophanes’ vigil up on the walls. ‘Why don’t we head down into the market and see if we can find some girls to talk to instead of ruining our eyesight?’ Isaac never took anything seriously. Theophanes regarded his friend with a long-suffering look. With his unruly mop of black hair, beetling brows and aquiline nose, Isaac was not an attractive prospect. His irrepressible nature and his father’s wealth ensured however that he did not lack for female admirers.

‘The young ladies of Antioch do not wish to be bothered by you.’ Theophanes gestured towards the horizon where the dust cloud was becoming more apparent. ‘It’s not just the wind. Look! This must be him.’

‘Maybe it’s the Persians,’ Isaac whispered.

Theophanes shoved him in irritation.
‘Don’t joke about it,’ he snapped, frustrated by his friend’s ability to make light of the rumours of a vast marauding army which could very soon be threatening the city, although there was no certain news of the invaders’ whereabouts. ‘If it was the Persians the dust cloud would be much larger, wouldn’t it?’

‘And their arrows would blot out the sun.’ Isaac snorted, prodding Theophanes in the ribs.

‘Enough of your nonsense,’ said Theophanes, trying to look serious but grinning despite himself. ‘The Persians are nowhere near here. Not yet.’ He turned once more to stare at the horizon and grinned in triumph. ‘See. It is him. My father is home just as he said he would be.’

Theophanes and Isaac made their way down from the great wall of lion-coloured stone that surrounded the city and joined the bustling crowd in the once-elegant public space beside the Daphne Gate. Here traders hawked their wares from the porticos of dilapidated buildings with bright bolts of cloth stretched between the columns to mark off their pitches. Over the ruins of a once grand basilica toppled by the great earthquake of almost a century before, a colourful and ramshackle market now sprawled. The traders were in fine voice this afternoon and a large crowd of them had left their pitches and gathered around the gate, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the caravan; the last that was expected before the city braced itself for siege. No merchant would chance heading out into open country now. The risks of running into one of the invading Persian armies and seeing their wares and beasts commandeered without compensation as a prize of war were too great. Such a calamity could spell ruin. Nevertheless Theophanes’ father, ever the bold man of business, had chosen to run the gauntlet of the invaders and had made it home safely.

With a clatter of hooves, Bardas Diogenes swept through the gate of his home city of Antioch. He beamed as he glimpsed his son in the crowd and dismounted with an ease that belied his fifty five years and many long days in the saddle. Theophanes noticed however that the lines around his father’s eyes looked a little deeper and the remaining hair around his shining bald head looked a little greyer than the last time he had seen him.

‘Theophanes!’ He wrapped his son in a bear hug and ruffled his curly black hair. ‘Good to see you, my boy.’ He took in his son’s broad-shouldered, stocky frame and deep-tanned swarthy features with an expression that Theophanes took to be approval. He then turned and embraced Isaac with equal affection. That his father regarded the son of Eusebius with such fondness bothered Theophanes not at all for he and Isaac were as close as brothers.
‘You’re here,’ Theophanes blurted, trying to disguise his relief.

‘Of course I am here,’ Bardas replied, still beaming. ‘How have you managed in my absence?’

Theophanes drew himself up and spoke confidently. ‘Our affairs are all in good order, Father. I obtained a good price from the Patriarch’s agent for our stocks of olibanum as you instructed and Eusebius and I have arranged a gathering for this evening on the assumption that you would be home as planned.’

‘Excellent, Theophanes.’ His father nodded in satisfaction. ‘Is that fellow from Tarsus still in the city?’

‘Yes Father, he will be attending this evening. Also, Shimon the Jewish elder has been urgently asking to speak with you. He would not say why.’ Theophanes shrugged. ‘I let him know that you would probably return today.’

‘Probably?’ Bardas cuffed his son playfully around the head, business forgotten. ‘You did not think I would miss your sixteenth birthday did you?’

‘You remembered then.’

‘Of course I remembered. Wait until you see what I have brought you.’

Theophanes felt a pang of excitement and his eyes strayed to the column of snorting dromedaries that was making its way slowly through the gate towards his father’s compound. Their coats were thick with the dust of the journey and their backs were piled high with bundles of valuable cargo. Then he spotted the second most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes upon and hardly dared to dream that it could be his.
‘That is a fine looking horse, Father,’ he said nonchalantly, but was unable to prevent the slight tremor in his voice.

‘Oh him?’ Bardas replied, gesturing with a wave of his hand towards the black stallion who stood tossing his head and pawing at the ground, whilst one of his men held the wayward horse’s bridle and struggled to keep him under control. ‘Do you like him?’

‘He seems spirited enough,’ said Theophanes, whose grin was becoming almost as wide as his father’s.

‘Well he is all yours,’ chuckled his father, slapping Theophanes heartily on the back and making him stumble. ‘And you had better take good care of him because I paid the rascal in Harran who sold him to me almost as much as he is worth.’

His father gestured for the horse to be brought over and Theophanes stretched out his hand and allowed the stallion to catch his scent. Seeming to approve, the horse gave a gentle whicker and nuzzled against his chest.

‘See, boy,’ he murmured to the horse. ‘We’re going to be friends. I shall call you Bucephalus. It is the only name noble enough for a horse as fine as you.’

‘That is just the sort of pretentious name I would expect you to give your horse,’ declared Isaac, who had been uncharacteristically silent for a while.

Turning towards his friend, who constantly mocked his fascination with Alexander and other great heroes of the past, Theophanes was gratified to see that Isaac was boiling with envy, which he was only just managing to keep under control beneath a veneer of sarcasm.

‘So what would you call him?’

‘How about Thunder?’ Isaac suggested.

‘That is just the sort of dull, unimaginative name I would expect you to come up with,’ retorted Theophanes, hoisting up his tunic and tucking the folds of cloth under his belt. ‘Come on! Help me up.’

Isaac rolled his eyes and cupped his hands. Theophanes grasped the pommel of Bucephalus’ saddle, placed his foot in Isaac’s hands and hauled himself up onto the horse’s back. Bucephalus snorted and tossed his head, seemingly eager to be off.

‘Come-on, boy!’ He whispered into the stallion’s ear. ‘Let’s show you to Anna.’
He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and set off a canter through the market, scattering the traders in his path.