“For the same reason Crassus risked it several hundred years ago the hope of covering himself with glory with a sudden blow at the center of the Persian frontier, while Narses is occupied in keeping the Armenians under the sword.”
“What chance does he have of succeeding?”
“It’s a foolhardy move. But then fools sometimes win where wise men lose.”
“Bring the caravan master to me,” Constantine ordered the trooper called Josiah. “And Dacius, have the leaders of each turma procure as much grain and rations as their mounts can carry besides themselves.”
“In preparation for a forced march?”
“What else?”
Dacius didn’t answer, but called for his orderly to bring the maps he always carried on the march in a cylindrical container behind his saddle. When they arrived, he spread one of them out.
“We are here,” he said, pointing to Philadelphia. “Damascus lies almost directly north, about two days of hard riding. We can probably gain more information about what Galerius is doing there and have a report ready to go to the Emperor. It should reach him by the time he gets to Antioch and, if Galerius really lets himself be caught in the desert, a new Caesar of the East will have to be appointed.”
Constantine bent over the map and studied it for a moment. “Why not bypass Damascus and strike directly northeastward for Circesium, where the frontier crosses the Euphrates? We should save several days that way.”
“No matter how fast you travel, Galerius will claim you arrived too late to help in any victory he may win,” Dacius reminded him. “And if he has walked into a trap, aren’t we likely to be caught in it too?”
“Are you asking me or testing me, old fox?”
“Some of both,” Dacius admitted with a grin.
“If Caesar Galerius is winning, I shall tell the Emperor we arrived too late to be of any help. And if he is losing, the army will need all the help it can get.”
“Including a new general?”
Constantine shrugged. “Who can tell? The important thing now is to avoid another Carrhae.”
Hawk nose of the Bedawin traders
Josiah arrived just then with the caravan master, a darkskinned man with the proud face and hawk nose of the Bedawin traders, who were able to follow the ancient paths across desert wastes which their ancestors had traveled for centuries with their caravans. Constantine greeted him courteously and, with Josiah interpreting, launched immediately into a stream of questions.
“Did you see this Roman army of which you spoke?” he asked.
“Not with my own eyes, noble Tribune,” the caravan master answered. “But I had word of it at Sura from one I trust. He had just come from Batnae and saw the army with his own eyes.”
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