Battle of Naissus
Aegyptus, early spring, 249 AD
The Luna and a massive fire atop the Pharos of Alexandria illuminated the calm waters at the entrance of the Canopic branch, twenty miles from the city. It was the darkest part of the night, and the eerie, silent delta of the mighty river was barely disturbed by the faint sounds of twenty oars of two small boats quietly approaching the mouth of the Nilus.
Odokar touched the surface of the water again, testing the salinity and temperature. He was born and spent his entire life at the mouth of the Danapris River, sailing across Lake Maeotis and northern Pontus Euxinus. He knew well how to feel the change where the fresh water of the river and the salty seawater meet. He cursed the light of the clear night sky, but the decision to row to this very watery branch was the only choice, knowing that the other six channels were quite deserted and that only here did they have a chance of what he had in mind. He glanced at his small band of lightly armed soldiers. They were all strong men in their prime who had been rowing for quite some time without stopping, showing no sign of fatigue. He personally selected the strongest Gadrauht soldiers for this mission. They were loyal, both to him and to their homeland, and above all, he knew they would obey his orders no matter what.When they sank their ship a few miles north and continued their journey in these small boats, Odokar, for a moment, felt a slight doubt about the success of the mission, but if the information proved correct, perhaps for the first time in several generations of all the Gothic nations, especially his Herulians, they would have a fighting chance against the mighty Roman legions. Both his and his men's lives are worth nothing compared to what would come from their success in the upcoming days and months.
As they slid into the fresh waters of the river, he instructed both helmsmen to stay on the starboard side of the river, which was nearly a thousand feet wide and even wider at many bends and straights. The first settlement appeared after five miles on the Alexandrian side, and they passed it quietly without any disturbance. Odokar was well prepared for what awaited them most of the way downstream. His informant had taught him all he needed to know, and he knew that this city was called Rashid and that they were about a hundred miles from the Babylonian fortification, which was the main Roman stronghold and the last major one in the massive river delta.
The first rays of light, with dawn coming earlier and earlier each day since they had set out from Scythian territory, not far from the northern border of the Roman Empire, were approaching quickly, and he felt that they were rapidly losing time. He was deep in thought, trying to come up with a different plan in case their luck ran out, when his men saw the first glimmer of light coming from a campfire on the other side of the water. He signaled for them to start rowing toward it, and they soon found a place to tie up their boats beside two date palms with plenty of room to safely disembark between them.
"Edgar!" Odokar pointed to his most loyal Gadrauht and childhood friend, who led the other boat. "Take two of your men and come with me. The rest of you, stay here and prepare for the call."
The four of them cautiously approached the camp, and the first thing they saw was several camels lined up in a circle with dozens of people in the middle, most of them sleeping, and a few busy preparing food and repacking goods and supplies.
"Libyans." Odokar cursed and gestured for them to get back into the boats. As soon as they were aboard, they set off upstream again, this time rowing along the left bank of the river as close to shore as possible.
Dawn had already begun to change the eastern sky from pitch black to variations of gray and blue when their luck turned after two more scouting trips to the coast, sparked by campfires at two more Bedouin camps. Odokar and Edgar, huddled a hundred feet behind dense palm trees, finally caught sight of what they had been hoping for all along. Three contubernium units of Roman legionaries had set up camp for the night on their way north, probably to Alexandria, or downriver to Babylon.
Edgar quietly returned to the river and organized his men for the raid. One group joined Odokar a few moments later, while Edgar led ten others around the camp in a wide arc and took up position on the western side. Soon both sides were crawling towards the camp in perfect sync, stopping just ten feet from the nearest legionary. Odokar and two of his men took out their crossbows and, in perfect unison, shot dead three guards who were sitting around the fire, keeping it alive and chatting lazily, not expecting any danger from the direction of the river.
The massacre that followed lasted only a few moments, exactly the time it took for the Goths to tower over each sleeping legionary, killing them with a few stabs directly to the back of the head or by brutal strangulation if their sleeping position made it easier. It was obvious that they were careful not to pierce their tunics and the thick leather parts of their armor, the belts and girdles that held the metal components together.
Odokar did not participate in the bloody raid. It was not because his instincts or morals could not bear it. He had had his share of raids over the last decade or more, during many scouting missions in the Roman territories below the Danube. He served first as a young Gadrauht and later as a leader in the Dacian and Thracian lands. The last scouting mission had taken place last year in the southern parts of Moesia Superior, where information was obtained on the size of Roman mining facilities and the routes of Roman cohorts.
His mother, a Greek, met his father during a relatively peaceful coexistence with Roman legionaries in their neighboring provinces. During these periods, his father was an experienced sailor and shipmaster of a captured Greek corbita. He undertook numerous trading expeditions in the western Pontus, as far south as Byzantium. The trade goods transported to Roman cities mainly included high-quality furs, amber, and meat. His corbita was medium-sized but large enough to trade horses and slaves as well. His mother was an important part of the Gothic trading community. She was important not only because of her obvious translation skills, but also due to her crucial knowledge of Roman customs. She was directly involved in trade negotiations and the exchange of goods in Roman ports.
Unfortunately, several scouting missions failed for various reasons and did not return. Some of their people were captured, and the Romans managed to learn the routes of entry for the Goths, primarily via the Danubius, but also for those who entered Roman territory by infiltrating merchant ships. One of the last trading voyages had occurred nearly twenty years earlier when the Roman legionaries had boarded their ships as soon as they had dropped anchors at the large port of Odessus in southern Moesia Inferior. His father's ship was the largest at the head of the small armada of merchant ships of the day.
Odokar was only 12 years old when, from the command post of the ship, where he stood with his mother, he witnessed the cruelty of Roman soldiers after they discovered the Gadrauchts in the cargo hold. They brutally killed everyone on board, including the entire crew and his father, sparing only his mother, him, and several other women and children from other ships. That same day they ended up in Roman dungeons as slaves. It took him five years to escape and get his head out alive and another two to find his way to Scythian territory. His mother was not so lucky. She died of an infectious disease while doing the hardest jobs for wealthy Moesian families.
The Romans had banned trade and imposed an annual tribute soon after on main Gothic settlements, hoping it would stop looting and raiding. But it was irregular, miserable, and offensive, to say the least.
The time has come to put an end to it.
He snapped out of his thoughts and watched for a while as his men buried the dead in a pit they had quickly dug in the mud.
"Make sure everyone is clean and well-shaven!" He shouted to Edgar and went to the pile of Roman uniforms and armor to find some that were his size. Fortunately, one of the three decanus commanders of the contubernium units was his height and build, and he quickly donned the uniform.
The sun was quickly rising from the horizon behind the Canopus arm of the mighty Nilus, and Odokar would have been happier if they were already on their way, but Gadrauhts' transformation into legionaries took much longer than he had expected. It didn't matter. They were fortunate to carry out their plan under cover of darkness; otherwise, it would have been much more complicated if they had had to travel and hide during the day in search of a suitable unit of legionaries. His source had told him that contuberniums were common along the river line, but the river delta was still a hundred miles long, and he had some doubts at first.
But now it was all over. Odokar mounted his horse and joined Edgar at the head of the small military unit. Turning to his men, he said a short prayer to the god of war, "Teiws, we are in your mighty hands now. Accept our sacrifice in the name of our forefathers!"
A religious chant erupted, slowly at first, but as they repeated the hymns of praise to the close presence of the ancestral spirits, the words became louder and louder until the thunderous chorus melted into sand and water and became almost otherworldly. For the twenty Gadrauhts, this meant only one thing. A promise. That the end was only their new beginning. Theirs, but also the new beginning and final unity of all their peoples that they desperately needed.
When their prayers finally fell silent, they quietly set off south on a journey of nearly seven hundred miles.
Villages north of Meroë, on the east bank of the Nilus River
Solitudines Africae, the vast desert of North Africa, was actually an extension of the Libyan Desert to the south, and for many, it was an impossible place to live. Yet, it was teeming with life all along the Nilus River. There were no distinct differences between the deserted and fertile land along both banks of the river, all the way south to the vast forests. Trade routes between Roman Aegyptus and the Aethiopian lands flourished at all times, and the grain, linen, and wine that traveled from the north intertwined with the gold, ivory, ebony, and animal skins that came from the south. It was also a major route for the animal and slave trade, starting from the ancient port city of Adulis on the Mare Rubrum, mainly towards the Roman port city of Leptis Magna on the coast of the Mare Internum in Roman Libya.
In contrast to the geographical landscapes, the way of life changed dramatically beyond the borders of Aegyptus and further south. The Numidian villages and small settlements felt poverty and dependence on the river most acutely. Even so, such hardship could not be seen on the faces of the people who lived there. For the most part, they were happy and unburdened by the complexities of the imperial way of life in the north.
However, a year ago, the serenity abruptly gave way to great sorrow. Just a few miles north of the city of Meroë, once the imposing capital of the Kingdom of Kush, on the edge of three connected villages stood a dozen round, hastily assembled wooden huts. They were large and without any furniture, capable of accommodating up to a hundred people each. The outbreak that broke out last year quickly decimated the population of all the Aethiopian nations miles to the south.
Deadly diseases commonly spread in this part of the world and often recurred every two or three generations. This one, however, was different from the ones from the past. Oral traditions of local people have never mentioned such a large number of victims. The death toll was up to a hundred each day, with as many new infected coming from the south. Those same tales taught people that the only way to end the crisis was to isolate the sick. The only solution was to ease their passing. To let them die. To burn the dead. Compassion and care for the sick only meant more sick people. The illness did not discriminate and was quick. To fight this, the only way to stop it is to be faster than the disease. To deny it the opportunity to spread further.
That's what her mother told her every time. This morning, as she had every morning for the past six months, Cora sat on the veranda of the most isolated shack in the northernmost part of the settlement facing the desert, sobbing quietly. She felt deep down that the way her mother had advised her to do was deeply wrong. She knew there had to be another way to fight it. She wanted to help at least the few who had responded well to the treatment. She herself had been lying in this hut just three months ago and survived. The potion worked, but mostly here, in this place where the children were housed. However, even in this place, the potion was effective only for those who had arrived before showing the most severe symptoms. Those who haven't waited too long.
"Cora!" She heard Aster calling her from inside. "Come quick! It's Himmat. I can't hold him!"
She stood up and wrapped the silk scarf her mother had left around her face and the tightly woven Numidian cloth around her entire body. She pulled on Greek-style oxys mittens, made entirely of soft tunics, and went inside.
Aster knelt behind the teenager, wearing the same as Cora and holding Himmat tightly. He was having convulsions and was kicking back and forth uncontrollably. His face was covered in blood, which was coming out of his eyes and ears.
Cora sat at his feet and held his hands tightly. The attack passed after a few moments, and Cora stood up and grabbed his legs. "Come on. We have to get him out of the hut."
"No!" Aster shouted a little louder than she intended. "He's not there yet. We have to try a double dose of karkoumic! To apply the powder more..."
"Aster..."
Aster's dark brown eyes were filled with tears... Her younger brother had woken up and lost consciousness several times in the previous days, but he showed no signs that the medicine would help him. His young and strong body had fought much longer than those in the other barracks. Aster had nursed him for almost ten days, but although he had been fully conscious for a whole week and had even helped Cora and Aster with the other children, a few days ago he could no longer stand on his feet. Himmat soon developed a high fever, shivering even while unconscious, a severe headache and sore throat, and just a day later, severe stomach pains with vomiting and diarrhea appeared.
"No! He still has a chance! Oshi was like him. He was vomiting for days, and now he's back! The big dose helped him!"
"Aster..." She approached and hugged her gently. "No one came back after the bleeding started..."
"I know..." Aster burst into tears. "But he is my little brother... Please, Cora. There must be something we could try?"
"If he comes back, try giving him the tea again. If not, mix the root powder with olive oil and rub it where the fever is the highest." Cora reached into her inner pockets and pulled out a small clay pot filled with yellow powder. "But, Aster..." She hesitated, not knowing how to put into words what Aster had already learned by helping her in the children's hut since Himmat arrived. "Just... try to keep him away from other children. The disease is now out through blood and sweat."
The huts were built without doors. Instead, the walls were only three feet high, and the space from the top of the wall to the roof, which was just stacked dry leaves and light wooden slats, was empty all around the hut, allowing for free airflow.
Cora turned to Aster before she left. "Please take care of yourself. Keep a safe distance and don't touch anything with your bare hands!"
Her mother's cabin was not far from the children's hut. Cora went straight inside, which consisted of two rooms, one where the two of them prepared medicine and food, and the other where she spent the time for rest, which she had less and less of with each passing day. The disease came in waves, and at first, when it first broke out, there were large numbers of infected people who came from the southern villages. But there were periods of hope when only a few sick came, and even days when no newly infectious people appeared. But the previous days had been the worst. The disease seemed to be changing. She began to notice new symptoms, and many newly infected people were dying more quickly. The pain was more unbearable. Even the children, who had been more tolerant, were becoming more and more resistant to her treatment.
"Oh, Mother! I can barely take this anymore!" Cora cried out loud. "I wish I had your strength. I miss you so much..." The previous night had been hectic, with only a few hours of sleep. She was exhausted and quickly sank into her uncomfortable wooden chair next to the small table where two open scrolls had been for weeks. One was her personal notebook, where she kept a daily journal, trying to describe and sketch what she experienced every day. The other was "De materia medica," written more than a century ago by Pedanius Dioscorides, a Greek physician who had spent his entire life in the Roman army.
The scroll was opened to a section where Dioscorides described various herbs from the eastern provinces that were effective in reducing fever. The renowned physician explained that he used a mixture of baked egg yolk and safranum, or krokos, to treat eye inflammation. Her mother told her that Greek soldiers used krokos in baths to treat wounds, and Dioscorides claimed that karkoumic root is even better and not just for reducing fever.
Born in Alexandria, for as long as she could remember, Cora had accompanied her mother on her travels wherever her knowledge, gained in the famous Great Library, was needed. She was a brilliant physician and always on the go. They had been in the port of Adulis a year and a half earlier when they heard the first rumors of a new and strange disease that had come from a settlement near the vast forests on the very southern edge of Aethiopia. They were in the city, waiting for the large Roman corbita that usually docked here on the Silk Road toward the Kingdom of Serica. Merchants often brought medical supplies and herbal remedies from the Far East, which they exchanged for the more common products from the mining settlements in the Roman provinces up north, but they often stopped here for ivory.
She sighed heavily and glanced out the window at the approximately 5,000-square-foot Karkoumic plantation. "I think it’s ideal for building a camp here." She recalled her mother's words vividly. "It's isolated, the air is dry, the river is close, and the land is as fertile as it can be."
It wasn't difficult to convince the elders to start building huts here. They provided people to help them not only with the construction but also with the planting. Her mother firmly believed in the healing properties of karkoumic. She was well-versed in its use in treating high fevers and various types of infections in soldiers and ordinary people. In the past, she traveled to the ports of the Silk Road from time to time, constantly looking for different varieties of this special plant.
They thought they had enough karkoumic to start with, but they never expected such a large number of infected. It took six months for the plantation behind their hut to be ready for the first harvest, and until then they had to ration the potion only to those who came with the first symptoms.
But it didn't help as her mother had hoped. True, many young and strong people, including Cora, have managed to recover with the help of the treatment. However, this success rate represented only a small fraction of the people who came daily. For others, the treatment merely extended the time until death became inevitable. After the first symptoms appeared, the fatal outcome occurred in just two weeks. When the first harvest arrived and they could finally rely on larger supplies of karkoumic, the duration until death was extended to as long as a month, although the number of recoveries remained low.
Cora's mother sent messengers south, spreading information about how to treat contagious people, urging them to send them as soon as they noticed the first symptoms, but even that was of little use. Some villages were up to five hundred miles away, and the journey to them was too long.
"There's nothing more we can do. It's all up to the gods now." She said one evening when they returned to their hut. "We must warn the world."
Cora snapped out of her thoughts, took a small sip of Karkoumic tea, and went outside again, heading toward the other huts to wait for the new ones.