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It was written by Diodoros Sikeliotes in his Library of Histories that, according to Ktesias of Knidos, there were already Greeks settled in the distant land of Bactria during the reign of Artaxerxes II Mnemon of Persia — a legacy of his distant predecessor Darius I, who sent the colonists of Barca — the men, the women, and the children, with all of their effects and properties — to the far eastern borderlands of the Indian Caucasus when they refused to surrender an accused assassin within their walls. Over the years, many more Greeks were deported to the land of Bactria, Sogdiana and Gandhara if they refused to submit to the might of the Persian Empire. Particularly during the reign of Xerxes I, many Ionians and Aeolians were exiled from their historic lands and resettled in the mountainous east. By the arrival of Alexander the Great, the Greek population between the Arachotus and Oxus rivers numbered more than that of the lands of Lydia, Libya and Egypt combined — never enough to outnumber the local Bactrians, Chorasmians or Sogdians, but retaining their Hellenistic culture and identity.
The first Greek kingdom in Bactria was founded in later antiquity, some seventy years after the death of Alexander the Great, by a Seleucid satrap of the region. Diodotus Sotor, unsatisfied with the inattentiveness of the distant Seleucid ruler Antiochus II, whose catastrophic blunders in the Syrian wars shook the empire to its core, declared his eastern satrapy independent from Seleucia. The young kingdom prospered, and its thousand cities became renowned for their opulent riches and bountiful harvests. That Kingdom, which lasted for a century and a half, was overtaken by Apollodotus's kingdom in India, which stemmed from a Magnesian host which drove further into Gandhara. This was succeeded by the Kushan Empire, which, despite being non-Greek in its origin, maintained Greek coinage and the use of the Greek language in official business for some time afterwards until its eventual subjugation by the Sasanian Persians. From thence we speak of the New Greek Satraps of Bactria.
First there was Diodotos I Philhellenos, who ruled a small satrapy in the Indian Caucasus. Through quarrelling, he reclaimed the city of Bactra from another satrap, ruling until his succession by his son Diodotos II. From the younger Diodotos, the mantle passed to his son Euthydemos, who would be the last Greco-Bactrian satrap to follow the ancient Hellenic religion. His son, Euthydemos II, would follow the way of Gautama Buddha, though he would die in his youth. Thereafter ruled Antimachos I, who passed the crown to Pantaleon, who was succeeded by Agathokles. To Apollodotos the crown went next, a relative of his predecessor from the Indic Greek lands, and a sympathetic to the Faith of the Hindus. From thence to Antimachos II the Half-Greek, and from then to his son Menander, who passed it on to Zoilos, who passed it on to his son Strato.
Rulers preceding Strato (excl. Diodotos I)
Strato would inherit the satrapy at the collapse of its master's Empire. The fall of the Sasanians at the hands of the expanding Muslim caliphate left a power vacuum in much the same way that the Syrian Wars crippled the Seleucid's ability to rule in the east. Unfortunately for Strato, he and his consort would die young with neither sons nor brothers to pass the mantle of the Bactrian crown to, and many of his more distant relatives declined the duty in fear of drawing the wrath of the Muslim Caliphs. The throne of Bactria, therefore, was left in the hands of his young daughter, Nikephoros.
It is the dawn of the Christian year 769. Bactria is once more a mighty and independent Kingdom with a Greek aristocracy. To the west, on the shores of the Caspian Sea, lies a tributary state — a Parthian-ruled state that is still faithful to Ahura Mazda. There is a great deal of trust between the Karen Satrap and the Bactrian Queen — not because of any mutual interpersonal respect, but for fear of the great Muslim Caliphate which has swallowed up the rest of the Empire of the Sasanids. To the east, the remainder of the Hindu Gandhara Kingdom clings to the foothills of the Indian Caucasus, ruled by the young and cool-headed Prokopios. It also exists under the suzerainty of the Bactrians, who aid it in its defense. To the south, a small handful of Pashtun kingdoms form a buffer between the lands of the Muslims and the lands of the Bactrians. They are fierce warriors who worship the Sun, which they call Zun in their younger Avestan language. The most powerful of these kingdoms is Zunbil, located in Kandahar. Across the deserts of Transoxania, Turkish Khans roam the open steppes of Siberia, and in the Ferghana Valley, the walled city of Alexandria Eschate — literally "the Furthest Alexandria" serves the easternmost bastion of Greek culture in the known world, nestled upon the Tang Empire's trading network.
Thus begins the story of our Kingdom, free and great, with the reign of the young Queen Nikephoros, the daughter of Strato Eukradites. A girl of but twenty years of age, but blessed with intelligence and charisma beyond that of her years — she is a kindhearted young woman of typical passions, literate in Greek, Bactrian, and Sanskrit, and gifted with the admiration of her peers. With her, the story of the Bactrian Kingdom of the Greeks truly begins in earnest.
—————|BACTRA, KINGDOM OF BACTRIA — JANUARY 1st, 769 AD|—————
The cold winter winds whipped as they poured down from the Indian Caucasus to the east, carrying with them a sparkling snowfall that glittered in the last light of the evening as it made its way through the Oxus corridor. Nikephoros shivered, pulling her shawl tightly around her neck as a gust threatened to carry the cold air down her back. From her balcony on the north side of the palace, she was largely shielded from the worst of the winds, but the occasional vortices turned back to pass through her curly brown hair. The rings upon her fingers and arms trapped the cold in their metal bodies, leaving red borders of cold skin to mark their limits. Her nose had turned red from the frosty air, and she blew clouds of steam with every breath she exhaled.
Though she appreciated the beauty of the wintry twilight, the cold metal of her rings and torcs grew painful on her skin, and her teeth began to chatter. She pulled the shawl a bit tighter around her neck and cheeks, took one last look around the frosty expanse before her, and retreated into her chamber. The glow of a small hearth beckoned, tended with coals by a native handmaiden in plain dress. As the queen approached, the handmaiden stood and clasped her hands in closed fists together, bowing her head in a show of respect.
"Carry on, Parmida" said the Queen with a smile. "You have my thanks for your diligence. I could certainly use the fire tonight." She took the handmaidens hands and kissed the clasped fists.
"It pleases me, my lady," replied Parmida, releasing her fists and allowing her hands to drop to her sides. She was a dark-eyed Bactrian girl, not much older than the Queen herself if even she was, with deep freckles despite her dark complexion. "I have set the bedwarmer already. When my lady would like to lay in for the night, she need only fetch me to move it."
"Truly, I don't know what I should do without such a loving subject," said the Queen with a sweet smile. "I think I'll sit by the fire for a bit, but I don't intend to stay up much longer."
A knocking came upon the door of the chamber, and both the Queen and her handmaiden's eyes turned towards it. The Queen nodded at Parmida, who understood and stepped over to the door, opening it slightly. A few murmers, and she turned back to her Queen, and said, "My lady's husband has come to call."
"Permit him so," said the Queen with a nod. Parmida opened the door, and in stepped the Queen's prince consort, Philotheos Tarmidites. Parmida offered the same gesture of submission with clasped fists and head bowed. Philotheos kissed the knuckles of her fists in a similar fashion and turned to greet his wife. He was holding a chalice in one hand, from which issued a faint steam of liquid. Nikephoros stepped over to him, kissed her fingers and laid them on his cheek. "Greetings, husband. Is there something I can do for you?"
"I've brought you something," said Philotheos, smiling. He had a wide gap in his front teeth and smiling eyes — not a particularly bright man, but sweet and loyal to a fault. "Your fingers are freezing — have you been outside?"
"I have, for a moment, yes," answered Nikephoros.
"My dear Queen, you'll catch cold!" said Philotheos, concern filling his eyes.
"I'm well enough, husband," she assured, tapping his free hand with her fingers. "You've brought me something, then?"
"Oh, yes!" said Philotheos, offering up the chalice in his other hand. "It's wine — though, it's hot; that's why it issues steam. I've heard they do this in the lands of Serikos during the winter months. I've tried it myself — it's not bad, and it helps to warm the bones."
"You don't say?" said Nikephoros, taking the cup in her hands and swirling the hot wine around. The bitter scent of alcohol reached her nose, still cold from the winter winds. "The Seres are an ingenious people to think of such a thing. We could learn a thing or two from them."
"Certainly," agreed Philotheos, nodding.
"I haven't had the chance to ask you yet," continued Queen Nikephoros, holding the chalice up and snifting the wine's scent. The wine-steam issued forth warmed her face as she inhaled its aroma. "How was your recent journey?"
"I must say, Orissa is a lovely country. Much warmer there, I must say."
"You must say, hm?" giggled the Queen.
"Indeed I must," said Philotheos, wrinkling his nose. "Oh, but the dancing there is something to behold! I would show you if I had more a penchant for dancing."
"Oh, come now — you couldn't possibly be so bad at dancing that you'd have nothing to show me!"
"Well, perhaps-"
Philotheos was interrupted by another knocking at the slightly ajar chamber door. The Queen nodded at Parmida once more to answer the door, and she did so with haste. A few words and nods were exchanged, then she turned and said, "Captain Cyrus sends his regards and compliments, and wishes to inform my lady that a messenger has arrived from the King of Gandhara."
"Very well. Inform them that I shall be down in the throne room in just a moment."
"Yes, my lady," answered Parmida. She turned back to the door and gave the answer to the messenger.
Philotheos sighed. "I suppose I shall return to my own chamber then. It seems the call of duty has been raised for you tonight."
"I suppose it has." Nikephoros inspected the chalice once more, then raised it, taking a few big gulps of the liquid. It was hot, but not burning, and the wine was strong. She lowered the chalice, nearly half empty, and an immediate rush went to her head. "Thank you for the wine, husband. I think I'll need it."
"Certainly, my Queen," said Philotheos, smiling and nodding.
—————|THE THRONE ROOM|—————
Captain Cyrus and the Gandhari messenger stood in wait, shuffling in anxious silence until the Queen entered the room. They both offered their clasped hands in reverence to her, but broke the gesture without prompting. Captain Cyrus said nothing and stepped back, while the Gandhari messenger took a knee and placed his folded hands over his chest. His style of dress and the grooming of his beard made him very obviously Indian.
"I take it you are the messenger from King Prokopios?"
"Indeed I am," the messenger replied. His Prakrit accent was thick, but his Greek was fluent. "My King, Prokopios Adraskanites, requests the aid of his friend and suzerain the Queen of Bactria. Should it be pleasing to the Queen, we request the military might of Bactria to come to our assistance in our war against the King of Karkoṭa."
The Queen took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose. The scent of the wine still lingered.
"My King Prokopios has made it clear that failure to aid us will not reflect badly upon the Queen. It is in her right to refuse. We merely ask that she consid-"
"You will have your aid," the Queen cut him off. "Inform your King Prokopios that the full might of the Kingdom of Bactria will be his to wield against the King of Karkoṭa."
—————|NEAR TARMIDH, KINGDOM OF BACTRIA — JANUARY 19th, 769 AD|—————
Two-hundred-and-sixty-eight stadia north-northeast of Bactra, on the left bank of the Oxus River, Bactrian levies had begun to assemble from across the Kingdom to prepare their march to the East. They drilled furiously to the sound of lurs and the bellow of commands in Greek, though many of them were native Bactrians or Sogdians. Their camps and drilling grounds far outclassed the city of Tarmidh, which sat just opposite the river on the right bank.
The more professional soldiers executed complex manœuvres, marching to the cadences of war drums. The more hastily thrown-together units of peasant levies, on the other hand, were being drilled on simply falling into formation without squabble. The rattle of their battle equipment filled the air with the calling of lurs and the shouting of officers. In the distance, several ilai of cavalry were practicing in forming up into flying wedges to prepare themselves for the coming campaign. In the space between, the Bactrian Queen and several of her companions rode with the Queen's Marshal, Šarvin Bamiyani, inspecting the state of the troops that would be deployed in aid of the King of Gandhara.
"Is it not an excellent sight, my Queen?" asked Šarvin, raising his voice to a shout to be heard over the commotion. He was not a member of the ruling Greek aristocracy, but an elder Pashto warrior of some sixty years of age. He had been a commander of Bactrian armies since the reign of Zoilos, Nikephoros's grandfather.
"Indeed it is," replied Queen Nikephoros. "You've done well to raise so many soldiers so quickly, Marshal. I'm very proud of your work."
"It is my pleasure to serve my Queen," replied Šarvin. They rode from the drilling grounds into the sea of earthy-coloured tents, up a perpendicular row and to a large pavilion tent where several men in exquisite armours stood around a table. They dismounted at a makeshift hitchingpost, handing off their horses to a camp slave, and entered the open-sided pavilion. Nikephoros appeared in greaves and arm guards, carrying a black roundshield with the emblem of the Sun of Vergina emblazoned upon it, a visual claim to the Legacy of Macedon. She would not accompany this campaign, but her brief appearance in martial gear would bolster the confidence of her soldiers in battle.
She and Šarvin approached the table where the commanders in their exquisite armours stood. Most of them wore armour in the Greek style, and their idle chatter was held in a mixture of Greek and Bactrian, but one man stood out for his distinctive Turkish lamellar cuirass and feathered peaked helmet. His silence and apparent confusion betrayed him as a foreigner.
"My Queen," said Šarvin, stepping over to the burly man in the Turkish armour and placing a hand on his shoulder. "This is Karatay. He is the commander of a company of Turkmen that we've contracted to aid in the campaign." He turned to the Turkish man, and said, "Bu ayal Belh'in qaɣanı."
The Turkish man smiled, grunted, and raised his open hand with his thumb to his chest. "Görev etmek üçün men barım."
Nikephoros furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. "Hm?" she asked, leaning forward as if she hadn't heard him properly.
"What he says is that he is here to offer his service," explained Šarvin, patting the stout Turk on the shoulder. The man smiled, obviously confused. "Karatay speaks not a word of Greek, Bactrian, Persian, Pashtun, Sanskrit — not any civilised tongue. A true rustic from beyond the Oxus!" Šarvin laughed and stepped away from the Turk, who was none the wiser, rejoining the Queen's side. "But — and a great but! — he is a talented horseman and commander, and his company are some of the best damned horse archers you'll find."
"Obviously, your expertise in the art of war is not to be questioned, Marshal," replied the young Queen, leaning on her shield. The sword at her hip clanked against the wooden rear surface of it as she leant. "However, this is where my expertise comes in: exactly how did you pay these gentlemen to secure their services?"
"Well—" Šarvin stuttered, "I didn't-"
"You didn't think of running it by me before spending nearly 40,000 drachmé from the Kingdom's coffers, Šarvin?" pressed the Queen. The other commanders fell silent, save for the already-silent Karatay, who was looking more confused than ever. "You left a signed receipt for the disbursement with the royal exchequer. Did you not expect me to notice?"
Šarvin's face went pale. "Well, my Queen— I mean, do forgive my egregious lapse in judgement, but our levies were a bit-" Šarvin's volume faded as his sentence went on. "-light?"
"You will consult me before you draw any funds from my treasury," said Nikephoros, placing her weight on the shield and leaning in to speak close to Šarvin's face. She was tall for a woman, he was short for a man, and they were nearly nose to nose as the daggers in her eyes pierced his. "That isn't a suggestion, Šarvin. That is a command, the likes of which is solely my prerogative. Am I understood?"
Šarvin stepped back, lowered his head, and raised his clasped hands in submission. "It is as you command it, my Queen."
Nikephoros relaxed her weight from the shield, standing up straight and looking around at the silent commanders in the room. They lowered their eyes, save for the Turk, who still understood little of the situation. She wanted to smile at him in the place of comforting words, for this innocent foreigner held no blame for his ignorance — though Šarvin had done his best to paint him as some kind of rube — but she could do no such thing, and retained a stony expression as her authority crept about the room.
"Now, my commanders," she began, crossing her legs and leaning on the shield once more in a display of casual informality. "If you haven't yet been informed, we have been called to war by our brothers in the Kingdom of Gandhara. King Prokopios Adraskanites expects that we will help him to drive the King of Karkoṭa out of those lands which rightfully belong to Him." She glanced about the pavilion at the commanders who had given her their full attentions. Drawing a deep breath, she continued: "I'm going to entrust my host to my Protostrator, Marshal Šarvin. If there is anybody who objects to his investment as your supreme commander on this campaign, speak up now, that I may dismiss you from your office."
The commanders remained silent. Somebody coughed, but Nikephoros couldn't locate its source.
"I hope I am not mistaken in taking your silence for agreement."
Silence. Nikephoros grunted in frustration, drumming her fingers on the surface of her shield. "Let's try something else. If you agree that Šarvin be your supreme commander, say aye."
A chorus of halfhearted, mumbled eyes rose up and quickly fell. Nikephoros nodded in weak satisfaction. "Come morning, this army is going to march along the road south. At Bactra you'll turn eastward towards Aornos, and from Aornos you'll follow the mountain passes south to Kabul. From there, you'll go east through the Khyber Pass to Udabhandapur." She turned to Šarvin, whose natural colour had begun to return after his embarassment. "From thence you'll attach to the armies of King Prokopios, or whoever holds the mantle of commander in chief in his stead."
Šarvin placed a fist over his heart. "It will be done, my queen."
—————|BANKS OF THE SUVASTU RIVER — APRIL 18th, 769 AD|—————
On the left bank of the rocky, southward flowing Suvastu river, the two armies had formed up facing one another — the combined arms of the Bactrians and Gandharis upstream, and the Karkoṭan forces below. Šarvin rode with his companions behind the right flank of the combined Bactro-Gandhari infantry force, accompanied by his Skoidos, Traianos Andkhudites, while Karatay and his turks rode out upon the right flank with archers afront. The Strategoi of both the Gandhari and Bactrian forces had been briefed the previous night as to what was expected of them. Šarvin had assumed command of the joint force's campaign — the Gandhari protostrator had been wounded in a previous engagement and had been forced into convalescence. Today, the mantle of victory would be the honour of the Bactrian leadership, should it come to them.
With a nod, Šarvin indicated to the lur-trumpeter that the time had come. The lur sounded out, and with a flurry of activity, the hypaspistai and pezhetairoi readied up their arms. Karatay's horse-archers launched forward at the sound of the signal, beginning to close the gap in order to sweep the front of the Karkoṭan forces. As they closed, other elements of the army lurched forward into motion across the open field. The remainder of Karatay's horsemen drove into action as the body of the infantry rolled slowly across the field.
"Tell me something, Skoidos," said Šarvin, leaning in his saddle to speak to Traianos. The horse archers began raining down arrows into the Karkoṭans, who were lying in wait for the infantry.
"What should you like to know, Protostrator?" replied Traianos. A great cacaphony rose up as Karatay's riders crashed into the enemy's left flank, while the horse archers continued to sweep along the Karkoṭan front.
"Do you ever worry," began Šarvin, "that men in our profession accumulate more negative karmas than our calling is worth?"
"It doesn't cross my mind often," replied Traianos. The pair spurred their horses on, and they with their companions began traversing the rear of the Infantry line from the right flank to the left with no particular haste. The foe had not delivered much of a response to the Turkish horse archers that were having their way with the front of their formation, other than to attempt to layer their wicker shields to avoid the missiles that were driving towards them. Karatay had also tied up what little body of cavalry the Karkoṭans had on the far left of their formation, leaving them little room to properly counter.
"Perhaps it's mostly my age," Šarvin explained. "I'm already sixty years old, and I know I won't continue for much longer in this life." Another bellow from the lur rang out, signalling for the pezhetairoi to lower ther sarissas as they approached the enemy's front. The horse archers completed their sweep and rounded the Bactro-Gandhari line's left flank. "How old are you, Skoidos?"
"I'm twenty-nine, Protostrator," answered Traianos. "Going to be thirty before too long." The centre and right of the Bactro-Gandhari infantry made contact with the enemy front and began to push, with the pezhetairoi applying pressure and the hypaspitai hacking down the enemy's shield-bearers near the flank. The left had lagged behind, and had not yet made contact with the Karkoṭans' right.
"Twenty-nine," Šarvin repeated. Karatay's horse archers had looped around behind the formation and turned back towards the right, moving to assist the remainder of his mounted force on that flank. "You know, when I was your age, I think I was in very much the same position as you. I wasn't a Skoidos, but a Hekatontarkhos at that time." The whole front was now in contact, and an ilé of Gandhari cavalry had engaged on the left with the enemy's right, pinning down a unit of support cavalry on that side. It was then that Traianos noticed movement on the other side of the enemy's lines.
"Protostrator," he said, tapping Šarvin on the arm. "Note the movement from their right to their left." He pointed to the commotion. "It looks to be cavalry."
Šarvin nodded. "That it does appear to be." He drew his sword and wheeled his horse around to face his companion cavalry, consisting of three ilai. "Alright, my companions! The time is now. Banners to me!"
Several colourbearers sprung out from the formation, joining Šarvin and Traianos at the front. Šarvin turned to Traianos, and said, "Shall we make our appearance at their rear?" Traianos nodded and drew his sword. Šarvin drew a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and raised his sword high above his head. "At the hard gallop then — with me!" He pointed as he wheeled his horse once more about and drove hard towards the now empty flank.
The sound of the chaos from the infantry lines facing off against each other faded as the roar of some six-hundred galloping horses erupted. They rode hard around the enemy's right, wheeling around the end of their line and ending up behind them. At first they went largely unnoticed, but as they traversed the length of the Karkoṭan rear, their presence became evident to the foe which they had outflanked, and panic began to build in the enemy's lines. They did not break their gallop, driving the length of the Karkoṭan force before plowing hard into the back of their lines on their left flank, not far from where Karatay's Turks had tied up their front.
The sound of cavalry crashing into the rear of an infantry formation is not one that leaves the memory easily. Those who hear it for themselves are forever altered by the recollection of it. It is something that inhabits the nightmares of fighting men. A horse's momentum is not stopped by one, two, three, or even half a dozen bodies, which break like twigs between the beast's weight — and even if your horse should die beneath your saddle, it is still dangerous as long as it has room to fall. You cannot steer a horse that is driving through a sea of men, bouncing them to the side as it slows, crushing their bones as it collides. You are at the mercy of the swirling chaos of battle, and can only hang on for dear life with your left as you hold your sword in your right.
Traianos's steed broke through the other side of the Karkoṭan formation. He spurred on, wheeling about to make another pass, avoiding the Bactrian hypaspistai who were still putting pressure on the wavering Karkoṭan infantry. Without hesitation, he charged back in, the knuckles of his left hand turning white as he gripped the reins while sweeping with his sword in his right hand, striking down man after man. Bursting once more from the formation about the rear, he wheeled his horse about once more, but stalled. The Karkoṭan infantry formation had begun to fall away.
Traianos looked around, searching for Šarvin, but saw him nowhere. More and more of the Karkoṭan men began to flee, pursued by the victorious Bactrian and Gandhari cavalry. He spurred on, rounding once more to the safety of the rear, where the Strategoi had begun to assemble. Karatay, that wild Turk, had not seen fit to return just yet, personally leading his horsemen in the pursuit of the runners. Traianos approached the gathering of the Strategoi. One of them, Anatolios Kungratides, hailed him over.
"Greetings, Skoidos," shouted Anatolios.
"Greetings to you, Strategos," replied Traianos. "Did anybody see the Protostrator?"
"He wasn't with you?" asked Anatolios.
"We became separated in the confusion," explained Traianos. He looked over to a man who was quite obviously not one of their own, surrounded by guards. "A prisoner?"
"Not just any prisoner," said Anatolios, beaming. "Before you is Prince Saṃgramapida, the son of the King of Karkoṭa himself."
"Excellent. The Protostrator will be pleased to hear this news."
"Indeed he—" Anatolios stopped mid-sentence, and leaned in his saddle to look beyond Traianos. The Skoidos turned to look. In the distance, a riderless horse was fleeing the commotion.
—————|BANKS OF THE SUVASTU RIVER — NIGHT of APRIL 18th, 769 AD|—————
The assembled strategoi stood and sat silently under the canopy of the pavilion tent, illuminated by the light of a single oil lamp. Skoidos Traianos stood with his arms crossed and his head lowered, awaiting word from the Protostrator's physician as to his condition. Anatolios Kungratides and Dionysios Aibakidites sat to one side, and on the other sat Eusebios Padmaphulasseas. A few lower commanders stood in the corners. In the darkening distance, the moaning of the amassed casualities subsided as some succumbed to their wounds.
"So, Skoidos," said Anatolios Kungratides, breaking the silence.
Skoidos Traianos looked up at Anatolios, and grunted, "hm?"
"With the Protostrator in such a grave state, the next most senior officer will act as a provisional Protostrator in his stead," said Anatolios. "That would be the Skoidos."
The Skoidos nodded. "I am aware of this, Strategos," he replied.
"So, Skoidos," Anatolios pressed on. "We must continue our campaign, with our without the Protostrator's guiding hand."
"I know." Traianos took a deep breath, sighed, scratched at the nape of his neck, and looked around. "So, I am to assume command of this army, then?"
"Aye," said Anatolios.
"Aye," the other Strategoi repeated in relative unison.
"Alright," said Traianos, nodding. "I shall send a messenger to the Queen to inform her of the change in the chain of command." He looked over at Dionysios Aibakidites. "And I'm going to have to move one of you to fulfil the role of Skoidos for the time being. Dionysios — since you're currently floating about the companions without a formal office, would you be interested in filling the role?"
Dionysios stood and placed a closed fist over his heart. "It would be my pleasure to serve in this capacity, Protostrator."
"Excellent." Traianos looked around at the remainder of the strategoi. "As for the rest of you — we cannot afford to waste any time. We have won a victory on this field, but there are more battles which must yet be fought. I want all of your respective commands to be prepared to move at sunrise, as we'll be moving southward through the mountains towards the Indus floodplain."
"Was this Šarvin's plan?" asked Eusebios, scratching at his beard.
"Indeed it was." Traianos unfolded his arms and placed his hands upon his sides. "There's a fortress near the course of the Indus. It overlooks the largest crossing in the Khyber Pass. It was Šarvin's intent to assume control of it. I propose that we hold true to that plan."
