The Herulian Strain
Aegyptus, early spring, 249 AD
The calm waters at the mouth of the Canopic branch were illuminated by Luna in its half-circle, aided by the distant light from the fire atop the Pharos of Alexandria. 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 at the mouth of the Danapris River, sailing across Lake Maeotis and northern Pontus Euxinus from his childhood. He knew well how to feel the change where the fresh water of the river and the salty seawater met. He cursed 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 stand 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. Neither his life nor the lives of his men mattered compared to what their success might bring.
As they slid into the fresh waters of the channel, 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. Five miles upstream, the first riverside settlement appeared on the eastern bank, and they passed it quietly without any disturbance. Odokar was well prepared for what awaited them most of the way upstream. His informant had named the settlement and marked every fortified river station between the coast and Babylon, where the waterways of the Delta narrowed toward the main course of the Nilus.
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 fires proved to belong to camps of desert traders. Odokar and Edgar, huddled a hundred feet behind dense palm trees, finally caught sight of what they had been hoping for all along. A mounted auxiliary patrol of Roman legionaries had set up camp for the night on their way north, probably to Alexandria or upriver to Babylon. Over twenty of their horses were tied up beyond the fire, with their saddles neatly placed under a cluster of palms.
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 short bows and, in perfect unison, shot dead three guards who were sitting around the fire, keeping it alive, not expecting any danger from the direction of the water.
The massacre that followed lasted only a few moments, exactly the time it took for the Herulians 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. They killed the sleeping men without cutting their tunics, then gathered the armor, belts, cloaks, weapons, and sandals laid beside their bedding.
Odokar watched without joining the killing. He had done enough of it in Moesia and Thracia, and Rome had done enough to him. At twelve, he had watched legionaries kill his father aboard a trading ship before selling him and his mother into slavery. He had required five years to escape and get his head out alive and another two to find his way to Scythian territory and return to the few remaining members of his family. His Greek mother never had the chance. She died of an infectious disease while doing the hardest jobs for wealthy Moesian families.
He snapped out of his thoughts and watched as the Gaudrahts dragged the bodies into a reed-choked side channel, weighted them with stones from the bank, and pushed them beneath the black water.
"Trim your hair and beards to match the dead." He shouted to Edgar and went to the pile of Roman uniforms and armor to find some that were his size. Fortunately, one of their commanders had 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 the 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 military patrols and couriers 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. The unity they desperately needed.
When their prayers finally fell silent, they quietly set off south on a journey of more than a thousand miles.
Villages north of Meroë, on the east bank of the Nilus River
Beyond Aegyptus' southern frontier, the Nilus passed through a harsher and less predictable country. The desert pressed close to the river, but around Meroë the dry plains opened into seasonal grassland, thorn scrub, cultivated fields, and villages dependent on the rise and fall of the water. 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 southern Mare Rubrum, mainly leading toward the Roman port cities of Leptis Magna and Alexandria on the coast of the Mare Internum.
In contrast to the geographical landscapes, the way of life changed dramatically beyond the borders of Aegyptus and further south. The Nubian villages and small settlements felt poverty and dependence on the river most acutely. Even so, such poverty and 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 deep 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 erupted 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. The oldest stories told by the villagers had 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. In the fight against this disease, the only way to win is to outrun it. To deny it the opportunity to spread further.
That's what her mother told her every time. This morning, as she had done each day for the past six months, Cora sat on the veranda of the most secluded shack in the northernmost part of the settlement. Silent tears ran down her face as she stared into the immense desert. She felt deep down that the way her mother had advised her to do was not enough and that the key to finding the way was understanding how the roots helped the few who had responded well to the treatment. She wanted to believe the medicine worked. Those who drank it during the first fever often lived longer, and some, including her, recovered, but they were usually the young and strong, the same people who might have survived without it.
"Cora!" She heard Aster calling her from inside. "Come quick! It's Himmat. I can't hold him!"
Her mother had taught her to discard and burn the cloth after treating anyone who had begun to bleed. She stood up and wrapped the new silk scarf around her face and the tightly woven Nubian cloth around her entire body. She pulled linen wrappings over her hands, tied them at the wrists, 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, 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 with a severe headache and a sore throat. It wasn't long before intense stomach pains, 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. His blood and sweat are dangerous now. Keep him apart from the others, and burn every cloth he soils."
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 people came and even days when no newly infectious groups 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.
"I cannot do this alone..." She whispered, leaning on the door with both hands. For several breaths she could not move. "I wish I had your strength, mother. 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 a worn copy of a book on medicinal herbs, written more than a century ago by Pedanius Dioscorides, a Greek physician whose travels and military connections had exposed him to remedies from across the empire.
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 Peiraieús, for as long as she could remember, Cora had accompanied her mother on her travels wherever her knowledge, gained in the Great Library and through travels around the empire, 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 a merchant vessel carrying medicines and spices that had passed westward through a dozen ports and kingdoms. 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. Adulis was the main trade port where they often looked for ivory.
She sighed heavily and glanced out the window at the small experimental plot her mother had planted. It was not nearly large enough for the camp, and every new patient reduced the number of days before their supply ran out. "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 roots to start with, but they never expected such a large number of infected. It took eight 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 severe 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, but 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 is nothing more we can do here." Helena 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.