"My Basileus, letter from king Jabalah."
Messenger ran up to Heraclius with a letter in his hands, shouting. It was middle of summer 633. Heraclius stopped walking and turned towards the running messenger but didn't go towards him. He just stood there, waiting. He ran fairly fast, as messengers should. He had to ride all over Anatolia to reach Constantinople, so the reports had some delay. The messenger finally reached Heraclius, and, while kneeling, handed him the letter. Heraclius anxiously reached for the letter, but didn't open it yet.
"How old are the reports?"
Messenger, clearly out of breath, had trouble answering.
"Around… two days, my Basileus."
Two days wasn't ideal, but it's not like Heraclius could do anything with it. It just showed how lacking the road infrastructure in Anatolia is. Wanting to reach Constantinople through Anatolia, you either had to go along the southern coast through cities like Seleucia and Tarsus, then, following the coast, through Smyrna and then north. Or, you could go trough the Pontic mountains to the north, through Theodosiopolis and Trebizond, arriving to the Black Sea coast. Then you could continue, again, along the coast through Sinop, then arriving in Constantinople. But the shortest way would be through the center of Anatolia. Problem was that there were only few larger towns, nothing comparable to cities like Smyrna or Trebizond. The biggest towns in the central Anatolia were Ikonion and Galatia, and before reaching them, you had to go through the Armenian mountains, then through Anatolian plateau before reaching any significant civilization. Mainly this, but also the difficulty of crossing the mountains were reasons no one travelled through the central Anatolia, at least not from Syria. Heraclius didn't know what route the messenger took, but two days to complete the journey were certainly reasonable, but again, not ideal. Heraclius started to open the letter, with the messenger still kneeling there.
"Thank you. You may go."
Messenger bowed, then stood up and gracefully left Heraclius, who continued to stand in the middle of the corridor, before finally leaving to go and read the letter in private. He ventured into his office, sitting into his armchair comfortably. He then opened the letter, finally. He read through it quickly.
"Your Majesty, Basileus of all Romans Heraclius,
I humbly write you this letter to inform you of the military actions conducted by the Arabs in Syria and Judea. It seems, that after conquering the Mesopotamia south of Euphrates, they turned their attentions to your holdings in Syria and Judea. As of today, the only actions they managed were few raids on some insignificant villages. It seems they are testing us, to see how we'll respond. For now, I ordered garrisons to be reinforced in the important cities and am preparing an army to deter any potential Arab advances. Every city in the area has been alerted and was advised to prepare any defences they have in their disposition. We also have reports of Arabs gathering a fairly large army, mainly from the conquered areas in Mesopotamia. It seems their conversion strategy "either you convert or you pay, in money or blood" is working wonders. Perhaps we should try it too on the infidels that started to appear in Aegyptus. But I digress. As of today, 14th of July 633, no significant encounter with the Arab army has been reported as we're still waiting for them to make their move. I shall inform you about the progress in later letters.
Sincerely, king Jabalah, loyal vassal of Basileus of all Romans Heraclius.
14th July, 633."
Heraclius was overwhelmed. What was he supposed to do in this situation? He had no option but to trust Jabalah and wait for any further reports. He couldn't afford to leave Constantinople, as he could easily return, only to find his family dead and the city in another ruler's hand. Were they ready for Arab attack? He didn't know. He hoped they were. Their numbers in the army were mostly replenished from the bloody conflict with Persians, but then again, numbers weren't everything, as proved by Persians, who were utterly defeated by clever, sometimes even underhanded tactics by inferior enemy. To Arabs, numbers didn't seem to matter. They relied on morale and tactics, so there were basically only few ways to defeat them. The first way was to break and crush their morale. The other was to just use better tactic then them. It sounded easy, but it was everything but easy. Heraclius was wrecking his brain, thinking how to defeat them, or if it was even possible for him. Then, out of nowhere, he heard a familiar voice speaking in the corridor behind his door, accompanied by footsteps of someone running.
"Your Highness, Princess Roxane, where did you go? The lesson isn't over!"
Heraclius recognized the man by his accent. It was the teacher Roxane was assigned. She once again ran away from her Middle Persian lesson. Just when Heraclius thought she stopped doing that, she proved him wrong. He sighed and smiled a bit. She was his last daughter to remain with him in the palace. Once she would go, he would remain alone. But it was for the best. At least he hoped so. His every other daughter was already on other rulers court, doing their best as the said rulers wife. Heraclius thought often about whether it was the right thing to do, to marry his dear daughters off to foreign rulers. He was a ruler. Even if he thought about whether it's right or wrong, he wouldn't come to a conclusion. Only thing any good ruler was able to conclude was how necessary it was. When ruling, it didn't matter whether the decision was deemed to be a good, kind and virtuous one, or whether it was bad, cruel and hideous one. The only thing that mattered was whether it led to a profitable outcome. Emotions had no place in ruling a country. But sometimes, admitting that was hard and painful. Heraclius looked on the painting of a woman, very beautiful one, with noble clothes and very pretty hair. He smiled.
"What do you think, dear. Do I rule better?"