Belisarius - Destiny's Shield Part 12

Again, the growl of agreement swept the room. Louder, this time. Much louder.

Belisarius glanced at Timasius. Liberius' slow-thinking commander had finally caught up with his subordinate's thoughts. He too, now, was nodding vehemently.

Belisarius was satisfied. For the moment, at least. But he made a note to speak to the Illyrian commanders in the near future. To remind them that they would soon be operating in Persia, and that the treatment which Illyrians were accustomed to handing out to barbarians in the trans-Danube would not be tolerated in Mesopotamia.

He moved out of the shade, toward his horse. "All right, then."

His officers made to follow. Belisarius waved them back. "No," he announced. "I'll handle this myself."

"What?" demanded Coutzes. "You're not taking anyone with you?"

Belisarius smiled crookedly, holding up two fingers.

"Two." He pointed toward Valentinian and Anas-tasius, who had been waiting just outside the canopy throughout the conference. As soon as they saw his gesture, the two cataphracts began mounting their horses.

Once he was on his own horse, Belisarius smiled down at his officers-all of whom, except Maurice, were staring at him as if he were insane.

"Two should be enough," he announced placidly, and spurred his horse into motion.

As the three men began riding off, Valentinian muttered something under his breath.

"What did he say?" wondered Bouzes. "I didn't catch it."

Maurice smiled, thinly. "I think he said 'p.i.s.s on crazy strategoi.' "

He turned back toward the shade of the shelter. "But maybe not. Be terribly disrespectful of the high command! Maybe he just said 'wish on daisies, attaboy.' Encouraging his horse, you know. Poor beast's probably as sick of this desert as we are."

As they headed down the road, Belisarius waved Valentinian and Anastasius forward. Once the two men were riding on either side, he said: "Don't touch your weapons unless the muti-ah, dispirited troops-take up theirs."

He gave both men a hard glance. Anastasius' heavy face held no expression. Valentinian scowled, but made no open protest.

A thin smile came to the general's face. "Mainly, what I want you to do after we arrive at the Greeks' camp is to disagree with me."

Anastasius' eyes widened. "Disagree, sir?"

Belisarius nodded. "Yes. Disagree. Not too openly, mind. I am your commanding officer, after all. But I want you to make clear, in no uncertain terms, that you think I'm an idiot."

Anastasius frowned. Valentinian muttered.

"What was that last, Valentinian?" queried Belisarius. "I'm not sure I caught it."

Silence. Anastasius rumbled: "He said: 'That won't be hard.' "

"That's what I thought he said," mused Belisarius. He grinned. "Well! You won't have any difficulty with the a.s.signment, then. It'll come naturally to you."

Valentinian muttered again, at some length. Anastasius, not waiting for a cue, interpreted. "He said-I'm summarizing-that clever fellows usually wind up outsmarting themselves. Words to that effect."

Belisarius frowned. "That's all? It seemed to me he muttered quite a few more words than that. Entire sentences, even."

Anastasius shook his head sadly. "Most of the other words were just useless adjectives. Very redundant." The giant bestowed a reproving glance on his comrade. "He's given to profanity."

They were nearing the encampment of the Con-stantinople garrison troops. Belisarius spurred his horse into a trot. After Valentinian and Anastasius dropped back to their usual position as his bodyguards, Belisarius c.o.c.ked his head and said: "Remember. Disagree. Disapprove. If I say something reasonable, scowl. Pleasant, snarl. Calm and soothing-spit on the ground."

Mutter, mutter, mutter.

Belisarius repressed his smile. He did not ask for a translation. He was quite sure the words had been pure profanity.

They began encountering the first outposts of the Constantinople garrison. Within a minute, trotting forward, they pa.s.sed several hundred soldiers, huddled in small groups at the outer perimeter of the route camp. As Belisarius had expected, a large number of the troops were holding back from the body of men milling around in the center. These would be the faint-hearts and the fence-sitters-or the "semi-loyalists," if you preferred.

He made it a point to bestow a very cordial smile upon all those men. Even a verbal greeting, here and there. Valentinian and Anastasius immediately responded with their own glowers, which Valentinian accompanied by a nonstop muttering. The garrison troops responded to the general's smile, in the main, with expressions of uncertainty. But Belisarius noted that a number of them managed their own smiles in return. Timid smiles; sickly smiles-but smiles nonetheless.

I knew it, he thought, with considerable self-satisfaction.

Aide's voice came into his mind. Knew what? And what is going on? I am confused.

Belisarius hesitated, before responding. To his-"its," technically, but the general had long since come to think of Aide as "he"-consciousness, insubordination and rebellion were bizarre conceptions. Aide had been produced by a race of intelligent crystals in the far distant future and sent back in time, to save them from enslavement (and possibly outright destruction) by those they called the "new G.o.ds." The intelligence of those crystals was utterly inhuman, in many ways. One of those ways was their lack of individuality. Each crystal, though distinct, was a part of their collective mentality-just as each crystal, in its turn, was the composite being created by the ever-moving facets which generated that strange intelligence. To those crystals, and to Aide, the type of internal discord and dispute which humans took for granted was almost unfathomable.

We are having what we call a "mutiny," Aide. Or a "rebellion."

From long experience, Belisarius had learned how to project his own visions into the consciousness of Aide. He had found that such visions often served as a better means of communication than words.

He did so now, summoning up images of various mutinies and rebellions of the past, culminating with the revolt of Spartacus and its gruesome finale.

He could sense the facets flashing around the visions, trying to absorb their essence.

While they did so, and Aide ruminated, Belisarius and his bodyguards reached the center of the camp. At least four hundred soldiers from the Constantinople garrison were cl.u.s.tered there, most of them in small groups centered around the older soldiers.

Belisarius was not surprised. The men, he gauged, were leaning heavily on the judgements and opinions of their squad leaders and immediate superiors. This was an army led by pentarchs, decarchs, and hecatontarchs, now, not officers.

Good. I can deal with those veterans. They'll be sullen and angry, but they'll also be thinking about their pensions. Unlike the officers, they don't have rich estates to retire to.

Silence fell over the mob. Belisarius slowly rode his horse into the very center of the crowd. After drawing up his mount, he scanned the soldiers staring up at him with a long, calm gaze.

A thought came from Aide.

This is stupid. Your plan is ridiculous.

The facets had reached their conclusion, firmly and surely, from their a.s.sessment of the general's vision. Especially the last vision, the suppression of the Spartacus rebellion.

Preposterous. Absurd. Irrational. You cannot possibly crucify all these men. There is not that much wood in the area.

Belisarius struggled mightily with sudden laughter. He managed, barely, to transform the hilarity into good cheer.

So it was, to their astonishment, that the mutinous soldiers of the Constantinople garrison witnessed their commanding general, whom they a.s.sumed had come to thunder threats and condemnation, bestow upon them a smile of sheer goodwill.

They barely noticed the savage snarls on the faces of his two companions. Only two or three even took umbrage at Valentinian's loud expectoration.

An officer scurried forward, after pushing his way through the first line of the crowd standing around the general. Four other officers followed.

Belisarius recognized them immediately. The officer in front was Sunicas, the chiliarch who commanded the Constantinople troops. The men following him were the tribunes who served as his chief subordinates. He knew only one of them by name-Boraides.

When the five men drew up alongside his horse, Belisarius simply looked down upon them, c.o.c.king an eyebrow, but saying nothing.

"We have a problem here, general," stated Sunicas. "As you can see, the men-"

"We certainly do!" boomed Belisarius. His voice was startlingly loud, enough so that an instant silence fell over the entire mob of soldiers. The general was so soft-spoken, as a rule, that men tended to forget that his powerful baritone had been trained to pierce the din of battles.

Belisarius, again, scanned the immediate circle of soldiers. This time, however, there was nothing benign in that gaze. His scrutiny was intent and purposeful.

He pointed to one of the soldiers in the inner ring. A hecantontarch, young for his rank. The man was bigger than average, and very burly. He was also quite a handsome man, in a large-nosed and strong-featured way. But beneath the outward appearance of a muscular bruiser, Belisarius did not miss the intelligence in the man's brown eyes. Nor the steadiness of his gaze. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Agathius." The hecatontarch's expression was grim and tightly-held, and his answer had been given in a curt growl which bordered on disrespect. But the general was much more impressed by the man's instant willingness to identify himself.

Belisarius waved his hand in a casual little gesture which encompa.s.sed the entire encampment. "You are in command of these men." The statement was firm, but matter-of-fact. Much like a man might announce that the sun rises in the east.

Agathius frowned.

"You are in command of these men," repeated Belisarius. "Now. Today."

Agathius' frown deepened. For a moment, he began to look toward the men at his side. But then-to Belisarius' delight-he squared his broad shoulders and lifted his head. The frown vanished, replaced by a look of stony determination. "You may say so, yes."

"What do you say?" came the general's immediate response.

Agathius hesitated, for the briefest instant. Then, shrugging: "Yes."

Belisarius waited, staring at him. After a moment, grudgingly, Agathius added: "General. Sir."

Belisarius waited, staring at him. Agathius stared back. A little look of surprise flitted across his face, then. The young hecatontarch blew out his cheeks and stood very erect. "I am in command here, sir. Today. Now."

Belisarius nodded. "Tomorrow, also," he said. Very pleasantly, as if announcing good weather. "And, I hope, for many days to come."

From the corner of his eye, Belisarius caught a glimpse of Anastasius' bug-eyed glare of disapproval. He heard Valentinian mutter something. The words were too soft to understand, but the sullen tone was not.

The general shifted his gaze to the chiliarch and the tribunes standing by his stirrup. The calm, mild expression on his face vanished-replaced by pitiless condemnation.

"You are relieved of command, Sunicas. Your tribunes also. I want you on the road to Constantinople within the hour. You may take your personal gear with you. And your servants, of course. Nothing else."

Sunicas goggled. The tribune Boraides exclaimed: "You can't do that! On what grounds?"

Belisarius heard Valentinian immediately growl: "Quite right!" Then: loud muttering, in which the words "outrageous" and "unjust" figured prominently. Anastasius, for his part, simply glowered at the newly-promoted mutineer Agathius. But, oh, such a wondrous glower it was! Worthy of a t.i.tan!

The hecatontarch's returning glare was a more modest affair. Merely Herculean. The sub-officers of the Constantinople troops in the circle began closing ranks with Agathius. In seconds, three other hecatontarchs and perhaps a dozen decarchs were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, matching hard stares with the Thracian cataphracts.

Belisarius immediately sided with the Greek soldiers.

Twisting sharply in his saddle, he bestowed his own very respectable glower on Valentinian and Anastasius.

"I'll stand for no insubordination!" he snapped. "Do you understand?" He almost added "from knaves and varlets," but decided that would be a bit overmuch.

Valentinian and Anastasius lowered their heads submissively. But not too submissively, Belisarius was pleased to see. Their stance exuded that of the chastened but still stubborn underlings, resentful of their commander's grotesque violation of military norms and protocol.

Belisarius whipped his harsh gaze back to Boraides.

"On what grounds?" he demanded. "On what grounds?"

The general's own glower now ascended into the mythic heights. Worthy of Theseus, perhaps, confronting the minotaur. "On the grounds of gross incompetence!" he roared.

Again, he swept his hand in a circle. The gesture, this time, was neither little nor casual. He stood erect in his stirrups, moving his arm as if to command the tides. "The first duty of any commander is to command," he bellowed. "You have obviously failed in that duty. These men are not under your command. You have admitted as much yourself." He sat back in the saddle. "Therefore I have replaced you with a man who is capable of command." He pointed to Agathius. "Him. He is the new chiliarch of this unit."

Now looking at Agathius, Belisarius gestured toward Sunicas and the tribunes. "See to it, Agathius. I want these-these fellows-on the road. Within the hour."

Agathius stared at the general. Belisarius met his gaze with calm a.s.surance. After a few seconds, the new chiliarch c.o.c.ked his head toward one of the men standing next to him, without taking his eyes from Belisarius, and murmured: "Take care of it, Cyril. You heard the general. Within the hour."

Cyril, a scarred veteran perhaps ten years older than Agathius, gave his newly-promoted superior a sly little grin. "As you wish, sir!" he boomed.

Cyril strode toward Sunicas and the tribunes. His grin widened, widened. Became rather evil, in fact. "You've got your orders. Move."

The former commanding officers ogled him. Cyril made a little gesture. Four decarchs closed ranks with him, fingering their swords.

Anastasius' eyes bugged out. His expression verged on apoplexy.

Valentinian muttered. The words "outrageous" and "unjust" were, again, distinct. Belisarius thought he also heard the phrase "oh, heavens, what shall we do?" But, maybe not.

He glared at Anastasius and Valentinian. The cataphracts avoided his gaze, but, still, held their stubborn pose. Several more sub-officers from the garrison troops sidled forward. Two of them went to a.s.sist Cyril and his decarchs-who were now, almost physically, driving the former commanders off-but most of them edged toward Belisarius. Prepared, it was clear, to defend the general against his own bodyguards. If necessary.

"Well, that's that," announced Belisarius.

He began climbing down from his horse. A pentarch hastened forward to a.s.sist him.

Once on the ground, Belisarius strode over to Agathius and said: "It's a miserably hot day. Would you have some wine, by any chance?"

This time, Agathius did not hesitate for more than a second. "Yes, sir. We do. May we offer you some?"

"I would be delighted. And let us take the opportunity to become acquainted. I should like to be introduced to your subordinates, also. You'll need to appoint new tribunes, of course." He shrugged. "I leave it to your judgement to select them. You know your men better than I do."

Agathius eyed him wonderingly, but said nothing. He led the way to a canvas shelter nearby. Most of the sub-officers in the circle followed, in a little mob. Only a handful remained behind, faithfully at their new post, keeping a vigilant eye on the general's sullen and untrustworthy bodyguards.

Within seconds, amphorae began appearing and wine was poured. Within two minutes, Belisarius was squatting in the shelter of the canopy, with no fewer than three dozen of the Constantinople troopers' chief sub-officers forming an audience. The men were very tightly packed, trying to crowd their way into the shade.

For all the world, the impromptu gathering had the flavor of a mid-afternoon chat.

"All right," said Belisarius pleasantly, after finishing his cup. "I'll tell you what I want. Then you'll tell me what you want. Then we'll see if we can reach a settlement."

He scanned the small crowd briefly, before settling his gaze on Agathius.

"I want an end to the slackness of your marching order. The men can grouse and grumble all they want, but I want them to do it in formation. Some reasonable approximation of it, at least." He held out his cup. A decarch refilled it.