Belisarius - Destiny's Shield Part 39

"SO LONG?".

Again, he cleared his throat.

"Yes, Great Lady Holi. Until we can replace the destroyed ships, we will only have sufficient supplies to maintain the siege. There will be no chance of pressing home any attacks. And we have-"

He waved his hand helplessly, gesturing toward the invisible barrenness of the region.

"-we have no way to build ships here. They will have to be built in India, and brought here during the monsoon next year."

Great Lady Holi-Link-was silent. The old woman's eyes were still empty, but Achyuta could sense the lightning-quick calculations behind those orbs.

"YES. YOU ARE CORRECT. BUT THAT IS NOT THE WORST OF IT.".

The last sentence had something of the sense of a question about it. Achyuta nodded vigorously.

"No, Great Lady Holi, it isn't. There will be no point in bringing a new fleet of supply ships if the river-"

Again, that helpless gesture. Great Lady Holi filled the silence.

"WE MUST RESTORE THE RIVER. THEY HAVE DAMMED IT UPSTREAM. AN EXPEDI-TION MUST BE SENT-AT ONCE-TO DESTROY THE DAM AND THE FORCE WHICH BUILT IT.".

"At once!" agreed Achyuta. "I will a.s.semble the force tomorrow! I will lead it myself!"

Great Lady Holi levered herself upright.

"NO, LORD ACHYUTA, YOU WILL NOT LEAD IT. YOU WILL REMAIN HERE, IN CHARGE OF THE SIEGE. APPOINT ONE OF YOUR SUBORDINATES TO COMMAND THE EXPEDITION.".

Achyuta did not even think to argue the matter. He nodded his head vigorously. Asked, in a tone which was almost fawning: "Which one, Great Lady Holi? Do you have a preference?"

The divine spirit glanced around the platform, estimating the officers standing there rigidly. It was a quick, quick glance.

"IT DOES NOT MATTER. I WILL ACCOMPANY THE EXPEDITION PERSONALLY. WHOEVER IT IS WILL OBEY ME.".

Achyuta's eyes widened.

"You? You yourself? But-"

He fell silent under the inhuman stare.

"I CAN TRUST NO ONE ELSE, ACHYUTA. THIS WAS BELISARIUS' WORK. HIS-AND THE ONE WHO GOES WITH HIM.".

She turned away.

"I KNOW MY ENEMY NOW. I WILL DESTROY IT MYSELF.".

Moments later, a.s.sisted by the hands of several officers, the figure of the old woman disappeared down the ladder. Achyuta was relieved to see her go. So relieved, in fact, that he did not wonder for more than an instant why Great Lady Holi had referred to the man Belisarius as "it."

Personal peeve, he a.s.sumed. Not thinking that the divine spirit named Link was never motivated by such petty concerns.

The next morning, from his perch atop the hill which had once been the Tower of Babel, Emperor Khusrau watched the Malwa expeditionary force begin their march to Peroz-Shapur and the Nehar Malka.

The sight was impressive. There were at least sixty thousand soldiers in that army across the Euphrates. At the moment, from what he could see, Khusrau thought the enemy force was infantry-heavy. But he had no doubt that they would be joined along the march by the mounted raiding parties which the Malwa had kept in the field, ravaging Mesopotamia. By the time that army reached its destination, he estimated, its numbers would have swelled by at least another ten thousand.

Most of the Malwa army's supplies were being carried on camelback, but the expedition was also accompanied by small oared warships which were being laboriously portaged past Babylon. Those vessels would have a shallow enough draft to negotiate the Euphrates upstream. The water level of the river had dropped drastically, but it was still a respectable stream.

He could see no siege guns. He would have been surprised to have done so. Weeks earlier, Belisarius had explained to him that heavy guns, even sectioned, require carts-or better, barges-for transport. Barges would be too heavy for the shrunken river, and, as for carts-how to haul them? Camels make poor draft animals, and horses could not manage a long and heavy-loaded march through the desert. There was no way to haul carts alongside the river itself, of course. The terrain directly adjoining the Euphrates was much too marshy-even more so now that the water level had dropped.

No, he thought with satisfaction, it is just as Belisarius predicted. They will be restricted to rockets and grenades-weapons which they can carry on camelback.

Without taking his eyes from the Malwa army, the Persian Emperor c.o.c.ked his head toward the man standing at his side.

"You are certain, Maurice? It is still not too late. I can order a sally against that force."

Maurice shook his head.

"That would be unwise, Your Majesty." With only the slightest trace of apology: "If you forgive me saying so."

Maurice pointed to the south. Even at the distance, it was obvious that the main force of the enemy was mobilized and ready.

"They're hoping for that. They'll be prepared, today. They've erected their own pontoon bridges across the river. If you make another sally, they'll overwhelm you."

Khusrau did not pursue the matter further. In truth, he agreed with Maurice. He had made the offer simply out of a sense of obligation. He owed much to the Romans, and he was a man who detested being in debt.

Inwardly, he sighed. He would not be able to repay that debt for some time. If ever. Once again, circ.u.mstances forced him to allow his allies to fight for him. The great Malwa expeditionary force would have no Persians to contend with, other than Kurush's ten thousand men. And those troops would be needed to defend Peroz-Shapur, which the Malwa expedition would bypa.s.s on its way to the Nehar Malka. Kurush and his men would tie up at least their own number of enemy troops, true. But they would be unavailable to help in the defense of the dam itself.

Once again, Belisarius would fight for him. Almost unaided.

A sour thought came.

Except, of course, for the aid of a traitor.

Khusrau squared his shoulders. The foul deed needed to be done. He would not postpone it.

He turned to one of his aides. "Send for Ormazd," he commanded.

As the officer trotted away, Khusrau grimaced. Then, seeing the slight smile on Maurice's face, he grimaced even more.

"And this, Maurice? Are you also certain of this?"

The Roman chiliarch shrugged. "If you want my personal opinion, Your Majesty-no. I am not certain. I suspect that Belisarius is being too clever for his own good." Scowl. "As usual."

The scowl faded.

"But-I have thought so before. And, though I'd never admit it to his face, been proven wrong before." Again, he shrugged. "So-best to stick to his plan. Maybe he'll be right again."

Khusrau nodded. For the next few minutes, as they waited for Ormazd to make his appearance, the Persian Emperor and the Roman officer stood together in silence.

Maurice spent the time in a careful study of the enemy's expeditionary army. He would be leaving himself, the next day, to rejoin the Roman army awaiting the Malwa onslaught at the Nehar Malka. Belisarius would want a full and detailed description of his opponent's forces.

Khusrau, on the other hand, spent the time in a careful study-of Maurice.

Not of the man, so much as what he represented. It might be better to say, what the man Maurice told him of the general he followed. Told the Persian Emperor, not by any words he spoke, but by his very nature.

Belisarius.

Khusrau had spent many hours thinking about Belisarius, in the past weeks.

Belisarius, the ally of the present.

Belisarius, the possible enemy of the future.

Khusrau was himself a great leader. He knew that already, despite his youth. Part of that greatness was due to his capacity to examine reality objectively, unswayed by self-esteem and personal grandiosity. No small feat, that, for an Emperor of Iran and non-Iran. And so Khusrau knew that one of the qualities of a great leader was his ability to gather around him other men of talent.

He had never seen such a collection of capable men as Belisarius had cemented together in his army's leadership. He admired that team, envied Belisarius for it, and feared it at the same time.

Crude men, true. Low born, almost to a man. Men like Maurice himself, for instance, whom Khusrau knew had been born a peasant.

But the Persian Emperor was a great emperor, and so he was not blinded by his own cla.s.s prejudices. Pure-blood empires had been brought down before, by lowborn men. The day could come, in the future, when the peasant-bred Maurice might stand again on that very hilltop. Not as an ally, but a conqueror. On that hill in Babylon; on the walls of Ctesiphon; on the horse-pastures of the heartland plateau.

So, while they waited for Ormazd, and Maurice gave thought to the near future, the Emperor of Iran and non-Iran gave thought to the more distant future. By the time his treacherous half-brother finally made his appearance, Khusrau had decided on a course of action.

He would outrage Aryan opinion. But he shrugged that problem off. With Ormazd removed, Khusrau did not fear the squawks of Aryan n.o.bility. He trusted Belisarius to remove Ormazd for him, and he would entrust the future of his empire to an alliance with that same man.

Ormazd's progress up the slope of the hill was stately-as much due to his horde of sycophants as to his own majestic pace. So Khusrau had time to lean over and whisper to Maurice, "Tonight. I wish to see you in my pavilion."

Maurice nodded.

When Ormazd was finally standing before the Emperor, Khusrau pointed to the Malwa expedition making its own slow way across the river.

"Tomorrow, brother, you will take your army and join the allied forces at the Nehar Malka. You will give Baresmanas and Belisarius all the a.s.sistance you can provide, in their coming battle against that enemy force."

Ormazd scowled.

"I will not take orders from a Roman!" he snapped. "Nor from Baresmanas, for that matter. I am higher-born than-"

Khusrau waved him down.

"Of course not, brother. But it is I, not they, who is commanding you in this. I leave it to your judgement how best to a.s.sist Belisarius, once you arrive. You will be in full command of your own troops. But you will a.s.sist them."

His half-brother's scowl deepened. Khusrau's own expression grew fierce.

"You will obey your Emperor," he hissed.

Ormazd said nothing. Put that way, there was nothing he could say unless he was prepared to rise in open rebellion that very moment. Which he most certainly wasn't-not in the middle of Khusrau's main army. Not after his own prestige had suffered such a battering during the past two months.

After a moment, grudgingly, Ormazd nodded. He muttered a few phrases which, charitably, could be taken for words of obedience, and quickly made his exit.

Later that night, when Maurice arrived at the Emperor's pavilion, he was ushered into Khusrau's private chamber. As he entered, Khusrau was sitting at a small table, occupied with writing a letter. The Emperor glanced up, smiled, and gestured toward a nearby cushion.

"Please sit, Maurice. I'm almost finished."

After Maurice took his seat, a servant appeared through a curtain and presented him with a goblet of wine. Before Maurice could even take a sip, Khusrau rose from the table and embossed the letter with the seal ring which was one of the Persian Emperor's insignia of office. With no apparent signal being given, a man immediately appeared in the chamber and took the missive from the Emperor. A moment later, he was gone.

Maurice, watching, was impressed but not surprised. Persia had always been famous for the efficiency of its royal postal system. The man who took the letter to its destination was known as a parvanak, and it was one of the most prestigious positions in the imperial Persian hierarchy. In contrast, the Roman equivalent-the agentes in rebus-were more in the way of spies than postal officials.

Which might be good for imperial control, thought Maurice sourly, but it makes for p.i.s.s-poor delivery of the mail.

As soon as they were alone in the room, Khusrau took a seat on his own resplendent cushion.

"Tell me about the Emperor Photius," he commanded. "Belisarius' son."

Maurice was puzzled by the question, but he let no sign of it show. "He's not really his son, Your Majesty. His stepson."

Khusrau smiled. "His son, I think."

Maurice stared at the Emperor for a moment, then nodded. It was a deep nod. Almost a bow, in fact.

"Yes, Your Majesty. His son."

"Tell me about him."

Maurice studied the Persian, still puzzled. Under-standing, Khusrau smiled again.

"Perhaps I should give my question more of a focus."

He rose and strode over to one side of his chamber. Drawing aside the curtain, he called out a name. A moment later, moving with stiff and shy uncertainty, a young girl entered the chamber.

Maurice estimated her age at thirteen, perhaps fourteen. The daughter of a high Persian n.o.bleman, obviously. And very beautiful.

"This is Tahmina," said Khusrau. "She is the oldest daughter of Baresmanas, the n.o.blest man of the n.o.ble Suren."

With a gesture, Khusrau invited the girl to sit on a nearby cushion. Tahmina did so, quickly and with a surprising grace for one so young.

"My own children are very young," said Khusrau. Then, with a little laugh: "Besides, they are all boys."

The Emperor turned and bestowed an odd look on Maurice. Maurice, at least, thought the look was odd. He was now utterly bewildered as to the Emperor's purpose.

"Baresmanas cherishes his daughter," said Khusrau sternly. Then, even more sternly: "As do I myself, for that matter. Baresmanas placed her in my care when he left for Constantinople with his wife. She is an absolutely delightful child, and I have enjoyed her company immensely. It has made me look forward to having daughters of my own, some day."

The Emperor began pacing back and forth.

"She is of good temper, and intelligent. She is also, as you can see for yourself, very beautiful."