Belisarius - Destiny's Shield Part 24

Their courage had been useless, of course. Not even the best troops, in Belisarius' experience, could put up an effective defense against a surprise ma.s.s attack coming on their flank. Not on an open field of battle, at any rate, with no place to shelter and regroup. Such troops could fight-fight bravely-but they would fight as confused individuals against a well-organized, steady and determined attacker. The conclusion was foregone.

It was equally obvious that the Malwa regulars had not come to the a.s.sistance of the barbarians. The Malwa regulars cl.u.s.tered with the main force had still been mounted, unlike their luckless comrades who had been advancing on foot behind the Kushan attack. They had seen no reason to abandon that good fortune, and had immediately taken flight away from the Roman flank attack.

Good fortune-fleeting fortune. In their natural desire to make the quickest escape from that frightening ma.s.s of oncoming Thracians, Illyrians and Persians-heavy cavalry, all of them, shaking the very earth in their charge out of the northeast woods-the Malwa regulars had broken to the south.

A ma.s.s rout, thousands of hors.e.m.e.n galloping frantically around the edge of the forest-into the Euphrates. As soon as they realized their error, of course, the fleeing Malwa began racing east down the riverbank, toward the far-distant refuge of the Malwa forces besieging Babylon.

Few of those men would ever find that refuge, two hundred miles away. Very few.

The men pursuing them were veterans, led by experienced and capable commanders. Maurice and Kurush, seeing the direction of the Malwa retreat, had sent their cataphracts and dehgans angling southeast. They would cut off the Malwa escape, trap them against the river.

Belisarius watched his katyusha rocket-chariots wheel into a line, some three hundred yards away. A small figure-their commander Basil, he a.s.sumed, although he could not recognize any faces at the distance-was prancing back and forth on his horse issuing commands. A moment later, a volley of hissing rockets sailed toward the Euphrates.

Belisarius watched their flight. It was his first opportunity to observe the rockets without the distraction of immediate battle. The missiles flew in a shallow trajectory, with little of the erratic serpentine motion of Malwa rockets. Seconds later, the general saw the warheads erupt, scattering shrapnel through the milling mob of Malwa packed on the riverbank.

The carnage was impressive. Belisarius had seen to it that Roman rockets carried well-designed shrapnel in their warheads. Lead drop-shot, rather than the pebbles and other odds-and-ends which Malwa rockets used.

Belisarius now looked toward the villa. Here too, he saw, the situation was progressing nicely. Those Malwa infantrymen who had managed to escape the sally were also pouring toward the river. The Syrian cavalry had peeled off from the captured powder wagons and were driving the Malwa toward the north bank of the Euphrates.

Behind them, the Syrian infantry had taken formations opposite the Kushans. The Kushans were already withdrawing toward the corrals. The Syrians followed, at a respectful distance, content to let them go.

He heard Agathius' voice, raised in a cheerful hail. Turning, Belisarius saw Agathius and several of his cataphracts trotting toward him. "I sent most of my men to help the Syrians," he announced, "after I saw you doing the same."

Belisarius had not actually given that order. There had been no need, since Cyril had done so without any prompting, and the general had wanted to concentrate his attention on watching Maurice's half of the battle. But now, looking around, he saw that there were only a hundred or so cataphracts left, guarding the wagons.

Belisarius was immensely pleased. Immensely. There were few things the general treasured more than quick-thinking and self-reliant subordinates. He was firmly convinced that at least half his success as a commander was due to his ability to gather such men around him. Men like Maurice, Ashot, Hermogenes, John of Rhodes-even Bouzes and Coutzes, once he'd knocked the c.r.a.p out of them.

And now, men like Agathius and Cyril.

Something of his delight must have shown. A moment later, he and his two new Greek officers were beaming at each other. There was nothing at all crooked in the general's grin, now; and not a trace of veteran sardonicism, in those of Agathius and Cyril.

"Jesus, general," exclaimed Agathius, "this is the sweetest d.a.m.n battle I ever saw!"

"Beautiful, beautiful," agreed Cyril. "Only f.u.c.k-up was that one rocket volley."

Belisarius grimaced. "My fault, that. I should have remembered the d.a.m.n things still aren't that accurate. And I wasn't expecting we'd get so close this quickly."

Cyril did not seem in the slightest aggrieved, even though it was his men who had suffered from that friendly fire. The Greek cataphract simply shrugged and p.r.o.nounced the oldest of all veteran wisdom: "s.h.i.+t happens."

Agathius nodded his agreement. "Live and learn, that's all you can do. Besides-" He twisted in his saddle, studying the effect of the current rocket volleys on the Malwa ma.s.sed by the river.

"-they're doing fine work now. Save a lot of Roman boys, the katyushas will, by the time they're done. Those Malwa s.h.i.+ts'll be like stunned sheep."

Belisarius heard another hail. Turning, he saw that Maurice was approaching from the north. The chil-iarch was accompanied by one of his hecantontarchs, Gregory, and a half-dozen cataphracts.

When Maurice drew up alongside the wagon, his first words were to Cyril and Agathius.

"Sorry about the rockets," he stated. His voice was firm and level. Very courteous in tone, although the expression on his face seemed more one of embar-a.s.sment than remorse.

Maurice now looked to Belisarius.

"Don't even bother asking," he growled. "The answer's no. My boys'd probably be willing enough, even if those raggedy-a.s.s Malwa f.u.c.ks couldn't come up with two solidus ransom amongst them. But the Persians are completely berserk and there's no way to stop them without-"

Belisarius shook his head. "I know. I can hear their battle cries."

He c.o.c.ked his ear, listening. Even at the distance, the Persian voices were quite distinct.

Charax! Charax!

Death to Malwa!

No quarter!

Seeing the look of confusion on the faces of Agathius and Cyril, Maurice chuckled.

"The young general here"-he pointed a thumb at Belisarius-"has a soft and tender heart. Likes to avoid atrocities, when he can."

The two Greek officers eyed the general uncertainly, much as men gaze upon someone p.r.o.nounced to be a living saint. Possible, possible-but, more likely, just a babbling madman.

Then, remembering his savage punishment of the eight cataphracts at Callinic.u.m, uncertainty fled.

Agathius winced. "Mother of G.o.d, general, Maurice is right. There's no way-"

Again, Belisarius shook his head, smiling crookedly. "I'm not asking, Agathius. The Persians won't be stopped, not after Charax. I'm quite aware of that."

The smile faded, replaced by a look of scrutiny. "But I'll ask you to remember this day, in the future. The very near future, in fact. When the Persians demand the heads of two thousand Kushans, and I refuse."

He pointed toward the river.

"Atrocities produce this kind of ma.s.sacre. That's one of the reasons I try to avoid them. You might be on the other end, the next time. Pleading for mercy, and not getting it, because you showed none yourself."

"Wouldn't get it from the Malwa, anyway," pointed out Maurice. He spoke mildly-as usual, when he was contradicting Belisarius in public-but firmly.

"From Malwa, no," replied the general. "But what is Malwa, Maurice?"

He nodded toward the river. "You think those men are all Malwa? Or Ye-tai? Precious few of them, in truth. The priests and kshatriyas, most of the officers. Perhaps a thousand of the regulars. The rest? Biharis, Bengalis, Orissans-every subject nation of India is spilling its life blood into that river."

He transferred his scrutiny to Agathius and Cyril. "In the end," Belisarius told them, his voice as hard as steel, "we will not defeat Malwa on a great field of battle, somewhere here in Persia. Or in Anatolia, or Bactria, or the Indus plain. We will shatter them in the heart of India itself, when their subjects finally throw off the yoke."

Uncertainty returned to the faces of the two Greeks. Now, however, it was not the bemused skepticism of men regarding a proclaimed saint. It was the simple doubt-the veteran questioning-of fighting men who were beginning to wonder if their commander might, after all, be that rarest of generals. A supreme strategist, as well as a wizard on the battlefield.

"I would spare all of them who tried to surrender, if I could," mused Belisarius. "All, at least, except the Mahaveda priests. For the sake of the future, if nothing else."

He shrugged heavily. "But-I can't risk an idiot brawl with the Persians. Not today, when their blood's a-boil."

He clambered off the barrel. A moment later, he was back astride his horse. "Today, I can only deal with the Kushans."

He pointed to the river. "Agathius-Cyril-I want you to give full support to the Persians. Back them to the hilt. As maddened as they are, they won't be thinking clearly. There are still thousands of live and armed enemy troops packed against the river. They'll fight like cornered rats, once they realize surrender's not being offered. The Persians are likely to wade into them without thinking, get surrounded."

Agathius and Cyril nodded.

"Take all your men," Belisarius added, "except a hundred or so to guard over the wagons. Have those men bring the wagons back to the villa. But be careful-in fact, better wait until you have some of the katyusha men to help. They're more familiar with handling gunpowder."

The two Greek officers nodded again. They turned their horses and trotted off, shouting commands. Within a few seconds, two thousand Constantinople cataphracts were thundering toward the river, preparing to throw their weight into the butchery on the Euphrates.

Belisarius turned to Maurice and Gregory.

"You do the same, Maurice, with the Thracians and the Illyrians. Gregory, I want you to find Coutzes-and Abbu," he added, chuckling-"if he managed to find a new horse. Get the Arab skirmishers and half the light cavalry across the river. Leave me the other half, to keep the Kushans cornered."

"They'll have to use the ford we found a few miles upstream," remarked Gregory. "That'll lose us several hours."

"Yes, I know. It doesn't matter. They'll still be in time to harry whatever Malwa make their way across the Euphrates."

His face and voice were cold, grim, ruthless.

"Harry them, Gregory. I want them pursued without mercy. For days, if that's what it takes. I want this Malwa army destroyed. Not more than a handful of survivors, trickling back to their lines in Babylon. Let the enemy know he can't hope to go around Emperor Khusrau."

Gregory's face twisted into his own crooked smile. "Might not even be a handful, general. Those few that get away from us will still have two hundred miles to go. With the desert on one side, and on the other-every peasant in the flood plain ready to hack them down. Whole villages will turn out, to join the pursuit. They've heard about Charax, too, you can bet on it."

Belisarius nodded. Gregory spurred his horse, heading south. A moment later, going in the opposite direction, Maurice did the same.

Only Valentinian and Anastasius were left, in the immediate vicinity.

"What now, general?" asked Anastasius.

Belisarius clucked his horse into motion, trotting back toward the villa. "We'll make sure the Kushans are completely boxed in. After that-" He looked up, gauging the sun. "That'll probably take the rest of the day. Till late afternoon, for sure. The Kushans may try to break out. We've probably still got some fighting ahead of us."

"Not much," rumbled Anastasius. "The Kushans are no fools. They won't waste much effort trying to find an escape route. Not on foot, knowing we've got cavalry." The giant sighed. "Not Kushans. They'll be working like beavers, instead, doing what they can to turn the barns and corrals into a fortress. Ready to bleed us when we come in after them tomorrow."

"I hope to avoid that problem," said Belisarius.

"You think you can talk them into surrendering?" asked Valentinian skeptically. "After they'll have spent half a day listening to the rest of their army being ma.s.sacred?"

"That's my plan." Oddly, the general's voice lost none of its confident good cheer.

Neither did Valentinian's its skepticism. "Be like walking into a lion's den, trying to talk them out of their meat."

"Not so hard, that," replied Belisarius. "Not, at least, if you can speak lion."

He eyed Valentinian. Smiled crookedly. "I speak Kushan fluently, you know."

The smile grew very crooked. Anastasius scowled. Valentinian hissed.

"Now that I think about it, both of you speak Kushan too. Not as well as I do, perhaps. But-well enough. Well enough."

He c.o.c.ked his ear toward Valentinian.

"What? No muttering?"

The cataphract eyed Belisarius with a weasel's glare.

"Words fail me," he muttered.

That evening, just as the sun was setting on the horizon, Belisarius approached the forted Kushans for a parley. He was unarmed, accompanied only by Valentinian and Anastasius.

Anastasius, also, was unarmed.

Valentinian-well, he swore the same. Swore it on all the saints and his mother's grave. Belisarius didn't believe him, not for a minute, but he didn't push the matter. Whatever weapons Valentinian carried would be well-hidden. And besides- He'd rather try to talk lions into surrendering than talk a weasel out of its teeth. An entirely safer proposition.

In the end, talking the Kushan lions out of their determination to fight to the last man proved to be one of the easiest things the general had ever done. And the doing of it brought him great satisfaction.

Once again, a reputation proved worth its weight in gold.

Not a reputation for mercy, this time. Kushans had seen precious little of mercy, in their harsh lives, and would have disbelieved any such tales of a foreign general.

But, as it turned out, they were quite familiar with the name of Belisarius. It was a name of honor, their commander had been told, by one of the few men not of Kushan blood that he trusted.

"Rana Sanga told me himself," the man stated. He drew himself up proudly. "I visited Rajputana's greatest king in his palace, at his own invitation, before he left with Lord Damodara for the Hindu Kush."

The man leaned over, pouring a small libation into Belisarius' drinking cup before doing the same in the one before him. The vessels were plain, utilitarian pieces of pottery, like the bottle from which the wine was poured. After Belisarius had taken his seat, sitting cross-legged like his Kushan counterpart on a thin layer of straw spread in a corner of the stable, the Kushan soldiers gathered around had produced the jug and two cups out of a field kit.

Belisarius took advantage of the momentary pause to study the Kushan commander more closely. The man's name, he had already learned, was Vasudeva.

In appearance, Vasudeva was much like any other Kushan soldier. Short, stocky, thick-chested. St.u.r.dy legs and shoulders. His complexion had a yellowish Asiatic cast, as did his flat nose and narrow eyes. Like most Kushans, the man's hair was drawn up into a topknot. His beard was more in the way of a goatee than the thicker cut favored by Romans or Persians.

And, like most Kushans, his face seemed carved from stone. His expression, almost impossible to read. The Kushan Belisarius knew best-the former Malwa va.s.sal named Kungas, who was now commander of Empress Shakuntala's personal bodyguard-had had a face so hard it had been like a mask.

An iron mask-but a mask, nonetheless, disguising a very different soul.

Remembering Kungas, Belisarius felt his confidence growing.

"And how was Rana Sanga, when you saw him?" he asked politely.

The Kushan shrugged. "Who is to know what that man feels? His wife, perhaps his children. No others."

"Do you know why he asked you to visit him?"

Vasudeva gave Belisarius a long, lingering look. A cold look, at first. Then- The look did not warm, so much as it grew merry. In a wintry sort of way.

"Yes. We had met before, during the war against Andhra. Worked well together. When he heard that I had been selected one of the Kushan commanders for the Mesopotamian campaign, he called me to visit before his own departure." The Kushan barked a laugh. "He wanted to warn me about a Roman general named Belisarius!"

Vasudeva's eyes lost their focus for a moment, as he remembered the conversation.

" 'Persians you know, of course,' Lord Sanga told me. 'But you have never encountered Romans. Certainly not such a Roman as Belisarius.' "

The Kushan commander's eyes refocussed, fixed on Belisarius.