Fortune's stroke

advance while Khusrau set Mesopotamia in order, the Persian emperor had had no contact with his Roman allies.

Khusrau Anushirvan-Khusrau of the Immortal Soul, as the Aryans called him-had not chosen Kurush for the assignment by accident. Partly, of course, his choice had been dictated by the prickly class sensitivities of Aryan society. Kurush was a sahrdaran, the highest-ranked layer of the Persian aristocracy. To have sent a lesser figure would have been insulting-not to Belisarius, who didn't care-but to other members of the sahrdaran. Faced with his half-brother Ormazd's treasonous rebellion, Khusrau could not afford to lose the loyalty of any more Persian aristocrats.

But, for the most part, the Emperor of Persia had sent Kurush because of the man's own qualities. For all his youth, Kurush was an excellent military commander in his own right. And, best of all, he was familiar to Belisarius. The two men had worked together the year before, during Belisarius' campaign in northern Mesopotamia.

When Belisarius strode through the open flaps of the field headquarters' entrance, he saw that the four Persian officers were bent over the table in the center of the tent, admiring the huge map.

'This is marvelous!' exclaimed Kurush, seeing Belisarius. The nobleman strode forward, gesticulating, with the nervous energy that was always a part of him.

'Where did you get the idea?' he demanded. He shook his head vigorously. 'Not the map itself. I mean the-' Kurush snapped his head around, looking toward the Syrian craftsman whom Belisarius had trained as a cartographer. 'What did you call it? Tapo-something.'

'Topography,' said the mapmaker.

'Yes, that's it!' Kurush's head snapped back to Belisarius. 'Where did you get the idea? I've never seen any other maps or charts which show elevation and terrain features. Except maybe one or two prominent mountains. And rivers, of course.'

Belisarius shrugged. 'It just came to me, one day.' His words were abrupt, even a little curt.

Typical, groused Aide. I never get any credit. Glory hound!

Belisarius pursed his lips, trying not to smile. This was a subject he did not want broached. Belisarius had once told Kurush's uncle, the sahrdaran Baresmanas, the secret of Aide's existence. But he didn't think Kurush knew, and he saw no reason to change that state of affairs. The fact was that Aide had given him the idea, just as he had so many others that Belisarius had implemented.

Toil, toil, toil, that's all I do. A slave in the gold mines, while you get to prance around in all the finery. Good thing for you trade unions haven't been invented yet, or I'd go out on strike.

Wanting to change the subject-as much to keep from laughing as anything else-

The eight-hour day! For a start. Wages, of course. Not better wages, either- any wages. I'm not getting paid at all, now that I think about it. Exploiter! Then-

— Belisarius drove over Aide's witticisms-

— there's the whole matter of benefits. I'll let the medical slide, seeing as how the current state of medical practice makes me shudder, but-

— along with Kurush's onrushing stream of questions.

I demand a pension. Thirty-and-out, nothing less!

'Are any Persian towns in your eastern provinces centers of artisanship?' asked Belisarius. 'Especially metalworking?'

Kurush's mouth snapped shut. For a moment, the Persian nobleman stared at Belisarius as if he were a madman. Then he burst into laughter.

'In the east?' he cried. Kurush's laughter was echoed by all three of his officers. One of them snorted. 'Those hicks can barely manage to rim a cartwheel.'

'Do they even have carts?' demanded another.

Kurush was back to vigorous headshaking. 'The eastern provinces are inhabited by nothing besides peasants and petty noblemen. They know how to grow crops. And how to fight, of course-but even that, they do poorly.'

He rocked his head back and forth, once, twice, thrice. The quick little gesture was by way of qualification. 'I should be fair. The eastern dehgans are as good as any, in single combat. But their tactics-'

'Charge,' sneered one of his officers. 'If that doesn't work-charge again.' His two fellows chortled agreement. 'And if that doesn't work?' queried one. He shrugged. 'Charge again. And keep doing it until your horse has the good sense to run away.'

Kurush grinned. 'If you want Persian artisans, Belisarius, you have to go to Mesopotamia or Persarmenia for them. Except in Fars province. There are some metalsmiths-armorers, mostly-in Persepolis and Pasargadae.'

He cocked his head quizzically. 'Why do you ask?'

Belisarius walked over to the table and stared down at the map, scratching his chin. 'I ask because the gunpowder weapons Damodara's army is using are quite a bit more sophisticated than anything I expected them to have.' He gestured with his head toward the east. The sound of the Malwa barrages carried clearly through the leather walls of the tent.

Still scratching his chin, he added: 'I thought it might be possible that Damodara established a manufacturing center somewhere in Hyrcania or Khorasan. But that's not likely, if there are no native craftsmen to draw on. I doubt he would have brought an entire labor force with him all the way from the Gangetic plain. A few experts, maybe. But not the hundreds of skilled workers it would take to manufacture-'

Again, he gestured toward the east wall of the tent. Again, the sound of Malwa rocketry and cannon fire pierced the leather.

A new voice entered the discussion. 'It is possible, General Belisarius. He could have set one up at Marv.' Vasudeva rose from a chair in a corner of the tent and ambled toward the table. 'Marv is a big enough town, and it's well located for the purpose.'

Vasudeva reached the table and leaned over, pointing to Marv's location on the map. His finger then moved east to the river Oxus, and then, following the river's course, southeast to a spot on the map which bore no markings.

'Right about there is the city of Begram,' said the Kushan general. 'The largest Kushan city, after Peshawar. Our kings, in the old days, had their summer palaces at Begram.' A bitter tinge entered his voice. 'Peshawar is nothing but ruins, today. But Begram still stands. The Ye-tai did not destroy it, except for the stupas.'

For all the calm in Vasudeva's voice, Belisarius did not miss the underlying anger-even hatred. When the Ye- tai conquered the Kushan kingdom, a century earlier, they had singled out Buddhism for particularly savage repression. All the monks had been murdered, and the stupas razed to the ground. Like most Kushans Belisarius knew, Vasudeva still considered himself a Buddhist. But it was a faith he practiced in fumbling secret, with no monks or learned scrolls to guide him.

Vasudeva's finger retraced the route he had indicated a few seconds earlier. 'As you can see, travel from Begram to Marv is not difficult. Most of it can be done by river craft.'

'And what's in Begram?' asked Kurush.

Vasudeva smiled thinly. 'Kushans. What else?' The smile faded. 'More precisely, Kushan craftsmen. Even in the old days, Begram was the center of artisanship in the Kushan realm. Peshawar was bigger, but it was the royal city. Full of soldiers, courtiers, that sort of thing.' With a chuckle, as dry as the smile: 'And a horde of bureaucrats, of course.'

Vasudeva fingered his wispy goatee. 'If Damodara had the good sense-if, General Belisarius; the Malwa, as a rule, don't think of Kushans as anything other than vassal soldiers-he could have easily transplanted hundreds of Kushan craftsmen to Marv. There, he could have built up an armament center. Close enough, as you can see from the map, to supply his army once it passed the Caspian Gates. But far enough away, in a sheltered oasis, to keep it safe from Persian raiders.'

He's right! said Aide to Belisarius. Marv would be perfect. The Seleucids walled the city eight hundred years ago. The whole oasis, actually. The Sassanids made it a provincial capital and a military center after they conquered the western part of the Kushan Empire. And Marv will become-would have become-the capital of Khorasan province after the Islamic conquest.

The Persian officers were staring at Vasudeva as if he were babbling in an unknown tongue. One of them turned his head and muttered to another: 'I've never thought of Kushans as anything but soldiers.'