In the Heart of Darkness

'Watch, Menander. Watch and learn. The day will come when you will find it necessary to rally beaten troops.'

He paused for breath. Now that they were past the danger of accidental encounters with rebel flankers, Valentinian and Anastasius had stepped up the pace to a brisk run. Even for men in such excellent condition, the exertion was significant. True, they were not wearing full armor. But the heat of India made good the loss.

'Watch,' he commanded again. 'And learn.' Pause for breath. 'The key is total confidence and authority.' Pause. 'Confused soldiers will instinctively rally to it.'

They had almost reached the first knots of Malwa soldiers. Belisarius saw a cluster of Ye-tai warriors nearby. He surged past Anastasius and Valentinian and bore down on the Ye-tai, waving his sword back toward the Emperor's pavilion and bellowing commands.

In perfect, fluent, unaccented Ye-tai:

'Get those stinking gutless bastards back into line!'

The Ye-tai stared. Belisarius pointed with his sword toward a mob of Malwa common soldiers, milling around aimlessly not fifty yards away.

'You heard me! Get that worthless scum back into line! The rebels are attacking the Emperor!'

Comprehension came. As one man, the Ye-tai glowered at the common soldiery. A moment later, they were back at their accustomed task of chivvying the infantrymen.

Already Valentinian and Anastasius were imitating their general. The veterans spoke no Ye-tai, but their simple Hindi was more than good enough for the purpose. Within a few minutes, the Romans had three hundred Ye-tai re-organized into small squads which, in turn, were corralling and driving forward over two thousand common soldiers. For their part, the Malwa infantrymen made little protest, especially after the Ye-tai demonstrated their willingness to slaughter anyone who hesitated or tried to flee.

Menander was amazed at the success of the maneuver. He himself had tried to copy his general and the veterans. With indifferent success, true, but with no outright failure. Only once did he see a Ye-tai question the authority of the Romans. An officer, he thought, if he was reading the subtleties of the man's uniform correctly. But he was not sure, and the man's uniform was almost instantly obscured by blood. Valentinian's swordstroke had amputated the Ye-tai's left arm and cut halfway through his ribcage.

Now Belisarius' small impromptu army was moving up the slope. The common infantrymen were in front, in lines so ragged they could hardly be called a formation at all. But they were moving forward, arms in hand, eyes fixed on the rebels mobbing the Emperor's bodyguard at the pavilion some two hundred yards away. Behind them came the Ye-tai. The battle line of the steppe barbarians was every bit as ragged as the infantry's, but the Ye-tai had regained their customary battle-fury and braggadocio. They drove the Malwa soldiers forward mercilessly.

Bringing up the rear were the four Romans, keeping a close eye on the situation as a whole.

Menander was now striding alongside Anastasius and Valentinian. He was still gaping.

Anastasius laughed at the sight. 'You see, lad?' rumbled the giant. 'Beaten troops are like sheep. And as for the Ye-tai-'

Valentinian grinned. 'Pimps, boy. Nothing but fucking pimps.'

Menander flushed, closed his jaws. The young cataphract stared ahead, over the mass of Malwa and Ye-tai soldiers in front of him. He could see the pavilion, now half-collapsed, but could only sense the fury of the combat which raged there between the rebels and the Emperor's bodyguard.

'We're still outnumbered,' he said. Anastasius glanced down at him, approvingly. There had been no fear in the boy's voice, simply clear-headed calculation.

'That's true, lad.' The huge Thracian's eyes quickly scanned the little army they were driving ahead of them. 'But we'll hit the rebels in the rear, and they'll be caught between two forces. And-'

'They think they're on the verge of victory,' said Valentinian. 'The shock of a surprise attack will do them in.'

Menander remembered the battle with the pirates on the Malwa embassy vessel. He had been badly wounded in that fight, but had been conscious enough to see how quickly the pirates' morale had collapsed when Belisarius led his unexpected counter-attack. He nodded his head, gripped his sword more tightly. They were now within a hundred yards of the battle at the pavilion.

'Always remember this, boy,' hissed Valentinian. 'Never count a battle won until you've paid for your first cup of wine in the victory celebration. Paid for it, mind-looted wine's a fool's bargain. The enemy'll come back and cut your throat before you finish it.'

Anastasius started to add another bit of veteran's wisdom, but his words were drowned in a sudden roar. The Malwa soldiers had begun the charge, shouting their battle cries. Menander could see nothing, now, except the Ye-tai ahead of him and the remnants of the pavilion floating in the distance. Above the roar of the Malwa battle cries, he could hear the first sharp wails of rebel shock and fear. A moment later, the clangor of clashing steel added its particular threnody to the uproar. And then, here and there, the unmistakeable percussion of grenade blasts.

Menander began to push forward. Belisarius stayed him with a hand.

'No,' he commanded. 'Let the Malwa do their own fighting. We've brought them an army. Let them use it or not. Our task is done.'

For a moment, Menander saw his general's eyes lose their focus. The young cataphract held his breath. He knew what he was seeing-had seen it before, many times-but it still brought him a sudden rush of religious awe. His great general was communicating with the Talisman of God.

The moment, as usual, was brief. When Belisarius turned his brown eyes back upon his cataphracts, they were filled with acute intelligence.

'But stay ready,' he commanded. 'The time may come when we'll want to charge forward. If we can, I want to get next to the Emperor.'

He glanced aside, examining the ground, and smiled his crooked smile.

'In the meantime-Menander, would you be so good as to fetch that grenade lying over there? And that other one. Like a thief in the night, lad. I'd like to smuggle a few of those back to Rome.'

Quickly, seeing no unfriendly eyes upon him, Menander secreted the two grenades into his tunic. Then, after a moment's thought, he bound up his tunic with a blood-soaked rag torn from the tunic of a dead Malwa infantryman.

Valentinian frowned.

'Might not be such a good idea, that,' he muttered. 'The Malwa doctors might want to look at your so-called `wound.' '

Anastasius snorted and started to speak, but Menander cut him off.

'The Malwa don't have doctors. Not field doctors, anyway. If you're hurt in battle'-the youth's shrug was callous beyond his years-'tough shit. Sew yourself up, or get a friend to do it.'

Valentinian whistled softly. 'You're kidding?' His lean face took on a more weaselish look than normal. 'I thought they were civilized!'

Throughout the exchange, Belisarius never took his eyes off the battle raging before them. But he responded to Valentinian, harshly:

'They are civilized, Valentinian. That's what makes them dangerous.'

The roar of the battle was intensifying. Suddenly, gaps appeared in the ranks of the Malwa ahead of them. For the first time, the Romans could begin to see the battle itself.

One glance was enough. The gaps were caused by rebel soldiers trying to flee, with Malwa in pursuit. The rebels had been broken, their frenzied fury snapped between the courage of the Emperor's bodyguard and the unexpected attack on their rear. The semi-ordered ranks of both sides were dissolving rapidly into a swirling chaos, clusters of disorganized men smashing and cutting each other. Butchery, now. The rebels still outnumbered the loyalists, but it mattered not at all. As always, fleeing soldiers fell like prey.

'Follow me,' commanded Belisarius. The general began striding through the chaos ahead of him, forcing a way through the mob. His cataphracts flanked him, keen and alert, ready to kill anyone-rebel or loyalist-who so much as looked at Belisarius the wrong way. Once, Valentinian struck down a rebel. The man was not attacking them, he was simply seeking a path to safety. But in his desperation the rebel was careening toward Belisarius, swinging his sword, until Valentinian slew him with a quick thrust to the heart. Once, Anastasius killed a Ye-tai. The