But the galley never came closer to shore. Thirty yards.
Belisarius cursed under his breath. He would have to make the swim. Right under the eyes of watchful soldiers, with grenades in hand.
He glanced up, one last time. The cloud cover was almost complete. Again, he prayed for a downpour.
His prayers were answered.
Not by rain, but by fire. A great, blooming, volcanic eruption shattered the sky to the southeast. The thunderclap from that eruption swept over the Jamuna, drowning the grenade blasts like raindrops under a tidal wave.
For a moment, all was still. Then, from the same area to the southeast, the first immense blast gave way to a barrage. One blast after another after another. None of them had the same intensity as the first, but, in their rolling fury, they were even more frightening. Now, too, rockets began hissing their way into the sky, at every angle and trajectory-as if they were completely unaimed. Simply firing in whatever direction they had been tumbled, by a giant's hand.
The officer in command of the galley began shouting new orders. The galley backed oars, turning away from the north bank. Turning back to the southeast, back to the wharf where Great Lady Holi's barge was rocking in the shockwave of the blasts.
Belisarius could not make out the officer's exact words-his voice, like all other sounds, was buried beneath the continuing thunder of the distant explosions. But he knew what had happened. The Malwa search of the north bank had been half-hearted to begin with. And now, with further-dramatic! — evidence that the nefarious foreign general had made his escape to the south, it was being abandoned completely.
He jerked the knife out of the hull, pushed himself away, submerged. When he raised his head, a minute later, the stern of the rapidly receding galley was barely visible in the darkness.
A minute later, Belisarius was wading ashore. Within seconds, he found cover under a low-hanging tree. There, he unrolled his bundle, wrung out his clothes and emptied his boots, dressed quickly.
As soon as he stepped out from the shelter of the tree, the sky finally broke. Within seconds, his clothing was as saturated by the downpour as it had been by the river.
Striding away, however, Belisarius was not disgruntled. Quite the contrary. He was grinning as widely as Ousanas.
For all his reputation as a brilliant strategist-a master of tactics and maneuver-Belisarius had always known that war never followed neat and predictable lines. Chaos and confusion was the very soul of the beast. The secret was to cherish the vortex, not to fear it.
Chaos was his best friend; confusion his boon companion.
He turned his head, admiring the fiery chaos to the southeast. Raised his eyes, lovingly, to the thundering confusion of the heavens.
A wondering thought came from Aide.
You are not afraid? We are all alone, now.
Belisarius sent his own mental image.
That very moment, on the other hand, Valentinian was cursing chaos and confusion.
The armory had exploded just as the cataphracts began their cavalry charge into the Malwa army camp.
The result was the most absurd situation Valentinian had ever encountered in his life.
He and Anastasius had timed the charge perfectly. They had allowed many minutes to elapse, after their first volley into the camp, before starting the charge. Minutes, for the Ethiopians to get a good distance along their escape route. (The Axumites would need that headstart. They were competent horsemen, to be sure; but-except for Garmat-had none of the superb cavalry skills of the cataphracts.) Minutes, for the shocked comrades of the slain Malwa soldiers to spread the alarm. Minutes, for the half-competent officers of those half-competent troops to gather around and begin shouting contradictory orders. Minutes, for chaos to turn to confusion. Minutes, to allow Kujulo and the other Kushans to race about the Malwa camp in their Ye-tai impersonation, shouting garbled news of the escape of the treacherous foreign general Belisarius.
Finally, the time came. By now, Valentinian estimated, Kujulo and the Kushans-coming from the opposite side of the encampment-would have reached the officers in command of the Malwa camp. There, in broken Hindi, interspersed with savage Ye-tai curses, they would have ordered the officers to begin a charge to the south, where the foreign general was known to be lurking.
All that was needed, to give the proof to their words, was a sudden cataphract charge on the south edge of the camp.
Valentinian gave the order. He and his two comrades plunged out of the line of trees. Their horses thundered toward the Malwa camp, some sixty yards distant. They drew their bows, fired their first volley-
The northeast sky turned to flame and thunder.
Every Malwa soldier in the camp turned, as one man, and gaped at the spectacle. They did not even notice the first three casualties in their midst. Three soldiers, hurled to the ground by arrows plunging into their backs.
They did not notice the next three casualties. Or the next three. Or the next three.
By the time Valentinian and his comrades reached the pathetic little palisade-say better, low fence-which circled the camp, they had already slain eight Malwa soldiers and badly wounded as many more.
And, for all the good it did, they might as well have been boys casting pebbles at cows. All of the Malwa soldiers were still facing away, gaping with shock at the incredible display to the north, completely oblivious to the carnage in their ranks to the south.
The cataphracts reined in their horses at the very edge of the palisade. It was no part of their plan to get tangled up with the Malwa soldiers. They simply wanted to draw their attention.
The roaring explosions continued to the north. Rockets were firing into the sky in all directions, hissing their serpentine fury at random targets.
Valentinian's curses, loud as they were, were completely buried under the uproar.
Random chaos came to the rescue. One of the rockets firing off from the exploding armory sailed directly toward the Malwa army camp. The milling soldiers watched it rise, and rise, and rise. Still heading directly toward them.
In truth, the rocket posed little danger to them. But there was something frightening about that inexorable, arching flight. This rocket-quite unlike its erratic fellows-seemed bound and determined to strike the camp head-on. Its trajectory was as straight and true as an arrow's.
The mob of soldiers began edging back. Then, almost as one, turned and began pushing their way southward. Away from the coming rocket.
Finally, the Malwa saw the cataphracts. Finally, stumbling over the littered bodies, they caught sight of their murdered comrades.
'It's about time, you stupid bastards!' cried Valentinian. He drew an arrow and slaughtered a Malwa in the first rank. Another. Another. Anastasius and Menander added their own share to the killing.
Valentinian saw a Ye-tai charge to the fore. He was about to kill him, until-he transferred his aim, slew a soldier nearby.
'It Romans!' he heard the Ye-tai cry, in crude, broken Hindi. 'That Belisarius he-self! After they! Get they!'
The Ye-tai sprang over the palisade, waving his sword in a gesture of command.
'After they!' he commanded. Valentinian saw three other Ye-tai push their way through the Malwa mob, beating the common infantrymen with the flat of their blades and shouting the same simple command.
'After they! After they!'
Valentinian reined his horse around and galloped off. Anastasius and Menander followed. Seconds later, with a roar, the entire mob of Malwa soldiers was pounding in pursuit.
On his way, the cataphract sent a silent thought back.
