In the Heart of Darkness

Ashot immediately understood all the parameters of the question. The Armenian pointed toward the artillery vessel.

'If I were John, I'd follow the ships retreating back to Chalcedon. Harry them mercilessly. Put them completely out of the action. Leave the ones heading toward Portus Caesarii for Sittas and Hermogenes to deal with. They shouldn't have any trouble.'

For a moment, Ashot gauged the eleven ships now heading for the westernmost harbor on Constantinople's southern shore.

'Two akatoi,' he murmured, 'and nine corbita. To be on the safe side, let's call it three hundred cataphracts and three thousand infantry. Against Sittas' five hundred cataphracts and the two thousand infantrymen Hermogenes brought.'

Ashot spat into the sea. 'Lambs to the slaughter,' he concluded.

Belisarius smiled at the Armenian's ferocious expression. Then, curious to see Ashot's reaction, he remarked:

'Heavy odds, against the infantry.'

The Armenian sneered.

'Are you kidding? Against Hermogenes' infantry?' The cataphract shook his head firmly. 'You've been gone for almost a year and a half, general. You haven't seen what Hermogenes has done with his troops. And the ones he brought to Constantinople were his best units. The finest Roman infantry since the days of the Principate. They'll chew their way right through that Bithynian garbage.'

Belisarius nodded. He was not surprised. Still, he was gratified.

'The enemy'll be disheartened, too,' added Ashot. 'Confused-half-leaderless, probably-scared shitless.'

Again, he spat into the ocean. 'Lambs to the slaughter. Lambs to the slaughter.'

Belisarius saw that John had apparently reached the same conclusion as Ashot. The artillery ship was veering off in pursuit of the corbita retreating to Chalcedon.

'Will he catch any of them?' he asked.

'Not a chance,' replied the Armenian instantly. 'They're sailing almost before the wind, on that heading. The advantage now is with the heavier corbita and their square-rigged sails, especially since the rowers on John's galley are bound to be tired. But once they reach Chalcedon, those ships are trapped. John can stand off in the mouth of the harbor and bombard them with impunity. He'll turn the whole fleet into so much kindling.'

Another spit into the sea. 'The Army of Bithynia's out of it, general. Except for the few who are heading for southern Constantinople.'

For a moment, Belisarius examined the cataphract standing next to him. The Armenian was now watching the enemy ships sailing toward Portus Caesarii, oblivious to his general's gaze.

Abruptly, Belisarius made his decision.

'In a few months, Ashot, I'll be promoting several of the men to hecatontarch. You're one of them.'

The Armenian's eyes widened. He stared at the general.

'You've only got one hecatontarch-Maurice. And I don't-' Ashot groped for words. Like all of Belisarius' cataphracts, he had a towering respect for Maurice.

Belisarius smiled.

'Oh, Maurice'll be promoted also. A chiliarch he'll be, now.'

Ashot was still wide-eyed. Belisarius shook his head.

'We're in a new world, Ashot. I never felt I needed more than a few hundred bucellarii, before. But among the many things I learned while I was in India is that the Malwa don't have genuine elite troops. Not ones they can rely on, at least. That's a Roman advantage I intend to maximize.'

He scratched his chin, estimating.

'Five thousand bucellarii. Seven thousand, if possible. Not at once, of course-I want them to be elite troops, not warm bodies. But that's my goal.' His smile grew crooked. 'You'll probably wind up a chiliarch yourself, soon enough. I'll need several for all those troops, with Maurice in overall command.'

Ashot, again, groped for words.

'I don't think-that's a lot of Thracians, general. Five thousand? Seven thousand?' Hesitantly: 'And I'm Armenian. I get along well with the Thracians you've got now, that's true. They've known me for a long time. But I don't know that new Thracian boys are going to be all that happy with an Armenian-'

'If they can't handle it,' replied Belisarius harshly, 'I'll pitch them out on their ear.' His smile returned. 'Besides-who said they'd all be Thracians?' He chuckled, seeing Ashot's frown.

'I don't have time, any longer, for anyone's delicate sensibilities. I want five thousand bucellarii-the best cataphracts anywhere in the world-as fast as I can get them. A big chunk-possibly the majority-will be Thracian. But they'll be lots of Illyrians and as many Isaurians as we can find who are willing to become cataphracts. Isaurians are tough as nails. Beyond that-' He shrugged. 'Anyone who can fight well, and can learn to become a cataphract. Greeks, Armenians, Egyptians, barbarians-even Jews. I don't care.'

Ashot had overcome his initial surprise, and was now tugging on his beard thoughtfully. 'Expensive, general. Five thousand bucellarii-even if you're not as generous as usual-you're looking at-'

He broke off, remembering. He had seen the Malwa treasure which Belisarius had brought back from India. True, Belisarius had given three-fourths of that bribe to Shakuntala. But the remainder was still an immense fortune, by any except imperial standards.

Ashot nodded.

'Yes, you can afford it. Even with liberal pay and equipment bonus, you've got enough to cover five thousand bucellarii for at least four years. After that-'

'After that,' said Belisarius coldly, 'there'll either be plenty of booty or we'll all be dead.'

Ashot nodded. 'A new world,' he murmured.

A cry from Anastasius drew their attention.

'There's Sittas! I can see him!'

Belisarius and Ashot looked forward. The dromon was just passing through the double breakwaters which marked the entrance to the small Harbor of Hormisdas, the private harbor of Rome's emperors. Behind the harbor rose the hills of Constantinople. The Great Palace, though it was nearby, was hidden behind the slope. But they could see the upper levels of the Hippodrome. And they could hear the roar of the mob gathered within it.

Belisarius' eyes were drawn lower, to a large figure standing on the nearest wharf.

Sure enough, Sittas. Standing next to him were Hermogenes and Irene.

As they drew nearer, Sittas bellowed.

'What took you so long? Don't you know there's a war to be fought?'

The boar, in full fury.

The mob, too, was in full fury. The seats in the Hippodrome were packed with armed men. Blues on one side, of course, Greens on the other. Even during this unusual alliance, the faction leaders were wise enough not to mix their men.

Balban, watching the scene, was delighted. Narses, standing next to him, was not.

'Almost forty thousand of them!' exclaimed the Malwa spymaster. 'I'd been hoping for thirty, at the most.'

Narses almost spoke the words: 'I'd been dreading more than twenty thousand.' But he restrained himself. There was no point, now, in getting into another futile argument.

Called upon to settle some petty dispute between the factions, Balban left. Narses and Ajatasutra remained, standing in the fortified loge on the southeast side of the Hippodrome which was called the kathisma.

The emperor's loge, that was. Reserved for his use alone. By seizing it, the conspirators had announced their full intentions for all the world to see.

Narses glanced over his shoulder. At the rear of the loge was a barred door. That door was the only entrance to the kathisma, other than the open wall at the front. Behind it was a covered passage which connected the emperor's box in the Hippodrome to the Great Palace.

The door was barred on both sides, now. On his side, Narses saw eight Malwa kshatriya standing guard. On the other side, he knew, would be an even greater number of the Emperor's personal bodyguard, the excubitores, anxiously fingering their weapons.