The Dance of Time

Maurice had been the leader of those bucellarii since they were first formed, over ten years earlier. But, today, he was essentially the second-in-command of the entire Roman army in the Punjab.

Maurice grunted. 'Ashot'll do fine. I still say it's a crazy idea.'

'It may never happen, anyway,' Belisarius pointed out. 'It's something of a long shot, depending on several factors over which we have no control at all.'

Maurice scowled. 'So what? 'Long shot' and 'no control' are the two phrases that best describe this war to begin with.'

Rightly said! chimed in Aide.

Belisarius gave the crystal the mental equivalent of a very cross-eyed look. If I recall correctly, you were the one who started the war in the first place.

Oh, nonsense! I just pointed out the inevitable.

* * *

The second order, which he issued immediately thereafter, summoned Agathius from Mesopotamia.

'We don't need him there either, any more,' he explained to Maurice.

'No, we don't. Although I hate to think of what chaos those damn Persians will create in our logistics without Agathius to crack the whip over them. Still. .'

The chiliarch ran fingers through his grizzled beard. 'We could use him here, better. If you go haring off on this preposterous mad dash of yours, I'll have to command the troops here. Bloody fighting, that'll be, all across the front.'

'Bloodier than anything you've ever seen,' Belisarius agreed. 'Or I've ever seen-or anyone's ever seen. The two greatest armies ever assembled in history hammering at each other across not more than twenty miles of front. And the Malwa will hammer, Maurice. You can be sure that Link will give that order before the monster departs. Whatever else, it will want this Roman army kept in its cage, and not able to come after it.'

Maurice's grunted chuckle even had a bit of real humor. Not much, of course. 'But no fancy maneuvers required. Nothing that really needs the crooked brain of Belisarius. Just stout, simple-minded Maurice of Thrace, like the centurion of the Bible. Saying to one, come, and he cometh. Saying to another, go, and he goeth.'

Belisarius smiled, but said nothing.

Maurice grunted again, seeing the smile. 'Well, I can do that, certainly. And I agree that it would help a lot to have Agathius here. He can manage everything else while I command on the front lines.'

* * *

The third order he gave to Ashot, a few days later, as soon as he arrived.

More in the way of a set of orders, actually. Which of them Ashot chose to follow would depend on. . this and that.

'Marvelous,' said Ashot, after Belisarius finished. The stubby Armenian cataphract exchanged a familiar look with Maurice. The one that translated more-or-less as: what sins did we commit to be given such a young lunatic for a commander?

But he verbalized none of it. Even the exchange of looks was more in the way of a familiar habit than anything really heartfelt. It was not as if he and Maurice weren't accustomed to the experience, by now.

'I don't much doubt Kungas will agree,' he said. 'So I should be back within a month.'

Belisarius cocked an eyebrow. 'That soon?'

'There are advantages to working as closely as I have with Persians, General. I know at least two dehgans in Sukkur who are familiar with the terrain I'll have to pass through to reach Kungas. They'll guide me, readily enough.'

'All right. How many men do you want?'

'Not more than thirty. We shouldn't encounter any Malwa, the route I'll be taking. Thirty will be enough to scare off any bandits. Any more would just slow us down.'

* * *

Ashot and his little troop left the next morning. Thereafter, Belisarius went back to the routine of the siege.

'I hate sieges,' he commented to Calopodius. 'But I will say they don't require much in the way of thought, once everything's settled down.'

'Meaning no offense, General, but if you think you hate sieges, I invite you to try writing a history about one. Grammar and rhetoric can only do so much.'

* * *

Antonina stared down at the message in her hand. She was trying to remember if, at any time in her life, she'd ever felt such conflicting emotions.

'That is the oddest expression I can ever remember seeing on your face,' Ousanas mused. 'Although it does remind me, a bit, of the expression I once saw on the face of a young Greek nobleman in Alexandria.'

Stalling for time while she tried to sort out her feelings, Antonina muttered: 'When did you ever know any Greek noblemen in Alexandria?'

Glancing up, she saw Ousanas was smiling, that serene little smile that was always a little disconcerting on his face.

'I have led a varied life, you know. I wasn't always shackled to this wretched little African backwater in the mountains. On that occasion-there were several-the youth fancied himself a philosopher. I showed him otherwise.'

Lounging on a nearby chair in Antonina's salon, Ezana grunted. He'd taken no offense, of course, at Ousanas' wisecrack about Axum. Partly, because he was used to it; partly, because he knew from experience that the only way to deal with Ousanas' wisecracks was to ignore them.

'And that is what caused a peculiar expression on his face?' he asked skeptically. 'I would have thought one of your devastating logical ripostes-for which the world has seen no equal since Socrates- would have simply left him aghast at his ignorance.'

Ezana was no slouch himself, when it came to wisecracks-or turning a properly florid phrase, for that matter. Ousanas flashed a quick grin in recognition, and then shrugged.

'Alas, no. My rebuttal went so far over his head that the callow stripling had no idea at all that I'd disemboweled him, intellectually speaking. No, the peculiar expression came not five minutes later, when a courier arrived bearing the news that the lad's father had died in Constantinople. And that he had inherited one of the largest fortunes in the empire.'

He pointed a finger at Antonina's face. 'That expression.'

She didn't know whether to laugh or scowl. In the end, she managed to do both.

'It's a letter from Theodora. Sent by telegraph to Alexandria, relayed to Myos Hormos, and then brought by a dispatch vessel the rest of the way.' She held it up. 'My son-his wife Tahmina, too-is coming on a tour of our allies. Starting here in Axum, of course. He'll go with us to India.'

'Ah.' Ousanas nodded. 'All is explained. Your delight at the unexpected prospect of seeing your son again, much sooner than you expected. Your chagrin at having to delay your much-anticipated reunion with your husband. The maternal instinct of a proper Egyptian woman clashing with the salacious habits of a Greek harlot.'

He and Ezana exchanged stern glances.

'You should wait for your son,' Ezana pronounced. 'Even if you are a Greek harlot.'

Antonina gave them the benefit of her sweetest smile. 'I would remind both of you that Greek women are also the world's best and most experienced poisoners. And you do not use food-tasters in Ethiopia.'

'She has a point,' Ousanas averred.

Ezana grunted again. 'She should still wait for her son. Even if she is-'

'Of course I'm going to wait for my son, you-you-fucking idiots!'

* * *

The next day, though, it was her turn to start needling Ousanas.

'What? If it's that hard for you, why don't you leave now? There's no reason you have to wait here until Photius arrives. You can surely find some way to pass the time in Barbaricum- or Chabahari, most like-as accustomed as you are to the humdrum life in this African backwater.'

Ousanas scowled at her. For one of the rare times since she'd met him, years earlier, the Bantu once-hunter