Days later, Belisarius and Maurice surveyed the Nehar Malka from what was left of the rockpile on its north bank. Most of those rocks, so laboriously hauled out by the Kushans, were back where they came from. Once again, the Royal Canal was dry-or almost so, at least. The crude and explosive manner in which Belisarius had rebuilt the dam did not stop all the flow.
The Roman army was already halfway across what was left of the Nehar Malka. On their way back to Peroz- Shapur, now. After destroying the dam, Belisarius had retreated north, in case the Malwa made an attempt to pursue his still-outnumbered army. He had not expected them to make that mistake-not with Link in command-but had been prepared to deal with the possibility.
Once it became clear that the enemy was retreating back to Babylon, Belisarius had followed. They had reached the site of the battleground just two hours before.
'Enough,' he said softly. 'The Nehar Malka's dry enough. I don't think Khusrau will complain.'
'Shouldn't think so,' muttered Maurice. The chiliarch was not even looking at the Nehar Malka, however. He was staring at the Euphrates.
Not at the river, actually. The Euphrates, to all appearances, was back to its usual self-a wide, shallow, sluggishly moving mass of muddy water.
No, Maurice was staring at the banks of the river. Where the Malwa had abandoned their dead. It was not hard to spot the corpses-hundreds, thousands of them-even hidden in the reeds. The vultures covered the area like flies.
'Jesus,' he whispered. 'Forgive us our sins.'
Belisarius turned his eyes to follow Maurice's gaze. No expression came to his face. He might have been a simple village blacksmith, studying the precision of his work.
When he spoke, his voice was harsh. 'A man told me once that war is murder. Organized, systematic murder-nothing more, and nothing less. It was the first thing that man said to me, on the day I assumed command as an officer. Seventeen years old, I was. Green as the springtime.'
'You were never as green as the springtime,' murmured Maurice. 'Day you were born, you were already thinking crooked thoughts.' He sighed. 'I remember, lad. It was true, then, and it's true now. But I don't have to like it.'
Belisarius nodded. Nothing further was said.
A few minutes later, he and Maurice turned their horses and rode down to the bank of the Nehar Malka, ready to join the army in its crossing.
The job was not finished, not yet. Neither of them knew when it might be. But they knew when a day's work was done.
Done well. They could take satisfaction in that, at least, if not in the doing.
Craftsmen at their trade.
Epilogue
From her position on the dais against the east wall, Antonina surveyed the scene with satisfaction. The great audience chamber of the Prefectural Palace was literally packed with people. Servants carrying platters of food and drink were forced to wriggle their way through the throng like so many eels. The noise produced by the multitude of conversations was almost deafening.
'Very gratifying,' pronounced Patriarch Theodosius, seated on a chair next to her.
'Isn't it?' Antonina beamed upon the mob below them. 'I think the entire Greek aristocracy of Alexandria showed up tonight. As well as most of the nobility from all the major Delta towns. Even some from the valley. The Fayum, at least, and Antin-oopolis.'
A slight frown came.
'Actually, I'm a bit puzzled. Hadn't really expected such a massive turnout. I thought for sure that a good half of the nobility would boycott the affair.'
Theodosius' eyes widened. 'Boycott? A public celebration in honor of the Emperor's ninth birthday? God forbid!' The Patriarch smiled slyly. 'Actually, Antonina, I am
He nodded toward the middle of the great room, where the crowd was thickest. At the very center of that incredible population density, a cup of wine in one hand, stood a handsome young Roman officer.
'Egypt's most eligible bachelor,' stated the Patriarch. 'The merarch of the Army of Egypt. Newly elected to the Senate-and already quite rich on his own account, due to his share of the spoils from Mindouos.'
Antonina stared at Hermogenes. A bit of sadness came to her, for a brief moment, thinking about Irene. The host of women who surrounded Hermogenes were all younger than Irene, and-with perhaps one or two exceptions-considerably prettier.
'Put all their brains together,' she muttered, 'and they could maybe match Irene. When she's passed out drunk. Maybe.'
'What was that, Antonina?' asked Theodosius.
Antonina shook her head.
'Never mind, Patriarch. I was just thinking about a dear friend.' Sigh. 'Who will never, I fear, find a husband.'
'Too pious?' asked Theodosius.
Antonina bit off a laugh. 'No, no. Just too-
She rose from her seat. 'I will take my leave, now. The event is clearly a roaring success. I think we can safely conclude that Alexandria and Egypt have been returned to the imperial fold. But I'm tired, and I don't think
Theodosius suppressed his own humor, now, until after Antonina had walked out. Then he did laugh, seeing the mob below heave a great collective sigh of relief.
The Patriarch was quite certain he could read their minds, at that moment.
But they kept those thoughts to themselves. Oh, yes. Discreet, they were. Reserved.
'Very proper folk,' said Theodosius approvingly, turning to the man seated to his right. 'Very polite. Very noble. Don't you think so, Ashot?'
A charitable interpretation, from a man of God.
Less charitable was an Armenian cataphract's response.
'Scared shitless, that's what they are.'
'You are not thinking of
Prince Eon bolted erect on his own stool. His jaw sagged. Dropped. Plummeted like a stone.
Standing behind him, Ousanas burst into laughter.
'Excellent idea, King of Kings!' cried the dawazz. 'Certain to shrink overconfident fool boy's head into a walnut!'
Eon finally caught his breath. Enough, at least, to choke out, 'Marry-
He goggled at his father. The father glowered back.
