When he finally emerged into the central gardens, he saw that even here the casualties from the barrage had been very light. This, despite the fact that the area was packed as tightly as the buildings were.
The horticultural splendor which had once reigned here was nothing but a memory, now. Every plant and shrub had been obliterated by the heavily-armored men who were jammed into every nook and cranny of the gardens. But few of those men seemed the slightest bit injured.
Belisarius was relieved, even though he was not surprised. Belisarius had been almost certain that the rockets' trajectories would be too flat to plunge into the gardens.
Obviously, his estimate had been correct. What few injuries had occured had resulted from the handful of rockets which, by bad luck, had exploded directly overhead. And even those had done little damage, due to the leather shrapnel screens stretched across much of the garden areas.
Again, Belisarius forced his way forward. Once he was through the gardens, he plunged into the jam-packed hallways of the buildings on the opposite side. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. By the time he finally staggered into the open grounds in the rear of the villa, he felt almost as if he had been through another lance charge.
The expedition had taken much longer than he had expected. No sooner did he emerge into the open than he heard a cacophony of distant shouting behind him. Malwa battle cries. The enemy had launched their ground assault.
Belisarius did not even think of turning back. The thought of undergoing that gauntlet again almost made him shudder. There would be no point, anyway. Bouzes was in command of the three thousand infantrymen manning the villa, with five hundred Constantinople cataphracts to back him up. Belisarius was quite confident of their ability to fight off the first attack.
Coutzes and Agathius, seeing the general emerge, hurried to meet him. Their own pace was not quick. The area to the rear of the villa held the rest of the Greek cataphracts and the Syrian cavalry-over four thousand men, along with their horses. But the population density was not as extreme as it had been in the villa itself. The imperial compound's wall-enclosed western grounds were many acres in extent. Open areas, for the most part, interspersed with bridle paths, hedges, patios and scattered trees.
Within a few seconds, Belisarius was consulting with his cavalry commanders. All three of them spoke loudly, due to the rapidly escalating noise coming from the other side of the villa. Malwa and Roman battle cries were mingled with the sound of grenade explosions.
Belisarius' first words were, 'How many casualties?'
'They'd have done better to use catapults,' snorted Agathius. He looked at Coutzes. 'What would you say? Twenty, maybe-overall?'
Coutzes shrugged. 'If that many. Only three fatal-ities, that I know of.'
'What about the horses?' asked the general.
Agathius rocked his head back and forth. 'They're a little skittish, general. But we were able to keep them pretty much under control. Don't think we lost more than a dozen. Most of those'll be back, in a few hours, except a couple who broke their fool necks jumping the rear wall.'
Coutzes laughed. 'I don't think Abbu's precious horse will be coming back! I swear, general, the fucking thing almost jumped over the trees as well as the wall!'
Agathius grinned. Belisarius' eyes widened.
'
' 'Dotes on'?' demanded Coutzes. 'That gelding's the apple of the old brigand's eye! He practically sleeps with the damn beast.'
'Not any more,' chuckled Agathius. 'He's fit to be tied, he is. Last I saw he was standing on the wall shooting arrows at the creature. Didn't come close, of course-the gelding was already halfway to Antioch.'
Belisarius shook his head. He was smiling, but the smile was overlaid with concern. 'Did he manage-'
Coutzes cut him off.
'Don't worry, general. Abbu sent the Arab couriers off as soon as we gave him the word. Half an hour ago, at least. Maurice'll have plenty of warning that the plans have changed.'
Belisarius' smile grew very crooked. 'I'm glad I won't be there to hear him, cursing me for a fussbudget.' He did a fair imitation of Maurice's rasping voice: 'What am I? A babe in swaddling clothes-
Coutzes grinned. Agathius' expression was serious.
'You think he'll be ready, then?' he asked. 'I'll admit, I'm a bit worried about it. They weren't expecting to be called on this soon.'
Belisarius clapped a hand on Agathius' heavy shoulder.
'Don't,' he said softly. 'If there's one thing in this world you can be sure of, it's that Maurice won't ever be caught napping in a battle. The only reason I sent the couriers was to make sure he'd move out the second we fired the signal rockets, instead of fifteen seconds later.'
He turned to Coutzes. 'Speaking of which. .'
Coutzes pointed to a small copse of trees fifty yards distant.
'In there, general. Aimed and ready to fire as soon as you give the word. One red; followed by a green. And we've got three back-up rockets of each color in case one of them misfires.'
Belisarius nodded. He turned his head back toward the villa, listening to the sound of the battle. Even buffered by the villa, the noise was intense. Intense, and growing more so by the second. The grenade explosions were almost continuous, now.
The general and his two officers listened for perhaps a minute, without speaking. Then Coutzes stated, very firmly, 'Not a chance.'
Agathius immediately nodded. So did Belisarius. All three men had reached the same assessment, just from the sound of the battle. For all the evident fury with which the Malwa were pressing the attack, their efforts would be futile. There had been not a trace of the unmistakable sounds of defenders losing heart. Not one cry of despair, not one desperate shriek-only a steady roar of Roman battle cries and shouts of confident triumph.
The assault would break, recoil; the Malwa stagger away, trailing small rivers of blood.
Belisarius turned away from the villa and quickly scanned the area.
'You're ready.' It was a statement, not a question. Agathius and Bouzes didn't even bother to speak their affirmation.
The general sighed.
'Nothing for it, then.' He looked back at the villa, wincing.
'Back into the vise, for me.' He began walking toward the buildings, saying, over his shoulder: 'I'll have the message relayed. Watch for it. Fire off the rockets at once.'
To his relief, the crowd had thinned out a bit-in the rear buildings, at least. All of the soldiers who could had forced themselves into the buildings directly facing the Malwa, fired with determination to help beat off the attack. It only took Belisarius a couple of minutes to thread his way back to the central gardens.
There, however, he was stopped cold. Cursed himself for a fool.
He had forgotten that he had given orders, the day before, to use the gardens as a field hospital. The grounds were completely impassable, now. The casualties were not particularly severe, given the situation. But wounded men, along with their attendants, take up more space than men standing.
As he scrutinized the scene, a part of Belisarius was grimly pleased with what he saw. Outside of the terrible losses suffered by a routed army being pursued, there was no kind of battle which produced casualties as quickly as a close assault on fieldworks. Most of those casualties, of course, would be inflicted on the attackers. But the defenders would take their share also.
Yet, what he now saw in the gardens were light casualties, given the circumstances. And-even better-a much higher proportion of men wounded rather than killed, compared to the usual.
The screens worked, by God!
He had thought they would. Malwa grenades, like Roman ones, were ignited by hand-lit fuses. It was almost inevitable that the man lighting that fuse would cut it a bit too long, from fear of having the bomb blow up in his hand. The Malwa would have concentrated their grenades on the many doors and portals which lined the villa's walls and buildings. With the screens in place-put up almost instantly, without warning-the Malwa grenades would
