Destiny's shield

have bounced off and exploded too far away to do any concussive damage. True, shrapnel would pierce the leather-would eventually shred the screens entirely. But the screens had served to blunt the fury of the first assault, and almost all the Roman casualties had been the relatively minor wounds caused by leather-deflected shrapnel.

Pleased as he was, however, Belisarius did not spend much time examining the scene. He was too preoccupied with the unexpected problem of getting himself to a position where he could assess the next Malwa attack-the attack he was certain would be spearheaded by the Kushans. Timing would be all important, then, and he could not possibly order Maurice's attack when he had no idea what was happening.

For a moment, he considered working his way to the front by circumnavigating the interconnected buildings which made up the compound. But he dismissed the idea almost immediately. Every one of those buildings would be so jampacked with soldiers as to make forward progress all but impossible.

He had just about come to the grotesque but inescapable conclusion that he was going to have to make his way through the gardens by walking on the bodies of wounded men, when he heard his name called.

'General Belisarius! General Belisarius! Over here!'

He looked across the gardens. Standing in a doorway on the opposite side was the same infantryman he had spoken with earlier. Felix-Felix Chalcenterus.

'You won't be able to get across, sir!' shouted the Syrian soldier. 'The chiliarch sent me back here to watch for you! Wait a minute! Just a minute!'

The man disappeared. He returned about a minute later, preceded by Bouzes. As soon as he stepped into the doorway, Bouzes cupped his hands around his mouth, forming an impromptu megaphone, and hollered:

'Let's set up a relay! With your permission, sir!'

Belisarius thought the problem over. For a second or two, no more. He nodded, and waved his hand. Then, copying Bouzes' handcupping, shouted back:

'Good idea! Leave Felix in the door! If the Kushans lead the next charge, let me know!' He paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing:

'If they do-tell me the moment they start their charge!'

Bouzes waved back, acknowledging. The chiliarch spoke a few words to Felix and disappeared. The Syrian soldier remained in the doorway. His stance was erect and alert. Even from the distance, Belisarius could see the stern expression on the man's face. A young face, it was-almost a boy's face. But it was also the face of a man determined to do his duty, come what may.

Belisarius smiled. 'You're in for a promotion, lad,' he whispered. 'As soon as the battle's over, I think.'

The general now concentrated on listening. The sounds of battle had died away, in the last few minutes. Clearly enough, the Malwa had been beaten back and were regrouping.

He decided he had enough time to make his own preparations.

Again, he made his way back through the rear building and onto the western grounds. Agathius was waiting, not twenty feet from the doorway. The Constantinople cataphract was already mounted on his horse.

Quickly, Belisarius explained the signal relay. Then:

'It'll be a few minutes. Get me a horse, will you? I won't be relaying the message. I'll just come straight back and join you.'

He pointed to the doorway.

'As soon as you see me coming through that door, have the cornicens order the sally. That'll give me just enough time to mount up.'

Agathius nodded. Then, with a frown:

'Where are your bodyguards?'

Belisarius shrugged, smiling whimsically.

'We got separated, it seems. They must be lost in the crowd.'

The Greek chiliarch's frown deepened.

'I'm not sure I like that, general. The idea of you leading a sally without your bodyguards, I mean.'

Belisarius scowled.

'I assure you, Agathius, I was taking care of myself long before-'

'Still-'

'Enough.'

Agathius opened his mouth, closed it. 'Yes, sir. It'll be as you say.'

Belisarius nodded and strode back toward the gardens. This time, as he made his way through the building, he ordered the men inside to clear a lane for him.

'I'll be coming through here, soon enough, running as fast as I can. I warn you, boys-I'll trample right over the man standing in my way. And I'm wearing spurs, I hope you notice.'

The soldiers grinned, pressed aside, cheered.

Belisarius! Belisarius!

His only acknowledgement:

That sorry bastard will be fucked.

Ten minutes later, Felix called out the news across the gardens. 'The Kushans are lining up! They'll be leading the attack!'

Five minutes after he shouted, 'They're coming!'

Then:

'Now! Now! Now!'

For a man wearing full cataphract armor, Belisarius thought he did quite well, racing-so to speak-through the building. The men who formed the flesh-and-steel walls on both sides certainly thought so, judging from their encouragement.

Belisarius! Belisarius!

Go, general! Go! Go!

And, one enthusiast:

'Goddam, that man can waddle!'

As soon as he burst out of the doorway onto the grounds, the cornicens started blowing. From the corner of his eye, Belisarius caught the red and green bursts of the signal rockets. But the sole focus of his eyes was the saddled and readied horse ahead of him.

Belisarius almost stumbled, then, from sheer surprise. Standing by the horse, ready to hoist the general aboard, was Anastasius. The giant's own charger was not far away, with a mounting stool at its side.

'How'd you get here?' demanded the general.

'Don't ask,' grunted Anastasius, heaving Belisarius onto the horse by sheer brute strength. The huge cataphract headed for his own horse.

Belisarius gathered up the reins. He could see the mass of Greek cataphracts and Syrian light cavalry starting their sally. The horsemen were already dividing into columns, splitting around the villa, heading for the portals in the opposite walls.

A part of his mind noticed that their formations were good-reasonably orderly, and, best of all, well organized. The rest of his mind, briefly, wrestled with a mystery.

'How did you get here?' he asked again. This time, to the man already mounted and ready at his side.

'Don't ask,' hissed Valentinian. The cataphract gave Anastasius a weasel glare. 'His doing. 'Impossible,' I told him. 'Even Moses couldn't part that mob.' '

Anastasius, trotting up on his horse, caught the last words. A grin split his rock-hewn face.

'Moses wasn't as big as I am,' he said. He extended his enormous hand, like an usher.

'After you, sir. Victory is waiting.'

'So it is!' cried Belisarius. 'So it is!'

He spurred his mount into a gallop. He was not worried about exhausting his horse, now. They didn't have far to go. He was only concerned with getting to the front of the charge, and leading it to victory.

By the time he pounded around the villa, and saw the nearest portal, he had achieved that immediate goal. The Syrian infantrymen who were hastily opening the gates-tossing aside the splintered wreckage of the gates, more precisely-barely had time to dodge aside before Belisarius drove past. Valentinian and Anastasius came right