Destiny's shield

the same.'

Belisarius had not actually given that order. There had been no need, since Cyril had done so without any prompting, and the general had wanted to concentrate his attention on watching Maurice's half of the battle. But now, looking around, he saw that there were only a hundred or so cataphracts left, guarding the wagons.

Belisarius was immensely pleased. Immensely. There were few things the general treasured more than quick-thinking and self-reliant subordinates. He was firmly convinced that at least half his success as a commander was due to his ability to gather such men around him. Men like Maurice, Ashot, Hermogenes, John of Rhodes-even Bouzes and Coutzes, once he'd knocked the crap out of them.

And now, men like Agathius and Cyril.

Something of his delight must have shown. A moment later, he and his two new Greek officers were beaming at each other. There was nothing at all crooked in the general's grin, now; and not a trace of veteran sardonicism, in those of Agathius and Cyril.

'Jesus, general,' exclaimed Agathius, 'this is the sweetest damn battle I ever saw!'

'Beautiful, beautiful,' agreed Cyril. 'Only fuck-up was that one rocket volley.'

Belisarius grimaced. 'My fault, that. I should have remembered the damn things still aren't that accurate. And I wasn't expecting we'd get so close this quickly.'

Cyril did not seem in the slightest aggrieved, even though it was his men who had suffered from that friendly fire. The Greek cataphract simply shrugged and pronounced the oldest of all veteran wisdom:

'Shit happens.'

Agathius nodded his agreement. 'Live and learn, that's all you can do. Besides-' He twisted in his saddle, studying the effect of the current rocket volleys on the Malwa massed by the river.

'— they're doing fine work now. Save a lot of Roman boys, the katyushas will, by the time they're done. Those Malwa shits'll be like stunned sheep.'

Belisarius heard another hail. Turning, he saw that Maurice was approaching from the north. The chil-iarch was accompanied by one of his hecantontarchs, Gregory, and a half-dozen cataphracts.

When Maurice drew up alongside the wagon, his first words were to Cyril and Agathius.

'Sorry about the rockets,' he stated. His voice was firm and level. Very courteous in tone, although the expression on his face seemed more one of embar-assment than remorse.

Maurice now looked to Belisarius.

'Don't even bother asking,' he growled. 'The answer's no. My boys'd probably be willing enough, even if those raggedy-ass Malwa fucks couldn't come up with two solidus ransom amongst them. But the Persians are completely berserk and there's no way to stop them without-'

Belisarius shook his head. 'I know. I can hear their battle cries.'

He cocked his ear, listening. Even at the distance, the Persian voices were quite distinct.

Charax! Charax!

Death to Malwa!

No quarter!

Seeing the look of confusion on the faces of Agathius and Cyril, Maurice chuckled.

'The young general here'-he pointed a thumb at Belisarius-'has a soft and tender heart. Likes to avoid atrocities, when he can.'

The two Greek officers eyed the general uncertainly, much as men gaze upon someone pronounced to be a living saint. Possible, possible-but, more likely, just a babbling madman.

Then, remembering his savage punishment of the eight cataphracts at Callinicum, uncertainty fled.

Agathius winced. 'Mother of God, general, Maurice is right. There's no way-'

Again, Belisarius shook his head, smiling crookedly. 'I'm not asking, Agathius. The Persians won't be stopped, not after Charax. I'm quite aware of that.'

The smile faded, replaced by a look of scrutiny. 'But I'll ask you to remember this day, in the future. The very near future, in fact. When the Persians demand the heads of two thousand Kushans, and I refuse.'

He pointed toward the river.

'Atrocities produce this kind of massacre. That's one of the reasons I try to avoid them. You might be on the other end, the next time. Pleading for mercy, and not getting it, because you showed none yourself.'

'Wouldn't get it from the Malwa, anyway,' pointed out Maurice. He spoke mildly-as usual, when he was contradicting Belisarius in public-but firmly.

'From Malwa, no,' replied the general. 'But what is Malwa, Maurice?'

He nodded toward the river. 'You think those men are all Malwa? Or Ye-tai? Precious few of them, in truth. The priests and kshatriyas, most of the officers. Perhaps a thousand of the regulars. The rest? Biharis, Bengalis, Orissans-every subject nation of India is spilling its life blood into that river.'

He transferred his scrutiny to Agathius and Cyril. 'In the end,' Belisarius told them, his voice as hard as steel, 'we will not defeat Malwa on a great field of battle, somewhere here in Persia. Or in Anatolia, or Bactria, or the Indus plain. We will shatter them in the heart of India itself, when their subjects finally throw off the yoke.'

Uncertainty returned to the faces of the two Greeks. Now, however, it was not the bemused skepticism of men regarding a proclaimed saint. It was the simple doubt-the veteran questioning-of fighting men who were beginning to wonder if their commander might, after all, be that rarest of generals. A supreme strategist, as well as a wizard on the battlefield.

'I would spare all of them who tried to surrender, if I could,' mused Belisarius. 'All, at least, except the Mahaveda priests. For the sake of the future, if nothing else.'

He shrugged heavily. 'But-I can't risk an idiot brawl with the Persians. Not today, when their blood's a- boil.'

He clambered off the barrel. A moment later, he was back astride his horse. 'Today, I can only deal with the Kushans.'

He pointed to the river. 'Agathius-Cyril-I want you to give full support to the Persians. Back them to the hilt. As maddened as they are, they won't be thinking clearly. There are still thousands of live and armed enemy troops packed against the river. They'll fight like cornered rats, once they realize surrender's not being offered. The Persians are likely to wade into them without thinking, get surrounded.'

Agathius and Cyril nodded.

'Take all your men,' Belisarius added, 'except a hundred or so to guard over the wagons. Have those men bring the wagons back to the villa. But be careful-in fact, better wait until you have some of the katyusha men to help. They're more familiar with handling gunpowder.'

The two Greek officers nodded again. They turned their horses and trotted off, shouting commands. Within a few seconds, two thousand Constantinople cataphracts were thundering toward the river, preparing to throw their weight into the butchery on the Euphrates.

Belisarius turned to Maurice and Gregory.

'You do the same, Maurice, with the Thracians and the Illyrians. Gregory, I want you to find Coutzes-and Abbu,' he added, chuckling-'if he managed to find a new horse. Get the Arab skirmishers and half the light cavalry across the river. Leave me the other half, to keep the Kushans cornered.'

'They'll have to use the ford we found a few miles upstream,' remarked Gregory. 'That'll lose us several hours.'

'Yes, I know. It doesn't matter. They'll still be in time to harry whatever Malwa make their way across the Euphrates.'

His face and voice were cold, grim, ruthless.

'Harry them, Gregory. I want them pursued without mercy. For days, if that's what it takes. I want this Malwa army destroyed. Not more than a handful of survivors, trickling back to their lines in Babylon. Let the enemy know he can't hope to go around Emperor Khusrau.'

Gregory's face twisted into his own crooked smile. 'Might not even be a handful, general. Those few that get away from us will still have two hundred miles to go. With the desert on one side, and on the other-every peasant in the flood plain ready to hack them down. Whole villages will turn out, to join the pursuit. They've heard about Charax, too, you can bet on it.'

Belisarius nodded. Gregory spurred his horse, heading south. A moment later, going in the opposite direction, Maurice did the same.