Destiny's shield

In theory, it was all very neatly pyramidal. In practice-

Aide summed it up nicely: Victory has a multitude of fathers. Defeat is an orphan. Or, in this case: victory has a multitude of would-be sons.

Belisarius smiled.

And defeat is childless.

He twisted in his saddle, passing the smile onto Baresmanas.

'You think Ormazd's joints are aching, then?'

The sahrdaran chuckled.

'I suspect that Ormazd, right now, is feeling very much like a victim of arthritis. Each morning, when he wakes up, he finds his army has shrunk a bit more. While faithless dehgans disappear, seeking fame and fortune in more likely quarters.'

Belisarius studied the huge 'escort' which surrounded them. The Persians were marching in good order, although, to a Roman general's eye, the formation seemed a bit odd. After a moment, he realized that the peculiar 'lumpiness' was due to the formation's social order. Rather than marching in Roman ranks and files, the Persians tended to cluster in small groups. Retainers accompanying their dehgans, he realized. Where the basic unit of the Roman army was a squad, that of the Persian force was a village band. Men who had grown up together, and known each other all their lives.

After a minute or so, Belisarius found himself deep in a rumination over the most effective way to combine Roman and Persian forces, given each people's habits and characteristics. He shook off the thoughts, for now. He had something more immediate to attend to.

'We need to make a stop at the prisoners' camp,' he announced.

Baresmanas raised a questioning eyebrow, but made no protest. He simply called out a name.

Immediately, one of the Persians riding nearby trotted his horse over to the sahrdaran and the Roman general. As soon as he arrived, Baresmanas made a little sweeping gesture with his hand.

'I would like to introduce the commander of my household troops, General Belisarius. Merena is his name, from a fine azadan family affiliated to the Suren.'

Belisarius nodded politely. The Persian commander returned the nod, very stiffly. Examining him, Belisarius was not sure if the stiffness was inherent in the man himself, or was due to the specific circumstances.

A bit of both, he decided. As a rule, in his experience, Persians tended toward a certain athletic slenderness. Merena, on the other hand, was a large man, almost as heavyset as Belisarius' friend Sittas. But where Sittas handled his weight and girth with a certain sprawling ease, Merena seemed to prefer a far more immobile method. For all the man's obvious horsemanship, he sat his saddle almost like a statue.

Baresmanas passed on the command to visit the prisoners' camp on the way north. Merena nodded-again, very stiffly-and trotted away to give the orders.

'Not the most informal sort of fellow,' remarked Belisarius.

Baresmanas' lips twisted.

'Normally, he is not so rigid and proper. But I think he is unsure of how to manage the current situation. This is not, actually, the first time you and he were introduced. In a manner of speaking.'

Belisarius pursed his lips.

'He, too, was at Mindouos.' It was a statement more than a question.

'Oh, yes. Right by my side, during Firuz' mad charge. He tried to come to my aid, after a lance spilled me from my horse. But he was disabled himself, by a plumbata right through the thigh.'

Belasarius winced. The plumbata was the weapon which modern Roman infantrymen used in place of the pilum, the javelin favored in the earlier days of the Empire. The plumbata was a much shorter weapon-more like a dart than a throwing spear. But what it lost in range it gained in penetrating power, due to the heavy lead weight fitted to the shaft below the spearpoint. At close range, hurled with the underarm motion of an expert, it could penetrate even the armor of cataphracts or dehgans. The wounds it produced were notoriously brutal.

'Pinned him right to the saddle,' continued Baresmanas. 'Then, when his horse was hamstrung and gutted, the beast rolled over on top of him. Almost took off his leg. Would have, I'm sure, if he were a smaller man. He still walks with a terrible limp.'

The general's wince turned into a grimace. Seeing the expression, Baresmanas shrugged.

'He does not bear you any ill-will, Belisarius. Ill-will over that battle, of course, he has in plenty-but all of it is directed toward Firuz. Still, he does not exactly count you among his bosom companions.'

'I imagine not!' The general hesitated, for a moment. Then, deciding that politeness was overridden by necessity:

'I must know, however-please do not take offense-if he will be able to serve properly. Being forced in such close-'

'Have no fear on that score,' interrupted Bares-manas. 'Whatever his attitude may be toward you, there is not the slightest doubt of his feelings for me, and my family.'

Belisarius' face must have exhibited a certain skepticism, for the sahrdaran immediately added:

'It is not simply a matter of duty and tradition. Merena's family is noted-even famed-for its military accomplishments. But they are not rich. He would still be in captivity had I not paid his ransom out of my own funds.'

Belisarius nodded. He and Baresmanas rode together in silence, for a minute. Then the sahrdaran remarked, almost idly:

'I have noted that you yourself are quite generous to your bucellarii. I was told that you dispense a full half of your battle-gained treasure to them, in fact. Most munificent, indeed.'

Belisarius smiled crookedly. 'That's quite true. My retainers are sworn to my service anyway, of course. But I'm a practical man. Men are not tools, mind you. Still, a blacksmith takes good care of the implements of his trade. Keeps them clean, sharp-and well-oiled.'

Silence fell upon them again, as they neared the pri-soners' camp. A very companionable silence, between two men who understood each other quite well.

It was Belisarius' first visit to the camp, since the army had reached Peroz-Shapur. He was pleased to see that his bucellarii had carried out his instructions to the letter.

Merena was riding alongside Baresmanas as they entered. His eyebrows lifted.

'This is a prisoners' camp?' he asked.

To all outward appearances, the place looked like any other Roman field encampment. The tents-the multitude of tents; no crowding men like hogs in a pen here-were arranged in neat rows and files. Latrines had been dug to the proper depth and at the proper distance from the tents themselves. The campfires were large and well- supplied, both with fuel and with cooking implements.

By the time they arrived, all two thousand Kushans were standing in the open ground between the tents. They had heard the horses coming, naturally. And while the sound of those hooves hadn't been those of an attacking force, still-

Why two thousand cavalrymen?

Seeing the alert and ready stance of those unarmed men, Merena grunted his approval.

'Good, good! Staunch fellows. Be a massacre, of course, but at least they wouldn't die from back wounds.'

At the entrance to the camp, they were greeted by a small contingent of Roman soldiers. A mixed unit, this, made up of men from all the forces under Belisarius' command, serving their assigned rotation in the duty of guarding the prisoners. The very unwanted duty, needless to say, while their comrades were cavorting in Peroz- Shapur. But Belisarius could detect no signs of resentment or bitterness. The men knew that the rotation would be faithfully followed. In a day or so, they too would be enjoying the fleshpots while others took their appointed turn.

Fairly apportioned, in Belisarius' army-the duties as well as the rewards. Of that, his men were by now quite satisfied.

To the general's surprise-and sheer delight-the commander of that detachment proved to be Basil, the man who led his contingent of katyusha rocket chariots. Before leaving on the expedition, Belisarius had toyed with the idea of summoning Basil to go along. But he had dropped the notion, assuming that the man would be well-nigh impossible to find in the saturnalia at Peroz-Shapur.