“Silly damn waste of time,” snorted Coutzes. “You want to get anything useful from a Mede, you’ve got to use a-”
“Torturer?” demanded Belisarius. He rolled his eyes despairingly, exhaled disgust, sneered mightily. Then he stood up abruptly and leaned over the table, resting his weight on his fists.
“I can see why you haul around a professional torturer,” snarled the general. “I would too, if I was a fool.”
He matched the brothers’ glare with a scorching look of his own.
“Let me explain something to you,” he said icily. “I wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in getting information from the Persian regarding the pay caravan. He doesn’t know anything about it. How could he? The pay caravan only left Nibisis the day before yesterday.”
“The day before yesterday?” demanded Bouzes, puzzled. “But you said-”
“I said to an enemy officer that the pay chest left five days ago.”
The brothers were now silent, frowning. Belisarius resumed his seat.
“My spies spotted the caravan as soon as it left the gates of the city. One of them rode here as fast as possible, using remounts. There’s no way that caravan has reached Firuz’ camp yet.”
“Then why did you-”
“Why did I ask the Mede about it? I simply wanted to get his immediate reaction. You saw what a talented liar he was. Yet when I asked him about the pay caravan, he had to fumble for an answer. What does that tell you?”
Apparently, they weren’t that stupid, for both brothers immediately got the point.
“The Persians themselves don’t know about it!” they exclaimed, like a small chorus.
Belisarius nodded. “I’d heard that the Medes were starting to send out some of their pay caravans in this manner. Instead of tying up a small army to escort the caravans, they’re relying on absolute secrecy. Even the soldiers for whom the pay’s destined don’t know about it, until the caravan arrives.”
The brothers exchanged glances. Belisarius chuckled.
“Tempting, isn’t it? But I’m afraid we’ll have to let it go. This time, anyway.”
“Why?” demanded Bouzes.
“Yes, why?” echoed his brother. “It’s a perfect opportunity. Why shouldn’t we seize it?”
“You’re not thinking clearly. First, we have no idea what route the caravan’s taking. Don’t forget, we’d only have one day-two at the most-to catch the caravan before it arrives at the Persian camp. In order to be sure of finding it, we’d have to send out an entire regiment of cavalry. At the very least. Two regiments, to be on the safe side.”
“So?” demanded Coutzes.
“ So? ” Belisarius cast an exasperated glance upward. “You were at the parley with Firuz today, were you not?”
“What’s the point, Belisarius?”
“The point, Coutzes, is that Firuz is getting ready to attack us. We’re outnumbered. We need to stay on the defensive. This is the worst time in the world for us to be sending our cavalry chasing all over Syria. We need them here, at the fort. Every man.”
Coutzes began to argue, but his brother cut him short by grabbing his arm.
“Let’s not get into an argument! There’s no point in it, and it’s too hot.” He wiped his brow dramatically. Belisarius restrained a smile. In truth, there was hardly any sweat on Bouzes’ face.
Bouzes wiped his brow again, in a gesture worthy of Achilles. Then said: “I think we’ve finished all our business here. Or is there anything else?”
Belisarius shook his head. “No. Your officers have all been told that we are combining our forces?”
“Yes, they know.”
A brief exchange of amenities followed, in which Coutzes participated grudgingly. Bouzes, on the other hand, was cordiality itself. The brothers left the tent, with Belisarius escorting them. He chatted politely, while Bouzes and Coutzes mounted their horses. He did not return into the tent until he saw the brothers cantering through the gates of the fort.
Maurice was waiting for him inside.
“Well?” asked the hecatontarch.
“At nightfall, give the captured Persian officer my message for Firuz and let him go. Make sure he has a good horse. Then pass the word quietly to the men. I expect we’ll be leaving at dawn.”
“That soon?”
“Unless I’m badly mistaken, yes.” He glanced back at the entrance to the tent. “And I don’t think I’m mistaken.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Belisarius smiled crookedly. “I am mortified, Maurice, mortified.”
The hecatontarch grunted sarcastically, but forebore comment. “Ashot’s back,” he said.
“What did he think of the location?”
“Good. The hill will do nicely- if the wind blows the right way.”
“It should, by midday.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Belisarius shrugged. “We’ll just have to manage. Even if there’s no wind, the dust alone should do the trick. If the wind blows the wrong way, of course, we’ll be in a tight spot. But I’ve never seen it blow from the east until evening.” He took a seat at the table. “Now, send for the chiliarchs and the tribunes. I want to make sure they understand my plan perfectly.”
That night, immediately after the conclusion of the meeting with his chief subordinates, Belisarius lay down on his cot. For almost an hour he lay there in the darkness, thinking over his plans, before he finally fell asleep.
As the general pondered, aim delved through the corridors of his mind. Time after time, the facets threatened to splinter. Despair almost overwhelmed them. Just when the alien thoughts had begun to come into focus! And now, they were-somehow at odds with themselves. It was like trying to learn a language whose grammar was constantly changing. Impossible!
But aim was now growing in confidence, and so it was able to control the facets. With growing confidence, came patience. It was true, the thoughts were contradictory-like two images, identical, yet superimposed over each other at right angles. Patience. Patience. In time, aim sensed it could bring them into focus.
And, in the meantime, there was something of much greater concern. For, despite the blurring, there was one point on which all the paradoxical images in the general’s mind coalesced sharply.
At the very edge of sleep, Belisarius sensed a thought. But he was too tired to consider its origin. danger.
Chapter 7
Belisarius awoke long before dawn. Within a short time after rising, he was satisfied that the preparations for the march were well in hand. Both of his chiliarchs were competent officers, and it soon became apparent that the tribunes and hecatontarchs had absorbed fully the orders he had given them the night before.
Maurice came up to him. Belisarius recognized him from a distance, even though it was still dark. Maurice had a rolling gait which was quite unmistakable.
“Now?” asked Maurice.
Belisarius nodded. The two men mounted their horses and cantered through the gate. The Army of Lebanon was camped just beyond the fort, where its soldiers could enjoy the shade and water provided by the oasis. Within a few minutes, Belisarius and Maurice were dismounting before the command tent occupied by Bouzes and Coutzes.
The tent was much larger than the one Belisarius used, although not excessively so by the standards of Roman armies. Roman commanders had long been known for traveling in style. Julius Caesar had even carried tiles with him to floor his tent. (Although he claimed to have done so simply to impress barbarian envoys; Belisarius was skeptical of the claim.)
Upon their arrival, the sentries guarding the tent informed them that Bouzes and Coutzes were absent. They had left the camp in the middle of the night. Further questioning elicited the information that the brothers had taken two cavalry regiments along with them.
Belisarius uttered many profane oaths, very loudly. He stalked off toward the nearby tent, which was occupied by the four chiliarchs who were the chief subordinate officers of the Army of Lebanon. Maurice followed.