An Oblique Approach

The cavalrymen were upset, Belisarius knew, because the Roman infantry stood to gain the lion's share of the booty. By tradition, ransom was owed to the man who personally held a captive. It was a destructive tradition, in Belisarius' opinion, and one which he hoped to change eventually. But not today. For the first time in centuries, the Roman infantry had blazed its old glory, and Belisarius would not dampen their victory, or their profit from it.

At the Persian camp, they came upon a very tense scene. The camp itself was a shambles. Most of the tents lay on the ground like lumpy shrouds. Those tents still standing were ragged from sword-slashes. Wagons were upended or half-shattered. Some of the wreckage was the work of the Hun mercenaries, but much of it was due to the Persians themselves. Sensing the defeat, the Persian camp followers had hastily rummaged out their most precious possessions and taken flight.

But not all had left soon enough. Several dead Persians were lying about, riddled with arrows. All men. The Huns would have saved the women and children. The women would be raped. Afterwards, they and the children would be sold into slavery.

In the event, the mercenaries had barely begun enjoying their looting and their atrocities before the Thracians had arrived and put a stop to it. More or less.

Very tense. On one side, dismounted but armed, hundreds of Hun mercenaries. On the other, still mounted, armed—and with drawn bows—were three hundred bucellarii.

The Huns outnumbered the Thracians' cataphracts by a factor of three to one. So, the outcome of any fight was obvious to all. The mercenaries would be butchered to a man. But not before they inflicted heavy casualties on the Thracians.

The general cared nothing for the Huns. But it would be a stupid waste of his cataphracts.

Mundus pointed out to him the three leaders of the mercenaries. As usual with Huns, their rank derived from clan status, not Roman military protocol.

Belisarius rode over to them and dismounted. Valentinian and Anastasius stayed on their horses. Both men had their own bows drawn, with arrows notched.

The Hun clan leaders were glaring at him furiously. Off to one side, three young Hun warriors were screaming insults at the Thracians. One of them held a young Persian by her hair. The girl was half-naked, weeping, on her knees. Next to her, a still younger boy—her brother, thought Belisarius, from the resemblance—was sitting on the ground. He was obviously dazed and was holding his head in both hands. Blood seeped through his fingers.

Belisarius glanced at the little tableau, then stared back at the three clan chiefs. He met their glares with an icy gaze. Then stepped up very close and said softly, in quite good Hunnish:

"My name is Belisarius. I have just destroyed an entire Persian army. Do you think I can be intimidated by such as you?"

After a moment, two of the clan leaders looked away. The third, the oldest, held the glare.

Belisarius nodded slightly toward the three young Huns holding the girl.

"Your clan?" he asked.

The clan chief snorted. "Clanless. They—"

"Valentinian."

Belisarius knew no archer as quick and accurate as Valentinian. The Hun holding the girl by her hair took Valentinian's first arrow. In the chest, straight through the heart. The cataphract's second arrow, following instantly, dropped another. Anastasius, even with an already-drawn bow, fired only one arrow in the same time. No man but he could have drawn that incredible bow. His arrow went right through his target's body.

Three seconds. Three dead mercenaries.

Belisarius had not watched. His eyes had never left those of the clan chieftain.

Now, he smiled. Tough old man. The chieftain was still glaring.

Again, softly, still in Hunnish: "You have a simple choice. You can disobey me, in which case no Hun will survive this battle. Or you can obey me, and share in the great booty from Nisibis."

Finally, something got through. The clan chieftain's eyes widened.

"Nisibis? Nisibis?"

Belisarius nodded. His smile widened.

The clan chieftain peered at him suspiciously.

"Nisibis is a great town," he said. "You do not have siege equipment."

Belisarius shrugged. "I have a few scorpions and onagers. We can let the Persians on the walls of Nisibis catch sight of them. But that doesn't matter. I have the most powerful weapon of all, clan leader. I have a great victory, and the fear which that victory will produce."

The clan leader hesitated still.

"Many Persian soldiers escaped. They will flee to Nisibis and tell—"

"Tell what, clan leader? The truth? And who will believe those soldiers? Those defeated soldiers—that routed rabble—when they tell the notables of Nisibis that they have nothing to fear from the Roman army which just destroyed them?"

The clan leader laughed. For all his barbarity, the man did not lack decisiveness. A moment later he was bellowing commands to his men. Without hesitation, the other two clan leaders joined their voices to his.