Destiny's Shield

"—will be crossing over to the right bank of the Euphrates, about a mile downstream from the dam. Out of our sight, especially since we'll be preoccupied with the attack on the Nehar Malka. By dawn, just when we think we've beaten off another assault, the Malwa army's best troops will come at us from behind. Like you said, they can find any number of places to ford the Euphrates upstream."

Maurice's scowl was ferocious, now. "You can't be positive that Ormazd will pull out and give them that opening," he protested.

Belisarius shrugged.

"Positive, no. But I'll bet long odds on it, Maurice. Ormazd knows that the only loyal Persian troops Khusrau has up here are Baresmanas and Kurush's ten thousand. They're forted up in Peroz-Shapur—"

"I wish they were here," grumbled the chiliarch. "We could use them."

"Don't be stupid! If they were here, Peroz-Shapur would be a pile of ashes. As it is, the Malwa expedition had to skirt the town and leave troops to guard against a sally. Just sitting in Peroz-Shapur, Kurush is a threat to them."

He waved his hand. "But let's not change the subject. To go back to Ormazd—this is his best chance to move against Khusrau. If the Malwa destroy us here, they'll return to Babylon. Keep Khusrau penned up while Ormazd takes over all of northern Mesopotamia. The only thing that kept him from doing that before was our intervention—that, and our victory at Anatha. If we're gone, he's got a clear hand."

"How's he going to explain that to his dehgans?" demanded Maurice.

Belisarius laughed. "How else? Blame it on us. Stupid idiot Romans insisted on a hopeless stand. Fortunately, he was too wise to waste his men's lives defending a canal which was obviously just a Roman scheme to reinvade Persia like they did in Julian's day."

"That's pretty tortuous reasoning," muttered Maur-ice, shaking his head.

Again, Belisarius barked a laugh. "Of course it is! So what? It'll serve the purpose."

Maurice was still shaking his head. "What if you're wrong?" Maurice growled, "Dammit, I hate tricky battle plans."

Belisarius smiled. "If I'm wrong, Maurice—so what? In that case, Ormazd will have to fight the Malwa who cross the Euphrates. They may defeat him, but after fighting twenty thousand dehgans I don't think they'll be in any shape to hit us on the flank. Do you?"

Maurice said nothing. Then, sighed heavily. "All right. We'll see how it goes."

The chiliarch started to turn away. Belisarius restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait a moment. I'm coming with you."

Maurice gave him a startled look. Valentinian and Anastasius started to squawk. Aide began to make some mental protest.

Belisarius rode them all down.

"Things have changed!" he announced gaily. "The battle's reaching its turning point. I have to be down there, now. Ready—at a moment's notice—to fulfill my vow to Emperor Khusrau."

Maurice smiled. Valentinian and Anastasius choked down their squawks. Aide sulked.

"Safe," sneered Belisarius. He took a moment to don his armor.

"Safe," he sneered again, as he began the long trek down the hill.

Behind him, Maurice said, "Do be a little careful, will you? Going down that miserable path, I mean. Be a bit absurd, it would, you breaking your fool neck climbing down a pile of rocks."

"Safe," sneered Belisarius.

Two eager steps later, he tripped and rolled some fifty feet down the hill. When he finally came to a halt, piling up against a boulder, it took him a minute or so to clear his head.

The first thing he saw, dizzily, was Maurice leaning over him.

"Safe," muttered the gray-bearded veteran mor-osely. "It's like asking a toad not to hop."

He reached down a hand and hauled Belisarius back onto his feet. "Will you mind your step, from here on?" he asked, very sweetly. "Or must we have Anastasius carry you down like a babe in swaddling clothes?"

"Safe," Belisarius assured one and all. None of whom believed him for a moment.

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Framed

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Chapter 33

ALEXANDRIA

Autumn, 531 A.D.

Alexandria was famous throughout the Mediterranean world for the magnificence of its public thoroughfares. The two greatest of those boulevards, which intersected each other west of the Church of St. Michael, were each thirty yards across. The intersection itself was so large it was almost a plaza, and was marked by a tetrastylon—four monumental pillars standing on each corner.

The buildings which fronted on the intersection were likewise impressive. On the north stood a huge church, measuring a hundred yards square. The edifice was hundreds of years old. Originally built as a temple dedicated to the crocodile god Sobek, it had been converted into a Christian church well over a century earlier. Most of the pagan trappings of the temple had been discarded—the crocodile mummies in the crypts had been unceremoniously pitched into the sea—but the building itself still retained the massive style of ancient Egyptian monumental archi-tecture. It loomed over the intersection like a small mountain.