by Eric Flint
After a time, Belisarius gave up the effort. The old kings could be relied upon to bring the Rajputs back, when they were finally done, and he'd just gotten word of Ashot.
Sadly, he gazed down on the Armenian's corpse. Ashot's expression was peaceful, with just a trace of surprise showing in his still-open eyes.
He'd been one of the best officers Belisarius had ever had serve under him. So good, and so reliable, that he'd assigned him to serve as Antonina's commander on her expedition to Egypt. Except for Maurice, Belisarius wouldn't have trusted anyone else with his wife's safety.
"Shall we bring him back?" asked Ashot's replacement, a Thracian cataphract named Stylian.
"No. We've got another forced march ahead of us, and who knows what after that? We'll bury him here."
Belisarius looked around. The landscape was typical of the area between the Ganges and the Yamuna. A grassy plain, basically, with fields surrounding the villages and dotted with groves and woods. They hadn't burned here, since Belisarius had seen no reason to.
His eyes were immediately drawn to a grove of sal trees perhaps a quarter of a mile away. The trees were considered holy by many Hindus and Buddhists. The legend had it that the famous Lumbini tract where the Buddha meditated and acquired salvation had been in a grove of sal trees.
"We'll bury him over there," he said. "It seems a good resting place, and it'll be easy to find the grave later."
While Stylian handled that matter, Belisarius organized his cataphracts to help Jaimal and Udai Singh and the old kings round up the Rajputs. That would take the rest of the day, under the best of circumstances. Belisarius could only hope that Link wouldn't be able to move far in the time it took him to get back to the Ganges.
Link had managed to move its army exactly seven miles down the Ganges. What was worse, the foraging parties it had sent out had returned with very little. The constant harassment of the Kushans, even on the south side of the Ganges, made the foragers exceedingly cautious. Kushans were not a cavalry nation in the same sense as Persians and Rajputs, but they seemed to be mostly mounted and just as proficient in the saddle as they were in all forms of warfare.
Link had only three thousand cavalry. Fewer than that, now, after a number of clashes with Kushan dragoons. It could not even stop the Kushans from continuing the scorched earth campaign that Belisarius had begun.
The situation would have been infuriating, if Link had been capable of fury. The burning done by Belisarius' and Kungas' armies prevented Link from marching quickly, foraging as it went. And the Kushan harassment, despite the fact that the Malwa outnumbered them at least two-to-one, made their progress slower still. Link could destroy any Kushan attempt to charge its solid infantry, true enough. But Kungas was far too canny to order any such foolish assault.
And where was Belisarius? Link had no information at all. All the telegraph lines had been cut, and the Kushans ambushed any scouts it sent out. Link was operating as blindly as any commander in human history, except that it had an encyclopedic knowledge of the terrain. But that meant almost nothing, when it had no idea where the main enemy force was to be found in it.
The probability was that Belisarius had left to meet a garrison coming north from one of the large cities. Mathura, most likely.
It was always possible that such a garrison would defeat the Roman general. But Link estimated that probability as being very low. Not more than ten percent, at best. Assuming the far more likely probability that Belisarius would triumph in that battle as he had in almost all others, he and his army would be back at the Ganges within a few days.
By which time, Link and its forces would not have moved more than ten or fifteen miles. Probably ten. Kushan harassment was becoming more intense, seemingly by the hour.
"What shall we do, Great Lady?"
"Continue down the Ganges," Link replied. What else could it say?
When Khusrau and his army reached Chandan, on the Chenab river, the emperor was so taken by the beauty of the town and its setting that he ordered his soldiers not to burn it. He did, however, give them permission to loot the homes and public buildings.
That took little time. Most of the population had fled already, taking their most valuable possessions with them. After his army had crossed the Jhelum and entered the land between that river and the Chenab, the Persians considered themselves in enemy territory. By the terms of the agreement Khusrau had made with the Romans and the new Malwa emperor, after the war this would become Malwa territory. So, they were destroying everything, driving the population south toward Multan, where they'd join a horde of refugees already overburdening the Malwa garrison there.
In an sense, they'd been in enemy territory also, west of the Jhelum, but those lands were destined to become part of the Persian empire, by the provisions of the agreement. So, Khusrau had kept his soldiers under tight discipline, and had refrained from any destruction except where enemy forces put up resistance.
There hadn't been much of that. Apparently, the Malwa commander of the main army in the Punjab had been withdrawing all his detachments in the north in order to reinforce the Malwa lines facing the Romans. Lord Samudra, as he was named, was adopting a completely defensive posture while the Persians and the Kushans invaded the northern Punjab with impunity. For all practical purposes, the Malwa empire's largest and most powerful army had become paralyzed on its western border, while Damodara and Belisarius and Kungas and Khusrau himself drove lances into its unprotected guts.
Khusrau thought Samudra was an idiot. Knew him to be an idiot, rather, since the Persian emperor was well aware that Maurice had no more than fifty thousand Roman troops in the Iron Triangle. Sixty thousand, perhaps, counting the various auxiliary units that were assigned to maintaining the critical supply lines from the Sind. But even including those soldiers, Maurice was still outnumbered well over two-to-one. Probably closer to three-to-one.
With fifty thousand men behind those formidable Roman defensive works, of course, Maurice could hold his own against Samudra. But only on the defensive-and the same was true the other way. Samudra could have easily taken over half his army north to put a stop to Khusrau's expedition and, possibly, even cut off the Kushan army. Depending on where Kungas had taken it, of course. Khusrau suspected the Kushans were already into the Gangetic Plain. If they were able to join forces with Belisarius. .
But while the Malwa commander in the Punjab seemed capable enough, when it came to routine matters, Samudra obviously had not an ounce of initiative and daring. The Malwa regime was not one that fostered independent thinking on the part of its commanders.
Hard to blame them, really. The one great exception to that rule was probably even now battering at the gates of Kausambi.
Damodara was not battering at the gates, as it happened. But he was bringing the siege guns into position to do so.
"Yes, yes, Ajatasutra, I know we hope to enter the city through. . ah, what would you call it? 'Treachery' seems inappropriate."
"Guile and stratagem, Your Majesty," Ajatasutra supplied.
Damodara smiled. "Splendid terms. On my side, anyway."
The new emperor glanced at Narses. The Roman spymaster was perched on the mule he favored, studying the fortifications on the western walls of Kausambi.
It was a knowing sort of examination, not the vacant stare that most imperial courtiers would have given such a purely military matter. Damodara had realized long since that Narses was as shrewd with regard to military affairs as he was with all others. Damodara was quite sure that despite his age, and the fact that he was eunuch, Narses would make an excellent general himself.
What am I going to do with Narses? he asked himself, not for the first time. If I take the throne, do I dare keep such a man around? It'd be like sharing a sleeping chamber with a cobra.
The solution was obvious, but Damodara felt himself resisting that impulse. Whatever else, Narses had served him well for years. Superbly well, in fact. Had even, most likely, kept his family and tha
t of Rana Sanga alive where they would have been murdered by Malwa otherwise.
It would bode ill, Damodara thought, if he began what amounted to a new dynasty in all but name with an act of treachery.
But what else can I do? The Romans certainly won't take him back. And the Persians and the Axumites and the Kushans know his reputation too well to entertain the thought of employing him, either.
What else is there, but an executioner or an assassin's blade?
Perhaps he could have him poisoned. .
Damodara shook his head and went back to the matter immediately at hand.
"You think too much like an assassin, Ajatasutra. When the time comes, Rana Sanga is ready to lead the charge. He'll take ten thousand of his Rajputs. But first we must fix Skandagupta's entire attention on this side of the city. I don't have a large enough army to invest Kausambi, and the emperor-ah, the false emperor-knows it. At least, his commanders will tell him so. So, now that I've massed my troops here before the western gates and"-he gestured with his head toward the heavy artillery berms his engineers were constructing-"am setting up the siege guns I brought from Mathura, he'll concentrate his own troops on these walls, and at these gates."
Whether or not he was inclined to argue the matter, Ajatasutra made no attempt to do so. Instead, he began thoughtfully scratching his chin.
"How long, Emperor? Before you can order Sanga's charge, I mean."
Damodara shrugged. "Hard to know. Not for a few days, certainly."
"In that case, I should return to Kausambi. They could use me there, when the time comes. Whereas here. ."
He waved his hand, indicating the soldiers under Damodara's command who were setting up their own camps and lines of defense against any possible sallies from the city. "Merely one blade among tens of thousands of others."
"Certainly. But. ." Damodara's eyes widened a bit. "Can you get back into the city? By now, the guards will be on the alert for spies."
"Oh, yes. Don't forget that they're mediocre guards, and"-Ajatasutra cleared his throat modestly-"I am very far from a mediocre assassin. I'll get in."
His good humor faded, however, as he contemplated his superb horse. "Alas, the horse won't. Not even sorry garrison troops will think it's a tinker's nag."
He bowed low. "May I present him to Your Majesty, then? A token of my esteem. No! My awe at Your effulgent presence, divine in its aspect."
Damodara laughed. And what was he to do with Ajatasutra, for that matter, if he took the throne? He didn't doubt the assassin's loyalty, but within a few years Ajatasutra's mocking ways would have half the courtiers in Kausambi demanding his head.
But there'd be time enough to deal with that later. First, he had to take Kausambi.
"Go, Ajatasutra. If we're both still alive in a few days, I'll return the horse."
It seemed impolitic to add: You might need it.
* * *
From their position just south of the junction of the Ganges and Yamuna rivers, the five members of the Malwa assassination team stared at the empire's capital city. That part of it they could see looked fine. But they could easily hear the sound of big guns firing to the west.
"Marvelous," snarled the captain. "Just perfect. After ten thousand miles-more like eleven, by now-we finally get back to Kausambi-having succeeded in doing nothing-and the city's under siege."
"We'll never get in," said his lieutenant, morosely. "No way the guards will pass five strange men."
It was true enough. No doubt, ensconced somewhere in the huge imperial palace, were the records that would identify the assassination team and establish their bona fides. Probably, even, two or three of Nanda Lal's subordinates who would recognize them personally. The captain and the lieutenant, at least.
And so what? The odds that any such spymasters would heed a summons from a gate's guards-assuming the guards were willing to send a summons in the first place, instead of simply killing the five assassins and saving themselves a lot of possible trouble-were too low to even think about.
"No hope for it," he sighed. "We may as well cross the Ganges and set up camp on the other side, as close as we can get to the eastern gate. Maybe something will turn up."
His lieutenant eyed the distance. "At least it's not far." He spit on the ground. "We laugh at a few miles, after so many wasted thousands."
Chapter 37
The Ganges
There had been many times, since the war began, that Belisarius had been glad to have Abbu and his Arab scouts in his service.
Never more than now.
"Idiot Rajputs would have gotten you into another war, General," said the old bedouin chief, scowling. "Are they blind? Who else wears topknots?"
Abbu was being a little uncharitable, but. . only a little. It was not as if Rajputs weren't familiar with Kushans. Until recently, there had been tens of thousands of Kushans in the Malwa military, many of whom had served in the same armies as Rajputs, if not in the same units.
On the other hand-being charitable-there were still considerable numbers of Kushans in the service of the Malwa empire. By no means all of the Kushans had defected after Kungas re-created the old Kushan kingdom.
But they were no longer trusted, and there was no possibility at all that Link had included Kushan units in its army when it marched from the Punjab. Even idiot Rajputs should have understood that much.
Even idiot teenage Rajputs.
"They're still young," muttered old Jaisal. "Young men don't think of these things."
Belisarius squelched his irritation. It would be purely stupid to offend the Rajputs who constituted almost his entire army, after all.
"Well, there was no harm done, apparently. The Kushans fled the scene as soon as contact was made and"-he cleared his throat, as diplomatically as possible-"the Rajput cavalrymen immediately began firing on them."
That fact was interesting, in and of itself. Under normal circumstances, Kushans were quite belligerent enough to have responded to the initial Rajput bow fire by attacking them. Especially since, by all accounts-those of the Rajputs as well as the Arab scouts-the Kushans had outnumbered the Rajput cavalry unit.
Abbu put his thoughts into words. "They were expecting us, General. Only possible answer."
"Yes." Belisarius scratched his chin. "I'm almost sure that means Kungas himself is here. He must have gambled that Maurice could keep the main Malwa army pinned in the south Punjab, while he marched into the Ganges plain to attack Link's army."
"Bold man!"
Belisarius smiled. "Well, yes. A timid fellow would hardly have marched across Central Asia in the middle of the world's greatest war to set up a new kingdom. With a new Greek bookworm wife, to boot."
Abbu had met Irene. "Crazy man," he muttered, his scowl returning.
Belisarius swiveled in the saddle to face Dasal and the other Rajput kings. "Can you keep your men under control? I have got to establish contact with the Kushans-and, as Abbu says, I don't need to start a new war with my allies."
All the Rajput kings had the grace to look embarrassed for a moment. They didn't answer immediately, however, Belisarius noted.
He wasn't surprised. Their smashing victory over the Mathura garrison had filled the young Rajput warriors with elation so great it bordered on heedlessness and reckless arrogance. Inexperienced to begin with, they were in no mood to listen to the lectures of old kings concerning the danger of accidentally fighting allies in the middle of a turbulent campaign of marches and countermarches. "Friendly fire," as a future world would call it, was not something a nineteen-year-old Rajput cavalryman gave much thought to when he woke up in the morning. Or at any time of the day or night.
"Right." Belisarius swiveled again and brought Jaimal and Udai Singh under his gaze.
"Can you manage it?"
Jaimal smiled thinly. "Oh, yes, General Belisarius." He gave the old kings a sly look. "Our men are real veterans."
"But there are only fifty of us," cautioned Udai Singh.
"That should be enough," Belisarius said. "I'll send Abbu and some of his scouts with you, along with a few of my cataphracts. All we need to do, for the moment, is make contact with the Kushans. Set up a time and place where Kungas and I can meet-assuming I'm right, and he's here. If not, whoever their commander is."
Sanga's two lieutenants trotted off, with Abbu and Stylian trailing behind. Belisarius could rely on Stylian to select level-headed cataphracts for the business. In the meantime, he had a different problem to deal with.
"I'm still guessing," he said to the kings, "but I'm pretty sure Kungas will have most of his army on the north bank of the Ganges. It's what I would do in his place. Keep Sati from crossing the river and using it as a shield between us and her."
Faced with a straightforward tactical issue, the kings were more at ease.
"Agreed," said Dasal. "Which means-until we can establish liaison-we should stay on this side."
"This side, and east of here," his younger brother grunted. "Resume the burning. Turn everything for twenty miles to the east into a wasteland. The Malwa will be stranded."
"The young men will complain," complained Chachu.
Dasal's frown might have been envied by Jove. "The young men will do as they are told."
The young Rajput warriors complained. Bitterly.
They also did as they were told.
By the time Jaimal and Udai and Abbu returned, the sky east of Sati's army was filled with smoke.
"It's Kungas," Jaimal said. "He recommends you meet at a fishing village-what used to be a fishing village-five miles upstream from the Malwa army."
Udai grinned. "He promises not to shoot you, if you have your hair in a topknot. Otherwise he may not be able to control his men. He says most of them are only ten years old. Heedless and careless."
Belisarius returned the grin. "I'd look silly in a topknot. I'll take my chances."
