by Eric Flint
Belisarius' eyes widened. Baresmanas chuckled.
"Oh, yes. I am the one who introduced the gallant young officer to Merena and his family—after conspiring with his wife to make sure that Sudaba would be present, looking her very—beautiful! beautiful!—best. I am the one—"
"Stop bragging," grumbled Belisarius. "I will fully admit that it was a masterstroke, insofar as the problem we discussed—"
"You think I did it because of that?" The sahrdaran snorted. "I had a much more immediate problem to solve, my friend. As I told you, Merena is a famous warrior and an absolute paragon of Aryan propriety. He is also, by dehgan standards, poor. So—the man had a daughter of marriageable age and no respectable dowry to give her. Think of the shame! The disgrace! No suitable Persian nobleman would accept a bride with no dowry."
Belisarius smiled crookedly.
"Whereas a vigorous, ambitious young Roman officer risen from the ranks—and newly rich from the booty of Anatha—would be far more concerned with increasing his status than his wealth."
"Precisely."
Belisarius shook his head sadly. "I am a lamb among wolves. An innocent babe surrounded by schemers."
Don't worry, old man. I'll take care of you.
Oh—be careful! There's a step coming up!
Chapter 25
BABYLON
Autumn, 531 a.d.
Khusrau Anushirvan sprang lightly onto the low wall which surmounted the highest level of Esagila, the ancient ruin which had once been the great temple of the god Marduk. From that vantage point, the Emperor of Persia could gaze south at the huge Malwa army encamped before Babylon.
An instant later, Belisarius joined him. The general took a moment to make sure his footing was good. The wall—almost a battlement—was at least a yard wide, but there was nothing to stop someone who overbalanced from plunging to their death on the stone rubble sixty feet below.
Khusrau smiled.
"Does altitude bother you?" he asked. The question was polite, not scornful.
The Roman general shook his head. "Not par-ticularly. Still, I wouldn't want to dance up here."
"Lucky man! I myself am petrified by heights. Anything above the level of horseback."
Belisarius glanced at the Persian Emperor. In truth, Khusrau's face seemed a bit pinched, as if he were controlling himself by sheer force of will.
He was impressed, again, by the Emperor's self-discipline. Since his arrival in Babylon three days before, Belisarius had been struck by the way Khusrau kept his obviously exuberant and dynamic personality under a tight rein. That same self-control was being manifested now, in the Persian ruler's ability to remain standing on a perch which would have sent most men to their knees seeking safety.
For ten minutes or so, the two men said nothing. They simply stood side by side, studying the battle being waged below them.
Belisarius' attention was immediately drawn by the roar of siege guns. A cloud of gunsmoke, well over a mile distant, indicated the presence of a battery of the huge cannons. After the wind blew the cloud away, he could spot the actual guns themselves. Eight of them, sheltered behind a berm. He recognized the pattern from his previous experience at the siege of Ranapur. His eyes ranged north and south, quickly spotting two more batteries. Another roar, another cloud of gunsmoke, and one of those batteries was also hidden from view.
Belisarius shifted his gaze to the walls of the besieged city. His eyes widened.
The defenses of Babylon were gigantic. The outer ring was so massive that it was impossible, almost, to think of it as anything other than a low ridge. The fortifications were not particularly tall—perhaps twenty feet, no more—but they spanned perhaps forty yards in thickness.
Studying it more closely, Belisarius saw that the outer defenses were actually a triple wall—or, at least, had been so once. The inner wall, some twenty feet wide, was constructed of sun-dried mud brick. Squat towers spaced at regular intervals projected another twenty feet above the wall itself, topped with sheltered platforms for Persian soldiers manning scorpions and other artillery engines. A rubble-strewn space fifty feet wide separated this inner wall from the middle wall. The middle wall was a bit thicker than the inner wall, with no towers. Unlike the inner wall, this wall was made of harder and more durable oven-baked brick.
That same type of brick was used in the third, outermost wall. No space separated this outermost wall from the midwall. The third wall, originally ten feet in thickness, served both as a bulwark for the midwall as well as the escarpment for the huge moat beyond it.
There was not much left of that third wall, however. Over the centuries, peasants had plucked away the good bricks for their own use. Today, the moat which lapped at the crumbled edge of the wall seemed more like a natural river than a man-made artifact. The size of the moat, of course, was partly responsible for producing that impression—Belisarius estimated that it was at least a hundred yards wide.
Belisarius watched a cannonball slam into the outer wall. A little avalanche of broken bricks slid into the moat, leaving a ripple in their wake. Other than that, the siege gun seemed to have made no impact whatsoever.
"At that rate," he mused, "they'll fill the moat with rubble and cannonballs before they ever finish breaking down the wall."
Khusrau snorted.
"We were terrified—myself also, I will admit it—when they first began firing with those incredible machines. 'Siege guns,' as you call them. But after a few days—then weeks, and now months—we have little fear of them. It's ironic, actually. Most of my advisers urged me to make a stand at Ctesiphon, taking advantage of its tall, stone walls. But I think if I had done so—"
"You would have been defeated by now," concluded Belisarius. "I have seen these guns in use before, and I have seen the walls of Ctesiphon. Those walls would have been brought down within two months."
He pointed to Babylon's outer fortifications. "Whereas this wall—this wide, soft, low wall—is actually more of a berm. Exactly the best kind of defenses against siege guns."
Both men watched as another cannonball struck the wall—the inner wall, this time. The cannonball buried itself in the crumbly mudbrick, without so much as shaking the tower thirty yards away from the impact.
"The wall just got stronger, I think," chuckled Khusrau.
"How many assaults have they mounted?" asked Belisarius.
"Seven. The last one was a month ago. No—almost six weeks now."
The Persian Emperor turned and pointed to his right, toward the Euphrates.
"That one they attempted with barges, loaded with soldiers. It was a massacre. As you can see, the western walls of the city are still standing, almost as they were built by Nebuchadrezzar a thousand years ago. Stonework. Very tall. We poured burning naphtha on them, and sank many of the barges with catapults."
He elevated his finger, still pointing to the west.
"If they could position their siege guns to the west, they could probably break down those stone walls. But I ordered the dikes and levees broken."
Belisarius gazed toward the river. It was now late in the afternoon, and the sun's rays were reflected off a vast spread of water. Khusrau, following a Mesopotamian military tradition which went back to the ancient Sumerians, had ordered the flooding of the low ground. Unchecked by manmade obstructions, the Euphrates had turned the entire area west of Babylon into a swamp. Impossible terrain even for an infantry assault, much less the positioning of artillery.
The area east of Babylon had been protected in the same manner. The ancient city was almost an island now, surrounded by water and marshes to the west, east and northeast. The Malwa army held the southern ground. Persian forces still retained control of the narrow causeway which led from the Ishtar Gate on Babylon's northwest side to the northern regions of Mesopotamia. Even after all these months, the Malwa had not been able to surround and isolate the besieged city.
Khusrau looked back to the south.
"The first six assaults were
made here. The Malwa suffered great losses in all of them, with no success at all except, temporarily, during the third assault. In that attack, some of their troops—those excellent ones with the strange hair style—"
"Kushans."
"Yes. About a thousand of them got past the outer fortifications, in three different places. But—"
He shrugged. Belisarius, gazing down, could not help wincing.
"Must have been a slaughter."
"Yes," agreed Khusrau. The Emperor pointed at the inner fortifications, which consisted of a second ring of walls positioned about two hundred yards inside the outer ring.
"That is a double wall. The outer wall is twenty feet thick; the inner, fifteen. These fortifications were also built by Nebuchadrezzar. Very clever, he was—or his engineers and architects, at least. You can see that the two walls are separated by a space of twenty feet. The area between is a built-up road, perfect for military traffic. Then, beyond the outer wall, is a low berm. You can't see it from here. But you can see the moat which butts up against that berm. It's fifty yards wide."
Belisarius shook his head. "A pure killing ground. If the enemy manages to cross the first moat and fight their way over the outer defenses, they find themselves trapped in the open—with another moat to cross, and still more fortifications to be scaled."
"That, too, was slaughter. I had the road packed with dehgans and their retainers. It is quite solid and wide enough for horsemen. They were able to fire their bows from the saddle, sheltered by the outer wall, and rush to whatever spot looked most in danger. I don't think we lost more than two hundred men. And that's about how many of the Kushans finally made it back across the outer fortifications alive."
He began to add something else, but his attention was distracted by the sight of a rocket arching up from the Malwa lines. Khusrau and Belisarius followed the rocket's erratic trajectory, until it plunged harmlessly into the open area between Babylon's two rings of defenses.
"The rockets actually have been more of a problem," commented the Emperor. "They do almost no damage to the walls, and many of them miss the city entirely. But those which do fly straight have a longer range than the siege guns, and they have caused casualties. It is the unpredictability of the cursed things which bothers my soldiers the most."
Belisarius nodded, but said nothing in reply. He was now preoccupied with studying the enemy's field fortifications.
That study was brief. He had seen their equivalent at Ranapur and, again, was not overly impressed. A Roman army, this many months into a siege, would have constructed much better and more solid field-works.
Now his eyes were drawn to a further distance, and toward the river. Several miles away, he could see the crude piers which the Malwa had constructed on the left bank of the Euphrates. Crudely made, but very capacious. He estimated that there were at least forty ships tied up to those docks, each of which had a capacity of several hundred tons. Another half dozen or so could be seen coming up the river, their oar banks flashing in the sun as they fought their way against the sluggish current.
Remembering Ranapur, he scanned the river more closely. As he expected, the Malwa were providing security for their supply fleet with a small armada of swift war galleys.
"It's incredible, isn't it?" asked Khusrau. "Not even the ancient legends speak of a logistics effort on this scale."
He fell silent, tight-lipped.
Belisarius eyed the Emperor covertly. Khusrau's face was expressionless, but the general realized that the man's fear of heights was taking a toll on him.
"I've seen enough," he announced. He made a little motion, as if to depart.
Still, no expression crossed Khusrau's face.
"You are certain?" he asked.
Belisarius nodded. Now—possibly—a little look of relief came to the Emperor. Quickly, he turned away and leapt down to the temple roof four feet below.
Belisarius copied that leap, although he landed more heavily than the Persian.
Partly that was because Belisarius was a much bigger man. Khusrau was young and athletic, but his was the build of a gymnast—on the short side, and wiry. Mostly, however, Belisarius' thudding arrival on the roof was due to the half-armor he was wearing. The Emperor, in contrast, was clothed in nothing but the simple tunic and trousers of a Persian nobleman taking his ease.
As he landed, the general staggered slightly. Khusrau steadied him with a helping hand.
"It must be dreadful," he remarked with a smile, "to have to wear that stuff all the time."
Belisarius grimaced. "Especially in this heat! But—there it is. Can't have a general prancing around a siege, while all of the soldiers are sweating rivers."
Khusrau shook his head in sympathy. "Wouldn't do at all," he agreed. His smile became an outright grin.
"Whereas an Emperor—"
Belisarius laughed. "I heard all about it, even before we arrived, from your admiring troops. How the fearless Khusrau Anushirvan faces the Malwa with a bared breast."
The Emperor glanced down at his tunic. A simple tunic, in its design. But, of course, not the garment of a simple man.
"Hardly that," he murmured. He fingered the sleeve.
"It's cotton, you know, not linen. Very valuable. Almost as valuable as silk—"
He broke off. Belisarius chuckled.
"More valuable, now. Cotton only comes from India. There won't be more of it for some time."
The two men stared at each other.
Enemies, once. Khusrau had not been at Mindouos, three years earlier. He had been in the capital at Ctesiphon, like all his brothers and half-brothers, plotting to seize the throne after the death of the ailing Emperor Kavad. But it had been his father's army which Belisarius shattered there.
Allies, now.
"Better this way," murmured the Emperor. He took Belisarius by the arm and began leading him toward the small ziggurat at the center of the roof. There was an entrance there, leading to the stairs which descended into Esagila's immense interior.
"Much better," agreed Belisarius.
Much better, chimed in Aide. The greatest Persian Emperor in a millennium makes for a bad enemy.
Idly, Belisarius wondered how things might have turned out, had the Malwa never been raised to power by the creature called Link. The thing—half-human, half-computer—which Aide called a cyborg. A cybernetic organism, sent back in time by the "new gods" of the future.
Aide answered. In that future, you will also defeat the Persians. At a battle near Daras, not far from Mindouos.
And then?
And then, ten years later, Khusrau will sack Antioch.
They were at the entrance to the ziggurat. Khusrau led the way into the interior. It was much cooler. Belisarius heaved a little sigh of relief.
Much better this way.
Khusrau leaned back in his chair and spread his arms in a gesture which encompassed their entire surroundings.
"I forget, Belisarius—you are a Christian. This must be a marvel for you!"
A little crease of puzzlement came to the general's brow. He paused from raising his wine goblet.
Khusrau laughed.
"Don't tell me you don't know! You're sitting right on top of the Tower of Babel!"
Belisarius' eyes widened. He stared down between his feet. Then, gazed all around him.
He and Khusrau were sitting under a canopy which had been erected at the summit of a large hill right in the middle of what had once been Babylon. The Persian Emperor's great pavilion was located not far to the north, just over the crest of the hill. The two men were alone, except for a handful of servants standing ten yards off.
The hill was the highest point in Babylon, and provided a magnificent view of the entire city. But there was not much left of that city, now, other than its outer fortifications.
Esagila, Marduk's temple, was still largely intact. That huge structure was just to their south. To the west, separated from the foot of the hill by a tall stone wall, the Euph
rates carved its way through the soft soil of Mesopotamia. To the north, Belisarius could see the ruins of the ancient royal palaces. Next to them—still standing, almost intact—was the famous Ishtar Gate.
Other than that—
The huge eastern portion of Babylon—almost three-quarters of its entire area—was now farmland, dotted here and there with orchards and livestock pens. And the hill which they sat upon had been the site of a thriving village. On their way up its slopes, they had passed the huts where peasants had succeeded, centuries later, to the former thrones of ancient monarchs.
The peasants were gone from the village, now. The huts had been sequestered for their use by Khusrau's bodyguard. But the farmland was still in use. Belisarius could see men and women at work in those fields, surrounded by Babylon's walls. He noted, with some interest, that none of those people even bothered to look up at the sound of the Malwa cannons. The siege had gone on for months now, and they had grown accustomed to it.
His attention came back to the hill itself. Perhaps half a mile in circumference, several hundred feet high—it was the most elevated spot in Babylon, which was why Khusrau had chosen to pitch his pavilion here—it seemed, to all outward appearances, a hill like many others.
Except—
"It's quite regular, now that I think about it," he mused. "The circumference is almost a perfect circle."
"Not quite," demurred Khusrau. The Emperor leaned forward and pointed quickly to the southwestern and southeastern portions of the hill base.
"If you study it very closely, you can still find traces of the original four corners. The same is true on the northeast and northwest side." Here he gestured with his head, flicking it back over his shoulders in either direction. "I had my architects examine the hill at great length. They even dug a tunnel deep into it from the north. Thirty yards in, they began encountering the baked brick walls of what seems to have been a gigantic ziggurat."
He leaned back, exuding satisfaction. "It's the Tower of Babel of ancient legend. I'm quite sure of it. Crumbling slowly, century after century. Covered with wind-blown soil, century after century. Until it is as you see today. This is not uncommon, by the way. There are many hills like this in Mesopotamia, which are all that's left of ancient ruins."
