by Eric Flint
Belisarius eyed the Emperor with respect. "That must have been a lot of work."
Khusrau laughed.
"Not for me!"
The gaiety vanished. "I was curious, true. But I also needed projects to keep my men occupied. Once it became clear that the Malwa could not break the walls without long effort, and that we would not face starvation, tedium became our worst enemy. You know from experience, I'm sure, how dangerous it can be to have a garrison fretting away their time in idleness."
Belisarius nodded.
"Besides, I was making plans for the future. We are digging out great tunnels and rooms inside this hill. For food storage, and, I hope, ammunition. The food will not spoil quickly—the interior of the hill is much cooler than it is outside. And even if the Malwa eventually breach the outer fortifications, and can move their guns close enough to bombard Babylon's interior, a direct hit on the hill would pose no danger to gunpowder stored deep within its depths."
The Persian Emperor fell silent here, fixing Belisarius with his intense, intelligent eyes.
The Roman general met that gaze squarely. The moment had come, and it could be postponed no further.
"I have already argued in favor of giving gunpowder weapons to the Aryans, Emperor Khusrau. I have gone further, in fact. I have argued that we should give Persians the secret of their manufacture. But—"
"The Empress does not agree," finished Khusrau.
Belisarius fluttered his right hand, indicating that the matter was not quite so simple. "Yes—and no. She agrees that it would aid the war against Malwa. Aid it immensely, in fact. But she fears the repercussions in the future."
Khusrau nodded, calmly. The Emperor of Persia had no difficulty understanding the quandary which faced Rome's ruler. Someday, hopefully, Malwa would be gone. Rome and Persia, on the other hand—those two great Empires had clashed for centuries.
Aide's voice spoke. Belisarius could sense the agitation of the facets.
Stupid woman! She is so unreasonable about this!
The general had to physically restrain himself from making an actual calming gesture. Fortunately, from long experience, he had learned to keep his interchanges with Aide unnoticeable to the people around him. Still, it was distracting, and—
This is not the time for that, Aide!
The facets subsided, grudgingly. Belisarius brought his attention back to the Emperor. Khusrau was speaking.
"I understand her suspicions," he mused. "And, unfortunately, there is nothing I can say or do that would alleviate them. We can swear to a Hundred Years' Peace—we can swear to a Thousand Years' Peace, for that matter. But Rome and Persia will still be there, long after Theodora and I are gone. Who is to know if that peace would be kept? Or if Persian and Roman armies would not clash again, on the field of battle, armed this time with cannons and rockets?"
Aide could not control his frustration.
So what? The problem is now—with Malwa! If that problem is not solved, Rome and Persia won't be there a century from now to be worrying about this. And besides—
Be quiet! commanded Belisarius. It was one of the few times he had ever been abrupt with Aide. The facets immediately skittered in retreat.
Belisarius could sense the hurt feelings emanating from Aide. He was not concerned. They weren't hurt much. Aide reminded him, in that moment, of a child obeying an adult's command. Sulking, pouting; thinking dark thoughts about cosmic injustice.
But he needed to concentrate on the problem before him. And he already knew Aide's opinion. During the days at Constantinople when this very question had been thrashed out by Theodora and her advisers, Aide had practically overwhelmed him with visions drawn from the human future.
A thousand visions, it had seemed. The ones he remembered best had been the portraits of the British Raj's conquest of India. "Conquest" was not, even, the right term. The establishment of British rule would be a long and complex process which, in the end, would not primarily be decided by military factors. True, the British would have guns. But so, soon enough, would the Indian rajahs who opposed them. Yet those Indian monarchs would never match the superior political, social and economic organization of the British.
For the same reason, Aide had argued, giving the secret of gunpowder to Persia posed no long term threat to Rome. It was not weapons technology, by itself, which ever determined the balance of power between empires and nations. It was the entirety of the societies themselves.
Rome was a cosmopolitan empire, rich in traders, merchants and manufacturers. And, for all the elaborate pomp of its official aristocracy, it was a society open to talent. To a degree, at least.
Persia was none of those things. The Empire of the Aryans was a thoroughly feudal society. It had nothing like the population of Rome, and was positively dwarfed in terms of industry and manufacture. The military equality which Persia had been able to maintain vis-a-vis its western rival was entirely due to the ferocious skill of its heavy cavalry.
Introduce gunpowder into that mix, and the result would be the exact opposite of Theodora's worst fears. Within half a century, Aide had predicted, Persia would be no match for Rome at all.
Belisarius had agreed with Aide, then, and had argued that very case. Along with the more pressing point that the defeat of Malwa overrode all other concerns.
But Theodora—
He shook his head. "She is a suspicious woman, I'm afraid."
Khusrau chuckled. "Nonsense, Belisarius. All emperors are suspicious. Trust me on this point. I speak from experience. Even your own brothers—"
He bit off the sentence. "We will discuss that problem later. For now, I must officially request that the Roman Empire provide us with a gunpowder capability."
The Emperor gestured to the south. "As you can see, we have been able to hold them off so far with traditional weapons. But I must do more, Belisarius." He clenched his fist. "I must break this siege."
He sighed. "We made one attempt at a sally, early on. It was a foolish gesture. I cursed myself for it, then, and damn myself for it to this day. Our soldiers were butchered. As soon as they came within range, the Malwa fired on us with those great siege guns. Loaded, this time, not with great stone balls but a multitude of pebbles and pieces of iron."
"Cannister," said Belisarius.
"They stood no chance at all. The slaughter was horrible, even in the short time before I ordered the retreat."
He wiped his face, in a gesture combining sorrow with self-reproach. But Khusrau was not deflected from his purpose.
"I must break the siege—within a year, no more. And for that I need my own cannons. The Malwa siegeworks are not as strong as the walls of Babylon, of course, but they are still strong enough to repel a sally. Only cannons in the hands of my own troops could shatter them enough for a successful counter-attack."
Belisarius frowned.
"Why are you so certain that you must break the siege—within a year?"
He turned a bit in his chair, staring to the south.
"I do not think the Malwa will break into Babylon. Not unless they bring twice the force to bear. And as powerful as they are, the Malwa are not that powerful."
His eyes now scanned the flooded lowlands to the west. "It's true that you will begin suffering from disease, soon enough, especially with the marshes. But disease usually strikes the besieger worse than the besieged."
He turned back, glancing to the east—to the enormous spread of agricultural land within the walls of Babylon—before adding, "They will have to starve you out. And I think that would take many years. Even if you can't grow everything you need right here in Babylon, you can import the rest. The city is not surrounded, after all. We marched in from the north with no opposition. I'm quite sure you can bring barges down the river."
Khusrau waved his hand.
"I'm not worried about Babylon, general. I will hold Babylon, of that I have no doubt. But what good will that do me if I lose the rest of Persia?"
Again, he sig
hed. "They have me penned here, along with most of my army. While they send out raiding parties to ravage Mesopotamia—"
He broke off, for a moment, barking a laugh.
"One less, now—thanks to you! But, still, there are others, destroying everything they can. And what is worse—" He half-rose from his throne, stretching his arm and pointing to the northeast. "They have that damned army marching into eastern Persia. Defeating every force I send against them!"
Belisarius cocked his eyebrow. Khusrau fell back in his throne, nodding bitterly.
"Oh, yes. They win every battle we fight."
For a moment, he scowled. The expression was more one of puzzlement than anger.
"Odd, really. I can't say I've been very impressed by the quality of the Malwa army. Not here in Mesopotamia, that's for sure. Immense numbers and gunpowder are what make them powerful. It's certainly not the skill of their commanders. But in the east, where they have little in the way of gunpowder weapons, their forces fight supremely well."
"I'm not surprised, Emperor. Those forces are mainly Rajput, under the command of Rana Sanga. I know him personally. The Rajputs are among the world's finest cavalry—Rana Sanga is certainly among the world's finest generals. And the Malwa who is in overall command of that army, Lord Damodara, is also said to be their best."
"Said? By whom?"
Belisarius smiled crookedly.
"By Rana Sanga, as it happens."
"Ah." The Persian Emperor gripped the armrests tightly. He took a deep breath.
"That explains much. It also illustrates my quandary. I can hold the Malwa here at Babylon, but only at the expense of giving up my freedom to maneuver. If I retreat from Babylon, there is nowhere else I can make a stand to prevent the Malwa from seizing all of Mesopotamia. But if I stay—"
"The Malwa will gut everything around you. And, eventually, take Fars and the entire plateau from the east."
Khusrau nodded. Then, noticing that the goblet which Belisarius was toying with in his hands was empty, began to gesture toward the servants standing a few yards away. But Belisarius waved down the offer.
"No more, please." He set the goblet down firmly on the small table next to his chair.
"I will send instructions to Rome, ordering that cannons be brought to Babylon. Along with a large supply of gunpowder. That much is in my authority. I will also—" here he blew out his cheeks "—strongly urge the Empress to give me permission to train your soldiers in their use."
Khusrau stroked his beard.
"Do you think she will agree?"
"Possibly. She will insist, of course, that the cannons and gunpowder remain under the control of Roman troops. Still, they will be here. And then—"
Khusrau's lips curled into a faint smile. "Under the control of Roman troops," he murmured. "Yes, yes. That has a nice—ah, secure—sound to it."
For a moment, a Persian Emperor and a Roman general stared at each other, in silent conspiracy.
Belisarius broke the silence with a little laugh. "She is not naive, Emperor. Far from it! She will understand the inevitable results, once lonely young Roman troops—" He broke off, gazing into the distance. "It's amazing," he mused, "how many beautiful women you Aryans seem to produce."
Khusrau grinned. "We are a comely folk. It cannot be denied." The grin faded. "But you think the Empress Regent will still agree?"
Belisarius nodded. "It will be enough, I think, if Theodora can tell her suspicions that she didn't actually give the secrets outright. At least the damned Persians had to sweat for them."
"In a manner of speaking," chuckled Khusrau. He planted his hands on his knees and rose to his feet. As always, the movement was quick and energetic.
"Speaking of beautiful Persian girls," he said, "I have ordered a reception tonight in my pavilion. In honor of Merena's daughter, now married to one of your top commanders. She accompanied him here, I understand."
Belisarius rose, nodding. "Yes, she did. She insisted on it, apparently, much to Agathius' surprise."
The Persian Emperor began leading the way toward the pavilion. He cocked his head.
"Was he angry? Did he really believe all those tales about obedient Persian wives?"
Belisarius laughed. "Actually, he was quite pleased. He's very taken by the girl, I think. It was not simply a marriage of ambition."
Khusrau smiled. "Good. That bodes well for the future. Most auspicious, that wedding—I would like to see more of them."
"So would I," agreed Belisarius.
As they walked slowly toward the pavilion, Khusrau's smile turned a bit sly. "That's part of the reason, of course—well, actually, it is the reason—that I commanded this little reception. Once my haughty nobles see the favor which their Emperor bestows on such marriages, they'll find a daughter or two to marry off to some promising Roman officer. Oh, be sure of it—be sure of it! We Aryans like to talk about the purity of our bloodlines, but we are by no means immune to ambition ourselves."
He paused for a moment, struck by the sunset. Belisarius joined him in that admiration.
"It is a beautiful world, in truth, for all the evil in it. Let us never lose sight of that, Belisarius, however dark the future may seem."
The Emperor shook his head, glancing at the pavilion. "Speaking of dark futures—and a near one, at that—my brother Ormazd will be at the reception." He scowled fiercely. "I will have to be polite to him, of course. In the end, he did not—quite!—disobey me."
Belisarius snorted. "It was amazing, actually, how quickly he made his decision. Once Baresmanas and I showed up at his camp outside Ctesiphon, with almost twenty thousand troops and the aura of our victory at Anatha. He did not even dawdle, during the march here."
"I should think not," snarled the Emperor. "He had a lot of face-saving to do."
The Roman general's smile faded. Belisarius turned to face Khusrau, his gaze intent. He said nothing. There was no need to explain—not with this emperor.
Khusrau sighed.
"Yes, Belisarius. I agree. You have my permission to implement your plan."
Belisarius hesitated. "Do you understand—did Baresmanas explain it to you fully? At the end—"
Khusrau made a short, chopping gesture with his hand. "Yes, I understand. I will have to trust you."
"I will give you my oath, if you so desire."
The Emperor laughed, now, quite cheerfully. "Nonsense! I don't want your oath. I want—those two bodyguards of yours? That is their permanent duty?"
Belisarius nodded.
Khusrau took the general by the arm and resumed their progress toward the pavilion. His stride was no longer the leisurely amble of a man enjoying the sunset. It was the determined pace of a decisive man, who had made up his mind.
"Good," he announced. "They will be at the reception, then. I will want to meet with them privately."
Belisarius' eyes widened.
"Privately? With Valentinian and Anastasius? Whatever for?"
"I want their oath. To keep you safe and alive, at all costs."
He eyed the general. "Even if that means binding you with ropes and hitting you over the head, to keep you from any more of the cavalry charges for which you have become quite famous. Among my dehgans, no less!"
The Emperor shook his head. "Any general who can impress dehgans with his heroism and disregard for personal safety needs close supervision. Strict supervision."
They were almost at the pavilion, now.
"That Anastasius fellow? Is he the gigantic one?"
Belisarius nodded. Khusrau stopped at the pavilion's entrance, eyeing the general up and down, much like a man estimating livestock.
"Yes, yes," he murmured. "He should have no difficulty. Even if it comes to shackling you."
He turned and strode within. And called over his shoulder:
"I will have his oath on it!"
Anastasius kept a straight face. Valentinian didn't even try.
"—in the name of God and his son Jesus Christ," they
concluded simultaneously.
The solemnity of the occasion was undermined, of course, by the fact that Valentinian was grinning from ear to ear. But Khusrau did not seem dissatisfied with the result, judging from his own smiling face.
"Excellent," he pronounced.
Anastasius and Valentinian took that as their cue. A moment later, bowing respectfully, they backed through the silk curtains which separated Khusrau's private quarters from the main area of the imperial pavilion.
A little frown came to the Emperor's brow. He cocked his head toward Belisarius. "What did he say? The smaller one—he muttered something on the way out."
Belisarius smiled. "I think he said: 'God bless wise emperors.' But, perhaps I misunderstood. Perhaps he said—"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Khusrau. "I'm quite sure that's what he said."
He took Belisarius by the arm and began leading him out. "Excellent fellow! Marvelous, marvelous! Even if he does look like a vicious weasel."
Belisarius kept his own counsel. Aide did not.
I agree. Excellent fellow. And Anastasius!
Try to be philosophical about the whole thing, Belisarius. Perhaps you could ask Anastasius to quote some appropriate words from Marcus Aurelius, or—
What was that? You muttered something in your mind.
Chapter 26
THE EUPHRATES
"And the charges are laid?" asked Belisarius. "All of them?"
Seeing the hesitation on Basil's face, the general sighed.
"Don't tell me. You laid as many as you could, using the captured Malwa gunpowder. But you didn't use any of our own."
Basil nodded. His eyes avoided the general's.
Belisarius restrained his angry outburst. He reminded himself, firmly, that he had chosen Basil to command the katyusha rocket force because the man was one of the few Thracian cataphracts who had a liking and affinity for the new weapons. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that he would be unwilling to dismantle them.
