“I’ve got some good engineers among my Thracian retinue, for one thing.”
“Engineers? Among cataphracts?”
Belisarius smiled. “Well, they’re not really cataphracts, not proper ones. A bunch of farmers, at bottom, who just picked up the skills.”
“Wish we had some real cataphracts,” muttered Bouzes. “Don’t much care for the snotty bastards, but they’re great in a fight.”
His brother returned to the subject. “Even with good engineers, I still don’t see how you got the work done so quickly.”
“The basic way I did it was by setting the cavalry to work and challenging them to match the infantry.”
The brothers gaped.
“You had cavalry doing that kind of shit work?” demanded Bouzes. He frowned. “Bad for morale, I would think.”
“Not the infantry’s,” rejoined Belisarius. “And, as for the cavalry’s morale, you might be surprised. They wailed like lost souls, at first. But, after a bit, they started rising to the challenge. Especially after they heard the infantry taunting them for a lot of weaklings. Then I announced prizes for the best day’s work, and the cavalry started pitching into it. They never were as good as the infantry, of course, but by the end they were giving them quite a run for their money. Won a few prizes, even.”
Bouzes was still frowning. “Still—even if it doesn’t affect their morale directly, it—still.”
“Saps their self-esteem, over time,” agreed his brother. “Bound to. It’s dog work.”
Belisarius decided he’d been polite long enough.
“Dog work, is it?” he demanded, feigning anger. “I would remind the two of you that the Roman empire was built by such dogs. By infantry, not cavalry. Infantry who knew the value of good fortifications, and knew how to put them up. Quickly, and well.”
He reined in his horse. They were now at the gate of the fortress. Belisarius pointed to the barrenness beyond the date palms, from which they had just come.
“Do you see that border with Persia? That border was placed there centuries ago. By infantrymen. How far has your precious cavalry pushed it since then?”
He glared at them. The brothers looked away.
“Not one mile, that’s how far.” The gate was opening. Belisarius set his horse back in motion.
“So let’s not hear so much boasting about cavalry,” he growled, passing through the gate.
Rather well done, he patted himself on the back. They’re not bad fellows, really. If they could just get that stupid crap out of their heads.
The interior of the fortress was not as imposing as its exterior. In truth, Belisarius had been pressed for time, even with the aid of the cavalrymen, and so he had concentrated all effort on the outside walls and fortifications. Within those walls, the fortress was still just an empty parade ground, although it was covered now with the tents of his soldiers. He had not even built a command post for himself, but continued to use his tent as a headquarters.
As soon as Belisarius dismounted and walked into his command tent, followed by the two brothers, Maurice made his appearance.
“We’ve got a prisoner,” the hecatontarch announced. “Just brought him in.”
“Where did you catch him?”
“Sunicas’ regiment had a skirmish this morning with a group of Persians. About three hundred of them, ten miles north of here. After Sunicas drove them off, they found one fellow lying on the ground. Stunned. Horse threw him.”
“Bring him here.”
Belisarius took a seat at the large table in the middle of the tent. Bouzes and Coutzes remained standing. A few minutes later, Maurice reappeared, along with Valentinian. Valentinian was pushing a Persian soldier ahead of him. The Persian’s wrists were bound behind his back. By his dress and accouterments, Belisarius thought the Persian to be a midlevel officer.
Valentinian forced the Mede into a chair. Exhibiting the usual Persian courage, the officer’s face remained still and composed. The Persian was expecting to be tortured, but would not give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
His expectation was shared by Bouzes and Coutzes.
“We’ve got a first-rate torturer,” announced Coutzes cheerfully. “I can have him here inside the hour.”
“No need,” replied Belisarius curtly. The general stared at the Mede. The Persian met his eyes unflinchingly.