For a moment, Belisarius considered interrogating the officer in his own language. Belisarius was fluent in Pallavi, as he was in several languages. But he decided against it. Bouzes and Coutzes, he suspected, were ignorant of the Persian language, and it was important that they be able to follow the interrogation. By the richness of his garb, the Persian was obviously from the aristocracy. His Greek would therefore be fluent, since—in one of those little historical ironies—Greek was the court language of the Sassanid dynasty.
“How many men does Firuz have under his command?” he asked the Mede.
“Fifty-five thousand,” came the instant reply. As Belisarius had suspected, the man’s Greek was excellent. “That doesn’t include the twenty thousand he left in Nisibis,” added the Persian.
“What a lot of crap!” snarled Coutzes. “There aren’t—”
Belisarius interrupted. “I will allow you four lies, Mede. You’ve already used up two of them. Firuz has twenty-five thousand men, and he took them all when he left Nisibis.”
The muscles along the Persian’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Other than that, he gave no indication of surprise at the accuracy of Belisarius’ information.
“How many of those twenty-five thousand are cavalry?” asked Belisarius.
Again, the Mede’s answer came with no hesitation:
“We have no more than four thousand infantry. And most of our cavalry are lancers.”
“That’s the third lie,” said Belisarius, very mildly. “And the fourth. Firuz has ten thousand infantry. Of his fifteen thousand cavalry, no more than five are heavy lancers.”
The Persian looked away, for a moment, but kept his face expressionless. Belisarius was impressed by the man’s courage.
“I’m afraid you’ve used up all your lies.” Without moving his gaze from the Persian, Belisarius asked the two Thracian brothers: “You say you have a good torturer?”
Bouzes nodded eagerly. “We can have him here in no time,” said Coutzes.
The captured officer’s jaw was now very tight, but the man’s gaze was calm and level.
“Has the pay caravan arrived yet?” demanded Belisarius.
For the first time since the interrogation began, the Persian seemed shaken. He frowned, hesitated, and then replied: “What are you talking about?”
Belisarius slammed the table with his open palm.
“Don’t play with me, Mede! I know your army’s pay chest was sent out from Nisibis five days ago, with an escort of only fifty men.”
Belisarius turned his head and looked at Bouzes and Coutzes. A disgusted look came on his face. “Fifty! Can you believe it? Typical Persian arrogance.”
Coutzes opened his mouth to speak, but Belisarius motioned him silent. He turned back to the captured officer.
“What I don’t know is if the pay caravan has arrived at your camp. So, I ask again: has it?”
The Persian’s face was a study in confusion. But, within seconds, the Mede regained his composure.
“I imagine it has,” he replied. “I left our camp the day before yesterday. That’s why I hadn’t heard anything about it. But by now I’m sure it’s arrived. Nisibis is only four days’ ride. They wouldn’t have dawdled.”
Belisarius studied the officer silently for some time. Again, Coutzes began to speak, but Belisarius waved him silent. The young Thracian general’s face became flushed with irritation, but he held his tongue.
After a couple more minutes of silence, Belisarius leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on his thighs. He seemed to have come to some sort of decision.
“Take him out,” he commanded Valentinian. Bouzes began to protest, but Belisarius glared him down.
No sooner were they alone, however, than the brothers erupted.
“What the hell kind of interrogation was that?” demanded Bouzes. “And why did you stop? We still don’t know anything about that pay caravan!”
“Silly damn waste of time,” snorted Coutzes. “You want to get anything useful from a Mede, you’ve got to use a—”
“Torturer?” demanded Belisarius. He rolled his eyes despairingly, exhaled disgust, sneered mightily. Then he stood up abruptly and leaned over the table, resting his weight on his fists.
“I can see why you haul around a professional torturer,” snarled the general. “I would too, if I was a fool.”
He matched the brothers’ glare with a scorching look of his own.