After dismounting, Baresmanas grinned at the Roman general’s wide-eyed stare.
“It seems I am not the only one who seeks a bit of peace and quiet,” he remarked. “Almost all of my household troops clamored to join the expedition, once the word got out. But I didn’t think we needed six thousand men.”
“Six thousand?” asked Belisarius.
The sahrdaran’s cheerful grin widened.
“Amazing, isn’t it? I was expecting three thousand, at the most. It seems the news of our great victory at the battle of Anatha has caused dehgans to spring up from the very soil, desperately seeking to share in the glory. Truth is, I think it was the faint hope that we might encounter another party of Malwa raiders that inspired this great outpouring of enthusiasm for our little expedition.”
One of the general’s servants approached, leading his horse. As he took the reins, Belisarius remarked:
“They are not all troops from your household, then?”
The sahrdaran gave his shoulders a little inscouciant shake.
“Who is to say? The majority are from my province of Garamig. The rest? Who knows? Most of them, I suspect, are from Ormazd’s own province of Arbayistan.”
Belisarius nodded, and mounted his horse. As they began to ride off, he mulled over Baresmanas’ last words.
For all their similarities, there were some important differences in the way the Roman and Persian Empires were organized. One of those differences—a key difference—was in their military structure. The Roman army was a professional army supplemented by mercenary auxiliaries, usually (though not always) drawn from barbarian tribes. The Persian army, on the other hand, was a much more complicated phenomenon.
Feudalism is always complicated, came Aide’s interjection. Most convoluted system you—we humans have ever come up with. And we’re a convoluted folk. Especially you protoplasmic types.
“So it is,” murmured Belisarius. He did not inquire as to the meaning of “protoplasmic.” He suspected he didn’t want to know.
Each nobleman of sahrdaran and vurzurgan rank maintained a private army, made up of soldiers from their province or district. Some of those—the “household troops”—were financially supported by their lord. The rest were dehgans, whose obligation to provide military service was a more nebulous affair.
The dehgans were village and small town knights, essentially. The lowest rank in the aristocracy, but still part of what Aryans called the azadan. Though they were officially under the command of the higher nobility, the dehgans were economically independent and not, as a class, given to subservience. When it came to rallying the support of “his” dehgans, a high lord’s prestige counted for more than formal obligation.
For their part, each dehgan maintained a small body of retainers who would accompany him on campaign. Not more than a handful, usually. Well-respected men of their village or town—prosperous farmers and blacksmiths, in the main—who had not only the strength, fitness and skill to serve as armored archers but could afford the horse and gear as well.
The Persian Emperor himself, beyond his own household troops, directly commanded nothing but his personal bodyguard—a regiment of men who still bore the ancient title of the Immortals. For the rest, the Shahanshah depended on the support of the great nobility. Who, in turn, depended on the support of the dehgans.
In theory, it was all very neatly pyramidal. In practice—
Aide summed it up nicely: Victory has a multitude of fathers. Defeat is an orphan. Or, in this case: victory has a multitude of would-be sons.
Belisarius smiled.
And defeat is childless.
He twisted in his saddle, passing the smile onto Baresmanas.
“You think Ormazd’s joints are aching, then?”
The sahrdaran chuckled.
“I suspect that Ormazd, right now, is feeling very much like a victim of arthritis. Each morning, when he wakes up, he finds his army has shrunk a bit more. While faithless dehgans disappear, seeking fame and fortune in more likely quarters.”
Belisarius studied the huge “escort” which surrounded them. The Persians were marching in good order, although, to a Roman general’s eye, the formation seemed a bit odd. After a moment, he realized that the peculiar “lumpiness” was due to the formation’s social order. Rather than marching in Roman ranks and files, the Persians tended to cluster in small groups. Retainers accompanying their dehgans, he realized. Where the basic unit of the Roman army was a squad, that of the Persian force was a village band. Men who had grown up together, and known each other all their lives.