“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.