Finally, on the nineteenth day, the last pontoon was maneuvered into place and scuttled. The Romans took four days well-deserved rest, while the Kushans finished the job of bolstering the pontoons with baskets of stones.
It was done. Twenty-three days’ work had turned that strip of the Euphrates into a waterfall. A low waterfall, to be sure. But it was impressive, nonetheless.
The Roman troops and the Kushan captives spent the twenty-fourth day in a cheerful celebration, lining the banks and getting drunk while they admired the raging cataract which they had built. At Belisarius’ order, the wine ration was very generous—as much for the Kushans as the Romans. A Malwa officer, had there been one present to notice, would have been outraged at the free and easy fraternization between captives and captors.
Belisarius and his top officers, however, did not join in the revelry. They spent that entire day in the general’s command tent. The first two hours of that day were taken up with Belisarius’ immediate plans.
The rest was given to awe, and mystery, and wonder.
As he had promised Basil, Belisarius brought his entire command into the secret. He told them the secret, first, using his own words. Then, when he was done, brought forth the Talisman of God.
Aide was prepared. The coruscating colors which filled the command tent were so dazzling that they caused the leather walls to glow.
Roman soldiers who saw, from outside the tent, whispered among themselves. Witchcraft, muttered a few. But most simply shrugged the thing off. Belisarius was—unique. A blessed man. Hadn’t Michael of Macedonia himself said so?
So why shouldn’t his tent glow in daylight?
Kushans also noticed, and discussed the matter. Here, the opinion was unanimous.
Sorcery. The Roman general was a witch. It was obvious. Obvious.
The wagering became feverish.
When evening fell, Belisarius’ officers filed quietly out of his tent. None of them said a word, except Agathias. As the commander of the Greek cataphracts passed by Belisarius, he whispered: “We will not fail you, general. This I swear.”
Belisarius inclined his head. A moment later, only Maurice was left in the tent.
“When?” asked the Thracian chiliarch.
“How soon can you reach Babylon? A week?”
“Be serious,” growled Maurice. “Do I look like a pewling babe?”
Belisarius smiled.
“Four days,” grunted Maurice. “Three to get there, and a day for Khusrau to make ready.”
“Five days,” countered Belisarius. “Khusrau should be ready, but an extra day may help. Besides, you never know—you might fall off your horse.”
Maurice disdained any reply.
Early the next morning, Maurice left. He was accompanied by a hundred of his Thracian cataphracts as well as a squad of Arab scouts.
At the same time, one of Kurush’s top officers—Merena himself, in fact—led a similar expedition to Ctesiphon. Their purpose was to bring warning to the residents of the capital.
The next four days, Belisarius spent overseeing the final preparations at the Nehar Malka. None of the Roman troops except Basil and his men were engaged in this work, however, so they spent those days resting.
By late afternoon of the fifth day, the entire allied force was thronging the banks of the Euphrates. Over twenty thousand men—Romans, Persians, Kushan captives—were jostling each other for a vantage point. Belisarius had to use his bucellarii to keep the onlookers from piling too close to the Nehar Malka.
The general himself was standing atop the command tower. He was joined there by Baresmanas and Kurush.
“You should not have made the announcement,” fretted Kurush. “It was impossible to keep the security patrols out beyond noon.”
Belisarius shrugged.
“And so? By the time a spy reaches the Malwa with the news, they will know already.”
He leaned over the rail. Below him, standing at the base of the tower, Basil looked up. The katyusha commander held a burning slowmatch in his hand.
Belisarius began to give the order to light the fuse. Then, hesitated.
“New times,” he murmured. “New times need new traditions. ‘Light the fuse’ just won’t do.”
He sent a thought inward.
Aide?
The reply came instantly.
Fire in the hole.
Belisarius grinned. Leaned over.
“Fire in the hole!”
Basil needed no translation. A moment later, the fuse was burning. As it hissed its furious way toward the last barrier across the Nehar Malka, Basil began capering like a child.