Belisarius smiled again. “I think it’s a great idea. Theodora’ll be twitchy about it, of course. But Justinian will seize on it with both hands.”
Maurice frowned. “Why?”
“Because Justinian always has his—’mind’s eye,’ let’s call it—on the position of the dynasty. His dynasty, for all that Photius isn’t his own son. And he knows that there’d be nothing that would cement the army’s allegiance more than a dynastic marriage with a Persian Princess.”
Maurice tugged his beard thoughtfully. “True enough,” he agreed. “Anything that would prevent another bloody brawl with those tough fucking deh-gans. Bad for your retirement prospects, that is.”
A thought came to him. His eyes widened, slightly. “Now that I think about it— When was the last time a Roman Emperor married a Persian noblewoman?”
Belisarius chuckled. “It’s never happened, Maurice. The Persians consider us Roman mongrels unfit for their blood.”
“That’s what I thought,” mused Maurice. “God, the army’ll be tickled pink. They already think of Photius as one of their own, you know. If he marries a Persian sahrdaran’s daughter—”
The chiliarch broke off, eyeing the figure of Baresmanas below. “Does he know about it, d’you think? It’s his daughter we’re talking about, after all. Maybe he won’t like the idea.”
Belisarius laughed, clapping the chiliarch on the shoulder.
“Unless I’m badly mistaken, Maurice, the whole thing was Baresmanas’ idea in the first place.”
As if he had been cued, Baresmanas chose that moment to turn his head and look up at the two Roman officers standing on the very top of the rock-pile. For a moment, he and Belisarius stared at each other. Then, Baresmanas hopped off the rock—his shoulder might be half-crippled, but he was still quite spry for a middle-aged man—and began climbing toward them.
As soon as he reached the hill-top, Baresmanas asked, “So—what do you think?”
For a moment, the Roman general was startled. How could Baresmanas have overheard—?
Then, realizing that the sahrdaran was talking about their military situation, Belisarius grimaced.
“We’re not going to be able to surprise them with another flank attack, that’s for sure.”
Baresmanas nodded. Neither he nor Belisarius had really thought that option would be available. Having been shattered at Anatha, the Malwa would not make the mistake of overconfidence again. The army approaching them from the southeast was much larger than the force they had faced at the hunting park. Still, the commander of those oncoming Malwa was keeping a massive guard on his flanks. Well out on his flanks, using his best troops for the job. On his left, in the desert, the Malwa commander was using Lakhmids on camelback. On his right, in the fertile terrain on the other side of the almost-dry Euphrates, he was using Kushan cavalry. Four thousand of them, according to Kurush’s scouts, maintaining an excellent marching order, with a large contingent of skirmishers guarding their own flank.
There would be no way to surprise the Malwa with any clever maneuver with concealed troops. Not this time.
“We will have to rely on your main plan, then,” said Baresmanas. The sahrdaran heaved a sigh. “Casualties will be high.”
Belisarius tightened his lips. “Yes, they will. But I don’t see any other option.”
Baresmanas turned his head, staring to the west. Across the river, he could see the huge camp where Ormazd’s twenty thousand lancers and archers had taken position, after arriving the week before. Even at the distance, he could see Ormazd’s own pavilion, towering over the much-less-elaborate tents of his soldiers.
“If he does not—”
“He will,” said Belisarius confidently. His crooked smile came, in full force.
“You will have noticed, I’m sure, that Ormazd pitched his camp there—instead of further down the river.”
Baresmanas nodded, scowling. “The swine,” he growled. “Upstream of the dam, where he pitched his camp, there is no way he can cross the Euphrates in time to give you help, should you need it. He should have taken position several miles further down, where the riverbed is almost empty.”
Belisarius shook his head.
“Not a chance, Baresmanas. His troops would take the brunt of the assault, then. Whereas now—”
“They are obviously out of the action,” concluded the sahrdaran. “The Malwa will recognize that immed-iately, and concentrate most of their forces here. They will only need to keep a screen against the chance of Ormazd attacking their left.”