“Be safe, love,” she whispered. “Oh, please—be safe.”
Chapter 32
THE EUPHRATES
Autumn, 531 a.d.
“This is ridiculous!” snarled Belisarius. “This isn’t ‘safe’—it’s absurd!”
“We gave our oath, general,” said Anastasius solemnly.
“To the Persian Emperor himself,” added Valen-tinian, trying—and failing quite miserably—to look suitably lugubrious.
Belisarius glared at both of them. Then, transferred the glare onto the enemy, some distance away.
Quite some distance away. Belisarius, along with Anastasius and Valentinian, were standing on top of the huge pile of stones which the Kushans had dug out of the Nehar Malka. The Syrian infan-trymen who defended that man-made hill had constructed an observation platform from which Belisarius could watch the progress of the battle. They had also built a narrow, winding road—more of a path, really—which led up to the summit from the protected northern side of the rockpile.
As a vantage point from which to observe the battle, Belisarius could find no fault with the thing. Even without his telescope, the rock-hill’s elevation gave him an excellent view of the enemy’s dispositions on the south side of the Euphrates and the Nehar Malka. The telescope enabled him to pick out even small details of the enemy’s formations.
But—
“God damn it,” he growled, “I’m too far away. By the time a courier gets up here and back again—no way to ride a horse up that so-called road—I might as well have given orders for yesterday’s breakfast.”
It’s safe, insisted Aide.
Before Belisarius could make a reply, one of the Malwa rockets fired at the Roman troops defending the dam below veered wildly off course. For a moment, it seemed as if the missile was heading directly for the rockpile. Close enough, at least, that Valentinian and Anastasius began to take cover behind the low wall surrounding the platform.
Growling with satisfaction, Belisarius stood as erect as possible.
Get down! Get down!
Belisarius, sarcastically:
“Safe,” remember? “Safe,” you said.
And, in truth, safe it was. With typical unpre-dictability, the rocket suddenly swerved to the east. A few seconds later, it exploded harmlessly over the middle of the Nehar Malka.
Wisely, Aide refrained from comment.
Belisarius took a deep breath, controlling his temper. There was no point in trying to force the issue, at the moment. Valentinian and Anastasius were obviously ready and willing to enforce a strict compliance with their vow to Emperor Khusrau. For that matter, all of Belisarius’ officers had made clear their own agreement with Khusrau’s position. Belisarius had been shocked, actually, when he realized how adamant his commanders were that he stay out of the direct line of fire in the coming battle.
“There’s no need for you in the front line, sir,” Agathius had argued, at the command meeting on the eve of the battle. “No need—and a lot to be lost if you’re killed or injured. This is just going to be a slugging match, at least in the beginning.”
On that point, Agathius had been correct.
It was late afternoon, and the battle had been raging for hours. The Malwa had made their first probes at dawn, on both sides of the Euphrates. Encountering the large body of Persians guarding Ormazd’s camp on the south bank, the Malwa had early on decided to take a purely defensive stance there. They were obviously more than happy to let Ormazd and his twenty thousand heavy cavalry sit on the sidelines while they concentrated their attack on the Roman forces.
Those Roman forces would have been their principal target, in any event. It was the Romans, not Ormazd’s Persians, who were forted up on the dam across the Euphrates. It was the Romans, also, who were positioned to guard the dam from any attack coming up the Nehar Malka.
A slugging match, the first day—with the Romans in position to outslug the Malwa.
The defensive position of Belisarius’ army was excellent. With the desert to the west and Ormazd’s twenty thousand lancers encamped on the south bank of the Euphrates, the Malwa had no choice but to advance up the riverbed and along the narrow strip of land between the Euphrates and the Nehar Malka. As that strip of land approached the point where the Royal Canal branched directly east from the east-by-southeast-flowing Euphrates, it narrowed down to a mere spit. The tip of that triangle was guarded by well-built Roman fieldworks—complete with timber brought all the way down the Euphrates by barges. Buttressed with rocks and tamped earth, the walls of that palisade were guarded by Syrian dragoons. When needed, the dragoons were backed up by all of the Constantinople cataphracts, ready to sally at a moment’s notice. Which they had, over and again, as the day wore on, waiting until the Syrians had worn out another Malwa assault before driving them back in defeat.