He glanced across the river. Upstream of the dam, just before the river diverted into the narrower channel of the Nehar Malka, the Euphrates was still a mile wide. But he could see the Persian camp where Ormazd’s army had forted up throughout the day’s battle.
“Any signs of movement over there?” he asked.
Maurice snorted. “About as much as a crocodile, waiting in the reeds. The only thing moving over there is Ormazd’s nostrils, taking in the sweet air of opportunity.”
Belisarius smiled. “Well, unless they want to hammer away at twenty thousand dehgans, that only leaves the Malwa one other option.”
Maurice grimaced skeptically. He turned and pointed down the slope, to the Nehar Malka. “Do you have any idea how hard it would be for them to get across? The Nehar Malka’s no shallow, placid river like the Euphrates was, general. It’s narrower and deeper. The water’s moving through there fast, and there aren’t any fords within four days’ march. They’ll have to build a pontoon bridge, using those little barges they’ve got a few miles downriver.”
He turned back, shaking his head. “While Coutzes and his boys on this rockpile piss pain all over them, and the katyushas come up to the riverbank and fire rockets at point-blank range, and me and Cyril and Liberius bring up all the cataphracts to hammer whichever poor bastards do manage to stagger across a rickety little pontoon bridge.”
He jerked his head, pointing with his face at Ormazd’s camp. “Personally, I’d rather take on the dehgans. If the Malwa can clear the right bank of the Euphrates, they can move upstream and cross back over damn near anywhere. We’d be trapped here. Have to abandon the dam and race back to Peroz-Shapur. Join forces with Kurush and try to hold out a siege.”
Belisarius’ smile was very crooked.
Maurice glared at him. “Are you really that sure of yourself?” he demanded.
Belisarius made a mollifying gesture with his hands. A gentle little patting motion.
Maurice was not mollified. “What’s that?” he demanded. “Soothing the savage beast? Or just petting the dog?”
Belisarius left off the motion. Then, grinning:
“Yes, Maurice—I am that sure of myself. So sure, in fact, that I’m going to predict exactly how this next attack is going to happen.”
He pointed down the slope of the rockpile to the Nehar Malka below. “I predict they’ll start building their pontoon bridge today, in the late afternoon. The attack will begin after dark. You know why?”
“So they might have a chance of getting across the bridge,” snorted Maurice. “Never do it in daylight.”
Belisarius shook his head. “No. That’s not why.”
He gave Maurice a hard stare. “You say they’ve had Ye-tai and Kushans leading every attack?”
Maurice nodded.
“Not this next one, Maurice. You watch. Malwa regulars is all you’ll see crossing that pontoon bridge—or would see, if it weren’t dark. The reason they’re going to attack at night is so that we can’t see that none of their Ye-tai or Kushans are participating in the assault. Those troops—”
He turned his head, nodding toward the river.
“—will be crossing over to the right bank of the Euphrates, about a mile downstream from the dam. Out of our sight, especially since we’ll be preoccupied with the attack on the Nehar Malka. By dawn, just when we think we’ve beaten off another assault, the Malwa army’s best troops will come at us from behind. Like you said, they can find any number of places to ford the Euphrates upstream.”
Maurice’s scowl was ferocious, now. “You can’t be positive that Ormazd will pull out and give them that opening,” he protested.
Belisarius shrugged.
“Positive, no. But I’ll bet long odds on it, Maurice. Ormazd knows that the only loyal Persian troops Khusrau has up here are Baresmanas and Kurush’s ten thousand. They’re forted up in Peroz-Shapur—”
“I wish they were here,” grumbled the chiliarch. “We could use them.”
“Don’t be stupid! If they were here, Peroz-Shapur would be a pile of ashes. As it is, the Malwa expedition had to skirt the town and leave troops to guard against a sally. Just sitting in Peroz-Shapur, Kurush is a threat to them.”