“As my chiliarch Maurice taught me,” Belisarius replied harshly, “war is murder. Organized, systematic murder—nothing more and nothing less. It was the first thing he said to me on the day I assumed command as an officer. Seventeen, I was, at the time. But I had enough sense to ask my chief subordinate—he was a decarch, then—his opinion.”
Baresmanas twisted in his saddle, looking back at the long column which followed them.
“Where is Maurice, by the way? I did not see him when we set out this morning.” He studied the column more closely. “For that matter, where are your two bodyguards?”
Now, Belisarius did grimace. “There’s been a problem. I asked Maurice to deal with it. I sent Valentinian and Anastasius with him, along with a regiment of my bucellarii.”
Baresmanas eyed him shrewdly. “Looting?”
The general’s grimace deepened. “Worse. In Callinicum last night, some of the Constantinople garrison got drunk in a tavern and raped the girl who was serving them. The tavernkeeper’s own daughter, as it happened. When the tavernkeeper and his two sons tried to intervene, the soldiers murdered all three of them.”
Baresmanas shook his head. “It happens. Especially with troops—”
“Not in my army it doesn’t.” The general’s jaws were tight. “Not more than once, anyway.”
“You have punished the culprits.”
“I had all eight of them beheaded.”
Baresmanas was silent for a moment. An experienced officer, he understood full well the implications. Armies, like empires, have their own internal divisions.
“You are expecting trouble from the Constantinople garrison troops,” he stated. “They will resent the execution of their comrades by your Thracian retinue.”
“They can resent it all they want,” snarled Belisarius. “Just so long as they’ve learned to fear my bucellarii.”
He twisted in his saddle, looking back.
“The reason Maurice and his men aren’t at the front of the army this morning is because they’re riding on the flanks of the Constantinople troops. Dragging eight bodies behind them on ropes. And a sack full of eight heads.”
He turned back, his face set in a cold glare. “We’ve got enough problems to deal with. If those garrison soldiers get the idea they can run wild in a Roman town, just imagine what they’d do once we reach Persian territory.”
Baresmanas pursed his lips. “That would be difficult. Especially with Ormazd stirring up trouble against what he’s calling Khusrau’s ‘capitulation’ to the Roman Empire.”
Belisarius chuckled. “The Malwa Empire is ravaging Persia and Ormazd is denouncing his half-brother for finding an ally?”
The sahrdaran shrugged. “If it weren’t that, it would be something else. The man’s ambitions are unchecked. We had hoped he would accept his status, but—”
Belisarius looked at him directly. “What exactly is the news that was brought by your courier?”
“It is not news, Belisarius, so much as an assessment. After the Malwa invaded, Ormazd formally acquiesced to Khusrau’s assumption of the throne. In return, Khusrau named him satrap of northern Mesopotamia—the rich province we call Asuristan and you call by its ancient name of Assyria. Ormazd pledged to bring thirty thousand troops to the Emperor’s aid at Babylon. We have learned that he has in fact gathered those troops, but is remaining encamped near the capital at Ctesiphon. At your ancient Greek city of Seleucia, in fact, just across the Tigris.”
The sahrdaran bestowed his own cold glare on the landscape. “Well positioned, in short, to seize our capital. And serving no use in the war against Malwa. We suspect the worst.”
“You think Ormazd is in collusion with the Malwa?”
Baresmanas heaved a sigh.
“Who is to know? For myself, I do not believe so—not at the moment, at least. I think Ormazd is simply waiting on the side, ready to strike if Khusrau is driven out of Babylon.” He rubbed his face wearily. “I must also tell you, Belisarius, that the courier brought instructions for me. Once we reach Peroz-Shapur, I will have to part company with your army. I am instructed by the Emperor to take Kurush and my soldiers—and the remainder of my household troops, who await me at Peroz-Shapur—to Ormazd’s camp.”
“And do what?” asked Belisarius.
Baresmanas shrugged. “Whatever I can. ‘Encourage’ Ormazd, you might say, to join the battle against the invaders.”