Liberius winced. In point of fact, Illyrian troops had the reputation of being the most atrocity-prone of any Roman army, other than outright mercenaries.
“It’s still not the same,” he stated—forcefully, but not sullenly. Belisarius was impressed by the man’s dispassionate composure.
Liberius gestured toward Bouzes and Coutzes, and the other officers from the Syrian army. “These lads are used to dealing with Persians. Civilized, the Medes are. Sure, when war breaks out both sides have been known to act badly. But, even then, it’s a matter between empires. And in between the wars—which is most of the time—the borderlands are quiet and peaceful.”
Several of the Syrian officers nodded. Liberius continued: “What you don’t get is what we have in Illyricum—constant, unending skirmishes with a lot of barbarian savages. Border villages ravaged by some band of Goths or Avars who are just engaging in casual plunder. Their own kings—if you can call them that—don’t even know about it, most of the time.” He shrugged. “So we repay the favor on the nearest barbarian village.”
The scowl returned in full force. “That is not the same thing as raping a girl in your own town—and then murdering half her family in the bargain!”
Again, the growl of agreement swept the room. Louder, this time. Much louder.
Belisarius glanced at Timasius. Liberius’ slow-thinking commander had finally caught up with his subordinate’s thoughts. He too, now, was nodding vehemently.
Belisarius was satisfied. For the moment, at least. But he made a note to speak to the Illyrian commanders in the near future. To remind them that they would soon be operating in Persia, and that the treatment which Illyrians were accustomed to handing out to barbarians in the trans-Danube would not be tolerated in Mesopotamia.
He moved out of the shade, toward his horse. “All right, then.”
His officers made to follow. Belisarius waved them back. “No,” he announced. “I’ll handle this myself.”
“What?” demanded Coutzes. “You’re not taking anyone with you?”
Belisarius smiled crookedly, holding up two fingers.
“Two.” He pointed toward Valentinian and Anas-tasius, who had been waiting just outside the canopy throughout the conference. As soon as they saw his gesture, the two cataphracts began mounting their horses.
Once he was on his own horse, Belisarius smiled down at his officers—all of whom, except Maurice, were staring at him as if he were insane.
“Two should be enough,” he announced placidly, and spurred his horse into motion.
As the three men began riding off, Valentinian muttered something under his breath.
“What did he say?” wondered Bouzes. “I didn’t catch it.”
Maurice smiled, thinly. “I think he said ‘piss on crazy strategoi.’ ”
He turned back toward the shade of the shelter. “But maybe not. Be terribly disrespectful of the high command! Maybe he just said ‘wish on daisies, attaboy.’ Encouraging his horse, you know. Poor beast’s probably as sick of this desert as we are.”
* * *
As they headed down the road, Belisarius waved Valentinian and Anastasius forward. Once the two men were riding on either side, he said:
“Don’t touch your weapons unless the muti—ah, dispirited troops—take up theirs.”
He gave both men a hard glance. Anastasius’ heavy face held no expression. Valentinian scowled, but made no open protest.
A thin smile came to the general’s face. “Mainly, what I want you to do after we arrive at the Greeks’ camp is to disagree with me.”
Anastasius’ eyes widened. “Disagree, sir?”
Belisarius nodded. “Yes. Disagree. Not too openly, mind. I am your commanding officer, after all. But I want you to make clear, in no uncertain terms, that you think I’m an idiot.”
Anastasius frowned. Valentinian muttered.
“What was that last, Valentinian?” queried Belisarius. “I’m not sure I caught it.”
Silence. Anastasius rumbled: “He said: ‘That won’t be hard.’ ”
“That’s what I thought he said,” mused Belisarius. He grinned. “Well! You won’t have any difficulty with the assignment, then. It’ll come naturally to you.”
Valentinian muttered again, at some length. Anastasius, not waiting for a cue, interpreted. “He said—I’m summarizing—that clever fellows usually wind up outsmarting themselves. Words to that effect.”
Belisarius frowned. “That’s all? It seemed to me he muttered quite a few more words than that. Entire sentences, even.”