* * *
Show the standard, indeed. As her flagship sailed away from Tyre, Antonina gazed up admiringly at the great, gold imperial standard affixed to the mainmast.
“A ‘flag’!” she snorted. “How in the name of Christ could you intimidate anybody with a stupid rag?”
But the best—the very best—came at a fishing village. Antonina was pleased, of course, by the welcome given to her by the small but enthusiastic population, who greeted her armada from their boats. But she was absolutely delighted by the welcome given by the men aboard the much bigger ship which sailed among those humble fishermen.
A warship from Axum. Carrying Prince Eon and his dawazz, who bore official salutations from the negusa nagast to the new Roman Emperor. Along with a proposal for an alliance against Malwa.
Her first words to Eon were: “How in the world did you get a warship into the Mediterranean from the Red Sea?”
His, to her with a grimace. “We portaged. Don’t ask me how. I can’t remember.”
“Fool boy!” Ousanos said. “He can’t remember because it’s impossible. I told him so.”
Irene to Ousanas, grinning: “You must have slapped his head a thousand times.”
Ousanas groaned: “Couldn’t. Was much too weary. Idiot Prince made me carry the stern. All by myself.”
Eon, proudly: “Ousanas is the strongest man in the world.”
Ousanas slapped the Prince atop his head. “Suckling babe! Strongest man in the world is resting somewhere in his bed. Conserving his strength for sane endeavors!”
Chapter 14
MESOPOTAMIA
Summer, 531 a.d.
The first sign of trouble came just a few hours after the army bypassed Anatha. The town, located directly on the Euphrates, was one of the chain of fortified strongholds which the Sassanid emperors had erected, over the centuries, to guard Persia from Roman invasion.
Baresmanas and Kurush had offered to billet the Roman troops in the town itself, along with their own soldiers, but Belisarius had declined.
There was always the risk of incidents with the local inhabitants, whenever a passing army was billeted in a town. That was especially true with an army of foreigners. Had Belisarius’ forces consisted of nothing but his Thracians and the Syrian units, he would not have been concerned. His bucellarii were long accustomed to his discipline, and the soldiers from the Army of Syria were only technically foreigners.
The Syrians were closely akin, racially and linguistically, with the people of western Mesopotamia. And the Arabs who constituted a large portion of the Syrian army were identical. Arabs—on both sides of the border—tended to view the political boundaries between Rome and Persia as figments of imperial imagination. Those soldiers were familiar with Persian ways and customs, and most of them spoke at least passable Pahlavi. Many of those men had relatives scattered all across the western provinces of the Persian empire.
The same was not true—most definitely not true—with his Greek and Illyrian troops.
The problem was that Anatha was not large enough to hold his entire army. He would not trust the Greek and Illyrian soldiers, without his Thracian and Syrian troops to help keep order. On the other hand, if he allowed the Syrians and Thracians to enjoy the comforts of the town, while the Constantinople and Illyrian troops camped outside—
He would rekindle the resentments which he had finally managed, for the most part, to overcome.
So he ordered the army to bypass the town altogether.
The command, of course, caused hard feelings among his troops—all of it aimed at him. But the general was not concerned. To the contrary—he accepted the collective glare of his soldiers quite cheerfully. The animosity expressed in those glowering eyes would cement his army, not undermine it. Not so long as all of his soldiers were equally resentful and could enjoy the mutual bond of grumbling at the lunacies of high command: Sour Thracian grousing to disgruntled Illyrian, sullen Greek cataphract to surly Arab cavalryman.
Fucking jackass.
Whoever made this clown a general, anyway?
By the time we get wherever we’re going—the moon, seems like—we’ll be too worn out to spank a brat.
Fucking jackass.
Whoever made this clown a general, anyway?
Three hours after the walls of Anatha fell below the horizon, Belisarius saw a contigent of the Arab light cavalry he was using as scouts come galloping up.