Maurice glanced for a moment at the mountains which surrounded them. A thin layer of snow covered the slopes, but the scene was still warmer than the one below. As throughout the Zagros range, the terrain was heavily covered with oak and juniper. The rainfall which the Zagros received even produced a certain lushness in its multitude of little valleys. There, aided by irrigation, the Persian inhabitants were able to grow wheat, barley, grapes, apricots, peaches and pistachios.
He sighed, turning his eyes back to the arid plateau. “All the rain stays in the mountains,” he muttered. “Down there—” Another sigh. “Nothing but—”
He finally spotted it.
Belisarius smiled. He, with his vision enhanced by Aide, had seen the thing as soon as they reached the pass. “I do believe that’s an oasis!” he exclaimed cheerfully.
Vasudeva’s gaze tracked that of his companions. When he spotted the small patch of greenery, his eyes widened. “That?” he choked. “You call that an ‘oasis’?”
Belisarius shrugged. “It’s not an oasis, actually. I think it’s one of the places where the Persians dug a vertical well to their underground canals. What they call their qanat system.”
The clatter of horses behind caused him to turn. His two bodyguards, Anastasius and Valentinian, had finally arrived at the mountain pass. They had lagged behind while Valentinian pried a rock from one of his mount’s hooves.
Belisarius turned back and pointed to the “oasis.” “I want to investigate,” he announced. “I think we can make it there by noon.”
Protest immediately erupted.
“That’s a bad idea,” stated Maurice.
“Idiot lunatic idea,” agreed Vasudeva.
“There’s only the five of us,” concurred Valentinian.
“Rest of the army’s still a day’s march behind,” added Anastasius. The giant cataphract, usually placid and philosophical, added his own glare to those of his companions.
“This so-called ‘personal reconnaissance’ of yours,” rumbled Anastasius, “is pushing it already.” A huge hand swept the surrounding mountains. A finger the size of a sausage pointed accusingly at the plateau below. “Who the hell knows what’s lurking about?” he demanded. “That so-called ‘plateau’ is almost as broken as these mountains. Could be an entire Malwa cavalry troop hidden anywhere.”
“An entire army,” hissed Valentinian. “I think we should get out of here. I certainly don’t think we should go down—”
Belisarius cleared his throat. “I don’t recall summoning a council,” he remarked mildly.
His companions scowled, but fell instantly silent.
After a moment, Maurice spoke quietly. “Are you determined on this, lad?”
Belisarius nodded. “Yes, Maurice, I am. I’ve been thinking about these qanats ever since Baresmanas and Kurush described them to me. They’ve been figuring rather heavily in my calculations, in fact.” He pointed to the distant patch of greenery. “But it’s all speculation until I actually get to inspect one. This is my first chance, and I don’t intend to pass it up.”
Having established his authority, Belisarius relented a moment. His veterans were entitled to an explanation, not simply a command.
“Besides, I don’t think we need to worry about encountering Damodara’s forces yet. The battle where they took the Caspian Gates was bloody and bitter. By all accounts, Damodara simply left a holding force at the Gates while he retired his main army to Damghan for the winter. By now, they’ll have refitted and recuperated—they’re probably back through the Gates, maybe even as far into Mah province as Ahmadan—but that’s still almost fifty miles from here.”
Vasudeva cleared his throat. “Is your assessment based on reports from spies, or is it—”
Belisarius smiled. “Good Greek logic, Vasudeva.”
Nothing was said. But the expression on the faces of his Thracian and Kushan companions spoke volumes concerning their opinion of “good Greek logic.” Even Anastasius, normally devoted to Greek philosophy, was glowering fiercely.
Belisarius spurred his horse into motion and began picking his way down the trail. Silently, his men followed.
More or less silently, that is. Valentinian, of course, was muttering. Belisarius did not ask for a translation. He was quite sure that every phrase was purely obscene.
* * *
Halfway down the slope, a new voice entered its protest.
This is a bad idea, came the thought from Aide.
Et tu, Brute? responded Belisarius.