“At least an hour,” continued Belisarius, “before they start their first assault.” He began walking toward the cross-trench which gave access to the back slope. From habit, Belisarius stayed in a semicrouch, but it was obvious from the casual way he looked back at Maurice that he had come to the same assessment of the current barrage’s accuracy.
“Kurush should still be in the field headquarters. I want to talk to him.” Belisarius pointed to the enemy. “There’s a bit of a mystery here that I’d like to clear up, if we can. I don’t like bad news of any kind, but I especially don’t like surprises.”
* * *
As Belisarius had hoped, Kurush was in the field headquarters. The young Persian nobleman had arrived just the day before, accompanied by three subordinate officers. He had been sent by Emperor Khusrau to reestablish liaison with the Romans. Since Belisarius had led his army into the Zagros, in hopes of delaying Damodara’s advance while Khusrau set Mesopotamia in order, the Persian emperor had had no contact with his Roman allies.
Khusrau Anushirvan—Khusrau of the Immortal Soul, as the Aryans called him—had not chosen Kurush for the assignment by accident. Partly, of course, his choice had been dictated by the prickly class sensitivities of Aryan society. Kurush was a sahrdaran, the highest-ranked layer of the Persian aristocracy. To have sent a lesser figure would have been insulting—not to Belisarius, who didn’t care—but to other members of the sahrdaran. Faced with his half-brother Ormazd’s treasonous rebellion, Khusrau could not afford to lose the loyalty of any more Persian aristocrats.
But, for the most part, the Emperor of Persia had sent Kurush because of the man’s own qualities. For all his youth, Kurush was an excellent military commander in his own right. And, best of all, he was familiar to Belisarius. The two men had worked together the year before, during Belisarius’ campaign in northern Mesopotamia.
When Belisarius strode through the open flaps of the field headquarters’ entrance, he saw that the four Persian officers were bent over the table in the center of the tent, admiring the huge map.
“This is marvelous!” exclaimed Kurush, seeing Belisarius. The nobleman strode forward, gesticulating, with the nervous energy that was always a part of him.
“Where did you get the idea?” he demanded. He shook his head vigorously. “Not the map itself. I mean the—” Kurush snapped his head around, looking toward the Syrian craftsman whom Belisarius had trained as a cartographer. “What did you call it? Tapo—something.”
“Topography,” said the mapmaker.
“Yes, that’s it!” Kurush’s head snapped back to Belisarius. “Where did you get the idea? I’ve never seen any other maps or charts which show elevation and terrain features. Except maybe one or two prominent mountains. And rivers, of course.”
Belisarius shrugged. “It just came to me, one day.” His words were abrupt, even a little curt.
Typical, groused Aide. I never get any credit. Glory hound!
Belisarius pursed his lips, trying not to smile. This was a subject he did not want broached. Belisarius had once told Kurush’s uncle, the sahrdaran Baresmanas, the secret of Aide’s existence. But he didn’t think Kurush knew, and he saw no reason to change that state of affairs. The fact was that Aide had given him the idea, just as he had so many others that Belisarius had implemented.
Toil, toil, toil, that’s all I do. A slave in the gold mines, while you get to prance around in all the finery. Good thing for you trade unions haven’t been invented yet, or I’d go out on strike.
Wanting to change the subject—as much to keep from laughing as anything else—
The eight-hour day! For a start. Wages, of course. Not better wages, either—any wages. I’m not getting paid at all, now that I think about it. Exploiter! Then—
—Belisarius drove over Aide’s witticisms—
—there’s the whole matter of benefits. I’ll let the medical slide, seeing as how the current state of medical practice makes me shudder, but—
—along with Kurush’s onrushing stream of questions.
I demand a pension. Thirty-and-out, nothing less!
“Are any Persian towns in your eastern provinces centers of artisanship?” asked Belisarius. “Especially metalworking?”