He’s right! said Aide to Belisarius. Marv would be perfect. The Seleucids walled the city eight hundred years ago. The whole oasis, actually. The Sassanids made it a provincial capital and a military center after they conquered the western part of the Kushan Empire. And Marv will become—would have become—the capital of Khorasan province after the Islamic conquest.
The Persian officers were staring at Vasudeva as if he were babbling in an unknown tongue. One of them turned his head and muttered to another: “I’ve never thought of Kushans as anything but soldiers.”
Vasudeva heard the remark. His smile returned. It was a very thin smile.
“Nobody does,” he said. “The fact remains that Kushans have been skilled artisans for centuries. Appearances to the contrary, we aren’t barbarian nomads.” He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “My father was a very good jeweler. I wanted to follow in his footsteps. But the Malwa had other plans for me.”
Belisarius felt a sudden rush of empathy for the stocky Kushan mercenary. He, as a boy, had wanted to be a blacksmith rather than a soldier. Until the demands of his class, and Rome, decreed otherwise.
“Damodara is smart enough,” he mused. He leaned back from the table. “More than smart enough.”
Belisarius began slowly pacing around. His softly spoken words were those of a man thinking aloud. “If he had good enough intelligence, that is. The Malwa spymaster, Nanda Lal, is a capable man—very capable—but I never got the sense, in the many days I spent in his company, that he thought much about manufacturing and artisanry. His orientation seemed entirely political and military. So where would Damodara have learned—?”
Narses!
“Narses,” snarled Maurice. “He’s got that stinking traitor working for him.”
Belisarius stopped his pacing and stared at the Thracian chiliarch. His own eyes held nothing of Maurice’s angry glare. They were simply calm. Calm, and thoughtful.
“That’s possible,” he said, after a few seconds. “I’ve never spotted him, through the telescope. But if he’s with Damodara’s army, Narses would be sure to stay out of sight.”
Belisarius scratched his chin. “Possible, possible,” he mused. “Narses was an expert on central Asia.” He gave Kurush a half-rueful, half-apologetic glance. “We always let him handle that side of our affairs with the Aryans. He was—well, I’ve got to be honest: superb—when it came to bribing and maneuvering barbarians into harassing Persia’s eastern provinces.”
For a moment, Kurush began to glower. But, within a couple of seconds, the glower turned into a little laugh.
“I know!” he exclaimed. “The grief that man caused us! It wasn’t just barbarians, either. He was also a master at keeping those damned eastern noblemen stirred up against imperial authority.”
Kurush took four quick strides to the entrance. He stared out and up, toward the crest of the pass. To all appearance, he was listening to the sound of the Malwa barrage. But Belisarius knew that the man’s thoughts were really directed elsewhere, both in time and space.
Kurush turned his head. “Assuming that you’re right, Belisarius, what’s the significance of it?”
“The significance, Kurush, is that it means this Malwa army is even more dangerous that we thought.” The Roman general moved toward the entrance, stopping a few feet behind Kurush. “What it means is that this army could ravage Mesopotamia on its own, regardless of what happens to the main Malwa army in the delta.”
Startled, Kurush spun around.
“They’re not big enough!” he exclaimed. “If Emperor Khusrau wasn’t tied up keeping the Malwa in Charax—” He stumbled to a halt; then, glumly: “And if we didn’t have the traitor Ormazd to deal with in upper Mesopotamia—” His words trailed off again. Stubbornly, Kurush shook his head.
“They’re still not big enough,” he insisted.
“They are, Kurush,” countered Belisarius. “If they have their own armament center—and I’m now convinced they do—then they are more than big enough.”
He stepped up to the entrance, standing right next to Kurush. His next words the general pitched very low, so that only the Persian nobleman could hear.
“That’s as good an army as any in the world, sahrdaran. Trust me. I’ve been fighting them for weeks, now.” He hesitated, knowing Kurush’s touchy Aryan pride, but pushed on. “And they’ve defeated every Persian army that was sent against them.”