Belisarius almost laughed, then. He had never seen a better illustration of Maurice’s conviction that battles are by nature an unholy, contradictory mess, in which nothing ever works the way it’s supposed to. This time, however—and thank God for that!—it was his enemy who had fallen into the quagmire.
Ironically, Damodara’s best move was also his worst. If Belisarius had been planning to make a stand, Damodara’s transfer of forces would have been a masterstroke. But the Roman general had no intention of doing so. Instead, he was going to pivot his army in a retreat to the southwest, using his right flank as the hinge. His biggest fear had been that Damodara would break the hinge. But now, having depleted his left wing, Damodara had not a chance of storming the Syrians on the southern slope of the pass. Bouzes and Coutzes would be able to withdraw their men in an orderly manner, after covering the retreat of the rest of the army.
Marvelous, marvelous—assuming, of course, that Belisarius could blunt Sanga’s coming charge with his Thracians. And that—
He eyed the huge mass of Rajput cavalry on the northern slope.
That’s going to be—
“This is going to be fucking dicey,” growled Maurice. Belisarius turned in his saddle. Unnoticed, Maurice had already brought his horse alongside.
“It’s still a mountain pass, broad and shallow as it is, Maurice,” pointed out Belisarius. “It’s not a level plain. Sanga won’t be able to send more than five thousand at a time. Six at the most.”
Peering between the cheekplates of his helmet, Maurice’s eyes did not seemed filled with great cheer at this news. He could count just as well as Belisarius. The Thracians were still facing two-to-one odds, against an enemy with plenty of reserves.
“If we didn’t have stirrups,” said the chiliarch bleakly, “this’d be pure suicide.” He frowned. “Now that I think about it—why don’t the Malwa have stirrups? You’d think they would, by now.” Maurice glanced at Belisarius’ chest plate, below which Aide nestled in a leather pouch. “They’ve got their own visions of the future, don’t they?”
Belisarius shrugged. “Link’s mind doesn’t work like Aide’s. Aide is a—an aide. Link is the Supreme Commander of the Universe. I suspect the thing is so bound up with its great plans for future weapons that it didn’t think to build on the little possibilities which are already here. It certainly wouldn’t have thought to consult with its human tools—any more than you’d ask a hammer’s opinion if you were wielding it properly.”
Not likely, remarked Aide. For Link, people barely even qualify as tools. Just so much raw material.
Belisarius began to add something, but broke off. He could see the Greeks were ready to mount. And all of his Thracians were here, and in formation.
“May as well do it,” said Maurice, anticipating his general’s thought. Belisarius nodded. A moment later, Maurice passed on the command. The cornicens began to wail.
The Greeks surged out of the trenches and began clambering aboard their horses. They were tired, tired, but they found the strength regardless. They were getting out of here, and only had to make it down to the river below.
The Thracians began moving forward, toward the Rajputs. They were slowed a bit, making their way through the narrow spaces between the fieldworks which had been left open for sallies. By the time the bucellarii made it onto the open and relatively flat northern part of the saddle, Sanga had realized the truth. His own horns began blowing. The sound was different, in pitch and timbre, from that made by Roman cornicens. But Belisarius did not mistake their meaning.
Attack! Now! Everyone!
The huge mass of Rajput cavalry surged toward them. Belisarius ordered his own charge. There was no room here for the usual Roman tactic of preceding a lance charge with a murderous volley of arrows. No room—and no time. The Thracians were so badly outnumbered that Belisarius could only try to use their greater weight in a single blow of the hammer. The saddle was wide and shallow, for a mountain pass, but it was still not a level plain. If his cataphracts, with their heavier armor and lances—and stirrups—could smash the front ranks of the Rajputs into a pulp, that would stymie the rest. Long enough, hopefully, for the Thracians to be able to beat their own retreat.