He began to say something to that effect. But then, seeing the sudden tension in the way Belisarius pressed the telescope to his eye, Maurice fell silent. Something was happening.
“I think—” Belisarius muttered. “I think—”
An instant later he removed the telescope and nodded his satisfaction. “Sure of it. That’s Abbu in the prow of that oncoming galley. And those oars are beating to double time.”
He folded up the telescope with a vigorous motion. The cleverly designed eyepiece collapsed with not much more than a slight clap. The superb workmanship involved reminded Maurice of John of Rhodes, who had built the thing, and a little wave of sadness rolled over him.
Just a little wave, however, and not for long. Maurice had been a soldier for decades. Men died in war; it was the nature of the beast. Often enough, as with John, from pure and simple bad luck.
“Finally!” exclaimed Belisarius. “We’ll get some real news. Abbu wouldn’t be returning—not in a war galley beating double-time, for sure—unless he had something to report.”
Maurice grunted his own satisfaction. Like Belisarius—like any soldier worthy of the name—he hated being forced to maneuver blindly. And since the capture of Barbaricum, and a few initial clashes with Malwa detachments down in the delta, the Romans had lost contact with their enemy. Someone in Malwa command had moved quickly, so much was clear enough, and ordered a withdrawal.
But where had they withdrawn? How many? To what end? Those questions and a hundred others remained unanswered.
* * *
Abbu provided some of the answers as soon as he clambered aboard Belisarius’ little “flagship.” The old Arab was grinning, and practically danced across the deck.
“Khusrau hit them like a sledge!” he barked. Then, slapping one hand into the other: “Broke the Malwa outside Sukkur when the fools sallied, thinking they faced only light cavalry—ha! Persian dehgans! They must have voided their bowels when they realized—and then—” The scout leader paused for dramatic effect and, again, slammed one hand into the other. “Then he took the city itself!”
Belisarius and Maurice were frozen, for an instant.
“He took Sukkur?” demanded Belisarius. “But—that city was supposed to be walled. I even got descriptions of the walls from two of my spies!”
“He had no siege guns,” protested Maurice.
Abbu grinned. “It is a walled city, General. Very great walls, too—I have seen them myself.” The grin widened. “Great enough to withstand even the great Malwa army which is now besieging it themselves.”
Maurice was still groping with the puzzle. Belisarius’ quick mind leapt immediately to the only possible solution.
“The populace rebelled. The moment word arrived that Khusrau had broken the Malwa in the field, the populace rose up against the garrison.”
Abbu nodded vigorously. “Butchered plenty of the bastards, too, before Khusrau arrived. Of course, they couldn’t have subdued the garrison once it rallied. They would have been massacred. But they drove them off a section of the walls long enough to open the gates. And once the Persians were into the city, the Malwa were so much carrion.”
Belisarius’ thoughts were still ranging far. His eyes were fixed on the northern horizon, as if by force of will he could study everything that was transpiring there. Then, slowly, he scanned the surrounding countryside.
“I was wrong,” he murmured. “I saw only their fears.” His tone was half-bemused—and half-sad. “I have been a soldier too long.”
Aide understood, if no one else did.
Malwa has terrorized them for two generations. And now the fabled Emperor of Persia arrives, in his splendor and his glory, thundering out of the desert and surrounded by the might of his iron dehgans. The thoughts came soft and warm. Even peasants in the Sind will have heard tales of Rustam and his great bull-headed mace. Dim legends, and those of another people to boot. But for all their scarred memories, they will want to believe those legends. Especially now, with Malwa sharpening the ax.
“Yes,” said Belisarius. “Yes. It’s become a war of liberation. In name as well as in deed. And with Khusrau here himself, there is an immediate pole around which confused and frightened—and angry—people can rally. Khusrau will bring a legitimacy to the thing, which a purely military invasion force could not. A foreign ruler, true enough—but so what? The Sind has been ruled by foreigners for centuries. Now, at least, they will have one who is splendid as well as mighty. Just, as well as fearsome.”