“Done, then,” said Khusrau. He cocked his head quizzically at Belisarius. “And is there anything else? Any other subtle Roman stratagem, which needs to be finagled past a dimwitted Aryan emperor?”
The laugh which swept the tent this time was neither small nor brief. And, by its end, had given the alliance between Rome and Persia yet another link of steel.
Odd, really, came Aide’s soft thoughts in Belisarius’ mind. That humor can be the strongest chain of all, binding human destiny.
Belisarius began some philosophical response, but Aide drove over it blithely. It’s because you protoplasmic types are such dimwits, is what it is. Logic being beyond your capability, you substitute this silly fractured stuff you call “jokes.”
Whether or not Belisarius’ face got a pained expression at those words was impossible for him to determine. Because it certainly did as Aide continued.
Speaking of which, did I tell you the one about the crystal and the farmer’s daughter? One evening, it seems, the daughter was in the field—
Chapter 30
Trying not to wince, Belisarius studied the young—the very young—officer standing in front of him. As always, Calopodius’ smooth face showed no expression at all. Although Belisarius thought—perhaps—to detect a slight trace of humor lurking somewhere in the back of his eyes.
I hope so, he thought, rather grimly. He’ll need a sense of humor for this assignment.
Aide tried to reassure him. It worked for Magruder on the peninsula.
Belisarius managed his own version of a mental snort. Magruder was facing McClellan, Aide. McClellan! You think that vaudeville trickery would have worked against Grant or Sherman? Or Sheridan?
He swiveled his head, looking through the open flap of his command tent toward the Malwa across the river. He couldn’t see much in the way of detail, of course. Between the width of the Indus and the inevitable confusion of a large army erecting fieldworks, it was impossible to gauge the precise size and positions of the Malwa forces besieging Sukkur.
But Belisarius wasn’t trying to assess the physical characteristics of his enemy. He was trying, as best he could, to gauge the mentality of the unknown Malwa officer or officers who commanded that great force of men. And, so far at least, was not finding any comfort in the doing.
True, the enemy commander—whoever he was—seemed to be somewhat sluggish and clumsy in the way he handled his troops. Although, as Belisarius well knew, handling large forces in siege warfare was a sluggish and clumsy task by its very nature. “Swift and supple maneuvers” and “trench warfare” fit together about as well as an elephant fits into a small boat.
But the enemy commander didn’t have to be particularly talented to make Belisarius’ scheme come apart at the seams. He simply had to be . . . determined, stubborn, and willing to wrack up a butcher’s bill. If anything, in fact, lack of imagination would work in his favor. If McClellan hadn’t been such an intelligent man, he wouldn’t have been spooked by shadows and mirages.
It’s not the same thing, said Aide, still trying to reassure. If Magruder hadn’t kept McClellan pinned in the peninsula with his theatrics, Richmond might have fallen. The worst that happens if Calopodius can’t manage the same—
For a moment, the crystal’s faceted mind shivered, as if Aide were trying to find a term suitably majestic. Or, at least, not outright . . . But he failed.
All right, I admit it’s a stunt. But if it doesn’t work, all that happens is that Calopodius and his men retreat to the south. There’s no disaster involved, since you’re not depending on him to protect your supply lines.
Another pause, like a shivering kaleidoscope, as Aide tried to find another circumlocution. Belisarius almost laughed.
Because I won’t have any supply lines, he finished. Because I’m going to be trying a stunt of my own. Marching through two hundred miles of enemy territory, living off the land as I go.
Aide seemed determined to reassure, no matter what. It worked for—
I know it worked for Grant in the Vicksburg campaign, interrupted Belisarius, a bit impatiently. I should, after all, since this whole campaign of mine is patterned after that one—except that I propose to take Atlanta in the bargain. Well . . . Chattanooga, at least.