The Tide of Victory

Sagacious or not, Khusrau's back was stiffening. Before he could utter words which might irrevocably commit him to any course of action, Belisarius hurried on.

"But that is only one reason you should not return. The other—the more important—is that your people need you in the Sind."

As Belisarius had expected, and counted on, the last words broke through Khusrau's gathering storm of outrage. The Persian emperor's eyes widened.

"My people?" he asked, confused. "In the

Sind?"

Belisarius nodded sagely. "Exactly so, Emperor. The Sind—as we agreed—is now Persian territory. And it is filled with terrified and desperate people, fleeing from the Malwa savagery. Your subjects, now, Khusrau of the Immortal Soul. Who have nowhere to turn for aid and succor but to you. Which they cannot do if you are locked away behind a Malwa siege at Sukkur."

Sittas—would wonders never cease?—took his turn as diplomat. "The Malwa were not able to do that much damage to the Sind itself, Emperor, before they were driven out. Burn some crops, destroy some orchards, ravage some towns and break open a part of the irrigation network. It is not irreparable damage, and much of the land remains intact. The problem is that the people who work that land are scattered to the winds. Still alive, most of them, but too confused and terrified to be of any use."

Belisarius picked up the thread smoothly. "That is where you are truly needed now, Emperor. Kurush can hold Sukkur, if any man can. You are needed in the south. Touring the countryside, visible to all, reassuring them that their new ruler has their interests at heart and will protect them from further Malwa outrages. And, as you go, organizing them to return to their villages and fields."

Khusrau swiveled his head and looked at Kurush. The young Persian officer straightened and squared his shoulders. "I agree, Emperor. No one can replace you in that

work. I can—and will—hold Sukkur for you, while you forge a new province for our empire."

Khusrau took a deep breath, then another. Then, as was his way, came to quick decision.

"So be it." He paused for a moment, thinking, before turning back to Belisarius. "I do not wish to drain any significant number of the men in Sukkur. Kurush will need them more than I."

The emperor jerked his head, pointing toward the entrance of the tent. "Twenty Immortals accompanied me here. I will keep those, as an immediate bodyguard. But I will need some of your Roman troops. Cavalrymen. Perhaps a thousand, in all."

Belisarius did not hesitate for an instant. He turned toward the small group of officers standing toward the rear of the tent. His eyes found the one he was seeking.

Jovius. He's steady and capable, but slow on maneuvers. An asset to Khusrau, and a bit of a headache to me.

"Take five hundred men, Jovius. All from the Thracian bucellarii. The emperor will want to start by going down the Indus"—he gave Khusrau a glance; the emperor nodded—"so you should encounter the Syrian cavalry coming north soon enough. When you do, tell Bouzes and Coutzes to provide you with another five hundred men. Or whatever number the emperor feels he might need. I'll write the orders to that effect later tonight."

Jovius nodded. Belisarius now gave Maurice a glance, to see if the commander of the bucellarii had any objection.

Maurice shrugged stolidly. "Five hundred Thracians won't make a difference, to us. Not where we're going. Your fancy plans will either work or they won't. And if they don't, five thousand Thracians couldn't save us from disaster."

Another little laugh arose in the tent. "Besides," continued Maurice, listening for a moment to the revelry still going on outside, "from the sound of things we won't be having too many discipline problems in the future. And those Greeks—I'll say it, just this once—are probably as good as Thracians on an actual battlefield."

"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."