Eric Flint: Destiny's shield

Agathius shook his head. "No, sir. Not really. I can sign my name well enough, as long as I've got some time. But-"

He fell silent. Not from embarassment so much as frustration.

The embarassment, in that moment, was entirely Belisarius'. The general should have remembered that a man of Agathius' background was almost certain to be illiterate.

The general waved his hand, as if brushing aside insects.

"Well, that'll have to change. Right off. I'll send word to Patriarch Anthony to send one of his best monks to be your tutor. Two of them, now that I think about it. Sudaba's probably not literate, either. Not a dehgan's daughter."

Grinning:

"Can't have that. Not in the wife of a Roman Senator, recently enrolled in the ranks of the Empire's illustres . By unanimous acclaim, mind you. I also got a private message from Sittas. He tells me the Emperor's nomination was extremely-ah, firm. Sittas himself took the occasion to appear before the Senate in full armor. In recognition-or so he told those fine aristocratic fellows-of the valor of the Greek cataphracts at Anatha and the Nehar Malka."

Grinning:

"The Emperor also saw fit to give the new Senator a grant of royal land, in keeping with his exalted status. An estate you've got now, Agathius, in Pontus. Quite a substantial one. Annual income's in the vicinity of three hundred solidi. Tax-exempt, of course. As an imperial grant, it's res privata. "

Grinning, grinning:

"Oh, yes. There's real soldier business, too, in addition to all the Senatorial fooferaw. You've been promoted. You're the new Dux of Osrhoene. That post carries an excellent salary, by the way. Another four hundred solidi. In addition to the troops stationed in that province, you have complete authority over all Roman military units serving in Persian Mesopotamia which are not directly under my command. You report only to me, in my capacity as magister militum per orientem. "

Grinning, grinning, grinning:

"As you can see, I've picked up a few new titles of my own. As Dux of Osrhoene, your official headquarters will be located at the provincial capital of Edessa. But I'd really prefer it if you based yourself here, in Peroz-Shapur. I've already discussed the matter with Baresmanas and Kurush, and they have no objection whatsoever. Quite the contrary, actually. They're even hinting that Khusrau will insist on presenting you with a palace. I think they would feel a lot more secure in Rome's allegiance if the commander of the Roman forces was planted right in their own territory. Along with his Persian wife and-"

Grinning, grinning, grinning, grinning:

"— soon enough, I've no doubt, a slew of children."

The grin finally faded, replaced by something which was almost a frown. "God in Heaven, Aga-thius! Did you really think I'd let one of the finest officers I've ever had go back to baking bread? On account of his legs ?"

Agathius was speechless.

Belisarius rose, smiling crookedly.

"You're speechless, I see. Well, that's good enough for today. But make sure you've got your wits about you by tomorrow- Duke . I'll be coming by, first thing in the morning. We've got a new campaign to plan, against Malwa. You won't be riding any horses in that campaign-you'll be staying right here in Peroz-Shapur-but I'll be relying on you to organize the whole Roman effort to back me up."

"I won't fail you," whispered Agathius.

"No," agreed Belisarius. "I don't imagine you will."

He turned away. "And now, I'll go tell your wife she can come back in. Best thing for you, I think."

He left, then, murmuring a little verse.

"Think where man's glory most begins and ends

And say my glory was I had such friends."

A captor and his captives

Two hours later, Belisarius was enjoying a cup of wine with Vasudeva in the barracks where the Kushan captives were quartered. A very small cup of wine.

"The Persians are back to their stingy habits," groused Vasudeva. The Kushan commander cast a sour look around the dingy room. He, along with fifteen of his top officers, were crammed into a space that would have comfortably fit six.

"Crowded, crowded," he grumbled. "One man uses another for a pillow, and yet another for a bed. Men wail in terror, entering the latrines. Leaving, they blubber like babes."

Glumly:

"Nothing to wager on, except whether we will eat the rats or they, us. Every Kushan is betting on the rats. Ten-to-one odds. No takers."

Philosophically:

"Of course, our misery will be brief. Plague will strike us down soon enough. Though some are offering odds on scurvy."

Belisarius smiled. "Get to the point, Vasudeva."

The Kushan commander tugged his goatee. "It's difficult, difficult," he muttered. "There are the proprieties to consider. People think we Kushans are an uncouth folk, but they are quite mistaken. Naturally, we have no truck with that silly Rajput business of finding a point of honor in the way you trim your beard, or peel a fruit. Still-" He sighed. "We are slaves. War captives taken in fair battle. Bound to respect our position, so long as we are not belittled."

From lowered eyelids, he gave Belisarius a keen scrutiny. "You understand, perhaps?"

The Roman general nodded. "Most certainly. As you say, the proprieties must be observed. For instance-" He drained his cup, then, grimaced. "Nasty stuff! I've gotten spoiled on that good Roman campaign wine, I suppose."

He wiped his lips, and continued, "For instance, if I were to bring you along on my next campaign as a slave labor force, the situation would be impossible. War captives used for labor must be closely guarded. Everyone knows that."

All the Kushans in the room nodded solemnly.

"Unthinkable to do otherwise," agreed Vasudeva. "Foolish for the captor, insulting to the captive."

"Yes. But since I will be undertaking a campaign of rapid maneuvers-feints, forced marches, counter-marches, that sort of thing-it would be impossible to detail any troops to waste their time overseeing a lot of surly, disgruntled slaves. Who would slow us down enormously, in any event, since they'd have to march on foot. Can't have slaves riding horses! Ridiculous. They could escape."

"Most improper," intoned Vasudeva. "Grotesque."

Belisarius scratched his chin. "It's difficult, difficult."

He raised his hand.

"A moment, please, while I consider the problem."

He lowered his head, as if in deep contemplation. Sent a thought inward.

Aide?

Piece of cake.

When Belisarius raised his head, a familiar expression had returned to his face. Seeing that crooked smile, the Kushans grinned.

He gave Vasudeva-and then, the other Kushan officers-a keen scrutiny of his own.

"You have heard, perhaps, that I have some small ability to see the future."

Vasudeva snorted. "You are a witch! Everyone knows that. Not even thumb-sucking Persians will take our wagers on that subject. And we offered very excellent odds. Twelve to one."

Belisarius chuckled.

"Slavery is an interesting condition, Vasudeva. It takes many forms. Different in the past than in the present. And different still, in the future. Many forms."

He leaned forward. Sixteen Kushans did likewise.

"Let me tell you about some slaves of the future."

Leaned forward. Leaned forward.

"They will be called- Mamelukes. "

A message and a promise

When Antonina opened the door, Koutina hurried into her bedroom.

"I was hoping you'd still be awake," said the maid, "even though you left the birthday celebration so early."

Her young face was eager, almost avid. She held out a sheet of papyrus.

"It's a message! A message! For you! They say it came by the semaphore network-all the way from Mesopotamia!"