Belisarius nodded and strode back toward the gardens. This time, as he made his way through the building, he ordered the men inside to clear a lane for him.
"I'll be coming through here, soon enough, running as fast as I can. I warn you, boys—I'll trample right over the man standing in my way. And I'm wearing spurs, I hope you notice."
The soldiers grinned, pressed aside, cheered.
His only acknowledgement:
* * *
Ten minutes later, Felix called out the news across the gardens. "
Five minutes after he shouted, "
Then:
"
For a man wearing full cataphract armor, Belisarius thought he did quite well, racing—so to speak—through the building. The men who formed the flesh-and-steel walls on both sides certainly thought so, judging from their encouragement.
And, one enthusiast:
"
As soon as he burst out of the doorway onto the grounds, the cornicens started blowing. From the corner of his eye, Belisarius caught the red and green bursts of the signal rockets. But the sole focus of his eyes was the saddled and readied horse ahead of him.
Belisarius almost stumbled, then, from sheer surprise. Standing by the horse, ready to hoist the general aboard, was Anastasius. The giant's own charger was not far away, with a mounting stool at its side.
"How'd you get here?" demanded the general.
"Don't ask," grunted Anastasius, heaving Belisarius onto the horse by sheer brute strength. The huge cataphract headed for his own horse.
Belisarius gathered up the reins. He could see the mass of Greek cataphracts and Syrian light cavalry starting their sally. The horsemen were already dividing into columns, splitting around the villa, heading for the portals in the opposite walls.
A part of his mind noticed that their formations were good—reasonably orderly, and, best of all, well organized. The rest of his mind, briefly, wrestled with a mystery.
"How did you get here?" he asked again. This time, to the man already mounted and ready at his side.
"Don't ask," hissed Valentinian. The cataphract gave Anastasius a weasel glare. "
Anastasius, trotting up on his horse, caught the last words. A grin split his rock-hewn face.
"Moses wasn't as big as I am," he said. He extended his enormous hand, like an usher.
"After you, sir. Victory is waiting."
"So it is!" cried Belisarius. "So it is!"
He spurred his mount into a gallop. He was not worried about exhausting his horse, now. They didn't have far to go. He was only concerned with getting to the front of the charge, and leading it to victory.
By the time he pounded around the villa, and saw the nearest portal, he had achieved that immediate goal. The Syrian infantrymen who were hastily opening the gates—tossing aside the splintered wreckage of the gates, more precisely—barely had time to dodge aside before Belisarius drove past. Valentinian and Anastasius came right behind, followed by droves of cataphracts.
The infantrymen were cheering wildly; the cata-phracts were bellowing their battle cries. But Belisarius only had ears for an expected mutter.
It never came. He glanced over his shoulder, cocking a quizzical eye.
A weasel's glare met his gaze. A weasel's hiss:
"Ah, what's the fucking use?"
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Contents
Framed
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Contents
Chapter 20
The general's first thought, as he came around the villa onto its eastern grounds, was to make a quick assessment of the tactical situation. He had seen nothing of the battle directly, since his return to the villa after the first cavalry charge.
That urgent purpose almost led him to an immediate and humiliating downfall.
Downfall, in the literal sense. Dead, dying and badly wounded Malwa soldiers were scattered all across the grounds in front of the villa. In places, the bodies were piled two and three deep. Belisarius was concentrating so intently on the live Malwa troops that he was oblivious to the obstacles posed by the dead ones. His mount stumbled on a corpse and almost spilled his rider. Only the superhuman reflexes which Aide gave him enabled Belisarius to keep himself in the saddle and his horse on its feet.
