up a chiliarch yourself, soon enough. I'll need several for all those troops, with Maurice in overall command."
Ashot, again, groped for words.
"I don't think—that's a lot of Thracians, general. Five thousand? Seven thousand?" Hesitantly: "And I'm Armenian. I get along well with the Thracians you've got now, that's true. They've known me for a long time. But I don't know that new Thracian boys are going to be all that happy with an Armenian—"
"If they can't handle it," replied Belisarius harshly, "I'll pitch them out on their ear." His smile returned. "Besides—who said they'd all be Thracians?" He chuckled, seeing Ashot's frown.
"I don't have time, any longer, for anyone's delicate sensibilities. I want five thousand bucellarii—the best cataphracts anywhere in the world—as fast as I can get them. A big chunk—possibly the majority—will be Thracian. But they'll be lots of Illyrians and as many Isaurians as we can find who are willing to become cataphracts. Isaurians are tough as nails. Beyond that—" He shrugged. "Anyone who can fight well, and can learn to become a cataphract. Greeks, Armenians, Egyptians, barbarians—even Jews. I don't care."
Ashot had overcome his initial surprise, and was now tugging on his beard thoughtfully. "Expensive, general. Five thousand bucellarii—even if you're not as generous as usual—you're looking at—"
He broke off, remembering. He had seen the Malwa treasure which Belisarius had brought back from India. True, Belisarius had given three-fourths of that bribe to Shakuntala. But the remainder was still an immense fortune, by any except imperial standards.
Ashot nodded.
"Yes, you can afford it. Even with liberal pay and equipment bonus, you've got enough to cover five thousand bucellarii for at least four years. After that—"
"After that," said Belisarius coldly, "there'll either be plenty of booty or we'll all be dead."
Ashot nodded. "A new world," he murmured.
A cry from Anastasius drew their attention.
"There's Sittas! I can see him!"
Belisarius and Ashot looked forward. The dromon was just passing through the double breakwaters which marked the entrance to the small Harbor of Hormisdas, the private harbor of Rome's emperors. Behind the harbor rose the hills of Constantinople. The Great Palace, though it was nearby, was hidden behind the slope. But they could see the upper levels of the Hippodrome. And they could hear the roar of the mob gathered within it.
Belisarius'
Ashot, again, groped for words.
"I don't think—that's a lot of Thracians, general. Five thousand? Seven thousand?" Hesitantly: "And I'm Armenian. I get along well with the Thracians you've got now, that's true. They've known me for a long time. But I don't know that new Thracian boys are going to be all that happy with an Armenian—"
"If they can't handle it," replied Belisarius harshly, "I'll pitch them out on their ear." His smile returned. "Besides—who said they'd all be Thracians?" He chuckled, seeing Ashot's frown.
"I don't have time, any longer, for anyone's delicate sensibilities. I want five thousand bucellarii—the best cataphracts anywhere in the world—as fast as I can get them. A big chunk—possibly the majority—will be Thracian. But they'll be lots of Illyrians and as many Isaurians as we can find who are willing to become cataphracts. Isaurians are tough as nails. Beyond that—" He shrugged. "Anyone who can fight well, and can learn to become a cataphract. Greeks, Armenians, Egyptians, barbarians—even Jews. I don't care."
Ashot had overcome his initial surprise, and was now tugging on his beard thoughtfully. "Expensive, general. Five thousand bucellarii—even if you're not as generous as usual—you're looking at—"
He broke off, remembering. He had seen the Malwa treasure which Belisarius had brought back from India. True, Belisarius had given three-fourths of that bribe to Shakuntala. But the remainder was still an immense fortune, by any except imperial standards.
Ashot nodded.
"Yes, you can afford it. Even with liberal pay and equipment bonus, you've got enough to cover five thousand bucellarii for at least four years. After that—"
"After that," said Belisarius coldly, "there'll either be plenty of booty or we'll all be dead."
Ashot nodded. "A new world," he murmured.
A cry from Anastasius drew their attention.
"There's Sittas! I can see him!"
Belisarius and Ashot looked forward. The dromon was just passing through the double breakwaters which marked the entrance to the small Harbor of Hormisdas, the private harbor of Rome's emperors. Behind the harbor rose the hills of Constantinople. The Great Palace, though it was nearby, was hidden behind the slope. But they could see the upper levels of the Hippodrome. And they could hear the roar of the mob gathered within it.
Belisarius'