"David Drake - Belisarius 3 - Destiny's Shield" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

"And Anthony's," qualified the monk.
Justinian waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, and the Patriarch's help, of
course. But you are the key."
"Why?" demanded Michael.
Belisarius replied. "Because changing an empire's habits and customs -- built
through the centuries -- will require religious fervor. A popular movement,
driven by zeal and conviction. I don't disagree with Justinian, on that point.
He's right -- soldiers just create martyrs." He cleared his throat. "And, for
the other -- well, Anthony is as kindly, even saintly, a man as I ever hope to
meet. The ideal Patriarch. But -- "
A wintry smile came to the monk's gaunt face. "He is not given to smiting the
unrighteous," concluded Michael. The Macedonian shifted position in his chair,
much like a hawk sets his talons on a tree limb. "I have no such qualms, on
the other hand."
"Rather the contrary," murmured Justinian.
The former Emperor smiled grimly. He quite approved of Michael of Macedonia.
The Stylite monk was a holy man, which Justinian most certainly was not. Yet
they shared a certainly commonality of spirit. A Thracian peasant and a
Macedonian shepherd, as youths. Simple men, ultimately. And quite savage, each
in their own way.
Belisarius spoke again, shaking his head. "We've already decided to send
Michael's monks to Egypt, Justinian. I agree that they'll help. The fact
remains, however, that without military force those monks will just wind up
another brawling faction in the streets. Our military forces were already
stretched -- and now, I will be taking what few troops we can spare to combat
the Malwa in Persia. We cannot divert those forces, Justinian, and the
imperial treasury is too bare to finance the creation of a new army."
Suddenly, images flashed through Belisarius' mind.
Ranks of cavalrymen. Their weapons and armor, though well made, were simple
and utilitarian. Over the armor, they wore plain tunics. White tunics, bearing
red crosses. Parading through the main thoroughfare of a great city. Behind
them marched foot soldiers, also wearing that simple white tunic emblazoned
with a huge red cross.
The general burst into laughter.
Thank you, Aide!
He turned to Michael. "Have you chosen a name for your new religious order?"
The Macedonian grimaced. "Please, Belisarius. I did not create that order. It
was created by others -- "
"Inspired by your teachings," interjected Justinian.
" -- and practically foisted upon me." The monk scowled. "I have no idea what
to do with them. As much as anything else, I offered to send them with
Antonina to Egypt because they were demanding some holy task of me and I
couldn't think of anything else to do with them."
The general smiled. For all his incredible -- even messianic -- force of
character, Michael of Macedonia was as ill-suited a man as Belisarius had ever
met for the executive task of leading a coherent and disciplined religious
movement.
"Someone must have brought them together," he said. "Organized them. It wasn't
more than a month after you began your public sermons in the Forum of
Constantine that bands of them began to appear in the streets spreading your