Marus arrived at the home of Belisarius to find it empty save for the chickens and goats in the courtyard. Had anyone fed the animals? The servants who usually tended the animals and garden were nowhere in sight. Marus suspected they fled in fear that the house would be set afire. Marus had no such fear. He reasoned that Belisarius was far too powerful and close to Justinian. The rioters would not dare disturb this house.

His sense of duty and loyalty to Belisarius pervaded his thoughts and he went about the chores of the household. He spread grain for the chickens and set out grasses for the goats. The rhythm of everyday tasks had always given Marus pleasure. Even tasks that should be considered beneath him. The clucking chickens and bleating goats made him again reminisce about his childhood and all that had changed since meeting Belisarius. That first night his mother cooked and he carried the stew to the camp.

Upon hearing that an army from Constantinople had arrived in the area and were looking for provisions, Marus’ mother had set two additional pots to the fires. The soldier who accompanied Marus had said that a meal for the general and six of his staff would be most welcome. The rest of the lesser officers, the Calvary and the archers would eat the same biscuits they had been eating since leaving Constantinople.

The soldier had returned in the evening with two others to carry the stew back to the camp. Marus had insisted on accompanying them. They protested, saying it was not necessary, but Marus prevailed when he told them he wanted to make sure the stew was to the liking of the general and he could add spices if there were a problem.

Marus was unfamiliar with the workings of an army and expected to find only the most meager provisions. He was surprised to find the officers’ tents provisioned with not only cots for sleeping, but tables for writing and dining. A basic dish held each officer’s food which was eaten with the hand or slurped from the dish directly into the mouth.

Marus ladled the savory stew into a dish and attempted to hand it to Belisarius.  The action was intercepted by the young soldier who promptly brought the dish to his lips and took a small mouthful. He held it in his mouth for a minute or so, then chewed and swallowed. Marus stared.

“Ah, my young friend,” Belisarius said to Marus, “not everyone is friendly to army officers. Food can be easily poisoned and battles won without opposition.”

“I detect no unusual tastes, my general.” The soldier said. “In fact it is quite good.”

“Thank you. Now I will dine.” Belisarius took the bowl and added a bit more from the container himself. He nodded to his officers sitting around that the pot of food was safe for all to consume.

Marus waited just outside the tent as the officers ate. He carried the empty food pot back to his mother’s kitchen.

“Were they pleased?” she wanted to know.

He showed her the empty pot. “I believe everyone had their fill.” He set the pot aside and sat on his favorite stool. The one he used while watching her cook, so he could ask questions. “The Persian army is coming toward us. They say there will be thousands of men. This general, Belisarius, only brings a few hundred. I fear he cannot protect us.”

“Perhaps more are on the way.”

“It did not sound like it.”

“So, just one day around a general and you can predict their moves? Understand their minds?”

Marus blushed and smiled his embarrassment. His mother reached over and ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. “My son, we will stay behind the city walls and hope that this general can protect us. If not, our fate is with God. He will protect us. Always remember that.”

“Yes, mother.”

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