In the Heart of Darkness b-2

by Eric Flint

  Belisarius smiled his crooked smile. "No doubt that man is doomed. But I will tell you this, Menander: I would rather stand with Raghunath Rao in the Pit than with the Patriarch Ephraim in Heaven."

  Belisarius spoke no further during the rest of their ride back to their camp. Menander, also, was silent, grappling with thoughts which were new to him, and which went far beyond the simple preachings of his village priest.

  They reached the grove within which the Romans and Ethiopians had pitched their camp. Still preoccupied, Menander gave only cursory attention to the task of guiding his horse through the trees. But once they broke through into the clearing at the center of the grove, all thoughts of theology vanished.

  "There's trouble, Menander," said his general softly.

  The moment Belisarius rode into the little clearing, he knew something was amiss. Ezana and Wahsi were both standing guard in front of Prince Eon's pavilion. Normally, only one or the other assumed that duty at any given time. What was even more noticeable was that two sarwen were actually standing guard. Usually, the sarwen on duty relaxed on a stool. There was no reason not to. For many weeks, now, the Romans and Ethiopians had been guarded by their Kushan escorts, a troop of over thirty men who were consummate professionals in their trade-and particularly expert at maintaining security.

  There was obvious tension in the pose of the Ethiopian soldiers. They weren't just standing-they were standing alertly, poised, and ready.

  Quickly, Belisarius scanned the clearing. The lighting was poor. Dusk was almost a memory, now, only a faint tinge of dark purple on the horizon. The sun itself had disappeared, and what little daylight still remained was blocked off by the trees surrounding the camp. For all practical purposes, the only illumination in the clearing was that cast by lanterns hanging from tent poles.

  His next glance was toward the two Roman tents, situated not far from Prince Eon's large pavilion. Both Valentinian and Anastasius, he noted, were standing in front of them. Much like the sarwen-alert, poised, tense.

  Next, he stared across the clearing to the line of tents which marked the Kushan part of the encampment. Normally, at this time of the evening, the Kushans would have been busy preparing their evening meal. Instead, they were gathered in small clusters, murmuring quietly, casting quick glances at Prince Eon's pavilion and-most of all-at the figure of their own commander.

  Belisarius now examined Kungas. The Kushan commander was standing alone. As always-now more than ever, it seemed to Belisarius-his face appeared to have been hammered out of an iron ingot. Kanishka, his nephew and second-in-command, stood not far away. From what little Belisarius could discern of his features, the young Kushan lieutenant seemed distressed.

  Kungas met his gaze. The Kushan said nothing, and there was not the slightest movement in that iron mask of a face. But Belisarius did not miss the almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.

  He knew what had happened, then. The sight of Garmat emerging from Eon's pavilion and hurrying toward him simply confirmed the knowledge.

  "All good things come to an end," he sighed, dismounting from his horse. By the time Garmat reached him, Menander was leading both of the horses away.

  "We have a problem, Belisarius," said Garmat urgently. "A very big problem."

  Belisarius smiled crookedly. "It couldn't last forever, Garmat. The Kushans are not stupid. To a point, of course, they will obey Kungas and ask no questions. But only to a point."

  He gave the Kushans another glance.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  Garmat shrugged. "You can hardly expect vigorous young people like Eon and Shakuntala-royalty, to boot-to share a tent, week after week, with no opportunity for exercise or even movement, without-"

  He sighed. Belisarius nodded.

  "They quarreled."

  Garmat smiled, faintly. "Oh, yes. A royal quarrel! What started it, I have no idea. They don't even remember themselves, now. But soon enough, Eon became overbearing and the Princess-the Empress, I should say-challenged him to single combat. Unarmed combat, of course. If he used weapons, she told him, he would be damned for eternity as a coward."

  For all the seriousness of the moment, Belisarius could not help bursting into laughter. The image which came to his mind was incongruously funny. Eon, Prince of Axum, was not a tall man. But he was amazingly well-muscled, and as strong as a bull. Whereas Shakuntala was a small girl, not half his weight.

  And yet-

  She had been trained to fight with her bare hands and feet by Raghunath Rao himself. Raghunath Rao, the Panther of Majarashtra. The Wind of the Great Country. India's most deadly assassin, among many other things.

  He shook his head with amusement.

  "I wonder how it would have turned out. They did not actually come to blows, I hope?"

  Garmat shook his head. "They are young and impetuous, but they are not insane. I gather that Shakuntala's challenge produced a sudden change of atmosphere in the tent. By the time I entered, they were exchanging profuse apologies and vows of good will."

  He tugged his beard. "Unfortunately, in the brief moments before that change of atmosphere, the environs of their pavilion were filled with the sound of loud and angry voices. And Shakuntala has quite a distinctive voice, you know, especially when raised in anger." Grudgingly, even admiringly: "A very imperial voice, in fact."

  Belisarius scratched his chin. "The Kushans heard her," he announced.

  Garmat nodded. Belisarius glanced at the Kushan soldiers again. They were still clustered in little knots, but, to his relief, they did not give the appearance of men on the verge of leaping into action.

  That momentary relief, however, cleared the way for another concern. Belisarius scanned the woods surrounding the clearing.

  As always, whenever possible, Belisarius had made their camp within a grove of trees. He had explained that preference to the Malwa, casually, as a matter of the comfort which the trees provided from the blistering sun of India. The Malwa, for their part, had made no objection. They were happy enough, for their own reasons, to see the foreigners secluded. Privately, the Malwa thought the outlanders were idiots. True, trees provided shade. But a good pavilion did as much, and trees also stifled the breeze and were a haven for obnoxious insects.

  The Malwa had also thought, happily, that trees would provide a haven for spies.

  As Belisarius watched, Ousanas appeared from the edge of the trees and padded into the clearing. The hunter was casually wiping blood from the huge blade of his spear.

  No Malwa spies now, thought Belisarius. His lips quirked into that distinctive, crooked smile.

  Ousanas was a slave, of sorts. Of a very, very odd sort. The tall African was not Ethiopian. Like the Axumites, his skin was black. But Ousanas' broad features had not a trace of the aquiline characteristics which distinguished those of most Ethiopians. He came from a land between great lakes which was-so Belisarius had been told-some considerable distance south of the Kingdom of Axum. He was the personal slave of Prince Eon-his dawazz, as the Axumites called his position. An adviser, of a sort. A very, very odd sort.

  When Ousanas reached Belisarius, he nodded curtly. The general noted that the hunter's usual beaming grin was entirely absent.

  "No spies now," said Ousanas softly. He jerked his head toward the tent.

  "Let us go in," he growled. "I must advise fool boy."

  Ousanas stalked toward the pavilion entrance, Garmat trailing in his wake like a remora trailing a shark. Belisarius felt a moment's pity for the young prince. The dawazz, when he felt it appropriate, was given to stern measures.

  Again, Belisarius quickly scanned the clearing. His own three cataphracts were now fully armed and armored, and their expressions were every bit as grim as those of the sarwen. Belisarius caught the eye of Valentinian and made a subtle motion with his hands. Valentinian relaxed slightly and muttered something to Anastasius and Menander. The cataphracts maintained their watchfulness, but they eased away from their former tension.
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br />   Belisarius now concentrated his attention on the Kushans, gauging their mood. The Malwa vassals were also armed, and obviously tense. But they too seemed willing to allow the situation to unfold before taking any decisive steps. They were angry, true-so much was obvious. Angry at their commander, for the most part, Belisarius thought. But they were also confused, and uncertain. Kungas was their commander, after all, and it was a position which he had earned on a hundred battlefields. And, too, they were all related by blood. Members of the same clan, banded together in service to the Malwa overlords. An unhappy and thankless service.

  Hard years had taught the Kushans to trust themselves alone, and, most of all, to trust their commander. Such habits cannot be overcome in an instant. Belisarius gauged, and pondered the angles, and made his decision. As always, the decision was quick. He strode across the clearing and planted himself before the Kushans.

  "Wait," he commanded. "I must go into the pavilion. Make no decisions until I return."

  The Kushans stiffened. The Roman general's words had been spoken in fluent Kushan. They knew his command of their language was good, but now it was perfect and unaccented. A few of them cast glances toward the trees.

  Belisarius smiled-broadly, not crookedly.

  "There are no spies. Not any more."

  The Kushans had also seen Ousanas emerge from the woods. And, if they did not know of the African's extraordinary skill as a hunter, they had never misunderstood the easy manner in which he handled the huge spear which was his everpresent companion. Imperceptibly, they began to relax. Just a bit.

  Belisarius glanced at Kungas. The Kushan commander nodded slightly. The Roman general wheeled and headed toward the pavilion. As he turned, he caught sight of Dadaji Holkar standing near the pavilion. Though middle-aged, and unarmed, and a slave, the man was obviously prepared to help defend the pavilion against assault.

  Belisarius did not smile, but he felt a great affection surge into his heart.

  "Come," he commanded, as he strode by Holkar. "I suspect you already know the truth, but you may as well see for yourself."

  As they entered the pavilion, Ousanas was just warming to his subject.

  "— be forced to tell negusa nagast he do better to drown his fool boy in the sea and beget another. Dakuen Sarwe be furious with me! Beat me for failing in my duty. But I bear up under the regiment's savage blows with great cheer! Knowing I finally rid of hopeless task of teaching frog-level intelligence to worm-brained prince."

  "No attack him!" snapped Shakuntala. "Was my wrongdoing!"

  The girl spoke in Ge'ez, as had Ousanas. Her command of the language of the Axumites was still poor, heavily accented and broken, but she understood enough to have followed Ousanas' tirade.

  The young woman was sitting crosslegged on a plush cushion to one side of the pavilion. Her posture was stiff and erect. For all her youth, and her small size, she exuded a tremendous imperial dignity.

  Ousanas scowled. He was not impressed by royalty. Axumites in general, and Ousanas in particular, shared none of the Indian awe of rulership. Ousanas himself was a dawazz, assigned the specific task of instructing a prince in the simple truth that the difference between a king and a slave was not so great. A matter of luck, in its origin; and brains, in its maintenance.

  The dawazz switched to Hindi, which was the common language used by all in the pavilion.

  "Next time, Empress," he growled, "do not challenge cretin prince to combat. Simply pounce upon him like lioness and beat him senseless. Fool girl!"

  Ousanas shook his head sadly. "True, royalty stupid by nature. But this! This not stupidity! This-this-" He groaned woefully. "There is no word for this! Not even in Greek, language of philosophy, which has words for every silliness known to man."

  Eon, squatting on his own cushion, raised his bowed head. The young prince-at nineteen, he was but a year or so older than Shakuntala-attempted to regain some measure of his own royal dignity.

  "Stop speaking pidgin!" he commanded.

  Belisarius fought down a grin. He knew Ousanas' rejoinder even before the dawazz spoke the words.

  Not speaking pidgin. Speaking baby talk. All fool prince can understand!

  When Belisarius had first met Ousanas, the year before in Constantinople, the African had spoken nothing but a bizarre, broken argot. Ousanas had maintained that manner of speech for months, until the alliance which Belisarius sought between Romans and Ethiopians had finally gelled, following a battle with pirates in the Erythrean Sea. Then-at the Prince's command-Ousanas had stopped pretending he spoke only pidgin Greek. The Romans had been astonished to discover that the outlandish African was an extraordinary linguist, who spoke any number of languages fluently. Especially Greek, which was a language Ousanas treasured, for he was fond of philosophical discourse and debate-to Anastasius' great pleasure and the despair of his other companions.

  Ousanas now launched into a savage elaboration of the ontological distinction between ignorance and stupidity.

  "— ignorance can be fixed. Stupid is forever. Consider, fool boy, the fate of-"

  "Enough," commanded Belisarius.

  Ousanas clamped his jaws shut. Then:

  "I was just warming to my subject," he complained sourly.

  "Yes, I know. Save it for another time, Ousanas. The Kushans will not wait that long."

  The general jerked his head toward the pavilion entrance.

  "We have to solve this problem. Quickly."

  Eon suddenly blew out his cheeks. His massive shoulders hunched.

  "What do they know?" he asked. He was looking at no one in particular.

  Garmat answered.

  "They know that Shakuntala is here, in this tent. Tonight." The adviser squatted himself, now, and stared at his Prince from a distance of a few feet.

  "That is all that they know," he continued. "But they are not stupid. They will also understand that she must have been with us ever since the massacre at Venandakatra's palace at Gwalior. They will understand that she did not flee with Raghunath Rao. They will understand that Rao led the Malwa on a merry chase while the Empress herself was smuggled into your entourage. And that we have hidden her ever since."

  He sighed. "And, most of all, they will now understand the reason why Kungas told them to pester our women these past weeks. Pester them, but not seriously. Just enough to trigger off phony brawls with our cataphracts and sarwen. Brawls which accidentally mangled some spies, and led the survivors to report that our escorts are every bit as salacious as Venandakatra had been led to believe."

  Garmat glanced at Belisarius, shrugged.

  "As I said, the Kushans are not stupid. By now, they will have heard that the reason they were withdrawn as Shakuntala's guards was because Venandakatra feared their lustfulness. And so he replaced them with mahamimamsa. Who fell like sheep when Rao entered the palace and rescued the Empress."

  The adviser stroked his beard. "So they will suspect that Belisarius engineered the entire thing from the very beginning. Although"-here he smiled-"they probably do not know that Belisarius gave Rao the very dagger which he used to carve up the torturers."

  "In other words," grumbled Ousanas, "they know everything."

  "Yes," stated Belisarius. "And, worst of all-it is obvious from looking at them-they know that their own commander must have been part of this scheme. In some sense, at least. They have no love for the Malwa, but they are still sworn to their service. Now they find they have been betrayed, by their own leader. If the Malwa discover the Empress now, their own lives will be forfeit."

  The general took a deep breath. "Unless they immediately recapture her, and hand Shakuntala back to their overlords."

  "They would have to turn over Kungas as well!" protested Eon. "The Malwa would never believe Kungas had not spotted Shakuntala."

  Belisarius nodded. "Yes, I'm sure they understand that also. And that is why they hesitate."

  He glanced toward the pavilion entrance again.

  "They will
hesitate for a while. But not for all that long. Those men are soldiers. The best of soldiers. Accustomed to hard and quick decisions. And accustomed to stern necessity, and to the realities of a bitter world. So we must somehow figure out-"

  Shakuntala interrupted.

  "Bring them into the pavilion. All of them. Now."

  Belisarius started. Not even the Roman Emperor Justinian-not even the Empress Theodora-could match that tone of command. That incredibly imperial voice.

  He stared at the girl. Shakuntala was very beautiful, in her exotic and dark-skinned way. But, at that moment, it was not a girl's beauty, but the beauty of an ancient statue.

  And that's the key, he mused. Justinian and Theodora, for all their power, were lowborn. How many emperors of Rome, over the centuries, could trace their ancestry back to royalty more than a generation or two? None. Whereas the Satavahana dynasty which ruled Andhra-

  "Great Andhra," he said aloud. "Broken Andhra, now. But even the fierce bedouin of the desert are awed by the broken sphinx."

  Shakuntala stared up at him. The general scratched his chin.

  "Are you certain of this course, Empress?" he asked. He glanced at the others in the pavilion. From the puzzled frowns on their faces, it was obvious that only Belisarius had discerned Shakuntala's purpose. He was not surprised. Her proposed move was bold almost beyond belief.

  She nodded firmly. "There is no other course possible, Belisarius. And besides-"

  She took a deep breath. Regality blazed.

  "— it is the only course open to the honor of Andhra. Any other would be foulness."

  She made a short, chopping gesture. "Let the Malwa rule so. I will not."

  The frowns surrounding the Empress and the general were deepening by the second. No others in the pavilion, it was obvious, had any understanding of what she was planning.

  Belisarius smiled crookedly and bowed.

  "As you command, Empress."

  He turned toward the entrance. Then, struck by a thought, turned back. His smile was now very crooked. "And there is this much, also. We will learn if Rao's favorite saying is really true."