Belisarius I Thunder at Dawn

by David Drake

  "Even Justinian doesn't believe that malarkey!" he protested.

  Belisarius smiled. "To the contrary, Sittas. I am just now returned from a formal audience with the Emperor, at which he indicated not the slightest disbelief in the official report of the battle."

  "Well, of course he didn't! Coutzes and Bouzes are Thracian. Justinian's Thracian." Sittas eyed Belisarius suspiciously. "You're Thracian too, for that matter." He looked at Irene. "They stick together, you know." Another swallow. "Wretched rustics! A proper Greek nobleman doesn't stand a chance anymore." He glared at Belisarius. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

  Then, to Irene: "He probably swore an oath. He's always swearing oaths. Swore his first oath when he was four, to a piglet. Swore he'd never let anyone eat the creature. Kept his oath, too. They say the pig's still around, roaming the countryside, devouring everything in sight. The Bane of Thrace, the thing's called now. The peasants are crying out for a new Hercules to come and rid them of the monster." A belch. "That's what comes of swearing oaths. Never touch the things, myself."

  He glared at Belisarius again, then heaved a sigh of resignation. "All right, then. Forget the juicy stuff. Tell me about the battle."

  "I'm sure you've already heard all about it."

  Sittas sneered. "That crap! By the time courtiers and imperial heralds get through with the tale of a battle, there's nothing in it a soldier would recognize." He scowled. "Unfortunately, whatever his other many talents, our Emperor is no soldier. The court's getting worse, Belisarius. It's getting packed with creatures like John of Cappadocia and Narses. And the most wretched crowd of quarreling churchmen you ever saw, even by the low standards of that lot."

  "Don't underestimate Narses and John of Cappadocia," said Irene, lightly but seriously.

  "I'm not underestimating them! But—ah, never mind. Later. For the moment—" He set down his cup and leaned forward, elbows on knees. The keen eyes which now gazed at Belisarius had not the slightest trace of drunkenness in them.

  Most people, upon meeting Sittas, were struck by his resemblance to a hog. The same girth, the same heavy limbs, the same pinkish hide—unusually fair for a Greek—the same jowls, blunt snoutish nose, beady little eyes. Belisarius, gazing back at his best friend, thought the resemblance wasn't inappropriate. So long as you remembered that there are hogs, and then there are hogs. There is the slothful domestic hog in his wallow, a figure of fun and feast. And then, there is the great wild boar of the forest, whose gaze makes bowels turn to water. Whose tusks make widows and orphans.

  "The battle," commanded the boar.

  Belisarius made no attempt to cut short his recital of the battle. Sittas was himself an accomplished general, and Belisarius knew full well that his friend would not tolerate an abbreviated or sanitized version of the tale. And whatever minor aspects Belisarius overlooked, Sittas was quick to bring forward by his shrewd questioning.

  When he was done, Sittas leaned back in his couch and regarded Belisarius silently. Then: "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Don't play with me, Belisarius! You provoked the Medes, when you could have stalled. And then you took enough chances to give the Fates themselves apoplexy. Why? There was no point to that battle, and you know it as well as I do." He waved his hand disgustedly. "Oh, sure, as the courtiers never tire of saying, it's the greatest victory over the Persians in a century. So what? We've been at war with Persia for two thirds of a millennium. Longer than that, for us Greeks. Never be an end to it, unless common sense suddenly rears its ugly head upon the thrones. We're not strong enough to conquer Persia, and the Medes aren't strong enough to conquer us. All this warring does is depopulate the border areas and drain both empires. That's my opinion. And it's your opinion, too, unless you've suddenly been seized by delusions of grandeur. So I ask again: why?"

  Belisarius was silent. After a moment, Irene smiled faintly and rose.

  "May I show you the gardens, Antonina?"

  * * *

  Once they were in the gardens, Antonina took a seat on a stone bench.

  "You needn't bother," she said. "I've seen them before."

  Irene sat next to her. "Aren't they something? I'm afraid Sittas' taste in horticulture is every bit as grotesque as his taste in furnishings."

  Antonina smiled. Her eye was caught by a statue. The smile turned to a grimace.

  "Not to mention his taste in sculpture."

  The two women stared at each other for a moment.

  "You'd like to know who I am," said Irene.

  Antonina nodded. Irene cocked her head quizzically.

  "I'm curious. Why do you assume that I'm something other than Sittas' latest bedmate?"

  "Two reasons. You're not his taste in women, not even close. And, if you were one of his usual bedmates, he'd never have invited you to sit in on this meeting."

  Irene chuckled. "I'm his spy," she said.

  Seeing the startled look on Antonina's face, Irene held up a reassuring hand. "I'm afraid that didn't come out right. I'm not spying on you." She pursed her lips. "It would be more accurate to say that I'm Sittas' spymaster. That's why he asked me to join him in this—meeting. He is concerned, Antonina."

  "About what? And since when has Sittas needed a spymaster?"

  It was Irene's turn to look startled. "He's had a spymaster since he was a boy, practically. All Greek noblemen of his class do."

  Antonina snorted. "You mean Apollinaris? That pitiful old coot couldn't find his ass with both hands."

  Irene smiled. "Oh, I believe Apollinaris could manage that task well enough. In broad daylight, at least. At night, I admit, he would have considerable difficulty." She brushed back her hair, hesitated, then said:

  "About a year ago, Sittas decided he needed a real spymaster. He inquired in various places, and my services came highly recommended. He retired Apollinaris—on a very nice pension, by the way—and hired me. My cover, so to speak, is that I am his latest paramour."

  She pursed her lips. "As deceptions go, it has its weaknesses. As you say, I'm not really his type."

  "That's putting it mildly."

  "Can you tell me what's going on in there?" asked Irene, gesturing with her head toward the door to the mansion.

  "No," replied Antonina. "Not yet, at least. Later—perhaps. But not now."

  Irene accepted the refusal without protest. A servant appeared, bearing a platter of food and wine, which he set upon a nearby table. Antonina and Irene moved over to the table and spent the next few minutes in companionable silence, enjoying their meal. Whatever his lack of taste in furnishings, neither woman could fault the excellence of Sittas' kitchen.

  Pushing aside her plate, Antonina spoke.

  "Please answer the question I asked earlier."

  Irene's response was immediate. "The reason Sittas is concerned enough to hire me—and my services don't come cheaply—is because there's skullduggery in Constantinople."

  Antonina snorted. "Please, Irene! Saying there's skullduggery in Constantinople is like saying there's shit in a pigsty."

  Irene nodded. "True. Perhaps I should say: there's a lot more skullduggery going on than usual, and, what's of much greater concern, the nature of it's unclear. Something is afoot in Constantinople, Antonina. Something deep, and well hidden, and cunning, and utterly treacherous. What it is, I have not yet been able to discover. But I can sense it, I can taste it, I can smell it." Again, she groped for words. "It is—there. Trust me."

  Antonina arose and began pacing about the garden. She glanced at the door which led back to the interior of the mansion.

  "Will they be finished yet?" asked Irene.

  Antonina shook her head. "No. Sittas will—need time to recover."

  Irene frowned. "Recover from what?"

  Antonina held up a hand, stilling her. She continued to pace about, frowning. Irene, with the patience of a professional, simply sat and waited.

  After a while, Antonina stopped pacing and came over to Irene. She paused, took
a deep breath. Hesitated again.

  A voice came from the doorway. A horrible, croaking voice.

  "Come inside, both of you."

  Irene gasped. Sittas looked positively haggard. He seemed to have shed fifty pounds.

  * * *

  Once they were back in the salon, seated on their couches, Sittas croaked:

  "Tell her, Belisarius."

  Belisarius stared at Irene.

  "I haven't even told Maurice, Sittas."

  "Of course not! There's no reason to, at this point. But we need Irene. Now."

  Belisarius remained silent, still examining Irene. Sittas' back curved, his great shoulders hunched, his snout thrust forward. The wild, red-eyed boar spoke:

  "Tell her."

  Belisarius transferred his gaze to Sittas. The boar was in full fury now, tusks glistening.

  "Tell her!"

  Belisarius' calm eyes never wavered. He was a Thracian, reared in the countryside. He'd speared his first boar when he was twelve.

  The red glare faded from Sittas' eyes, replaced, suddenly, by a shrug. And then, a wide grin.

  "Funny, that usually works. Damned Thracians! But you may as well tell her, Belisarius. She'll winkle it out of me, anyway, unless I fire her. Which is the last thing I'd do now."

  Belisarius looked at Antonina. His wife nodded.

  "Tell her, husband. I trust her."

  Chapter 10

  When Belisarius was finished, Irene looked at her employer. The normal pink coloring had returned to Sittas' hide, but his face still looked almost drawn beneath the jowls.

  "Believe, Irene," he said. "He only gave you the gist of it, but—" Sittas drew in a deep breath. "I held the jewel and saw—Never mind. Just believe it."

  "May I see it?" she asked. Belisarius reached into his coat and withdrew the jewel. Irene rose and walked over, stooped, examined the thing. After a moment, she returned to her seat.

  "It makes sense," she said, nodding. "Actually, it clarifies much that was obscure." Seeing the questioning looks around her, she elaborated:

  "I've been encountering occasional tips, obscure hints, that pointed toward India as the source of the current—disturbances. Much of it, at least. But I discounted the rumors. India is far away, and except for trade, far removed from the normal concerns of Rome. I assumed the converse must also be true. What interest could India possibly have in the machinations of the Byzantine court?"

  "What do you know about India?" asked Antonina.

  Irene shrugged. "Which India? Don't forget, Antonina, India is a huge place. It's larger than Europe, in area alone, and much more densely populated. It's the biggest mistake Westerners make, actually. We try to imagine India as a single country, rather than a continent."

  She rose again and poured herself some wine. Then filled Sittas' cup to the brim. This time, his hand was shaking. Slightly. She offered some wine to Belisarius and Antonina, but they declined. Irene resumed her seat and continued.

  "India hasn't been unified under one throne for over half a millenium, not since the Mauryan Empire collapsed. The Gupta Empire which eventually replaced it was confined to north India. The south remained under the control of independent monarchs."

  She hesitated again, her eyes slightly unfocused. It was obvious she was recalling information.

  "Or, at least, that was true until recently. The Gupta Empire broke in half, a few decades ago, and the western half was invaded by the White Huns. The Ephthalites, as we call them. Also known as—"

  "Ye-tai," interjected Belisarius.

  Irene nodded. "The White Huns—or Ye-tai—were apparently beaten back, and then some sort of accommodation was reached between them and the western dynasty, the Malwa. The Malwa dynasty, from what I've been able to glean, has since been expanding rapidly. They've finished reconquering most of north India, although they're apparently plagued with rebellions. And now, according to a few informants, they've begun their conquest of the south. They are at war now with the greatest, and most northerly, of the southern realms. A place called—"

  She hesitated, frowned, tried to dredge up the memory.

  "Andhra," stated Belisarius. "Ruled by the Satavahana dynasty."

  Irene nodded. "That's about all I know. To be honest, I never pursued the matter. India, as I said, seemed much too remote to be a real danger to Rome and, in any event, they were obviously preoccupied with their own problems."

  She waved a hand, dismissively. "And then, too, most of the tales you hear about India are at least half fantastical. Especially tales about the Malwa. Gods that walk the earth, magic weapons—" She stopped, stared at Belisarius.

  "Magic weapons, indeed," grunted Belisarius. "We've had no luck duplicating them."

  Irene looked at the general's wife.

  "Belisarius is being too pessimistic," said Antonina. "We've only just gotten started in that work. It's only been a few months since we first encountered the jewel ourselves. It's taken that long to get established on the estate which Cassian gave us. John of Rhodes has been in residence now for only three months, and the workshop has barely been set up." She shook her head firmly. "So, under the circumstances, I think it's much too early to make any clear assessment of our success in duplicating the Malwa weapons."

  "Has the jewel been of any help?" asked Sittas.

  Belisarius shook his head. "No, not in that regard. I can sense that it's trying, but—it is very difficult for the thing to communicate with me, except through visions. And those aren't very useful when it comes to weaponry." Strangely, he grinned. "As a rule, I should say. However—we must have a joust soon, Sittas!"

  His enormous friend sneered. "Why? I'll just knock you on your ass like I always do. Shrimp."

  Belisarius grinned evilly. "You're in for a surprise, large one. The jewel has succeeded in giving me one simple new device. Simple, but I guarantee it will revolutionize the cavalry."

  Sittas looked skeptical. "What is it? A magic lance?"

  "Oh, nothing that elaborate. Just a simple little gadget called stirrups." He grinned again, very evilly. "By all means. A joust—and soon!"

  Belisarius turned back to Irene. "Where does the Malwa conquest of south India stand now?"

  Irene frowned. "I really don't know. As of my last report, which was three months ago, the Malwa had just begun their siege of the Andhra capital." She paused, estimating time factors. "Given that the report itself probably took months to get here, I would assume the siege began approximately a year ago. Apparently, it's expected to be a long siege. The Andhra capital is reported to be well fortified. It's located at a place called—" She hesitated, looked away, again trying to bring up the information.

  "It is located at a place called Amavarati," said Belisarius. The general continued, seeming for all the world, like a man possessed by a vision. "In a short while the palace will fall to the Malwa. Within the palace is a young princess named Shakuntala. She will be the only survivor of the dynasty. She will be captured and taken north to the palace of a high Malwa official, destined to be his concubine. A man will be lying in the reeds outside, wounded. His name is Raghunath Rao. When he recovers from his wounds, he will go north himself, tracking the princess and her captors. He will find her at the palace, but will be unable to rescue her in time. Before he can do so, the owner of the palace will return from some mission he was sent on by the Malwa emperor. He will die then, as will the princess."

  Belisarius clenched his teeth, remembering another man's hatred.

  "The Vile One, that official is called. Venandakatra. Venandakatra the Vile."

  Irene shot to her feet. "Venandakatra?" she demanded. "You are sure of that name?"

  Belisarius stared at her. "Quite sure. It is a name burned into my memory. Why?"

  "He's here! In Constantinople!"

  When the uproar which followed Irene's announcement subsided, Belisarius resumed his seat.

  "So that's the mysterious mission Venandakatra was sent on," murmured Belisarius.


  "This doesn't make sense," complained Sittas. "I've met the fellow myself, by the way. At one of the endless receptions at the Great Palace. A greasy sort, he struck me. But I spent no time with him. He presented himself as simply a modest envoy seeking to expand trading opportunities with Rome." Sittas waved his hand airily. "Not my interest, that sort of thing."

  Irene snorted. "Just the money that comes from it."

  Sittas grinned. "Well, yes. I believe my family does have a small interest in the Indian trade."

  "They control at least a fourth of it," retorted Irene. "If not more. Your family are no slouches themselves when it comes to keeping secrets."