Belisarius I Thunder at Dawn

by David Drake

  Again, the airy wave of the hand. "Yes, yes, no doubt. But I leave that business to my innumerable cousins. The point I was trying to make, before I was so rudely interrupted, is that this Venandakatra sounds like far too powerful an official to be sent on such a paltry mission. Are you sure we're talking about the same man? The name Venandakatra, after all, might be quite common in India."

  Belisarius shook his head and began to speak. Irene interrupted him.

  "Stick to your trade, Sittas. The whole thing makes perfect sense, if we assume that the jewel's visions of the future are accurate. Which"—a glance at Belisarius—"they obviously are. Venandakatra doesn't give a fig for trade. That's just a story to explain his presence. He's actually here to scout the territory, so to speak, and to lay the groundwork for the future attack on Rome."

  She stopped, concentrated, continued:

  "His cover, however, makes him vulnerable. He doesn't have a large retinue with him. He couldn't, not posing as a simple trading envoy. It wouldn't be difficult at all to have him assassinated."

  "No."

  Irene looked at Belisarius, startled.

  "Why in the world not? I didn't get the impression you were any too fond of the man."

  Belisarius tightened his jaws. "You cannot begin to imagine how much I despise him. But it's not for us to cut his throat."

  He rose and began pacing, working off nervous energy. He reached a hand into his cloak, pulled out a sheathed dagger, stared down at it. Slowly, he drew the dagger from its sheath.

  "I carry this with me always, now. It's been like a compulsion. Or a charm."

  He straightened up. "But I think it's time to return the dagger to its rightful owner. I must go to India and find Raghunath Rao."

  Antonina was pale, her hand at her throat.

  "You can't be serious," stated Sittas forcefully. "You're needed here, Belisarius! Not gallivanting around India. Good Lord! Irene's right, you know—India's immense, and you don't know anything about the place. Even if this man's still alive, how will you find him?"

  Belisarius smiled his crooked smile.

  "So long as Venandakatra is alive, I will know where to find Rao. Lurking nearby, like a panther waiting to strike, if he can see even the slightest opening. I will go to India, and I will find that man, and I will give him back his dagger and, somehow, I will give him his opening."

  He turned to Irene. "That's why Venandakatra can't be assassinated. It is essential that we forge an alliance with Raghunath Rao. And through him, with the surviving heir of the Satavahana dynasty. To do so, we must find him—and to find him, we need Venandakatra alive."

  Antonina cleared her throat. "But, husband, such a trip—"

  "Will take at least a year," finished Belisarius. "I know, love. But it must be done."

  "I think it's an excellent idea," said Irene firmly. She paused for a moment, allowing her statement to register on Antonina and Sittas. The two were obviously surprised to hear the spymaster side with Belisarius in what seemed to them a half-baked, impulsive scheme. Once Irene saw that she had their full attention, she continued.

  "Like Sittas, I do not understand why Belisarius thinks this man Rao is so important. Or this Princess Shakuntala. Although—" She stared at the general, gauging. "I will gladly accept his judgment. So should you, Sittas. Didn't you once tell me Belisarius is the most brilliant Roman general since Scipio Africanus? I suspect that same general is working on some grand strategy."

  Irene spread her hands in a gesture of finality. "But it doesn't matter, because Belisarius should go to India in any event. For one thing, we must obtain the best possible information concerning India. Especially its military capacity, and its new weapons. Who better to do that than Rome's best general?"

  Sittas began to speak. Irene drove him down.

  "Nonsense, yourself! You said he was needed here. For what? The Persian defeat will keep the Medes licking their wounds for at least a year. Several years, I estimate. So there won't be any danger from that quarter for a time."

  She drove over his protest again. "And even if the Persians do start making trouble before Belisarius gets back, I say again: so what? He may be Rome's best general, but he's not the only good one. You yourself are currently unemployed, except for those parade ground duties that bore you to death."

  She paused. A particularly garish tapestry hanging on the wall opposite caught her eye. Even in the seriousness of the moment, she found it difficult not to laugh. Her employer had obviously been the model for the heroic figure portrayed in the tapestry. A mounted cataphract in full armor, slaying some kind of monstrous beast with a lance.

  "Is that a lion?" she asked lightly.

  Sittas glared at the tapestry.

  "It's a dragon," he growled.

  "I didn't realize dragons were furry," commented Antonina idly. She and Irene exchanged a quick, amused glance. Sittas began to snarl something, but Belisarius cut him off.

  "Let's get back to the point," he said firmly. "I think Irene's suggestion is a good one. We might be able to get Sittas assigned to replace me in command of the army in Syria. That would put him close to the estate where Antonina's doing her work. With Sittas nearby, she'd still have access to expert military expertise when she needed it."

  Irene drove over Antonina's gathering protest.

  "You are not thinking, woman! You're worrying over Belisarius' safety and fretting over his prolonged absence." The spymaster was suddenly as cold as ice. "You are being a fool, Antonina. The worst danger to Belisarius isn't in India. It's right here in Constantinople. Better he should be gone for a year or so in India, than gone forever in a grave."

  Startled, Antonina stared at her husband. Belisarius nodded.

  "She's right, love. That's part of my thinking. Justinian."

  Antonina now looked at the spymaster. Irene grimaced.

  "At the moment," she said, "the greatest danger to Belisarius does come from Justinian. There's nothing the Emperor dreads so much as a great general. Especially one as popular as Belisarius is today, after his victory over the Persians."

  "An expedition to India would be perfect, from that point of view," chimed in Belisarius. "Get me out of Constantinople, away from the Emperor's suspicions and fears."

  Irene brushed back her hair, thinking.

  "Actually, if the whole thing's presented properly, Justinian will probably jump at it. He's not insane, you know. If he can avoid it, he'd much rather keep Belisarius alive. You never know when he might need a great general again, after all. But sending him to India, off and away for at least a year—oh, yes, I think he'd like that idea immensely. Get Belisarius completely out of the picture for a time, until the current hero worship dies down."

  Antonina's face was pinched. "How soon?" she whispered.

  "Not for at least six months," said Belisarius. "Probably seven."

  Antonina looked relieved, but puzzled.

  "Why so long?" she asked.

  "The trade with India," replied her husband, "depends on the monsoon seasons. The monsoon winds blow one way part of the year, the other way during the other part. You travel from India to the west from November through April. You go the other way—my way, that is—from July through October."

  He held up his hand, fingers outspread, and began counting off.

  "We're in the beginning of October. It's too late to catch the eastward monsoon for this year. It's almost over, and it would take at least a month or two to reach the Erythrean Sea. That means I can't leave for India until the beginning of July, next year. Mind you, that refers to the part of the trip beginning at the south end of the Red Sea. Figure another month—no, two—to get from here through the Red Sea."

  He began to calculate; Irene cut him short.

  "You won't be leaving Constantinople for India until April, at the earliest. Probably May. Which, incidentally, is when Venandakatra has already announced he plans to return to his homeland."

  Antonina's initial relief vanished.
<
br />   "But—Irene, from what you've already said, now is the most dangerous time for Belisarius to be in Constantinople. Six months! Who knows what Justinian might do in six months?"

  Irene brushed back her hair. "I know, I've been thinking about it while Belisarius was explaining the maritime facts of life. And I think I have a solution."

  She looked at Belisarius.

  "Are you familiar with Axum?"

  "The kingdom of the Ethiopians?" asked Belisarius. "No, not really. I've met a few Axumites, here and there. But—I'm a general, so there's never been any occasion for me to encounter them professionally. Rome and Axum have gotten along just fine for centuries. Why?"

  "I see a chance to kill two birds with one stone. As it happens, Venandakatra's is not the only foreign mission in Constantinople at the moment. There's also an Axumite embassy. They arrived two months ago. The embassy is officially headed by King Kaleb's younger son, Eon Bisi Dakuen. He's only nineteen years old. Barely more than a boy, although I've heard that he's made a good impression. But I think the actual leader of the embassy is Eon's chief adviser, a man named Garmat."

  "So?"

  "So—this Garmat, by all accounts, is quite a canny fellow. And, I've heard, he's been dropping hints here and there of the desire of the Axumites to forge closer ties to Rome."

  She paused, savoring the little bombshell.

  "I didn't think much of it, when I first heard. But it seems the Axumites are concerned over developments in India. Which, they are suggesting, pose long-term problems for Rome. And Garmat is quite frustrated that he's getting no reception to his message. Apparently, he's already announced that he'll be returning to Axum shortly."

  She allowed the silence to continue for a moment.

  "So, I have reason to think that the Axumites would welcome a friendly overture from some notable Roman figure. Such as a famous general who's invited them to tour Syria on their way back to Ethiopia. A tour which he would present to Emperor Justinian as the first leg of a very lengthy mission which would eventually take him to India. After spending a few months visiting Axum, which, conveniently enough, is located right on the way to India."

  "The perfect place to wait for the monsoon," mused Belisarius. "Out of sight, out of mind. Axum's as remote as India, as far as Justinian cares."

  He rose and began pacing again. His eyes narrowed, and he peered sharply at Irene.

  "There's more."

  Irene nodded. "Yes. First of all, such a tour would give you and Antonina a chance to return to your estate and spend some time there before you went on. I imagine that would be useful, for your armaments project."

  "And?"

  "And—in light of what I've learned today, I think Rome should take Axum's warning very seriously. And Axum itself. The truth is, we don't really know much about them. Other than the fact that they've always had good relations with us, and that they've been Christians for two centuries, and that they have a naval capability."

  "Aren't they at war in Arabia now?" asked Sittas.

  "Yes," replied the spymaster. "They invaded southern Arabia three years ago. They overthrew the King of Hymria, Yusuf Asar Yathar. The ostensible reason was that King Yusuf had adopted Judaism and was persecuting the Christian Arabs." She chuckled harshly. "That does not, of course, explain why they conquered the rest of southwestern Arabia."

  "You think they might be allies?" asked Belisarius. "Against India?"

  Irene shrugged. "That's for you to find out, General. On your way to India."

  Belisarius was silent, for a time. Pacing.

  "I think that's it, then, for the moment," he said at length.

  He turned to Antonina.

  "See if you can arrange a meeting with Theodora, love. I think that would be the best way to broach the subject to Justinian."

  He took Antonina's hand and helped her to her feet. Then, before turning to the door, looked at Sittas.

  "Well, there's a couple of other small points. The first, my oversized and overconfident friend, is that I will expect you tomorrow at the practice field of your army. In full armor, mind. You'll need it."

  Sittas grunted. "And the other?"

  Belisarius nodded toward Irene.

  "Whatever you're paying her, double it."

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, watching Belisarius approach him on the training field, Sittas decided that his friend had spent too much time in the Syrian sun. His brains were obviously fried.

  Belisarius' challenge had been idiotic in the first place. On foot, with swords, Sittas suspected that his friend would carve him like a roast. But on horseback, in full armor, in a lance charge—well! The shrimp didn't stand a chance in hell.

  Sittas was not guessing. Facts were facts. Sittas did not have Belisarius' speed and reflexes, but that mattered little in a lance charge. In a lance charge, wearing full armor atop a huge war-horse that was itself half-armored, weight and strength were what mattered.

  Sittas almost slapped his great belly in self-satisfaction. He'd jousted with Belisarius before, several times, and always with the same result. Belisarius, on his ass, contemplating the futility of matching skills with the best lancer in Byzantium.

  And now! The fool wasn't even holding his lance properly! Belisarius was carrying his lance cradled under his arm, instead of in the proper overhand position. Ridiculous! How could he expect to bring any force into the lance thrust? Any novice knew the only way to drive a lance home, on horseback, was to bring the whole weight of the back and shoulder into a downward thrust.

  Off to the side of the training field, perched on a stone wall, Sittas spotted a small group of boys watching the joust. From their animated discourse, it was obvious that even barefoot street urchins were deriding Belisarius' preposterous methods.

  Seeing Belisarius begin his charge, Sittas set his own horse into motion. As they neared each other, Sittas saw that his friend's bizarre method of holding his lance had the one advantage of accuracy. The blunted tip of the practice lance was unerringly aimed right at Sittas' belly.

  He almost laughed. Accuracy be damned! There wouldn't be any force at all behind an underhand thrust. His shield would deflect it easily.

  The moment was upon them. Sittas saw that Belisarius' lance would strike first. He positioned his shield and raised his own lance high above his head.

  Some time later, after a semblance of consciousness returned, Sittas decided he had collided with a wall. How else explain his position? On the ground, on his ass, feeling like one giant bruise.

  He gazed up, blearily. Belisarius was looking down at him from atop his horse.

  "Are you alive?"

  Sittas snarled. "What happened?"

  "I knocked you on your ass, that's what happened."

  "Crap! I ran into a wall."

  Belisarius laughed. Sittas roared and staggered to his feet.

  "Where's my horse?"

  "Right behind you, like a good warhorse."

  Sure enough. Sittas saw his lance lying on the ground nearby. He grabbed it and stalked to his horse. He was so furious that he even tried to mount the horse unassisted. The attempt was hopeless, of course. After a few seconds of futility, Sittas left off and began leading his horse to the mounting platform at the edge of the field.

  He was spared that little indignity, however. One of the urchins on the wall leapt nimbly onto the field and hurried to fetch him a mounting stool. As he clambered back upon his horse, Sittas favored the boy with a growling thanks.

  " 'Twere just bad luck, lord," piped the lad. Then, with the absolute confidence possessed only by eight-year-old boys: "Yon loon don't know nothin' 'bout lance work!"

  "Quite right," snarled Sittas. To Belisarius, in a bellow: "Again! Pure luck!"

  This time, as the collision neared, Sittas concentrated almost entirely on his shield work. He had already decided that his mishap had been due to overconfidence. He'd been so preoccupied with planning his own thrust that he hadn't deflected Belisarius'
lance properly.

  Oh, but he had him now—oh, yes! His shield was perfectly positioned and solidly braced against his chest. Ha! The luck of Thrace was about to run out!

  Some time later, after a semblance of consciousness returned, Sittas decided he had collided with a cathedral. How else explain his position? On the ground, flat on his back, feeling like one giant corpse.

  Hazily, he saw Belisarius kneeling over him.

  "What happened?" he croaked.

  Belisarius smiled his crooked smile. "You ran into a stirrup. A pair of stirrups, I should say."