Belisarius I Thunder at Dawn

by David Drake

  "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 By now, they will have heard that the reason they were withdrawn as Shakuntala's guards was because Venandakatra feared their lustfulness.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."

  A moment later Belisarius was pulling back the flap of the pavilion. As he stooped to make his exit, he caught sight of Ousanas. The tall African was gaping. Not to Belisarius' surprise, Ousanas was the first to deduce the truth. The gape disappeared; the familiar grin erupted.

  "Truly, Greeks are mad!" exclaimed the dawazz. "It is the inevitable result of too much time spent pondering on the soul."

  Belisarius grinned and exited the tent. As the flap closed behind him, he heard Ousanas' next words.

  "Such foolish nonsense—this business about only the soul matters, in the end. Idiot mysticism from a crazed Maratha bandit. No, no, it's all quite otherwise, my good people, I assure you. As Plato so clearly explained, it is the eternal and unchanging Forms which—"

  "Ousanas—shut up!" barked the Prince. "What in hell is going on?"

  When Belisarius reentered the pavilion, leading the Kushans, he saw that Shakuntala had taken firm command of the situation. Garmat and Eon were sitting on cushions placed to one side. Standing behind them were Ezana and Wahsi. The two sarwen were carrying their spears, but were carefully holding them in the position of formal rest. It was obvious, from their gloomy expressions, that all the Axumites thought Shakuntala's plan—agreed to by Belisarius!—was utterly insane. But events had moved too quickly for them, and they were hopelessly ensnared in her madness.

  To the general's surprise, the Maratha women were not huddling in fear in a corner of the pavilion. They were kneeling in a row, on cushions placed just behind Shakuntala, who had positioned herself in the central and commanding position in the large pavilion.

  Belisarius was struck by the calm composure of the Maratha girls. As much as anything, the confident serenity of those young faces, as they gazed upon their even younger Empress, brought Belisarius his own measure of confidence. He glanced at Ousanas, standing in the nearest corner of the pavilion, and saw by his faint smile that the hunter shared that confidence.

  Not so many weeks ago, those girls had been slaves. Of lowborn caste and then, after the Malwa conquest of Andhra, forced into prostitution. The Roman and Axumite soldiers had purchased them in Bharakuccha, partly for the pleasure of their company, but mostly to advance Belisarius' scheme for rescuing Shakuntala.

  At first, the girls had been timid. Over time, as they learned that the foreigners' brutal appearance was not matched by brutal behavior, the Maratha girls had relaxed. But, once they finally realized the full scope of the scheme into which they had been plunged, they had been practically paralyzed with terror. Until Shakuntala had rallied them, and pronounced them her new royal ladies-in-waiting, and pledged that she herself would share their fate, whatever that fate might be.

  He glanced now at Dadaji Holkar. The Maratha was also seated near the Empress, just to her left. He was still clad in the simple loincloth of a slave, but there was nothing of the slave in his posture and his expression. The shrewd intelligence in his face, usually disguised by his stooped posture, was now evident for all to see. The man positively exuded the aura of a highly placed, trusted imperial adviser. And if the aura went poorly with the loincloth, so much the worse for the loincloth. Indians, too, like Romans, had a place in their culture for the ascetic sage.

  Calm, confident, serene faces. The Kushans, as they filed into the tent, caught sight of those faces and found their eyes drawn toward them. As Shakuntala had planned, Belisarius knew. The young Empress had marshaled all her resources, few as they were, to project the image of a ruler rather than a refugee. It was a fiction, but—not a sham. Not a sham at all.

  By the time all the Kushans filed in, even the huge pavilion was crowded. Then, when the cataph
racts followed, Belisarius thought the pavilion might burst at the seams.

  Shakuntala took charge.

  "Sit," she commanded. "All of you except Ousanas."

  She looked at Ousanas. "Search the woods. Make certain there are no spies."

  The dawazz grinned. The order was utterly redundant, of course. He had already seen to the task. But he knew Shakuntala was simply seeking to calm the Kushans. So he obeyed instantly and without complaint. On his way out of the pavilion, he whispered to Belisarius: "Envy me, Roman. I, at least, will be able to breathe."

  The Kushans were still standing, uncertain.

  "Sit," commanded Shakuntala. Within three seconds, all had obeyed. But, as they made to do so, She spoke again.

  "Kungas—sit here." Shakuntala pointed imperiously to one of two cushions placed not far from her own, diagonally to her right. Remembering the seating arrangement in the Malwa emperor's pavilion, Belisarius realized this was the Indian way of honoring those close to the throne.

  She pointed to the other cushion. "Kanishka—there."

  The Kushan commander and his lieutenant did as she bade them.

  After all the Kushans were sitting on the carpeted floor of the pavilion, Shakuntala gazed upon them for a long moment without speaking. The warriors stared back at her. They knew her face well, of course. It had been they who had rescued Shakuntala from the Ye-tai savaging the royal palace during the sack of Amaravati. They who had brought her to Venandakatra's palace at Gwalior, where she was destined to become the Malwa lord's new concubine. They who had served as her captors and guardians during the long months they waited for Venandakatra's return from his mission to Constantinople.

  Yet, for all the familiarity of those months in her company, most of them were now gaping. Surprise, partly, at seeing her again in such unexpected circumstances. But, mostly, with surprise at how different she seemed. This was no captive girl—proud and defiant, true, but riddled with despair for all that. This was—what? Or who?

  The moment was critical, Belisarius knew. There had been no time to discuss anything with her. He feared that, in her youthful uncertainty, she would make the mistake of explaining the situation. Of trying to convince the Kushans.

  The Empress Shakuntala, heir of ancient Satavahana, rightful ruler of great Andhra, began to speak. And Belisarius realized he might as well have fretted over the sun rising.

  "Soon I will return to Andhra," announced Shakuntala. "My purpose here is almost finished. When I return, I shall rebuild the empire of my ancestors. I shall restore its glory. I shall cast down the Mahaveda abomination and erase from human memory their mahamimamsa curs. I shall rebuild the viharas and restore the stupas. Again, I shall make Andhra the blessed center of Hindu learning and Buddhist worship."

  She paused. The black-eyed Pearl of the Satavahanas, she was often called. Now, her eyes glowed like coals.

  "But first, I must destroy the Malwa Empire. To this I devote my life and my sacred soul. This is my dharma, my duty, and my destiny. I will make Malwa howl."

  Again, a pause. The black fury in her eyes softened.

  "Already, Raghunath Rao is making his way back to the Great Country. The Wind will roar across Majarashtra. He will raise a new army from the hills and the villages, and the great towns. He is the new commander of Andhra's army."

  She allowed the Kushans time to digest her words. The men sitting before her were elite soldiers, hardened veterans. They knew Raghunath Rao. Like all Indians, they knew him by reputation. But, unlike most, their knowledge was more intimate. They had seen the carnage at the palace in Gwalior, after the Panther of Majarashtra had raged through it.

  Shakuntala watched pride square their shoulders. She treasured that pride. She was counting on that pride. Yes, the Kushan soldiers knew Rao, and respected him deeply. But their pride came from the knowledge that he had respected them as well. For Rao had not tried to rescue the princess while they had guarded her. He had waited, until they had been replaced by—

  Shakuntala watched the contempt twisting their lips. She treasured that contempt. She was counting on that contempt. The Kushans, today, were elite soldiers in the service of the Malwa Empire. But they were also the descendants of those fierce nomads who had erupted out of central Asia, centuries before, and had conquered all of Bactria and Sogdiana and northern India. Conquered it, ruled it—and, as they adopted civilization and the Buddhist faith, ruled it very well indeed. Until the Ye-tai came, and the Malwa, and reduced them to vassalage.

  For a long moment, Shakuntala and the Kushans stared at each other. Watching, from the back of the pavilion, Belisarius was struck by the growing warmth of that mutual regard. She, and they, had spent many months in close proximity. And if, during that long and painful captivity, there had been no friendship between them, there had always been respect. A respect which, over time, had become unspoken admiration.

  Now, thought Belisarius.

  As if she had read his mind, Shakuntala spoke.

  "Rao will raise my army. But I will need another force as well. I, too, will need to tread a dangerous path. I will need an imperial bodyguard, to protect me while I restore Andhra."

  She looked away. Said, softly:

  "I have given much thought to this matter. I have considered many possibilities. But, always, my thoughts return to one place, and one place only."

  She looked back upon them.

  "I can think of no better men to serve as my bodyguard than those who rescued me from the Ye-tai and guarded me so well during all the months at Gwalior."

  Behind him, Belisarius heard Menander's shocked whisper: "My God! She's crazy!"

  "Bullshit," hissed Valentinian. "She's read them perfectly."

  And then Anastasius, his rumbling voice filled with philosophical satisfaction: "Never forget, lad—only the soul matters, in the end."

  One of the Kushans seated in the middle of the front row now spoke. Belisarius did not know the man's name, but he recognized him as a leader of the Kushan common soldiers. The equivalent of a Roman decarch.

  "We must know this, princess. Did—"

  "She is not a princess!" snapped one of the Maratha women kneeling behind Shakuntala. Ahilyabai was her name. "She is the Empress of Andhra!"

  The Kushan soldier tightened his jaws. Shakuntala raised her hand in an abrupt gesture of command.

  "Be still, Ahilyabai! My title does not matter to this man."

  She leaned forward, fixing the Kushan with her black-eyed gaze. "His name is Kujulo, and I know him well. If Kujolo chooses to give me his loyalty, my title will never matter to him. Whether I sit on the throne in rebuilt Amaravati, or crouch behind the battlements of a Maratha hillfort under siege, Kujulo's sword will always come between me and Malwa."

  The soldier's tight jaws relaxed. His shoulders spread wider. He stared back at the Empress for a moment and then bowed his head deeply.

  "Ask what you will, Kujulo," said Shakuntala.

  The Kushan soldier raised his head. Anger returned to his eyes, and he pointed to Kungas.

  "We have been played for fools," he growled. "Was our commander a part of that trickery?"

  Shakuntala's response was immediate. "No. This is the first time Kungas has been in my presence since you were removed as my guards at Gwalior. I have never spoken to him since that day." Her voice grew harsh. "But what is the purpose of this question, Kujulo? You have not been played for fools. The Malwa have been the ones played for fools. And not by me, but by the world's supreme trickster—the foreign General Belisarius."

  All the Kushans stirred, turning their heads. Belisarius took that for his cue, and moved forward to stand before them.

  "Kungas has never been a part of our plot," he said firmly. "Nor any other Kushan soldier."

  He smiled, then, and the Kushans who saw that odd familiar smile suddenly understood just how crooked it truly was.

  "Actually," he continued, "the trickery was needed because of you. There was no way for Rao to rescue the pr
incess so long as you stood guard over her. Even for him, that task was impossible."

  He paused, letting the pride of that knowledge sweep the Kushans. Like Shakuntala, he knew full well that their own self-respect was the key to winning these men.

  "So I convinced Venandakatra—or so I am told; I was very drunk that night, and remember little of our conversation—that Kushans were the most depraved men walking the earth. Satyrs, the lot of them, with a particular talent for seducing young virgins."

  A little laugh rippled through the Kushans.

  "Apparently, my words reached receptive ears." The general scratched his chin. "I fear Lord Venandakatra is perhaps too willing to believe the worst of other men. It might be better to say, to assume that other men are shaped in his own mold."