by David Drake
A much louder laugh filled the pavilion. A cheerful laugh, at the folly of a great lord. A bitter laugh, for that lord was not called the Vile One by accident.
Belisarius shrugged. "The rest you know. You were unceremoniously dismissed as Shakuntala's guards, and replaced by Mahaveda priests and mahamimamsa torturers. It was they who faced the Panther of Majarashtra when he stalked through the palace."
All trace of humor vanished. Now, the Roman general's face seemed every bit as hard as the iron face of Kungas. "The dagger which the Panther used to spill the lives of those Malwa beasts came from my own country. An excellent dagger, made by our finest craftsmen. I brought it with me to India, and saw to it that it found its way into Rao's hands."
His face softened, slightly, with a trace of its usual humor returning. "The Malwa, as we planned, thought that the Empress had fled with Rao. And so they sent thousands of Rajputs beating about the countryside. But Rao was alone, and so was able to elude them. We knew the Empress would not have the skill to do so. So, as we had planned, Rao left her behind in the palace, hidden in a closet in the guest quarters. When we arrived, two days later, we hid her among Prince Eon's concubines."
He looked down at Kungas. The Kushan commander returned his stare with no expression on his face.
"Kungas knew nothing of this, no more than any of you. It is true, on the day we left Gwalior for Ranapur, I believe that he recognized the Empress as we were smuggling her into Prince Eon's howdah. I am not certain, however, for he said nothing to me nor I to him. Nor have we ever spoken on the matter since. But I believe that he did recognize her. And, for his own reasons, chose to remain silent."
Kujulo stared at his commander. "Is this true?" he demanded.
Kungas nodded. "Yes. It is exactly as the Roman says. I knew nothing about their scheme. But I did recognize Shakuntala. On the day we left Gwalior for Ranapur, just as he says."
"Why did you remain silent?" demanded Kujulo.
"That question you may not ask," replied Kungas. His tone, if possible, was even harder than his face. "You may question my actions, Kujulo, and demand an accounting of them. But you may not question me."
Kujulo shrank back, slightly. All the Kushans seemed to shrink.
Kungas dismissed the question with a curt chop. "Besides, it is a stupid question. Your decision tonight may be different, Kujulo. But do not pretend you don't understand my own. If you really need to ask that question, you are no kinsman of mine." His iron eyes swept the Kushans. "Any of you."
A little sigh swept the pavilion. Suddenly, one of the Kushan soldiers toward the rear barked a little laugh.
"And why not?" he demanded. "I am sick of the Malwa. Sick of their arrogance, and the barks of Ye-tai dogs, and the sneers of Rajputs."
Another Kushan grunted his agreement. A third said, softly: "We are destined to die, anyway. Better to die an honored imperial bodyguard than a Malwa beast of burden."
"I'll have none of that talk," growled Kungas. "There is no destiny. There is only the edge of a good blade, and the skill of the man wielding it."
Quietly, at that moment, Ousanas reentered the pavilion. He was just in time to hear Kujulo's remark.
"And the brains of the man commanding the soldiers!" The Kushan laughed, then, in genuine good humor. Looking at the Empress, he nodded toward Belisarius.
"This man, I take it, is one of your allies, Empress." Kujulo paused, took a breath, made his decision.
"One of our allies, now." A quick, collective exhalation indicated that all the Kushan soldiers accepted the decision. Kujulo continued:
"He's a great schemer and trickster, that's for certain. But trickery will only take us so far. Is he good for anything else?"
Shakuntala reared up haughtily. In the corner of his eye, Belisarius saw his own cataphracts stiffen with anger. He began to say something, but then, seeing Ousanas saunter forward, relaxed.
"Kushan soldier very great fool," remarked the dawazz cheerfully. "Probably asks pigeons how to eat meat, and crocodiles how to fly."
The African hunter planted himself before Kujulo, gazing down at the Kushan soldier. Kujulo craned his neck, returning the gaze. Anger at Ousanas' ridicule began to cloud his face.
"Why ask this question from the Empress of Andhra?" demanded Ousanas. "What she know of such things? Better to ask the Persians who survived Mindouos."
Anger faded, replaced by interest. Kujulo glanced at Belisarius.
"He has defeated Medes?" Like all warriors from central Asia, who had clashed with the Persian empire for centuries, Kujulo held Persian heavy cavalry in deep respect.
"Routed an entire army of the bastards!" snarled Valentinian from the back of the pavilion. "Just last year!"
"You might ask the Goths for their opinion, too, while you're at it," rumbled Anastasius. "He's whipped the barbarians so many times they finally asked him to be their king. Couldn't figure out any other way to beat him." The giant Thracian yawned. "He refused. No challenge to it, he said."
Kujulo eyed the Roman general with keen interest. He had never heard of Goths, but he had faced other barbarians in battle.
"So," he mused. "We are now the imperial bodyguard of the Satavahana dynasty. With nothing but Raghunath Rao as the general of a nonexistent army and this Belisarius as an ally."
Kujulo grinned. In that wolf's grin, at that moment, centuries of civilization vanished. The warrior of the steppes shone forth.
"Pity the poor Malwa!" exclaimed one of the other Kushan soldiers.
Kujulo's grin widened still.
"Better yet," he countered, "let us pity them not at all."
Chapter 11
Exactly two weeks af ter Belisarius arrived at the capital of Kausambi, the Malwa finally met his price. All things considered, Belisarius was pleased with himself. As treason went, he thought he had driven a hard bargain. Especially for a novice.
Nanda Lal thought so too.
"You are as bad as a horse trader," chuckled the Malwa official. His Greek was excellent. Only the slightest trace of an accent and the extreme precision of his grammar indicated that he was not a native to the language. He chuckled again. "Are you certain you are really a general?"
Belisarius nodded. "I've been a soldier my entire adult life. But I was raised in the countryside, you know. Peasants are natural born hagglers."
Nanda Lal laughed. And a very open, hearty laugh it was, too. Belisarius was impressed. He thought he had never met a better liar in his entire life than Nanda Lal. Nor one whose inner soul was so far at variance with his outer trappings.
Officially, Nanda Lal bore many titles.
He was, first, one of the anvaya-prapta sachivya. The phrase translated, approximately, as "acquirer of the post of minister by hereditary descent." It indicated that Nanda Lal belonged to that most exclusive of Malwa elites, those who were blood kin of the Emperor and were thus entitled to call themselves part of the Malwa dynasty. No man in the Malwa Empire who was not anvaya-prapta sachivya could hope to rise to any of the very highest official posts, military or civilian.
Second, Nanda Lal was a Mantrin—a high counselor—and thus sat on the Empire's central advisory body to Emperor Skandagupta, the Mantri-parishad. True, Nanda Lal was one of the junior members of that council—what the Malwa called a Kumaramatya, a "cadet-minister"—but his status was still among the most exalted in all of India.
Third, Nanda Lal occupied the specific post which the Malwa called the Akshapatal-adhikrita. The title roughly translated into the innocuous-sounding phrase, "the Lord Keeper of State Documents."
What he really was, was a spy. It might be better to say, the spy. Or, better still, the grand spymaster.
Nanda Lal's laugh died away. After a last, rueful shake of his head, he asked:
"So, general, tell me. What did you think? I am quite curious, really. I was only joking, you know—about the horse trader business." Another little hearty chuckle. "Only a general would have demanded a tour of inspection of
our military facilities before he gave his allegiance to our cause. In addition, of course, to a fortune." Hearty chuckle. "Another fortune, I should say." Hearty chuckle. "That was quite nicely done, by the way, if you'll permit me saying so." Hearty chuckle. "That little casual wave. 'Oh, something simple. Like the other chest you gave me.' "
Belisarius shrugged. "It seemed the most straightforward thing to do. And I wanted to know—well, let's just say that I'm sick to death of stingy, tight-fisted emperors, who expect miracles for a handful of coins. As to your question—what did I think?—"
Before answering, Belisarius examined the room carefully. He was not looking for eavesdroppers. He had not the slightest doubt they were there. He was simply interested.
Nanda Lal's official quarters, by Malwa standards, were positively austere. And Belisarius had noted, earlier, that Nanda Lal had brewed and served the tea they were drinking with his own hands. No servants were allowed in his inner sanctum.
Capable hands, thought Belisarius, glancing at them. Like most members of the dynastic clan, Nanda Lal was heavyset. But the spymaster's squat form had none of the doughy-soft appearance of most anvaya-prapta sachivya. There was quite a bit of muscle there, Belisarius suspected. And he did not doubt that Nanda Lal's hands were good at other tasks than brewing tea. For all their immaculate, manicured perfection, they were the hands of a strangler, not a scribe.
"I was very impressed," he replied. "Especially by the scale of the cannon manufacturing, and the ammunition works. You are—we are—amassing a tremendous weight of firepower to throw into battle."
He fell silent, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
"But—?" queried Nanda Lal.
"You haven't given enough thought to logistics," said Belisarius forcefully. "There's an old soldier's saying, Nanda Lal: Amateurs study tactics; professionals study logistics. The Veda weapons, whatever their origin—and you will please notice that I do not ask—are not truly magical. Even with them, it still took you two years to recapture Ranapur. You should have done it much sooner."
Nanda Lal seemed genuinely interested, now.
"Really? Let me ask you, general—how long would it have taken you to reduce Ranapur?"
"Eight months," came the instant reply, "without cannon. With them—four months."
The Malwa official's eyes widened.
"So quickly? What did we do wrong?"
"Two things. First, as I said, your logistics are lousy. You substitute mass labor for skill and expertise. You need to develop a professional quartermaster corps, instead of—" He did not sneer, quite. "Instead of piling up tens of thousands of men on top of each other. If you were to study the Ranapur campaign, I'm sure you'd find that most of that absurd pile of provisions simply went to feed the men who amassed it."
Belisarius leaned forward in his chair. "And that leads me to my second criticism. Your armies are much too slow, and—well, I won't say timid, exactly. Your soldiers seem courageous enough, especially the Ye-tai and Rajputs. But they are used timidly."
Nanda Lal's eyes held equal amounts of interest and suspicion.
"And you would use them better?" he asked. "If we made you our high commander?"
Belisarius did not miss the veiled antagonism. Suspicion came as naturally to Nanda Lal as swimming to a fish.
The Roman general dismissed the notion with a curt flip of his hand.
"Why ask, Nanda Lal? We have already agreed that I can best serve by returning to Rome. I will encourage Justinian's ambition to reconquer the western Mediterranean, and make sure that his armies are tied up there for years. That will clear the way for you to invade Persia without hindrance."
"And after Persia?"
Belisarius shrugged. "That is a problem for the future. When war finally erupts between Malwa and Rome, I will have to openly change allegiance. When that time comes, you will decide what position in your army to give me. I am not concerned with the question, at the moment. It is still several years away."
The suspicion faded from Nanda Lal's eyes. Abruptly, the Malwa official rose.
"I will give careful consideration to the points which you raise, general. But, for the moment, I think we can leave off this discussion."
Belisarius rose himself, stretching his limbs. Then said, with a rueful smile, "I don't suppose we're done for the day, by any chance?"
Nanda Lal's headshake was as rueful as Belisarius' smile.
"I'm afraid not. It's still early in the afternoon, general. There are at least four officials who have insisted on meeting you today. And then, this evening, we have an important social visit to make."
Belisarius cocked his eyebrow. Nanda Lal's shrug was an exquisite display of exasperation, resignation, carefully suppressed irritation. The accompanying smile exuded a sense of comradeship-in-travail.
"The Great Lady Holi—you have heard of her, perhaps?"
Belisarius shook his head.
"Ah! Well, she is the Emperor's favorite aunt. Quite a formidable woman, despite her age. For days, now, she has been demanding to meet you. She is fascinated, it seems, by all the tales concerning this mysterious foreign general."
Nanda Lal took Belisarius by the elbow and began ushering him toward the door. His smile broadened.
"Her main interest, I suspect, stems from your reputed appearance. She is immensely fond of the company of young, handsome men."
Seeing Belisarius' slight start, Nanda Lal laughed.
"Have no fear, general! The woman is almost seventy years old. And she is quite the ascetic, actually. I assure you, she just likes to look."
Nanda Lal opened the door. With his own hands, as always. No servants were allowed in those quarters. He followed Belisarius into the corridor beyond.
After locking the door—it was the only door in the palace, so far as Belisarius had seen, which had a lock—Nanda Lal led the way down the wide hall.
"Anyway, she has been pestering the Emperor for days. Finally, he tired of it. So, this morning, just before your arrival, he instructed me to take you to Great Lady Holi this evening, after we were finished."
Belisarius sighed. Nanda Lal grimaced.
"I understand, general. But, please, be of good cheer. We will not be there long, I assure you. A few minutes to pay our respects, a casual chat, no more."
Belisarius squared his shoulders with resignation.
"As you wish, Nanda Lal. She is in the palace?"
Nanda Lal made another rueful headshake.
"Alas, I fear not. She dislikes the palace. She claims it is too noisy and crowded. So she makes her dwelling on a barge moored in the river."
Hearty chuckle. "It is not as bad as all that! You wouldn't want to miss Great Lady Holi's barge, before you leave. It is quite a marvel, really it is. The most splendiferous barge in all creation!"
"I can't wait," muttered Belisarius. They were now passing by the main entrance to the Grand Palace. The general stopped Nanda Lal with a hand on his arm. "Give me a moment, if you would, to notify my cataphracts of our plans. There's no need for them to stand outside in that hot sun for the rest of the day."
Nanda Lal nodded graciously. Belisarius strode through the palace doors into the courtyard beyond. As always, the three cataphracts were waiting just outside the main entrance to the Grand Palace. Their horses, and that of Belisarius, were tethered nearby.
Since the first day of their arrival at Kausambi, when Belisarius had begun his protracted negotiations with the Mantri-parishad, he had ordered the cataphracts to remain outside. To have taken them with him, wherever he went in the palace, would have indicated a certain skittishness which would be quite inappropriate for a man cheerfully planning treason. And, besides, the cataphracts would have inevitably cast a pall on his negotiations. Many of the anvaya-prapta sachivya who inhabited the palace had been present in the pavilion when the lord of Ranapur and his family were executed. And those who weren't, had heard the tale. It would have been amusing, of course, to watch the highest of Malwa cri
nge in the presence of Valentinian. Amusing, but counter-productive.
Quickly, Belisarius sketched the situation and told his cataphracts to go back to their residence. Valentinian put up a bit of an argument, but not much. More in the nature of a formality, than anything else. They were supposed to be bodyguards, after all. But Belisarius insisted, and his men were happy enough to climb on their horses and return to the comfort—and shade—of their luxurious quarters.
"That's all of it, Your Majesty," said Holkar. He tied the drawstring of the bag tightly, and nestled it into a pocket of silk cloth in the small chest. Then he closed the lid of the chest and stood up. For a moment, he examined his handiwork admiringly, and then scanned the rest of the room.