Belisarius I Thunder at Dawn

by David Drake

  Small, she was, and obviously young. Pretty, too, from what little he could see of her face. Beautiful black eyes.

  Whatever pleasure those facts brought the officer vanished as soon as she began to speak.

  In good Hindi, but with a heavy southern accent. A Keralan accent, he thought.

  After I inform the Emperor of Kerala of your insolence your remaining days in this world will be brief. He is my father and he will demand your death of the Malwa. Base cur! You will—

  Her husband tried to calm her down.

  —be impaled. I will demand a short stake. My father the Emperor will—

  Her husband tried to calm her down.

  —allow a long stake in the interests of diplomacy but he will not—

  Her husband tried to calm her down.

  —settle for less than your death by torture. I will demand that your carcass be fed to dogs. Small dogs, who will tear at it rather than devour it whole. My father the Emperor will—

  Her husband tried to calm her down.

  —not insist on the dogs, in the interests of diplomacy, but he will demand—

  Finally, finally, the nobleman managed to usher his wife away. Over her shoulder, shrieking:

  —your stinking corpse be denied the rites. You will spend five yugas as a worm, five more as a spider. You will—

  As the party passed through the post, the officer's mangled dignity was partially restored by the large bribe which the nobleman handed him. Partially, no more. The young officer did not miss the smirks which were exchanged between his own soldiers and those of the nobleman's escort. The smirks which common troops exchange, witnessing the abasement of high-ranked adolescent snots.

  Within the next week, nine of the ten Malwa couriers died in Majarashtra. They traveled faster than the Maratha guerillas, of course, but the couriers were restricted to the roads and had no real knowledge of the countryside. Rao's young men, on the other hand, knew every shortcut through those volcanic hills. And every spot for a good ambush.

  Of the fourteen royal couriers who had headed south from Kausambi weeks earlier, only one survived the journey. His route had been the northernmost of those taken by the couriers, and did not really do more than skirt the Great Country. So he arrived, eventually, at his destination. A tiny port nestled at the northern end of the Gulf.

  Finally, everything went according to plan. The commander of the little garrison immediately mobilized his troops and began a thorough and efficient patrol of the port and its environs. All ships—all three of them—were sequestered, prevented from leaving.

  The commander was an aggressive, hard-driving officer. The small harbor was sealed tight. And so, according to plan, none of the enemy escaped through that port.

  Which, as it happens, they had never had the slightest intention of doing.

  Chapter 18

  Had Nanda Lal not intervened, it might have co me to blows. Rana Sanga would have been executed, thereafter, but he would have had the satisfaction of slaughtering Lord Tathagata like the swine that he was.

  "Silence!" bellowed the spymaster, as soon as he charged into the room. "Both of you!"

  Nanda Lal had a powerful voice. It was distorted somewhat, due to his shattered nose, but still powerful. And the spymaster's voice was filled with a pure black fury so ugly it would have silenced anyone.

  That mood had settled on Nanda Lal as soon as he recovered consciousness on the floor of Great Lady Holi's barge. On the blood-soaked carpet, stained by his own wound, where a foreign demon's boot had sent him sprawling.

  A week had gone by, now, and his rage had not lifted. It was a spymaster's rage—icy, not hot, but utterly merciless.

  Sanga clenched his jaws. He stared at Nanda Lal, not out of rude curiosity, but simply because he could no longer bear the sight of Lord Tathagata's fat, stupid, pig of a face. Then, realizing that his stare could be misconstrued, Sanga looked away.

  In truth, the Malwa Empire's chief of espionage was a sight to behold. On almost any other man, that huge bandage wrapped around his face would have given him a comical appearance. It simply made Nanda Lal look like an ogre.

  Tathagata, recovering from his startlement, transferred his fury onto Nanda Lal.

  "What is the meaning of this?" demanded the Malwa army's top officer. "It's outrageous! You have no right to issue commands here! This is purely a military matter, Nanda Lal—I'll thank you to mind your own—"

  Nanda Lal's next words came hissing like a snake.

  "If you so much as finish that sentence, Tathagata, you will discover what rights I have and do not have. I guarantee the discovery will shock you. But only briefly. You will be dead within the hour."

  Lord Tathagata choked on the sentence. His jaw hung loose. His eyes—wide as a flatfish—goggled about the room, as if searching the magnificence of his headquarters to find something that would gainsay Nanda Lal's statement.

  Apparently, he found nothing. Such, at least, was Rana Sanga's interpretation of his continued silence.

  Nanda Lal stalked into the room. He did not bother to close the door behind him. Sanga could see, through that door, a part of a room. One of the Emperor's own private chambers, he realized. Sanga had never entered that room, himself. The Rajput's only contact with Skandagupta had been in chambers given over to public gatherings. He was now in a part of the Grand Palace which was essentially unknown to him. The very core of that great edifice, and the power which rested within it.

  "Why are you here, Sanga?" asked the spymaster. His voice, now, was low and calm.

  Sanga began to explain his theory about Belisarius' escape, but Nanda Lal interrupted him immediately.

  "Not that, Sanga. I've already heard that." The spymaster began to make a wry grimace, but the pain in his nose cut the expression short. He waved toward the open door.

  "We all heard that much. The Emperor himself sent me in here to stop your shouting." A hard glance at Tathagata, still gaping like a blowfish. "And his. We couldn't hear ourselves think, for the commotion." All trace of amusement vanished. "I ask again: why are you here?"

  Sanga understood.

  "I want the authority to lead a search for Belisarius to the west. That's where he's gone. I'm certain of it."

  Lord Tathagata's outrage, finally, could contain itself no longer. But—carefully—he made sure it was directed at the Rajput.

  "This is insolent madness, Nanda Lal," he grated. "The stinking Rajput just got tired of—"

  He was silenced, this time, by the Emperor's own voice.

  "Bring them both here, Nanda Lal," came the imperial command from the next room.

  Tathagata ground his teeth. But he said nothing, even though his face was flushed with anger.

  The next words, coming from the adjoining room, caused his fat face to go pale. Words spoken by an old woman.

  "Yes, Nanda Lal, bring them here. At once."

  Rana Sanga was surprised by the Emperor's private chamber. It was much smaller than he expected, and almost—well, "utilitarian" hardly fit a room with such tapestries and furnishings. But, compared to any other setting in which the Rajput kinglet had ever seen his sovereign, the chamber was almost stark and bare.

  There were three occupants in the room. Emperor Skandagupta, his daughter Sati, and his aunt the Great Lady Holi. Sanga had seen both of the women before, on ceremonial occasions, but only from a distance. He had never spoken to either of them.

  He was struck by their appearance. Neither of the women was veiled. The princess Sati was a beautiful young woman, abstractly, but she seemed as remote as the horizon. The Great Lady Holi seemed even more distant, especially when Sanga met her eyes. Blank, empty eyes. Vacant eyes.

  More than their appearance, however, what impressed Sanga was their chairs. Not spectacular, those chairs, by imperial standards. But they were every bit as good as the Emperor's. No one, in Sanga's experience, ever sat in a chair which was as good as the Emperor's. Not in the same room that he occupied, at least. />
  Sanga did not have time to ponder the significance of the fact, however. Lord Tathagata, again, could not restrain his outrage.

  "Your Majesty—Great Lady Holi—I must insist that this Rajput be punished. Severely. What is at stake here is nothing less than the most essential military discipline. This—this—this dog disobeyed my express—"

  Great Lady Holi's tone of voice was as vacant as her eyes. But the words themselves were like a knife. Cold, thin, sharp.

  "What is at stake here, Tathagata, is the incompetence of our military command. Every word you speak illustrates it further."

  Tathagata gasped. Sanga, watching, realized the man was utterly terrified. The Rajput kinglet transferred his gaze back to the Great Lady. His face bore no expression, but his mind was a solid frown of puzzlement. He could see nothing in that elderly female figure to cause such pure fear. Except, possibly, those eyes.

  Is she a power behind the throne? he wondered. I've heard tales—witchcraft, sorcery—but I never took them seriously.

  The Emperor spoke now, to Tathagata. Like a cobra might speak to its prey. A short, pudgy, unprepossessing cobra. But a cobra for all that.

  "We have just discovered—only this morning—that Rana Sanga attempted to warn us once before that Belisarius was deceiving us. But you silenced him then, just as you are trying to silence him now."

  "That's a lie!" exclaimed Tathagata.

  "It is not a lie," spoke a voice from the rear.

  Sanga turned. Lord Damodara was seated in a far corner of the room. The Rajput had been so preoccupied when he entered the imperial chamber that he had not spotted him.

  Damodara rose and advanced into the center of the room.

  "It is not a lie," he repeated. "At the Emperor's council at Ranapur, when Rana Sanga gave his opinion on Belisarius' actions, he attempted to speak further. To warn us that the Roman was planning treachery. You silenced him."

  "Yes, you did," growled the Emperor. "I remember it quite clearly. Do you call me a liar?"

  Tathagata shook his head feverishly. "Of course not, Your Majesty! Of course not! But—I did not know what he was going to say—and it was a Malwa council—he is a Rajput—and—" Almost in a wail: "How does anyone know what he meant to say?"

  Damodara: "Because I asked him, afterward. And he told me. That is why, when the council reconvened, I demanded that—" He fell abruptly silent. "That is why I demanded what I did."

  Damodara pointed toward Sanga with a head-nod. "I said nothing, at the time, of Rana Sanga's words." Bitterly, contemptuously: "Lest he be penalized by such as you. But I finally managed to tell the Emperor and Nanda Lal and—Great Lady Holi—just this morning."

  Bitterly, contemptuously: "Which was the earliest moment you would allow me an audience with them."

  "I knew nothing of this," whined Tathagata.

  "That is why you are guilty of incompetence rather than treason," said Great Lady Holi. Her words, for all their harshness, were spoken in a tone which—to Rana Sanga, at least—had absolutely no emotional content whatsoever. She might have been speaking about the weather. A thousand miles away, in a land she had never visited and never would.

  "Leave us, Lord Tathagata," commanded the Emperor. Skandagupta sat up in his chair. He was still short, and pudgy. But he reminded Rana Sanga of nothing so much as a cobra flaring its hood.

  "You are relieved of your command. Retire to your estate and remain there."

  "But—Your Majesty—"

  "You are now relieved of half your estate. The richer half. Do not attempt to dissemble. Imperial auditors will check your claim."

  Tathagata stared, wide-eyed, paralyzed.

  The Emperor:

  "If you are still in this room one minute from now, you will be relieved of your entire estate. In two minutes, I will have you executed."

  Tathagata was out the door in four seconds.

  The Emperor glanced at Lord Damodara.

  "Inform Lord Jivita that he is now the commander of the army. I will see him in one hour."

  Lord Damodara bowed and turned to go. Great Lady Holi stopped him.

  "Tell him to meet the Emperor in his western chamber, Lord Damodara."

  Again, Sanga was struck by the cold, icy tone of her words.

  (No—the tone was not cold. Cold is a temperature. Ice is a substance. That tone had no temperature at all. No substance at all.)

  But he was struck even more by the Emperor's sudden start of surprise.

  She just commanded the Emperor to leave this room, he realized. Then, watching the Emperor's slight shrug: And he's going to obey—without so much as a protest! What gives this old woman such power?

  Nanda Lal spoke. "What, exactly, do you propose to do, Rana Sanga?"

  The Rajput shook off the mental shock caused by Great Lady Holi's words. Almost with relief, he turned to the spymaster.

  "First, I will need the assistance of your spies, and your records. Belisarius—not even Belisarius—can have managed to escape Kausambi without leaving a trace. It will be there, if we search. Then, if I am right, and we find that he went west rather than south, I will go after him with my cavalry."

  "Your troop? That's only five hundred men."

  Sanga repressed a snort of derision.

  "That will be more than enough. He is only one man, Nanda Lal, not an asura. The problem is finding him, not capturing him once we do. For that, five hundred good cavalrymen are enough."

  He decided to throw caution to the winds.

  "They are not simply enough—they are the best soldiers for the job. That huge mob floundering about in the south"—he made no attempt to conceal the derision in his gesture—"are just getting in each other's way. If Belisarius can be caught—if, Nanda Lal; I make no promises, not with that man having a week's lead on us—my Rajputs and Pathan trackers will catch him."

  "And if you fail?" demanded the Emperor.

  Sanga looked at Skandagupta, hesitated, and then threw all caution to the winds.

  "If I fail, Your Majesty, I fail. In war, you sometimes lose. Not because you are incompetent, but simply because the enemy is better."

  "And is—this foul Roman—better than you?"

  All caution to the winds.

  "He is not a 'foul Roman,' Your Majesty. That has been our mistake all along. He is a true Roman, and that is what makes him dangerous. That, and his own great skill."

  The Emperor's corpulent face was flushed with anger but, like Lord Tathagata before him, that flush was erased by the Great Lady Holi.

  "Stop, Skandagupta," she commanded. "Link has no more time for Malwa vanity."

  Sanga was shocked to see the Emperor's face turn pale. There was something odd, he realized, about the Great Lady Holi's voice. It was somehow changing, transmuting. Emotionless before, it was now beginning to sound utterly inhuman.

  And who is "Link"? he wondered.

  The strangeness deepened, and deepened. Great Lady Holi's voice:

  "NANDA LAL, DO AS RANA SANGA ASKS. QUERY YOUR SPIES. CHECK ALL RECORDS."

  There was nothing at all human in the tone of that voice, any more. It sounded like—

  Rana Sanga froze. He had heard tales, now and then, but had paid them no mind. Years ago, bowing to the collective decision of Rajputana's assembled kings in council, Rana Sanga had also given his oath to the Malwa Emperor. He had ignored, then and thereafter—with all the dignity of a Rajput Hindu—the whispered rumors of Malwa's new gods.

  —like the voice of a goddess. Cold, not like ice, but like the vastness of time itself.

  In a half-daze, he heard the voice continue:

  "LEAVE US, SKANDAGUPTA. LINK WISHES TO SPEAK TO RANA SANGA."

  The Rajput heard the Emperor's protesting words, but understood not a one of them. Only the reply:

  "LEAVE, MALWA. YOU ARE OUR INSTRUMENT, NOTHING MORE. IF YOU DISPLEASE US, WE SHALL FIND ANOTHER. LEAVE NOW."

  The Emperor left—scurried from the room, in fact, with little more dignity th
an Tathagata had scurried not long before. Sanga was alone, now, with the two women.

  At first, he expected to see the young princess leave as well. Instead, Sati spoke to him:

  "I realize that this must come as a shock to you, Rana Sanga," she said in a very polite tone. Her voice, Sanga was relieved to discover, was still that of a young woman. A cold, distant, aloof voice, true. But unmistakeably human.