An oblique approach b-1

by David Drake

  The adviser shook his head. Not in an unfriendly manner, no, but in a manner which bespoke no deference either.

  “I am sorry, Belisarius. I do not distrust you, or what you say, and the jewel is certainly as awesome as you described, but-”

  Garmat made a gesture which encompassed the ship and everything in the world beyond it.

  “What you say involves not us alone, but those to whom we are responsible.”

  “You want to touch the jewel yourself,” said Belisarius gently.

  Garmat shook his head, smiling.

  “Certainly not! At my age, terrible visions are the last thing I need. I’ve seen enough of those already.”

  Belisarius shifted his gaze-and, subtly, his hand-to the Prince. “Eon, then.”

  The prince stared at the jewel, his brow furrowed with thought. Thought only, however, not fear-so much was obvious to all who watched. Belisarius was not the only one present, then, who saw the adult majesty of the future in that dark young face.

  “No,” said Eon, finally. “I do not trust myself yet.” He turned to Ousanas. “Take it.”

  “Why me?”

  “You are my dawazz. I trust you more than any man living. Take it.”

  Ousanas stared at his charge. Then, without moving his eyes, extended his hand to Belisarius. The general placed the jewel on his palm.

  A moment later, the dawazz closed his hand; and left the world, for a time.

  When he returned, and opened his eyes, he seemed completely unchanged. The others present were a bit surprised. Belisarius was astonished.

  When the dawazz spoke, however, the general thought he detected a slight tremor in his rich baritone.

  His first words were to his Prince.

  “Always dawazz wonders. And fears.”

  He took a deep breath, and briefly looked away. “No longer. You were great prince. King, at the end.”

  The dawazz fumbled for words.

  “Oh, stop speaking pidgin!” snapped Eon.

  Ousanas cast him an exasperated look.

  “It was your silly idea in the first place.” The dawazz glanced at Garmat, unkindly. “And you backed him up.”

  Garmat shrugged. Ousanas grinned at the Romans. (That much, at least, had not changed. Not the grin.)

  “You must forgive my companions,” said the dawazz. His Greek was now perfect, mellifluous, and completely unaccented. Belisarius managed not to gape. His cataphracts failed.

  “The boy has the excuse, at least, of tender years. His adviser, only the excuse of doddering old age. And, of course, the fact that he is half-Arab. A folk who would rather scheme than eat.”

  Again, the unkind glance. But the glance fell away, softening. “Always an Arab, and a full one, at the end. After Kaleb died, Garmat, you returned to Arabia. You died well there, in the Nejed, leading your beloved bedouin against the Malwa.”

  He shrugged. “You lost, of course. Not even the bedouin in their desert could withstand the Indian juggernaut. Not after the Malwa brought the Lakhmites under their rule, and broke the Beni Ghassan, and dispersed the Quraysh from Mecca.”

  “You saw the future, then,” stated Garmat.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. And it was just as terrible as foretold.” Ousanas’ eyes grew vacant. “I saw the future until the moment of my own death. I died somewhat ignominiously, I regret to say, from disease brought on by a wound. No glorious wound won in single combat with a champion, alas. Just one of those random missiles which are such a curse to bards and storytellers.”

  He glanced at Menander and veered away from the subject of wound-produced diseases. Instead, he smiled at the prince.

  “Your end, I do not know, Eon. I died in your arms, in the course of the trek which the surviving Ethiopians undertook under your leadership. South, to my homeland between the lakes, where you hoped to found a new realm which might still resist the Malwa. Although you had no great hope in success.”

  He fell silent.

  “You speak perfect Greek,” complained Valentinian.

  Ousanas grimaced. “I suspect, my dear Valentinian, that I speak it considerably better than you do. With all respect, I am the best linguist that I know. It comes from being raised in the heart of Africa, I suspect, among savages. In the land between the great lakes, there are at least eighteen languages spoken. I knew seven of them by the time I was twelve, and learned most of the rest soon thereafter.”

  The grin lit up the cabin. “At the age, that is, when the urge to seduction comes to vigorous lads. My own tribe, sad to say, was much opposed to fornication outside proper channels. Other tribes enjoyed more rational customs, but alas, spoke other tongues. So I became adept at learning languages, a habit I have found it useful to maintain.”

  He pointed at the prince, his finger like a spear.

  “This budding conspirator, this still-sprouting-intriguer, this not-yet-genius-spymaster, thought it would be most clever if, in our travels through the Roman Empire, I pretended to be a pidgin-babbling ignoramus from the bush. Unsuspecting Romans, he thought, might unthinkingly utter deep secrets in the presence of a thick-tongued slave.”

  The finger transferred its aim to Garmat.

  “This one, this grey-bearded-not-yet-wise-man, this decrepit-old-broken-down-so-called-adviser, thought the plan might have some merit. So, there I was, trapped between the Scylla of naivete and the Charybdis of senility.”

  He raised his eyes to the heavens.

  “Pity me, Romans. There I was, for months, as cultured a heathen as ever departed the savanna, forced to channel my fluid thoughts through the medium of pidgin and trade argot. Ah, woe! Woe, I say! Woe!”

  “You seem to have survived the experience,” chuckled Valentinian.

  “He is very good at surviving experiences,” interjected Wahsi. “That is why we made him dawazz.”

  The sarwen exchanged a knowing, humorous look.

  “Ousanas likes to think it was because of his skills and abilities,” added Ezana. A derisive bark. “What nonsense! He is lucky. That is his only talent. But-a prince needs to learn luck, more than anything, and so we made the savage his dawazz.”

  Ousanas began some retort, but Belisarius interrupted.

  “Later, if you please. For now, there are others things more important to discuss.”

  He turned to Garmat. “Are you satisfied?”

  The adviser glanced at his prince. Eon nodded, very firmly. Garmat still hesitated, for just a second, before he nodded his head as well.

  “Good,” said Belisarius. “Now-I have a plan.”

  After Belisarius finished, Eon spoke at once.

  “I won’t do it! It’s beneath-”

  A sharp slap atop his head by Ousanas.

  “Silence! Is good plan! Good for prince, too. Learn to think like worm instead of lion. Worms eat lions, fool boy, not other way around.”

  “I told you to stop speaking pidgin!” snarled Eon.

  Another slap.

  “Not speaking pidgin. Speaking baby talk. All stupid prince can understand.”

  Garmat added his own weight to the argument.

  “Your dawazz is right, Prince.” The adviser made a soothing gesture. “Not the worm, business, of course. Disrespectful brute! But he’s right about the plan. It is good, in the main, especially insofar as your own part is concerned.”

  He cast a questioning eye at Belisarius.

  “Some of the rest, General, I confess I find perhaps excessively complex.”

  “ ’Perhaps excessively complex,’ ” mimicked Valentinian harshly. The cataphract leaned forward.

  “General, in the absence of Maurice, I have to take his place. As best I can. The first law of battles-”

  Belisarius waved the objection aside, chuckling.

  “I know it by heart! This is not a battle, Valentinian. This is intrigue.”

  “Still, General,” interrupted Anastasius, “you’re depending too much on happenstance. I don’t care if we’re talking battles or in
trigue-or plotting how to cuckold the quartermaster, for that matter-you still can’t rely that much on luck.” Unlike Valentinian’s voice, whose tenor had been sharp with agitation, Anastasius’ basso was calm and serene. His words carried much the greater weight, because of it.

  Belisarius hesitated, marshaling his arguments. This was no place for simple authority, he knew. The cataphracts and the Ethiopians needed to be convinced, not commanded.

  Before he could speak, Ousanas interrupted.

  “I disagree with Anastasius and Valentinian. And Garmat. They are mistaking complexity for intricacy. The plan is complex, true, in the sense that it involves many interacting vectors.”

  Belisarius restrained a laugh, seeing the gapes of his Thracian soldiers and the glum resignation on the faces of Ethiopian sarwen. Ousanas gestured enthusiastically.

  “But that is not the same thing as luck! Oh, no, not at all. Luck is my specialty, it is true, just as the sarwen said. But the simple-minded warrior” — a dismissive wave- “does not understand luck, and that is why he thinks I am lucky. I am not. I am fortunate, because I understand the way of good fortune.”

  The dawazz leaned forward.

  “The secret of which is I will now tell you. One cannot predict the intricate workings of luck, but one can grasp the vectors of good fortune. All you must do is find the simple thing which is at the heart of the problem and seize it. Hold that-hold it with a grip of iron, and keep it always in your mind-and you will find your way through the vectors.”

  “Fancy talk,” sneered Valentinian. “But tell me this, O wise one-what’s the simple thing about the general’s plan?” He snorted. “Name any simple thing about his plan!”

  Ousanas returned the sarcasm with a level gaze.

  “The simple thing at the heart of the general’s plan, Valentinian, is the soul of Venandakatra. The entire plan revolves around that one thing. Which is perhaps the simplest thing in the world.”

  “No man’s soul is simple,” countered Valentinian, feebly.

  “Not yours, perhaps,” replied the dawazz. “But the soul of Venandakatra? You think that thing is complex?” Ousanas barked. In that single laugh was contained a universe of contempt. “If you wish complexity, Valentinian, examine a pile of dog shit. Do not look for it in the soul of Venandakatra.”

  “He’s got a point,” rumbled Anastasius. The huge cataphract sighed. “A rather good one, actually.” Another sigh, like the resignation of Atlas to his labors. “Irrefutable, in fact.”

  Valentinian glowered. “Maybe!” he snapped. “But still-what of the rest of it? The prince’s part in the plot is simple enough, I’ll admit.” A skeptical glance at Eon. “If-begging your pardon, Prince-the young royal can stomach it.” Now he pointed to Ousanas. “But what of his part in the plan? Do you call that simple?”

  Ousanas grinned. “In what way is it not? I am required to do two things only. Not more than two! I assure you, cataphract, even savages from the savanna can count as high as two.”

  Menander interrupted, in a whisper.

  “Those are two pretty complicated things, Ousanas.”

  “Nonsense! First, I must learn a new language. A trick I learned as a boy. Then, I must hunt. A trick I learned even earlier.”

  “You’re not going to be hunting an eland in the savanna, dawazz,” said Eon uncertainly.

  “That’s right,” chimed in Valentinian. “You’re going to be hunting a man in a forest. A man you don’t know, in a forest you’ve never seen, in a land you’ve never visited.”

  Ousanas shrugged. “What of it? Hunting is simple, my dear Valentinian. When I was a boy, growing up in the savanna, I did not think so. I was much impressed with the speed of the impala, and the cunning of the buffalo, and the ferocity of the hyena. So I wasted many years studying the ways of these beasts, mastering their intricate habits.”

  He wiped his brow. “So exhausting, it was. By the time I was thirteen, I thought myself the world’s greatest hunter. Until a wise old man of the village told me that the world’s greatest hunters were tiny little people in a distant jungle. They were called pygmies, he said, and they hunted the greatest of all prey. The elephant.”

  “Elephants?” exclaimed Anastasius. He frowned. “Just exactly how tiny are these-these pygmies?”

  “Oh, very tiny!” Ousanas gestured with his hand. “Not more than so. I know it is true. As soon as I heard the wise man’s words, I rushed off to the jungle to witness this wonder for myself. Indeed, it was just as the village elder had said. The littlest folk in the world, who thought nothing of slaying the earth’s most fearsome creatures.”

  “How did they do it?” asked Menander, with youthful avidness. “With spears?”

  Ousanas shrugged. “Only at the end. They trapped the elephants in pits, first. I said they were tiny, Menander. I did not say they were stupid. But, mainly, they trapped the elephants with wisdom. For these little folk, you see, did not waste their time as I had done, studying the intricate ways of their prey. They simply grasped the soul of the elephant, and set their traps accordingly. The elephant’s soul is fearless, and so they dug their pits in the very middle of the largest trails, where no other beast would think to tread.”

  He stared at his prince. “Just so will I trap my prey. It is not complicated. No, it will be the simplest thing imaginable. For the soul of my prey is, in its way, as uncomplicated as that of Venandakatra. And I will not even have to grasp that soul, for it has been in my hand for years already. I have stared into the very eyes of that soul, from a distance of inches.”

  He stretched out his left arm. There, wandering across the ridged muscles and tendons, was a long and ragged scar. It was impossible to miss the white mark against his black flesh, though the color had faded a bit over the years.

  “Here is the mark of the panther’s soul, my friends. I know it as well as my own.”

  Valentinian heaved a sigh. “Oh, hell. I tried.”

  It was a signal, Belisarius knew. Quickly scanning the other faces in the cabin, he saw that they had joined in Valentinian’s acceptance.

  Valentinian was even grinning, now. The cataphract looked at Ezana and Wahsi.

  “Remember what Anastasius and I told you?” he demanded. “You didn’t believe us after the battle with the pirates!”

  Wahsi snorted. “ This is what you meant by your general’s famous ’oblique approach’?”

  Ezana laughed. “Like saying a snake walks funny!” He reached up and touched the bandage on his head. “Still,” he added cheerfully, “it’s better than charging across an open deck.”

  Belisarius smiled and leaned back against the wall of their cabin.

  “I think that’s all we need discuss, for the moment,” he said. “We’ll have time to hone the plan, in the weeks ahead.”

  Ousanas frowned. “All we need to discuss? Nonsense, General!” A quick dismissing gesture. “Oh, as to the plan-certainly! Good plans are like good meat, best cooked rare. Now we can move on to discuss truly important things.”

  His great grin erupted.

  “Philosophy!” He rubbed his hands. “Such a joy to be surrounded by Greeks, now that I can speak the language of philosophy without that horrid pidgin nonsense getting in the way. I shall begin with Plotinus. It is my contention that his application of the principle of prior simplicity to the nature of the divine intellect is, from the standpoint of logic, false; and from the standpoint of theology, impious. I speak, here, of his views as presented by Porphyry in Book V of the Enneads. What is your opinion?”

  Another dismissive gesture. “I ask this question of the Greeks present, of course. I know the views of the Ethiopians. They think I am a raving madman.”

  “You are a raving madman,” said Wahsi.

  “A gibbering lunatic,” added Ezana.

  “I’m not Greek,” growled Valentinian.

  “I’ve never heard such drivel in my life,” rumbled Anastasius. “Absolute rubbish. The principle of prior simplicity is accepted
by all the great philosophers, Plato and Aristotle alike, whatever their other disputes. Plotinus simply applied the concept to the nature of divinity.”

  Anastasius’ enormous shoulders rolled his head forward. The granite slabs, tors, and crevices which made up his face quivered with ecstasy.

  “The logic of his position is unassailable,” continued the basso profundo, sounding, to all in the room save Ousanas, like the voice of doom itself. “I admit, the theological implications are staggering, at first glance. But I remind you, Ousanas, that the great Augustine himself held Plotinus in the highest regard, and-”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” whispered Menander, falling back weakly. “He hasn’t done this since the first day I showed up, the new boy, and he trapped me in the barracks.” A hideous moan. “For hours. Hours.”

  Eon and the sarwen were gaping at Anastasius, much as they might have gaped at a buffalo suddenly transformed into a unicorn.

  Garmat raised his eyes to the heavens.

  “It is an indisputable virtue of my mother’s people,” he muttered, “that they are poets rather than philosophers. Whatever other crimes they have committed, no Arab has ever bored a man to death.”

  Valentinian glared at Belisarius. “It’s your fault,” hissed the weasel.

  Belisarius shrugged. “I forgot. And how was I to know he’d find a kindred spirit? On this expedition?”

  “It’s still your fault,” came the unforgiving voice. “You knew what he was like. You knew his father was Greek. You picked the troops. You’re the general. You’re in command. Command takes responsibility! ”

  “Ridiculous!” exclaimed Ousanas. “How can you say such-”

  “- still,” overrode Anastasius, “I fail to see how you can deny that Plato’s Forms must also derive from prior elements-”

  “And now you insult Plato!”

  “How far is it to India?” whispered Menander.

  “Weeks, the way these wretched Malwa sail,” groused Eon. And here the prince launched into his own technical diatribe, which, though it was just as long-winded as the debate raging elsewhere in the cabin, had at least the virtue of being more-or-less comprehensible, even to landlubbers like Belisarius.