Fortune's stroke b-4 Page 40

  "I can't believe it," he muttered. "I haven't done that since I was fourteen."

  Awkwardly, he groped for words. "Well," he fumbled, "well. Well. It should have, actually. Much longer." He took a breath. How to explain? Halting words followed, speaking of self-discipline too suddenly vanished, excessive eagerness, a dream come true without sufficient emotional preparation, and-and-

  When Shakuntala finally understood-which didn't take long, in truth; she was inexperienced but very intelligent; though it seemed like ages to Rao-she burst into laughter.

  "So!" she cried.

  He had trained her to wrestle, also. In an instant, she squirmed out from under him and had him flat on his back. Then, straddling him, she began her chastisement.

  "So!" Playfully, she punched his chest. "The truth is out!"

  Punch. "Champion-ha! Hero-ha!" Punch. "I have been defrauded! Cheated!"

  Rao was laughing himself, now. The laughs grew louder and louder, as he heard his wife bestow upon him his new cognomens of ridicule and ignominy. The Pant of Majarashtra. The Gust of the Great Country-no! The Puff of the Great Country.

  Laughter drove out shame, and brought passion to fill the void. Soon enough-very soon-the empress ceased her complaints. And, by the end of a long night, allowed-regally magnanimous, for all the sweat-that her husband was still her champion.

  Chapter 41

  The Strait of Hormuz

  Autumn, 532 A.D.

  A monster fled ruin and disaster. Licking its wounds, trailing blood, dragging its maimed limbs, the beast clawed back toward its lair. Silent, for all its agony; its cold mind preoccupied with plans for revenge. Revenge, and an eventual return to predation.

  A different monster would have screamed, from fury and frustration as much as pain and fear. But that was not this monster's way. Not even when the hunter who had maimed it sprang, again, from ambush.

  Though, for a moment, there might have been a gleam of hatred, somewhere deep inside those ancient eyes.

  Chapter 42

  Belisarius started to speak. Then, closed his mouth.

  "Good, good," murmured Ousanas. The aqabe tsentsen glanced slyly at Antonina.

  She returned the look with a sniff. "My husband is an experienced general," she proclaimed. "My husband is calm and cool on the eve of battle."

  Ousanas chuckled. "So it seems. Though, for a moment there, I would have sworn he was about to tell experienced sea captains how to maneuver a fleet."

  Belisarius never took his eyes off the approaching flotilla of Malwa vessels. But his crooked smile did make an appearance.

  "What nonsense," he said firmly. "The idea's absurd." He turned his head, speaking to the man standing just behind him. "Isn't it, Maurice?"

  Maurice scowled. "Of course it is. You'd spend ten minutes, before you got into it, telling Gersem which way the wind's blowing. After spending half an hour explaining what sails are for."

  "It's the general's curse," muttered Belisarius. "Surly subordinates."

  "After spending two hours describing what wind is in the first place," continued Maurice. "And three hours-" He stuck out a stubby finger, pointing to the sea around them. "Oh, Gersem-look! That stuff's called water."

  Ousanas and Antonina burst out laughing. Belisarius, for all his ferocious frown, was hard-pressed not to join them.

  After a moment, however, the amusement faded. They were hunting a monster, after all. And they were no longer lurking in ambush, hidden in a blind.

  Behind him, Belisarius heard Maurice sigh. "All right, all right," the chiliarch muttered. "Fair's fair. You were right again, general. But I still don't know how you figured it out."

  "I didn't `figure it out,' exactly. It was a guess, that's all. But we had nothing to lose, except wasting a few days here in the Strait while the rest of the cargo ships carried the troops to Adulis."

  Belisarius pointed north, sweeping his finger in a little arc. They were well into the Strait of Hormuz, now. The Persian mainland was a dim presence looming beyond the bow of the huge cargo vessel.

  "That's about the worst terrain I can think of, to try to march an army through, without a reliable supply route. Any size army, much less that horde Link's got."

  Maurice snorted. "Not much of a horde now! Not after we got done with them."

  Belisarius shook his head. "Don't fool yourself, Maurice. We inflicted terrible casualties on them, true. And God knows how many died in the final destruction of the city. But I'm quite sure two thirds of the Malwa army is still intact." He grimaced, slightly. "Well-alive, anyway. `Intact' is putting it too strongly."

  He paused, studying the oncoming Malwa vessels. There were six ships in that little flotilla. The five galleys which had avoided the Ethiopians in the delta were escorting a cargo ship. That vessel, though it was larger than the galleys, was far smaller than the huge ship Belisarius was standing upon.

  The general interrupted his own discourse. Leaning back from the rail, he shouted a question toward Gersem. The Axumite commander was perched in the very bow of the ship, bestowing his own intense scrutiny on the enemy.

  "Three hundred tons, Belisarius!" came the reply. "Probably the largest ship they had left."

  Belisarius chuckled, seeing Gersem's scowl. The Malwa vessel had been used as a supply ship on the Euphrates. The Ethiopian, a seaman, was half-outraged at the idea of using such a craft for a river barge. And he was already disgruntled, having been forced to captain this great, ugly, clumsy, ungainly Malwa vessel-instead of one of the Ethiopian warships which formed the rest of his fleet.

  Belisarius returned to the subject. "Link has to try to save as many of those soldiers as it can, Maurice. It can save a few of them-they'll be Ye-tai, to a man-by using what's left of the supply ships on the river. But the only way to salvage the main forces is to use the supply fleet at Bharakuccha, waiting for the westbound monsoon. Thirty ships, according to the report Antonina got from Irene. Irene wrote that report just before she left Suppara, not many days ago. The ships were already loading provisions."

  Mention of Irene's report brought a moment's silence, as the four people standing at the rail joined in a heartfelt smile of relief, delight, and bemusement. Relief, that they knew Irene was still alive to write reports. Delight, at the report itself. And bemusement, at the workings of fate.

  Irene had written that report more out of sentiment than anything else. The odds of getting it into Antonina's hands were well-nigh astronomical. But-why not? There were no secrets in the report, after all, to keep from Malwa. And the captain of the Ethiopian smuggling ship had sworn-scoffing-that he could get the message through the Malwa blockade and back to Axum. Whether it would ever reach Antonina, of course, he could not promise.

  In the event, that smuggler's ship had encountered the Ethiopian flotilla waiting at the Strait to ambush Link. The message had found its way into Antonina's hands the day before.

  "I'd like to have been at that wedding," mused Belisarius. "Just to finally see Rao dance, right before me."

  He closed his eyes, for a moment. He had seen Rao dance, but only in a vision. In another time, in another future, Belisarius had spent thirty years in Rao's company. He admired the Maratha chieftain-imperial consort, now-perhaps more than any other man he had ever known. And so, for a moment, he savored Rao's joy at being-finally, in this turn of the wheel-united with his soul's treasure.

  Antonina spent that moment savoring another's joy. Irene was her best friend. She had been able to discern a subtle message contained within the depiction of political and military developments. Kungas had figured a bit too prominently in those sober sentences. Quite a bit too prominently, measured in sheer number of words. And why in the world would Irene, glowingly, take the trouble to describe an illiterate's progress at his books?

  Uncertain, not knowing the man herself, Antonina had raised her suspicions with Belisarius. Her husband, once he realized what she was hinting at, had immediately burst into laughter.

  "Of cours
e!" he'd exclaimed. "It's a match made in heaven." Then, seeing her doubting face: "Trust me, love. If there's a man in the world who wouldn't be intimidated by Irene, it's Kungas. As for her-?" Shrugging, laughing. "You know how much she loves a challenge!"

  The moment passed, soon enough. Within an hour, they would be in battle again.

  "So what would Link do, Maurice? Would it send subordinates to organize the supply effort, while it led the march back to India?" Belisarius shook his head. "I didn't think that likely. No, I was almost sure Link would want to get to India itself, as fast as possible. Why else hold back the surviving galleys, at the last minute, in the battle of the delta? One of them, certainly; perhaps two. That would have been enough to send subordinates with a message."

  He pointed at the cargo ship nestled among the Malwa galleys. They were less than two miles away. He was smiling, not like a man, but like a wolf smiles, seeing a fat and crippled caribou.

  "That, my friends, is not a subordinate's ship. That is the best Link could do, replacing Great Lady Holi's luxury barge in Kausambi."

  The smile vanished completely. Nothing was left, beyond pure ferocity.

  "I own that monster, now. Finally."

  Belisarius' quiet, seething rage brought hidden, half-conscious thoughts to the surface. For the first time, Aide realized Belisarius' full intentions. Sooner, perhaps, than Belisarius did himself.

  No! he cried. You must not! It will kill you!

  Belisarius started. There had been sheer panic in that crystalline voice.

  What is wrong, Aide? Forcefully: We're not going to have this argument again. I've led charges in battle, often enough.

  That was different! You were fighting men, not a cyborg. Men who wanted to live, as much as you. Life means nothing to Link-not even its own!

  Long minutes followed, while Belisarius waged a fierce argument with Aide. His companions, from experience, understood the meaning of his silence and his unfocused eyes. But, as the minutes passed, they grew concerned-none more so than Antonina. Not since they first encountered Aide, and he transported Belisarius into a vision of future horror, had she seen her husband spend so much time in that peculiar trance.

  When he finally emerged, his face was bleak. Bleak, but bitterly determined.

  Belisarius pointed to the Malwa cargo ship in which, if he was correct, Link was waiting. The ship was not more than a mile distant, now. Already, kshatriyas were erecting rocket troughs on the deck.

  "There is something you should know. Aide just explained it to me. There is a reason the new gods choose women as the vessels for Link. Great Lady Holi, today. If she dies, Link will be transferred into the person-the body, I should say-of her niece, Sati. She is probably still in Kausambi. If Sati dies, there will be another girl, in that same line. Somewhere in Kausambi also, in all likelihood."

  He paused, groping for a way to translate Aide's concepts. The effort was hopeless. Words like "genetics" and "mitochondrial DNA" would mean nothing to his companions. He barely understood them himself.

  He waved his hand. "Never mind the specifics. Link is part machine, part human. The machine part, the core of it, is somewhere in India. Probably in Kausambi also. Its consciousness is passed, upon her death, from one woman to her successor. The new Link, once it's-`activated,' let's call it-has all the memories of the old one, up till the time she last-" Again, he groped for words. "Communicated with the machine."

  He paused. Maurice, eagerly, filled the void. "You know what that means?" he demanded. The chiliarch gripped the rail fiercely, glaring at the enemy ship. "What it means," he hissed, "is that if we kill that old bitch, the Malwa will be thrown into complete confusion. The new Link-what's her name? Sati? — won't know what's happened since Holi left. That's been a year and a half, now! It'll take her months-months-to get things reorganized."

  He turned from the rail, eager-eager. "God, General, that's perfect! We need that time, ourselves. Sure, we won this battle. But our troops are exhausted, too. We need to refit, and hook back up with Agathius and the Persians, and send another mission to Majarashtra, and-"

  He stumbled to a halt. Maurice, finally, saw the other side of the thing.

  Antonina had understood at once. Her face was pale.

  "You can't board that ship! Link will commit suicide! It has no reason not to. It's not human, it's just a-a vessel. A tool." She almost gasped. "It'll want to! The last thing it can afford is to be captured."

  All of them, now, understood the implication. So why not take its enemy with it?

  "It'll have that ship rigged," muttered Maurice. "Doing it right now, probably. Ready to blow it up once you're aboard."

  Antonina ignored him. She was pale, pale. She knew that expression on Belisarius' face. Knew it all the better because it was so rare.

  "I don't give a damn," he snarled. "I've been fighting that monster for four years. I'm tired of tactics and strategy. I'm just going to kill it."

  Protest began to erupt, until a new voice spoke.

  "Of course we will!" boomed Ousanas. "Nothing to it!"

  All eyes fixed upon him. The aqabe tsentsen grinned. "Under other circumstances, of course, the deed would be insane. Foolish, suicidal!" He shrugged. "But you forget-you have me!" He began prancing around, lunging with his spear. "Terrible! A demon!"

  Antonina was not amused, this time. She began to snarl a response, until she suddenly realized-

  Ousanas was not prancing any longer. He was simply smiling, as serene as an icon.

  "No, Antonina," he said softly, "I am not joking with you now. It is a simple fact"-again, he shrugged-"that I am the best hunter I know."

  He pointed his finger at Link's ship. Not more than half a mile away, now. "Think clearly and logically. The monster cannot possibly have enough gunpowder to blow up the entire ship. It would only have brought defensive weapons. Rockets, grenades. It will set them to destroy its own cabin, after the boarding party arrives. That will take time."

  He hefted his huge spear, as lightly as if were a mere twig. "Underneath, I think. Somewhere in the hold."

  He turned to Belisarius. "You are determined, I imagine, to lead the boarding party yourself."

  Belisarius' only answer was a snarl. Ousanas nodded. "Do it, Roman. Take your best men. I will see to the rest."

  The argument still raged, but the issue was settled. Between them, Belisarius and Ousanas beat down all protest. Not even Anastasius-not even when ordered by Maurice-was prepared to stop the general. He remembered Valentinian, unyielding, on a mountainside in Persia. And knew that the champion's own general, this day, would do no less.

  By then, the Ethiopian warships were already engaging the Malwa escort galleys. The battle was not quite as swift as that in the delta. Not quite. The Malwa had seen the diekplous, and tried to avoid it. But, while their caution prolonged the outcome, it did not change it. It simply made it the more certain. In less than ten minutes, the five galleys had been boarded and their crews slaughtered. The Ethiopians lost only one of their craft to ramming. Even then, they were able to rescue the entire crew before the ship finally foundered.

  Belisarius, however, observed none of it. He had been engaged, throughout, in a new argument. Which he lost, just as surely and inevitably as he had won the first.

  "All right!" he growled, glaring at his wife. Then, heaving a great sigh: "But you stay behind, Antonina-d'you hear? I won't have you in the front line!"

  Her stubborn look faded, replaced by an insouciant smile. "Well, of course! I had no intention of leading the charge." A very delicate snort. "The whole idea's ridiculous. Unladylike."

  Chapter 43

  The monster waited. Patiently, with the sureness of eternal life. Not its own-that was meaningless-but that of its masters.

  Everything was finished, now, except revenge. The deck of the ship was a carrion-eater's paradise. Firing from the height of their own huge craft, with those powerful bows, the cataphracts had swept all life away. The kshatriyas at the rocket tr
oughs, and their Ye-tai guards, were nothing but ripped meat.

  No loss. The rocket volleys, in the short time they lasted, had been futile. The enormous vessel upon which the monster's great enemy came had simply shrugged off the missiles. There had not been many to shrug off, in any event. Most of the rockets had been taken into the hold. They would soon be put to better use.

  The monster waited, satisfied. Next to it, squatting by the throne, an assassin held the gong which would give the signal to the priests waiting below. The creature, like the priests and the special guards, was a devotee of the monster's cult. The assassin, when the monster gave the order, would do his duty without fail.

  The monster waited. Cold, cold. But, perhaps, somewhere in those depths, glowed an ember of hot glee.

  The monster had been fighting its great enemy-its tormentor-for four years. Today, finally, it was going to kill it.

  The monster idled away the time in memory. It remembered the trickery at Gwalior, and the cunning which crushed Nika. It remembered an army broken at Anatha, and another destroyed at the Nehar Malka. It remembered the catastrophe at Charax.

  Come to me, Belisarius. Come to me.

  Chapter 44

  Silently, Ousanas crept through the hold, watching for the guards. Listening for the guards, more precisely. The hold was as dark as a rain forest on a moonless night.

  Ousanas had waited for the sun to go down before he entered the hatch leading into the hold from the ship's bow. The horizon was still aglow with sunset colors, but none of that faint illumination reached into the ship's interior.

  There had been guards waiting by the entrance, of course. Two, hidden among the grain-carrying amphorae lashed against the hull. Excellent assassins, both of them. Ousanas had been impressed. Before the feet of the Ye-tai corpse even touched the deck of the hold the assassins had been there, knives flashing. The blades had penetrated the gaps in the corpse's Roman armor with sure precision.