Fortune's stroke b-4 Page 42

  Again, he sighed. "Nonetheless, they were critical. Rather harshly so, in fact. They feel that I have neglected the first requirement of a successful dynasty."

  He looked away. "They are quite correct, of course. So I promised them I would see to the matter immediately. If possible."

  Irene stared at him, for a moment. Then she bolted upright, clutching the sheets to her chest.

  "What?" she hissed. "You expect me-me, a Greek noblewoman accustomed to luxury and comfort-to go traipsing off with you into the wilds of Central Asia? Squat in some ruins in the middle of mountains and deserts, surrounded by barbarian hordes and God-knows-what other dangers?" Her eyes were very wide. "Be a queen for a bunch of Kushan mercenaries with delusions of grandeur? Spend the rest of my life in a desperate struggle to forge a kingdom out of nothing?"

  Other than a slight tightening of his jaws, Kungas' face was a rigid mask. "I don't expect," he said softly. "I am simply asking. Hoping."

  Irene flung her arms around his neck and dragged him down. Within a second, the huge, heavy bed was practically bouncing off the floor from her sheer energy. Quiver, shiver; quake and shake.

  "Oh, Kungas!" she squealed. "We're going to have so much fun!"

  A reminder and a distinction

  When he finished reading the letter from Emperor Skandagupta, Damodara turned his head and stared at the Tigris. For a moment, his gaze followed the river's course, north to Assyria-and Anatolia, and Constantinople beyond. Then, for a longer moment, the gaze came to rest on his army's camp. It was a well-built camp, solid, strong. Almost a permanent fort, after all the weeks of work.

  "That's it, then," he said softly. "It's over."

  He turned to the man at his side, folding the letter. "Prepare the army, Rana Sanga. We have been summoned back to India. The emperor urges great haste."

  Sanga nodded. He began to turn away, but stopped. "If I may ask, Lord-what is to be our new assignment?"

  Damodara sighed heavily. "Unrest is spreading all over India. The Deccan is in full revolt. Venandakatra has been driven back into Bharakuccha. He is confident that he can hold the city unaided, though he can't reconquer Majarashtra without assistance. That will end up being our task, no doubt. But first we must subdue Bihar and Bengal, while the emperor rebuilds the main army. He expects the Romans to attack our northwest provinces within a year. Two years, at the outside."

  Sanga said nothing. But his face grew tight.

  "It appears that you will be meeting Raghunath Rao again some day," mused Damodara. "After all these years. The bards and poets will be drooling."

  Damodara studied Sanga closely. Then said, very softly: "The day may come, Rana Sanga-may come-when I will have to ask you to remember your oath."

  Sanga's face, already tight, became as strained as a taut sheet. "I do not need to be reminded of honor, Lord Damodara," he grated harshly.

  Damodara shook his head. "I did not say I would ask you to honor your oath, Sanga. Simply to remember it."

  Sanga frowned. "What is the distinction?"

  There was no answer. After a moment, shrugging angrily, Sanga stalked off.

  Damodara remained behind, staring at the river. He found some comfort, perhaps, in the study of moving water.

  A concern and an explanation

  "I am your obedient servant, Lord," said Narses, bowing his head.

  As soon as Damodara left the tent, Narses' face broke into a grin. "We're on," he muttered, rubbing his hands.

  Ajatasutra looked up from the chess board. "What are you so excited about?"

  Narses stared at him. The grin faded, replaced by something which bordered on sadness.

  "You have become like a son to me," said Narses abruptly.

  Ajatasutra's face went blank. For a moment, no more. Then, a sly smile came. "That's not entirely reassuring, Narses. As I recall, the last time you adopted a spiritual offspring you tried to murder her."

  Narses waved his hand. "Not right away," he countered. "Not for many years, in fact. Besides-"

  The eunuch sat on the chair facing Ajatasutra. He stared down at the chess board. "Besides, the situation isn't comparable. She was an empress. You're just a poor adventurer."

  Ajatasutra snorted. Narses glanced at the small chest in the corner of the tent. "Well-relatively speaking."

  The assassin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. "Why don't you just come out with it, Narses? If you want to know my loyalties, ask."

  The eunuch opened his mouth. Closed it. Ajatasutra laughed, quite gaily. "Gods above! I'd hate to live in your mind. You just can't do it, can you?"

  Narses opened his mouth. Closed it.

  Ajatasutra, still chuckling, shook his head. "Relax, old man. Like you said, I'm an adventurer. And I can't imagine anybody who'd provide me with more adventures than you."

  Narses sighed. "Thank you," he whispered. His lips twisted wryly. "It means a great deal to me, Ajatasutra. Whether I'm capable of saying it or not."

  Ajatasutra eyed the eunuch, for a moment. "I'm puzzled, though. Why the sudden concern?"

  The assassin nodded toward the entrance of the tent. "I didn't catch any of your conversation with Damodara. But I did hear his last sentence. `You do not have my permission to do anything, Narses.' That sounds pretty definite, to me."

  Narses cackled. "What a novice! A babe in the woods!" He leaned forward. "You really must learn to parse a sentence properly, Ajatasutra. `You do not have permission,' my boy, does not mean the same thing as: `I forbid you.' "

  Ajatasutra's eyes widened. Narses cackled again. "It's mate in six moves, by the way," the eunuch added.

  A greeting and a grouse

  There was not much left of Charax, when Belisarius and Antonina returned from Adulis a few weeks later. But the Persians had managed to salvage enough of the docks for their ship to be moored.

  Emperor Khusrau was there to meet them, along with Baresmanas, Kurush and Agathius. The Persians were beaming happily. Agathius was not.

  Politely, the Persians allowed Agathius to greet the general first. The Duke of Osrhoene limped forward, aiding his wooden leg and foot with a pair of crutches. "Fine mess you left me," he grumbled, the moment Belisarius came up to him.

  Belisarius glanced around, frowning. "What did you expect? You knew I was going to wreck the place."

  "Not that," snorted Agathius. "It's all the irate letters I've been getting from the empress. Theodora is demanding to know how I could have been so careless. Letting the Persians get their hands on gunpowder technology."

  "Oh-that." Belisarius clapped Agathius on the shoulder. "You covered for me, I trust?"

  Agathius shrugged. "Sure, why not? I still know how to bake bread, when I get cashiered in disgrace." Gloomily: "Assuming she lets me keep my head."

  Belisarius turned to Antonina. "The two of you have never met, I believe. Antonina, meet one of my finest generals. Agathius, this is my wife. She is also, I might mention, Theodora's best friend."

  Agathius extended his hand. "Well. It's certainly a pleasure to meet you."

  A regret and a cheer

  Much later that night, after Khusrau and his entourage left, Belisarius stretched lazily.

  "There's something to be said for having Persians as allies," he announced. His admiring eyes roamed about the lavishly furnished pavilion which the Aryan emperor had provided for them.

  Antonina grinned. "Cut it out, soldier. Since when have you given a damn about luxuries? You just like the idea of dehgans hammering away at somebody else, that's all."

  Belisarius returned the grin with one of his own. "True, true," he admitted. "Fills me with pure glee, it does, thinking about the Malwa trying to retreat with those mean bastards climbing all over them."

  After a moment, his amusement faded. Within a very short time, it was gone completely.

  "It's not your fault, love," said Antonina gently.

  Belisarius blew out his cheeks. "No. It isn't. And if I had to do it over ag
ain, I wouldn't hesitate for a minute. But-"

  He sighed. "Most of them are just peasants, Antonina. Not more than twenty thousand will ever make it back to their families in India. Khusrau and Kurush will harry them mercilessly, all the way to the Indus valley." He rubbed his face. "And if Eon's new warships can keep the Malwa from landing supplies on the coast, there won't even be ten thousand survivors."

  It's not your fault, said Aide.

  Belisarius shook his head. "That's not the point, Aide. Antonina. I'm not concerned with fault. Malwa is to blame for the death of their soldiers, just as surely as they are for the crimes those soldiers committed while they were in Persia. No one else."

  His hands curled into fists. "It's just-"

  Belisarius turned his head, staring into the flame of a lamp. "It's just that there are times when I really wish I could have been a blacksmith."

  Silence followed. A minute or so later, Maurice came into the pavilion. The chiliarch gazed on his general, still staring at the lamp.

  "Indulging in the usual triumphal melancholy, are we?" he demanded.

  Belisarius, not moving his eyes from the lamp, smiled crookedly. "Am I really that predictable?"

  Maurice snorted. He advanced into the pavilion and placed a hand on Belisarius' shoulder.

  "Well, cheer up, lad. I've got some good news. I'm expanding your bodyguard. You'll be leading a huge allied army on your next campaign. Got to have a more substantial bodyguard. Nothing else, the Persians will be miffed if you don't."

  Belisarius scowled. "For the sake of Christ, Maurice. If you give me a Persian-style bodyguard I won't be able to see my hand in front of my face."

  Maurice chuckled. "Oh, I wasn't thinking of anything that elaborate. Just going to add one more man, to give Anastasius, Isaac and Priscus a bit of a break. The new man's here, by the way, right outside the pavilion. I'd introduce you, except that it would be purely ridiculous. And I don't want to have to listen to him muttering about stupid formalities."

  Belisarius was out of his chair and gone in an instant.

  "See?" demanded Maurice. "Didn't I say I'd cheer him up?"

  An accusation and a reproof

  "He just let me go, General," said Valentinian. The cataphract hooked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the Persian camp. A wild revelry seemed to be going on. "He let all the Roman prisoners go. He told me to tell you that was in exchange for the Rajput prisoners you left in the qanat."

  Belisarius scratched his chin. "That I can understand. But why you? I offered him a fortune for your ransom."

  Valentinian's narrow face creased into a grin. "If I survive long enough, General, I'll be asking you to remember that ransom. When you decide on a suitable retirement bonus."

  Belisarius smiled, nodding. "That I will, Valentinian. You can be sure of it."

  There was still a question in his eyes. Valentinian shrugged. "I really don't know, General. But he did say something strange, when I left."

  Belisarius cocked his eyebrow. Again, Valentinian shrugged.

  "Meant nothing to me. Kind of silly, I thought. But the last thing Damodara said, just as I was getting on the horse, was that he hoped you were a man with a proper respect for grammar."

  Belisarius laughed, then. The laughter went on so long that Valentinian started muttering.

  That sounded like "cryptic fucking clowns" to me, pronounced Aide.

  Me too, replied Belisarius, still laughing. But I'm sure we must be mistaken. Be terribly disrespectful of the high command!

  Certainly would! The facets flashed. The crystalline rooster reappeared, its beady eyes filled with accusation. Speaking of which-

  The laughter went on and on. Maurice and Antonina emerged from the tent.

  "We're in trouble, girl," announced Maurice. "Deep trouble. That drooling idiot's supposed to lead us all to final victory."

  Antonina stiffened. "Watch your mouth! That's my husband you're talking about." She frowned. "Even if he is a fucking clown."

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