by Eric Flint
By now, she is at ninety-seven percent of light speed. And she was already very massive.
Finally, Belisarius understood.
A last thought came to him, from the ancient Great One. Still with that tone of harsh amusement.
SO, GRANDFATHER. DID YOU REALLY THINK WE HAD FORGOTTEN THERMOPYLAE?
Her companions veered aside. Alone, now, the ancient Great One struck the asteroid.
No grazing strike, this; not even a wounding strike. She plunged into the core of the asteroid, in a blow as straight and true and fatal as a sword through the heart.
The asteroid simply. . vaporized. There was nothing left but a great, glowing, spreading cloud of plasma and dust.
I hated the new gods, Aide said. But I almost wish. .
There are no new gods, Belisarius answered coldly. There never were. And now there is only the memory of demons.
Goodbye, Granddaughter. If I ever meet the ghosts of Leonidas and his Spartans, I will tell them that their bloodline ran true.
He was back in the square at Kausambi, staring up at the sky. It was quite cloudless.
I'm glad. I never much liked clouds. Too messy.
Belisarius couldn't stop himself from barking a laugh.
Look, I'm a crystal, Aide said, a bit defensively. We're just naturally more fussy housekeepers than you protoplasmic slobs.
Tears welled into his eyes. Oh, dear God, I will miss you.
Yes, I know. But there was a time I wouldn't have understood that at all-and it was my life here that made that change possible. Made all things possible, for me and all of my children. And that is what they are now, Belisarius, all those untold trillions of living crystal humans. My children. Flesh of my flesh, so to speak, and mind of my mind.
After a moment, in that witty tone that Belisarius would also miss desperately: Of course, we're not as sloppy about the whole business as you are.
For a split-second far too brief to measure, Belisarius felt as if a ripple passed through the world.
It did, said Aide quietly. I love you, Grandfather. Goodbye.
Damodara himself was the first to approach Belisarius, still sitting on the bench. The Roman general's eyes were open, and wet, but he seemed not to notice the emperor at all.
Gently, Damodara opened his loosely closed fist. Then sighed, seeing what lay within. He had seen that jewel, once, in all its transcendent glory. Now it was just a dull stone. No different from any he might find embedded in a cliff, or lying loose on a sandy beach.
Just as gently, he closed the fist. When he straightened up, he said: "See to it that no one disturbs him, for however long he chooses to remain here."
An officer jerked his head. Two of the soldiers who accompanied the imperial party moved forward to take position on either side of the general. But Sanga waved them back.
"Not them. I will do it myself. And his two cataphracts, if they choose."
Anastasius moved forward, saying nothing.
"You've got to be kidding," muttered Valentinian.
He took his position to the right of Belisarius, where Anastasius was to the left. Sanga remained standing, just behind.
Their postures were quite similar. Except that Valentinian, naturally, held his sword in his hand.
"Anybody bothers the general, he's fucking dead."
Damodara heard the mutter. He said quietly to the officer: "Best position a number of soldiers around the square. Some beggar or dimwit might wander by. And, ah, the Mongoose is not joking."
Near sundown, Belisarius emerged from his half-trance. Jerking his head a little, he looked first to the right, then to the left, and then over his shoulder.
Seeing Sanga, his lips twisted. The expression bore no resemblance, really, to the crooked smile the Rajput king remembered. But he was still glad to see it.
"I need to speak to the emperor," Belisarius said, "but I don't want to miss the sunset. Not this one. Ask him if he'd be willing to meet me here."
"Of course." Sanga was striding up the steps a moment later, taking them two at a time with his long legs.
Not five minutes later, Damodara emerged from the palace, with Sanga at his side. When he came up to the bench, Belisarius shifted over, leaving room for the emperor.
"Sit, please, if you would. I realize a dozen courtiers will drop dead from shock at the sight."
Smiling, Damodara sat. "No such great fortune, I fear. But perhaps a few might be struck dumb, for a time."
They sat silently, for a moment, both looking at the sunset. By now, the sun was below the rooftops.
"I am sorry, Belisarius."
"Yes."
Silence, again, for a few minutes. Then Belisarius shook his head.
"Life goes on. As amazing as that seems, sometimes."
The emperor said nothing. Just nodded.
"As I recall, the quarrel was over where to hold the peace conference."
"Yes," said Damodara. "I proposed holding it here, but-"
"No, that won't work. Rao might be willing to come, but Shakuntala would have him chained and shackled. She has no great trust-yet, anyway-for any Malwa."
Damodara chuckled. "That was the gist of it. The young empress of Andhra expressed herself, ah, with more youthful vigor."
"Hold it in Bharakuccha. It's closer to neutral ground than any other. And have the new medical orders organize and manage the thing."
"Bharakuccha. ." Damodara considered the proposition. "Yes, that makes sense. But will the medical orders be ready for such a task, on so little notice?"
"My wife Antonina's already there, and she's still officially the head of the Hospitalers. Anna Saronites can get there quickly-trust me on that-and Bindusara is not far away. Meaning no offense, Your Majesty, but I think the three of them can manage the business considerably better than a pack of courtiers and officials."
"Well. True. Good idea, Belisarius."
Belisarius pinched his eyes. "I got it from Aide, actually. Just yesterday."
But when he looked up, there was only a hint of moisture in the eyes. "There is also-always-the memory of angels," he said quietly.
He seemed to be speaking to himself, more than to the emperor. "And what else are we, really, than memories? It took me all afternoon to understand. He came here so that he could have memories also. And, having gained them-fought for them, and won them-he left them behind for me. For all of us."
"I will have a monument erected to the Talisman of God," said Damodara.
"Make it a small one. Not ostentatious. A place for quiet meditation, not pomp and parades. I know a good place for it. A sal grove between the Ganges and the Yamuna, where an Armenian soldier already rests. He and Aide would both like that, I think."
He smiled, finally. "And make sure it's well kept-up, please. He disliked messiness."
Chapter 42
Kausambi
Summer, 534 AD
Thankfully, all things considered, the next few weeks were so hectic that Belisarius never had much chance to brood on Aide's death. While he could rely on Antonina and Anna and Bindusara to organize the peace conference in Bharakuccha, he-along with Damodara, of course-had the more pressing task of ensuring that the cease-fire was not violated.
Not too badly, at least. There were some incidents, inevitably. The worst was a clash between the Amaravati garrison and Deccan irregulars that almost assumed the proportions of a running battle. That happened in the course of the garrison's march back to the Ganges plain. The garrison was big, its supply train was poorly organized, its commander was another of the many imperial cousins who'd been selected by Skandagupta for his political connections rather than his military skill, and the soldiers of the garrison were still accustomed to the old Malwa ways of handling local populations.
None of the Andhran peoples-certainly not the Marathas-were in any mood to tolerate Malwa atrocities any longer, even on a small scale. So, after a few episodes, the countryside erupted. Within days, the retreating garrison was being subject
ed to daily ambushes. Rao announced he would intercept them with the regular Andhran army; and, in a perhaps indelicate phrase-transmitted by both radio and telegraph-predicted that the Deccan's carrion-eaters would soon be too fat to run or fly.
Coming from someone else, that might have been taken for mere bluster. But the day after making the announcement, Rao led his army out of their camps on a march up the Narmada. No leisurely march, this; at the pace he maintained, he would indeed intercept the Amaravati garrison long before they could reach the safety of the Vindhyas.
Between them, Belisarius and Damodara managed to defuse the situation before it could become a full-blown crisis. Belisarius, by cajoling Shakuntala over the telegraph lines-not hesitating to use the low tactic of reminding her how much Andhra owed him personally-and Damodara by the still simpler expedient of ordering the garrison to alter its route of march and return via the east coast.
That took the garrison out of Andhran territory altogether, which Rao grudgingly allowed was an acceptable solution. He also, however, predicted that the garrison would continue its depredations as it marched.
Which it did. Indeed, it behaved more badly still. The garrison was in Orissa now, whose population lacked the ferocity and martial traditions of the Marathas. With a commander who sullenly ignored most of Damodara's commands-erratically transmitted, in any event, since the telegraph network in Orissa was primitive-and a soldiery taking out its anger at Maratha harassment on defenseless Orissans, the march degenerated into an orgy of plunder and rapine.
It all came to an end in Bhubaneshwar. When the garrison reached the ancient city, the former capital of both the Kalinga and Chedi dynasties, they discovered that both Rana Sanga and Toramana had already arrived.
With ten thousand Rajputs, as many Ye-tai, and an artillery train. After hesitating for a day, the garrison's commander decided that obeying Sanga's instructions that he relinquish command was a wise idea.
It wasn't, although the outcome would have been no different if he'd tried to put up a fight.
Damodara had decided that an object lesson was needed. So, following his explicit instructions, after the garrison surrendered-no other term could really be used-Sanga and Toramana executed the commander of the garrison and every officer on his staff. Then, they executed every third surviving officer, chosen at random. Then, lined up the entire garrison-now disarmed, of course-and executed one soldier out of ten.
Then-Damodara was in a rare fury-conscripted every man who survived into forced labor battalions. In a few years, the emperor announced, he might-or might not-grant them their liberty.
He got that suggestion, along with the decimation, from Valentinian. An unsolicited suggestion, to boot, which made the courtiers quite indignant. They did not, however, voice their opinion aloud. They were discovering that while being in Damodara's service was generally far less risky than being in Skandagupta's had been, it did not lack its own moments of anxiety.
The dynasty might be new, but it was still Malwa.
That was the worst incident, by far. Fortunately, the cease fire in the Punjab, where all the truly great armies were assembled and tensely facing each other, remained peaceful. Maurice had his soldiers under tight discipline; so did Irene, until Kungas returned, when the discipline became tighter still; and Samudra was too intimidated to even think about violating the ceasefire. Besides, he had an epidemic on his hands.
The real risk of a cease-fire violation came from the Persians. Their armies, still half-feudal in nature, were never as tightly disciplined as Roman ones were. To make things worse, by now the grandees were sorely vexed at the outcome of the war.
That produced the single worst eruption of violence since the cease-fire went into effect. But since all the parties involved were Aryans, and the fighting never spilled beyond the territory it had been agreed was theirs, everyone else ignored it.
A rebellion, apparently, conspiratorially organized and led by the Karin sahrdaran. Triggered off, it seemed, by an assassination attempt on Khusrau.
After studying the available reports, Belisarius' lips twisted into something that was still not the crooked smile of old. But at least it bore some resemblance to it.
" 'Apparently' and 'it seems,' I think, are the only words in this report I'd give much credence to."
Damodara cocked his head. "You think Khusrau himself instigated the affair?"
Belisarius shrugged. "Who knows? And you can be sure and certain we'll never know. I do find a number of things odd, in the reports. First, that the assassins never got within four hundred yards of the emperor. Second, that not one of them survived. Third, that when the 'rebellion' broke out-truly odd, this item-the conspirators somehow managed to start the affair when they were themselves surrounded by imperial loyalists. And, somehow, didn't manage to suborn even a single artillery unit."
He stacked the reports neatly and slid them back across the huge desk toward Damodara. Belisarius was, as usual in their many private meetings, sitting across from Damodara in a chair that was almost as large, ornately designed, and heavily bejeweled as the emperor's.
That, too, outraged the courtiers. First, because they were excluded; second, because Belisarius got to sit in the royal presence when they never did; and, third, because under the circumstances they couldn't possibly substitute fakes for the jewels on his chair and sell them on the black market.
That third reason only applied to a few of the courtiers, however. The rest were smarter men. They'd already figured out that Damodara's rule, while far more tolerant in most respects than Skandagupta's, was going to be a nightmare for swindlers and influence-peddlers. Outright thievery would be sheer madness.
"So, at a guess," Belisarius continued, "I think Khusrau himself engineered the thing. Whether he did or not, it certainly worked to his advantage. He's now got the grandees completely cowed."
Damodara chuckled, very dryly. "There's this, too. The punishments he leveled afterward have made my treatment of the Amaravati garrison seem downright mild."
The emperor, who'd been slouched in his chair, levered himself upright. "Well, it's none of our concern. Not for this decade, at any rate. In the long run, I suspect a Persia run along well-organized imperial lines will pose more of a problem for us-you, too-than the old one did. But by the time we find out, I might hopefully be old enough to retire and hand the throne over to my successor. Not that I wish any grief on my oldest son, you understand. He's a good boy, by and large."
It was Belisarius' turn to cock his head. "You've decided, then, to adopt your father's suggestion?"
Damodara barked a laugh. "Hardly a 'suggestion'! More in the way of a slapped-together excuse he came up with, to explain the awkwardness of how I happened to be the emperor instead of him. But since he did it, I find that the notion appeals to me. Didn't some Roman emperor do the same?"
"Yes. Diocletian." Belisarius cleared his throat. "Mind you, that didn't work out too well. On the other hand. ."
He thought about it, for a moment, then shrugged again. "Who knows? Part of the problem was that we Romans were using adopted heirs, at the time. It might work more smoothly if the retired emperor is directly related to his successor."
"Might not, too. My son isn't a sadhu, after all. Neither am I, for that matter. Speaking of which. ."
Damodara rummaged through the mass of papers on his desk. "Bindusara sent me an interesting proposal, a few days ago. I wanted to discuss it with you."
"I already know what it is. And I agree with it."
It had been Belisarius' idea in the first place. Aide's, rather. For perhaps the thousandth time, he felt a sharp pang of grief.
Damodara stopped shuffling the paper and lifted his head. "The caste system is ancient, in India. It goes back to Vedic times."
"More like an ancient disease," Belisarius said harshly. "I can tell you this, Your Majesty. In that other universe that Aide came from, the caste system crippled India for millennia. It will take decades-centuries, perhaps-
to uproot it, as it is. So I'd recommend you start now. Bindusara's proposal-set of proposals, more properly-are as good a place to start as any."
The emperor eyed Belisarius closely, for a moment. Then, asked abruptly: "Why should a Roman general care if India is crippled? If anything, I'd think you'd prefer it that way."
"Meaning no offense, Your Majesty, but that mode of thinking-also ancient-is. . well, 'wrong-headed' is the most polite term I can think of. The old notion is that a man-or a nation-benefits if his neighbors remain mired in poverty and want. There was a certain logic to the idea, for societies that were stagnant. But, whether we wanted it or not, asked for it or not, the main long-term effect of the war we just fought is that it triggered off the industrial revolution a millennium earlier than it happened in that other universe. Societies and economies based on growth, which ours are now becoming, are simply hampered by poor neighbors. Poverty-stricken nations produce very little and consume even less."
He'd wound up sitting very straight and stiff, in the course of that little speech. Now, finished, he slumped back.
"Leave it at that, if you will. Or simply ascribe it to the fact that a Roman general can get sick of war too."
After a while, Damodara said: "The great loss was yours, Belisarius. But don't ever think you are the only one who misses Aide, and his counsel."
"Oh, I don't. But thank you for saying it."
"This was his counsel, I assume?"
"Yes. I embellished it some. Then, passed it along to Bindusara. Not to my surprise, the sadhu was very receptive. He'd been thinking along similar lines, himself."
The emperor nodded. "We'll do it, then. The Talisman of God should have many monuments, not all of them stone."
"Not most of them. I knew him, Emperor, better than anyone. He would have taken far more satisfaction in seeing intolerance eased, in his name, than another pile of stones erected."
Damodara's eyes widened.
Belisarius laughed, then. The first genuine laugh he'd been able to enjoy since Aide died.
