by Eric Flint
"Of course! Unfortunately, my own Christian faith is a bit too stiff-necked to do it properly. Yes, I checked, with my friend Anthony, the Patriarch of Constantinople. He thinks he can make Aide a saint, given some time. But, beyond that. ."
Damodara grinned. "Such misers you are! Only three gods-and then you try to insist they're really only one. We Hindus, on the other hand-"
He spread his arms expansively. "A generous people! A lavish people!"
Still grinning, he lowered his hands to the armrests of the chair. "What do you think? An avatar of Vishnu?"
"Why not? Raghunath Rao already thinks he was. So does Dadaji Holkar. If you don't hurry, Emperor Damodara, the consort and peshwa of Andhra will steal a march on you."
After a time, the good humor in the room faded away. Replaced, not by sorrow, but simple acceptance.
"And who can say he wasn't?" the emperor demanded.
"Not me," came the general's answer.
Epilogue
A father and his concerns
Belisarius emerged from the palace just before sundown. In what had become something of a daily custom for him, whenever he could manage it, he went to sit on the bench where he could watch the sun set. The same bench where Aide had left him.
To his surprise, Rana Sanga was already on the bench. Waiting for him, clearly enough.
Belisarius took a seat next to the Rajput king. "May I be of service, Sanga?"
"Perhaps. I hope so. I am concerned for my son."
Belisarius frowned. "He is ill? He seemed quite healthy when I saw him last. Which was just yesterday, now that I think about it."
"His health is excellent. No, it's. ." The tall king took a slow, deep breath. "He fought beside me, you know, the day we took Kausambi. All the way to the imperial palace, and even into it."
"Fought extremely well, I was told."
"Belisarius, he frightened me. I have never seen a thirteen-year-old boy who could fight like that. He was deadly beyond belief. And suffered not so much as a scratch himself."
He shook his head. "Thirteen! At that age, I could certainly wield a sword with great strength and vigor. But I doubt I was much of a threat to anything beyond a log, or a cutting post. My soldiers are already spreading stories about him."
"Ah." Belisarius thought he understand the nature of the Rajput's worries. "He was trained by Valentinian, Sanga. Meaning no disrespect to your own prowess, but-being honest-much of that prowess is simply due to your incredible strength and reflexes. Valentinian is actually a more skilled fighter than you. For a boy like Rajiv, who is not and will never be his father's physical match, he was the perfect trainer."
Sanga started to say something, but Belisarius forestalled him with a raised hand. "That is simply an explanation. As for what I think concerns you, there are many stories about Rajiv. The one I think personally is the most significant is Valentinian's story. Told, mind you, with considerable exasperation. The story of your son's lunacy when he saved the lives of the soldiers garrisoning the southern gate."
There was an odd expression on Sanga's face, one that Belisarius couldn't decipher. Then the Rajput king chuckled, quite warmly.
"That! Ha! The truth is, Belisarius, I tend to agree with Valentinian. It's certainly not something I'd have done-at that age or any other."
He shook his head again. "You misunderstand. I am not concerned for my boy's soul. He is no budding monster, simply. . what he is. A thirteen-year-old boy who is deadly beyond his years because he was born a Rajput prince but then-for long months, in the most intense period of his life-raised by a Roman soldier. A very unusual Roman soldier, at that. 'Stripped to the bone,' as my wife describes him."
He turned to look at Belisarius directly. He was frowning slightly, but there was no anger in his eyes. "You understand, now? He is no longer Rajput, Belisarius. Not really. Something. . else. Not Roman, either, just. . else. So. How am I to raise him? I have been pondering that, these past weeks."
The sun was setting. Belisarius paused, to watch it do so. For his part, Sanga simply waited.
By the time the sun was down, Belisarius understood. "You think he would do better being raised by someone else. The rest of the way, so to speak. And that someone would be me."
"Yes. I have thought about it, a great deal. If I tried to force him back into the Rajput mold, he would rebel. Not because he wanted to-he is a very dutiful son, I have no complaint-but simply because he could do no other. Not now, when he is already thirteen. But neither do I want him to drift, not really knowing who he is or why he lives. I can think of no man in the world I would trust more than you, to see him safely through that passage."
"Have you spoken to your wife about the matter?"
Sanga had a smile on his face that was almost as crooked as a Belisarius smile.
The Roman general chuckled. "Stupid question."
"It was her suggestion, actually. I wouldn't have thought of it on my own, I don't think."
That was probably true. Belisarius admired and respected Sanga enormously, but it was a simple fact that the man was on the stiff side. Very unlike his wife, from the sense Belisarius had gotten of her these past weeks.
He probed himself, to see how he felt about the idea. And was a little shocked by how strongly he reacted.
"I knew someone once," he said, very softly, "who was much like Rajiv. Neither this nor that. Great-souled, but also very deadly even at a very young age. Yes, Sanga, I will be glad to do it."
The Rajput king looked away, then nodded. Stiffly.
"We need to find a way to persuade Rajiv, however," he cautioned. "I do not want him to think-not for a moment-that his father is rejecting him."
When Belisarius said nothing, Sanga turned back to look at him.
"I have missed that crooked smile of yours. It's nice to see it back."
"Leave it to me," Belisarius said.
A wife and her worries
"I don't have anything to wear!"
"Of course, you do," Calopodius said. "Wear your usual uniform."
"To an imperial reception? Don't be absurd! There are going to be-wait a moment, I actually have to count-"
Anna did so, quickly, on her fingers. Then: "Three emperors, an empress-ruling empress, mind you, not the usual wife business-more kings than I can remember since every realm in India is sending their monarchs-the highest official of Axum short of the negusa nagast himself-thank God he's not coming, what would we do with a babe less than a year old? — and-and-and-"
She threw up her hands. "More royal officials than sages, more sages than generals, and more generals than there are leaves on a tree." Scowling, now: "I leave aside the presence of heroic figures of legend. You know, the sort of people who have nicknames like 'the Mongoose' and 'the Panther' and bards write verses about them. And you want me to wear a uniform?"
Antonina came into the chamber just in time to hear the last few sentences.
"Well, of course. What else would you wear? You're hosting it-one of the hosts, at least-as the leader of a medical order. Naturally, you should wear your uniform."
Anna glared at her. "Is that so? Well, then. Since the same applies to you, may I assume you'll be wearing that obscene brass-titted cuirass of yours?"
"To an imperial reception? Don't be absurd!"
A husband and his observations
"I think the reception is going splendidly, Belisarius," commented Khusrau. "Much better than I thought it would, to be honest. Given that this salon is packed with people who were killing each other just a few months ago."
The two men took a moment to gaze out over the milling crowd.
"Such a relief, to be able to stand instead of sit for change," the Persian emperor continued, "and without a thousand courtiers swarming over me. A wonderful idea, this was, to hold the reception in a salon instead of an official audience chamber."
Belisarius grinned. "No room for courtiers. And no need for bodyguards, of course. Not with the room sprinkled with people who have nicknames
like 'the Panther' and 'the Mongoose.' It was my wife's idea, by the way."
Khusrau shifted his gaze, to look upon the woman in question.
"Such a magnificent, brilliant woman."
" 'Brilliant' is right. I recommend taking care if you happen to be in her vicinity. If she turns around suddenly, those brass tits would sink a warship."
The Emperor of Iran and non-Iran shared a chuckle with Rome's most famous general.
"But she's always been flamboyant," Belisarius added. "Or else she would have chosen a sensible uniform like Anna Saronites."
Both men took the time to admire the woman in question, who was standing not too far away. At the moment, engaged in an animated discussion with two sadhus from. . Bengal, Belisarius thought. He wasn't sure. Whoever they were, they were famous in their circles, or they wouldn't have been here at all.
They were wearing nothing but loincloths. Anna's severe costume looked positively glamorous in comparison.
"The courtiers must have gnashed their teeth, seeing them pass through the guards," Belisarius commented.
"I'm told several of them required medical assistance. Fortunately, there wasn't any. It's all concentrated in this room."
That was good for a shared belly laugh.
A father and his frets
"I have no objection, personally," said Dadaji Holkar. "None at all. There even seems to be a genuine attachment between Dhruva and Valentinian. None, perhaps, between Lata and Anastasius. But my wife tells me Lata is content with the situation. What else does a marriage need, at the beginning? But. ."
He and Belisarius were standing in a small alcove, apart from the throngs. Now that the reception was over, the festivities had spread throughout the palace. Relieved beyond measure, the courtiers had come into their own.
"You are concerned over possible gossip," Belisarius said. "Dadaji, I will point out that with husbands like that-not to mention you being the peshwa of Andhra-"
"Yes, yes, yes." Holkar waved his hand, impatiently. "We can add the fact that-I have no doubt-you will have your son shower Valentinian and Anastasius with ranks in the Roman nobility and Rana Sanga's clan has already officially adopted them and pronounced them both kshatriya. Give it ten years, and-I have no doubt-someone will discover ancient records that prove both men are descended from the most illustrious lines. Somewhere."
His face looked weary. "The fact remains, Belisarius, that people will talk. And I really don't think we need to have the streets of Bharakuccha running with the blood of gossiping merchants. Which-Valentinian? — will most certainly happen."
The Roman general scratched his chin. "But who would start the talk, Dadaji?" He hesitated, for a moment, before deciding that brutal honesty was the only sensible course. "Look, here's the simple truth. Within a week-a day-a prostitute's customer doesn't even remember what she looked like. He'll remember her name-if he even asked at all-no longer than that. As for the other prostitutes, by now they'd be scattered to the winds. And nobody listens to such women, anyway."
Holkar didn't flinch from the bluntness. "Who cares about them? Belisarius, their pimps will remember them. And the line between a pimp and a blackmailer can't be wedged open by a knife. They might even be remembered by the slavers who originally sold them-who are still in business, I remind you, here in Bharakuccha."
Belisarius kept scratching his chin. "That's your only concern?"
"Oh, yes. Otherwise, I think the marriages would be splendid. The best things to happen to my daughters since they were taken away, other than being reunited with me and my wife. I like Valentinian and Anastasius, Belisarius. Most men see nothing in them but warriors, and brutal ones at that. But I was with them, you remember, for quite some time."
"Yes, I remember." He lowered his hand. "Will you trust me to handle the matter, if I tell you I can?"
Holkar didn't hesitate for more than an instant. "Yes, of course."
"These things can be handled. Leave it to me."
An emperor and his decision
A week after the reception, Narses was summoned to appear before Emperor Damodara.
To his surprise, however, the meeting was not held in the audience chamber that was part of the huge suite assigned to the Malwa delegation in the former Goptri's palace. It was held in a small private chamber. The only other man in the room, besides the emperor himself and Narses, was Rana Sanga.
When Narses saw that, he tried not to let the relief show in his posture. It was still possible that Sanga was there to escort him, afterward, to the executioners. But he wouldn't do the work himself. So Narses still had some time left.
Apparently, however, his efforts were not entirely successful.
Damodara smiled, thinly. "Relax, Narses. I decided not to have you assassinated over a month ago. I decided not to have you officially executed even before that."
"Why?" Narses asked bluntly.
Damodara did not seem to take umbrage at being questioned. "Hard to explain. Simply accept that I feel it would be a bad start, for a new dynasty, and leave it at that. Whatever else, both Sanga and I are in your debt."
The Rajput king nodded. Stiffly.
"Then why-oh. You've spent the time figuring out what else to do with me. I take it the answer was not: keep him in my service."
Damodara's smile widened, considerably. "That would be foolish, would it not?"
"Yes. It would."
"So I surmised. As it happens, however, I am-in a way-keeping you in my service." The emperor pointed to a chest over in a corner. "Open that."
Narses went over and did so. Despite himself, he couldn't stifle a little gasp, when he saw the contents.
"A king's ransom, yes. It's yours, Narses. Officially, the funds to set you up and maintain you in your new position. There's a good mixture of coins, jewels, rare spices-other valuables-that you should be able to use anywhere."
"Anywhere." Narses considered the word. "And where would that 'anywhere' be found? If I might ask?"
"Well, of course you can ask!" Damodara actually grinned. "How could you possibly get there, if you didn't know where you were going? China, Narses. I find myself possessed by a burning desire to establish an embassy in China. And to appoint you as my ambassador."
"There are sixteen kingdoms in China, the last I heard. Which one?"
Damodara waved his hand. "I believe the situation has simplified some. It doesn't matter. I leave those decisions to you."
He leaned forward and planted his hands firmly on the armrests of the big chair he was sitting in. There was neither a smile nor a grin on his face, now.
"Go to China, Narses. I send you with a fortune and with my good wishes. Believe it so. Set yourself up wherever you choose, once you get there. Send me reports, if you would. But whatever else. ."
"Don't come back."
Damodara nodded. "Don't come back. Ever. Or the man-men-in the room with me won't be Rana Sanga."
Narses felt a combination of emotions. Relief, that he would live. Interest, because China would be interesting, for a man of his talents and inclinations. Sorrow, because. .
It dawned on him that Damodara hadn't said anything about that.
"I would miss Ajatasutra," Narses said quietly. "The rest is fine."
"Yes, I know. Sanga already discussed the matter with him, and Ajatasutra says he is willing to accompany you. Probably even willing to stay there, although he insists on reserving his final decision until he reaches China and can assess the situation. He claims to have finicky tastes in wine and women."
"He's lying through his teeth," Narses grunted. But he was almost overjoyed to hear it.
"When do we leave?" he asked.
"No great hurry. Can't be, anyway. Ajatasutra will be leaving the city in a few days, and won't be back for a time."
Narses frowned. The assassin hadn't said anything about leaving, and the eunuch had spoken to him just a few hours earlier.
"Where. .?"
"Don't ask," said Damodara. "Ev
er."
Sanga was a bit more forthcoming. "Just a personal errand, for Belisarius."
"Ah."
He said nothing more, since doing so would be stupid. Almost as stupid as Damodara thinking Narses wouldn't figure it out anyway.
But once he reached the safety of the corridors, Narses sneered. As if he'd care!
An assassin and his whims
"Not the customers?"
"The customers don't matter. Neither do the whores. But not a single pimp leaves that brothel alive."
"Easy, then," said the captain of the assassination team. Killing the customers and whores would have been easy, too, except there'd be enough of them that one or two were bound to escape.
After all, five assassins-no, six, since Ajatasutra was joining them in the assignment-can only do so much. Especially since Ajatasutra had instructed them to leave the bombard behind.
Thankfully. Hauling the heavy damn thing from Bharakuccha to Pataliputra would have been a monstrous pain.
Bad enough he'd made them haul it to Bharakuccha from Kausambi. They couldn't refuse, of course. Ajatasutra was the only reason they were still alive.
That had been an awkward moment, when they presented themselves before the new emperor and asked for the reward. Only to find that Ajatasutra-of all people! — was now in Damodara's service.
He recognized the captain and the lieutenant just as readily as they recognized him. Hardly surprising, since they'd all been officers in Malwa's elite assassination unit.
"You're grinning, Ajatasutra," the emperor said, after he took his eyes from the severed head of Skandagupta. "Why?"
"Your Majesty, these five men have approximately the same kinship to a trade delegation as I have to a cow."
Damodara's eyes went back to the head, sitting on a leather apron to protect the floor. "It struck me I'd never seen a head severed that neatly, except in a butcher shop."
He lifted his eyes and stared at the assassins. "Give me one reason I shouldn't have them executed. After paying them the reward, of course. I'm not dishonest."
