by Eric Flint
"I can use them, Your Majesty. They're not bad fellows. For Malwa assassins."
"That's like saying a crocodile isn't a bad animal. For a voracious man-eating reptile."
"True. But cows make inferior assassins."
"A point. All right, Ajatasutra. But if they disobey you-if anything-"
The rest of the emperor's speech would have been tediously repetitious, except that men whose lives hang by a thread are not subject to tedium of any sort.
* * *
Still, it hadn't worked out badly. The work wasn't much of a challenge, any longer. So far, at least. Killing all the slavers in a slave emporium in Bharakuccha had been almost laughable. The worst part of their current assignment was simply the long journey to Pataliputra, which would be followed by a long journey back. Hundreds of miles added to thousands.
There was no rhyme or reason to the assignment, either. But they'd found there often wasn't, with Ajatasutra as their boss. He seemed to be a man much given to whimsy.
So it never occurred to them to press him for a reason. They just did the job, as instructed. When it was over, which didn't take long, India was shorter by a brothel. With all of its pimps dead, the whores would drift elsewhere, and the customers would simply find another one.
They returned to Bharakuccha just in time to witness-from a considerable distance, of course-the wedding of the daughters of Andhra's peshwa to two Roman noblemen.
It was a grand affair, attended by royalty from half the world. The city practically vibrated with gossip. Incredible stories. The two young noble ladies, rescued from imperial captivity by daring Roman knights-or dukes, or senators, nobody was quite sure since Roman ranks were mysterious anyway-some sort of connection with Rajput royalty-apparently the Roman nobles were also kshatriya, as strange as that seemed but who could doubt it since one of them was the famous Mongoose and both of them had also rescued Sanga's wife at the same time-even the empress, it was said-
On and on and on. The five assassins participated in the gossip just as cheerfully as everyone else, in the city's inns and taverns. By then, they'd half-forgotten the brothel hundreds of miles to the east. It had been erased from their memories almost as thoroughly as they had erased it from the world.
Alas, all good things come to an end. A week later, Ajatasutra informed them that they were to accompany him on a new assignment.
There was good news, and there was bad news, and there was terrible news.
"An ambassadorial guard?" The captain and the lieutenant looked at each other, then at their men. The chests of all five swelled. What a promotion!
"China? How far is China?"
"Some considerable miles," Ajatasutra informed them.
It was all they could do not to groan. By now, they knew Ajatasutra well enough to translate "considerable" into more precise terms. At least two thousand miles, that meant.
"Look on the bright side," he told them. "The Kushans have also decided to set up an embassy in China, so we'll be accompanying their party. It's a big party. Several hundred soldiers."
That did brighten them up. No fear of being harassed by bandits. Still a horrible lot of miles, but easy miles.
But their spirits were only lifted for a moment. The terrible news crashed down.
"Of course, we're bringing the bombard. In fact, I'm having several others made up."
A friend and his quandaries
Belisarius finally got to see Rao dance, at the wedding. Not the dance of time, unfortunately, since that wouldn't have been appropriate for this occasion. But it was a magnificent dance, nonetheless.
It was an unsettling experience, in a way, just as meeting Rao had been unsettling. Through Aide, and the memories of another universe he'd given him, Belisarius knew Rao as well as he knew any man in the world. He'd lived with him-officially as master and slave, but in reality as close friends-for decades, after all. And he'd seen him dance, many times.
Had even, through Aide's mind, seen Rao's great dance after he'd sent Belisarius himself to his death.
Yet. .
In this universe, he'd never actually met him before.
What did you say to a man, who'd once-as an act of supreme friendship-pushed you into a vat of molten metal?
Fortunately, Belisarius had been coached by Antonina, who'd faced the same quandary earlier. So he managed to avoid the inane words nice to finally meet you.
Instead, feeling clever, he said: "Please don't do it again."
He felt less clever after a blank-faced Rao replied: "Do what?"
* * *
"It's not fair," he complained to Antonina later. "I can-usually-keep my own memories separated from the ones Aide gave me. But it's a bit much to expect me to remember that nobody else remembers what I remember when I remember what Aide remembered."
By the time he was done, Antonina was looking cross-eyed. But since they'd just entered their bedroom, she was also looking cross-eyed at the bed.
"I hope you haven't forgotten everything."
"Well. Not that."
An emperor and his queries
The next morning, it was his son Photius who was complaining.
"Theodora's going to have a fit, when we get back. She always appoints my bodyguards. Well, not Julian and his men. But they're real bodyguards. Not, you know, fancy imperial appointments."
"Stop squirming," his wife hissed at him. "People are coming in. The audience is about to begin."
"I hate these stupid imperial robes," Photius muttered. "You know that."
"I hate mine, too," Tahmina whispered in return. "So what? It's part of the job. And so what if Theodora has a fit? It won't be worse than a Sour Beta."
"You're crazy."
"Am not. First, because Justinian's coming back with us on the same ship, and however much she shrieks and hollers she actually does love the man. God knows why, but she does."
"Well, that's true." Since the audience room was now filling up, Photius lowered his voice still further. "What're the other reasons?"
"Belisarius and Antonina are coming back too, all at the same time. She'll be too busy hollering at Belisarius and trying to stay on Antonina's good side at the same time to worry much about what you've done."
"Well, okay. But that only knocks it down to a Sour Gamma, at best. How do you figure Beta?"
"Because-"
But she had to break off. A Roman courtier was stepping forward. The official audience was about to begin.
Photius forgot about his complaints, then, because he was too busy worrying about remembering the lines he was supposed to speak, when the time came.
Especially because it didn't come very quickly. Roman courtiers giving speeches extolling the virtues of emperors were almost as long-winded as Persian ones. Even more long-winded than Indian ones, if you subtracted all the silly parts about divinity that nobody listened to anyway.
But, eventually, he got to the point.
"— first time by the emperor himself to the ranks of the imperial bodyguards. A body whose august members, in times past, have included the great general Belisarius himself."
Photius took a gleeful satisfaction in being able to start his speech by correcting the courtier. It was the first time he'd ever done that, too.
"This is not an appointment," he said forcefully. "I can't do that here. It's a request, not a command."
Alas, in his glee, he'd forgotten the rest of his speech. He fumbled, for a moment, and then decided to continue on with the same course.
Call it free will. He was the emperor, wasn't he?
So he just looked at the son of Rana Sanga, standing by his father's side, and said: "I'd like it very much if Rajiv would accept the offer. It is, in fact, very prestigious. Although it does mean that Rajiv would have to accompany us back to Constantinople. And, well, probably stay there for some years."
Since he'd veered wildly off the planned course, anyway, he decided to end with a note that might seem lame, from one angle, but wasn't lame
at all from the angle he looked at things.
"And it would be really nice for me, to have an imperial bodyguard who was my own age. Well, pretty close."
The courtier had turned an interesting color. Photius thought it was the one called "puce." He'd have to ask his wife later. She knew about that stuff. She knew about most stuff, in fact.
Rajiv, on the other hand, just looked solemn. He stared at Photius, for a moment; then, at his father. Then, at a Roman soldier standing off to the side.
"Ask him," Sanga said, quietly but firmly.
Valentinian didn't wait for the question. "Do it, boy. The experience will be good for you. Besides, every one of Photius' bodyguards-the real ones, I'm talking about, my sort of men-like him. He's a nice kid. Especially for an emperor."
The courtier's color got even more interesting. Sort of a cross between liver and old grapes. Photius wondered if he might have died, standing on his feet.
No, he couldn't have. He was still quivering.
Pretty badly, in fact.
Fortunately-or maybe not, depending on how you looked at it-the courtier seemed to start recovering after Rajiv accepted. By the time the audience ended, his color had returned to that first weird shade.
"Is that 'puce'?" Photius whispered.
"No. 'Puce' is when he looked like he was dead. This is magenta."
"You're so smart. I love you."
As soon as they entered their private chambers, after the audience, Tahmina turned to him. "That's the first time you've ever said that."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is. That way."
"Oh. Well. I'm getting older."
She sat down on a divan, sighing. "Yes, you are. Awfully fast, actually, when I look at it cold-bloodedly. Which I never do, any more."
"Maybe that's because you're getting older, too."
She smiled, almost as crookedly as Belisarius might. "My dear husband. The difference between 'puce' and 'magenta' is absolutely nothing, compared to the difference between 'getting older' and 'can't wait.' "
Photius thought he was probably a pretty interesting color himself, then.
His father walked in, that very moment. After looking back and forth between the two of them, Belisarius said: "Why are you bright pink? And why are you smiling like that?"
Tahmina gave no answer. Her smile just got more crooked.
Photius, rallying, said: "I did what you asked me to, Father. About Rajiv, I mean. Is there something else I can do?"
Belisarius seemed to get sad, for just an instant. But then, he rallied too, and the smile that came to his face made it clear that Tahmina still had a long way to go when it came to "crooked."
"Yes, as a matter of fact. As soon as you can manage it, I'd like a lot of grandchildren."
"Oh."
"That's called 'scarlet,' " Tahmina said, to Photius.
To Belisarius, she said: "Consider it done."
An empress and her distractions
Tahmina proved to be quite right. After they finally returned to Constantinople, whatever empress regent fury might have fallen on Photius for his presumptuous appointment was almost completely deflected. Photius and Tahmina never had to suffer worse than a Sour Beta. Maybe even Sour Alpha.
First, as Tahmina had foreseen, by Theodora's joy at being reunited with her husband.
Second, by the time and energy Theodora spent hollering at Belisarius for: a) putting her husband at risk; b) keeping him away from her for an unholy length of time, and c) giving away half of her empire-sorry, your son's empire-in the course of his fumble-fingered so-called "negotiations."
Third, by the time and energy she spent mollifying her best friend Antonina's anger over the preposterous way she was treating the man who had won the greatest war in history and saved her empire for her three times over-against the Medes, internal rebellion, and the Malwa.
And, finally, of course, as Tahmina had also foreseen. .
"You agreed to be a business partner in a manufacturing scheme? Are you out of your mind?"
"I'm not the Emperor any longer, dear," Justinian pointed out mildly. "Photius is."
"Still!"
"I'm the Grand Justiciar. And you know how much I love to play with gadgets." He tried to dampen the gathering storm: "Besides, I'll have to keep it quiet anyway. Otherwise it might look like a conflict of interest."
Theodora frowned. " 'Conflict of interest'? What in the world is that?"
"It's a new legal concept I'm about to introduce. I thought of it while I was in India."
That wasn't really true. He'd gotten the original idea from Aide. But since the jewel wasn't around any longer, Justinian saw no reason to give him credit. He'd never much liked the creature anyway.
It took him a while to explain the concept of "conflict of interest" to the Empress Regent. When he was done, Theodora burst into laughter.
"That's the silliest thing I ever heard of! My husband!"
A husband and his promise
Ousanas delayed his return to Ethiopia, long enough to ensure that a full year had passed since Eon's death. When he arrived at Adulis, he discovered that Rukaiya had already overseen the transfer of the capital there from Axum.
He was surprised. True, this had been planned for some time, but he hadn't thought Rukaiya would be bold enough, in his absence, to push the matter through. Many of the Ethiopians were not happy at the prospect of sharing their capital with Arabs.
Ezana met him at the docks, and provided part of the reason.
"Why not? And it gave me the chance to demonstrate that the queen had the full support of the royal regiments."
Ousanas eyed him sidewise. "And just how vigorous was this 'demonstration'?"
"Not vigorous at all," Ezana said, sounding disgruntled. "Didn't need to be. Everybody kept their mouth shut. In public, anyway."
When Ousanas arrived at the palace-a new one, still being built-Rukaiya provided him with the other reason.
"I thought it would be best, when you returned. Eon never lived here. His ghost does not walk these halls, or hover in these rooms. We will remember him always, of course, and keep him in our hearts. But this palace belongs to us alone."
By then, they had entered their private chambers. Night was falling.
Rukaiya turned to face him squarely. "You are home, Ousanas. Finally and truly home. No more the hunter, no more the rover, no more the stranger. You are a husband, now-mine-and will soon be a father."
He wasn't able to return that gaze, yet. His eyes avoided hers, roaming the room until they spotted the bookcase. Which they did quickly. It was a very large bookcase.
He moved over to examine the titles. Then, for the first time since his ship docked, was able to smile.
"How long-"
"I began assembling it the day you left. There are still a few titles missing, but not many."
"No, not many. Although I'll want to be adding some new titles I discovered in India. I can read Sanskrit well enough, by now."
His fingers drifted across the spines. "This must be the finest collection of books on philosophy in the whole world."
"That was my plan. Home should not mean abstinence. Look at me, Ousanas."
He could, then. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Or, perhaps, it was simply that he was looking at her for the first time as his wife.
"I am good at loving," she said. "That, too, I learned from Eon. Do not waste that gift he gave you, husband. His ghost is not here. His gift remains."
"I won't," he promised.
A man and his memories
For the rest of his life, sundown was always a special time for Belisarius. Sadness, mostly, in the beginning. As the years passed, fading into a sort of warm melancholy.
Watching the sunset never really became a ritual for him, however, although he did it more often than most people. He saved ritual for an annual occasion.
Every year, on the day that Aide died, he would go alone into the night and stare up at
the stars. If the night was overcast, or if it rained, he would keep coming until the skies cleared.
Antonina never accompanied him, although she would always see him to the door when he left, and be there to welcome him when he returned in the morning. She, too, grieved Aide. So, as the years passed, did millions of people the world over, as the Talisman of God became incorporated, one way or another, into the various religions. But for all of them other than Belisarius, with only the partial exception of Ousanas, it was an abstract sort of grief. They had lost a talisman, or a saint, or a symbol, or an avatar. Belisarius had lost a person.
So, she felt that night belonged to him alone, and he loved her for it.
All night, he would spend, just staring at the stars and watching them twinkle. Looking out into a universe whose heavens reminded him of the way a jewel's facets had flashed once in his mind. Looking up at the universe that jewel had guaranteed, by sacrificing his life.
Many monuments were erected to Aide, over the years, in many lands. Belisarius visited none of them, except the grove of sal trees on those occasions he returned to India. Even then, he went to spend his time at Ashot's grave. He would barely glance at the memorial devoted to Aide.
Others might need stones to remember Aide. Belisarius had the heavens.
The memories of the man
His ritual was reciprocated, although he would never know it. Aide had transformed his crystalline branch of humankind, by the same sacrifice, and they never forgot. Neither Aide nor the man who had enabled his life.
They did forget the man's name, eventually. But by they time they did, it hardly mattered. A ritual had emerged-perhaps the only thing that could really be called a ritual, for them. They were, as a rule, a more practical-minded folk than their protoplasmic kin. Certainly more so than the Great Ones.
