Belisarius II-Storm at Noontide

by Eric Flint

  Wahsi shook his head. Shakuntala leaned forward.

  "Tell me this, Wahsi. If we were able to hold Suppara—keep the Malwa from recapturing the city—could you run the blockade?"

  All three Axumites burst into laughter.

  "Be like stealing chickens from a cripple!" chuckled Ezana.

  "A very strong cripple," qualified Garmat. "Have to be a bit careful. Still—"

  Wahsi had stopped laughing.

  "Yes, Empress," he stated firmly. "We could run the blockade. Penetrate it like water through a fish net, in fact. Not one or two ships, now and then. We could run a Malwa blockade almost at our pleasure."

  He made a little gesture of qualification.

  "You understand, I am speaking of a blockade of the entire coast. If they amass enough ships, the Malwa could close off Suppara itself. But I assume there must be other nearby places where we could land a vessel and offload cargo."

  "A multitude of them!" exclaimed Bindusara. All eyes turned toward the sadhu.

  "I am familiar with the Malabar coast," he explained. "With the entire western coast of India, in fact, from Kerala to the Kathiawar."

  Bindusara turned his head eastward, as if studying the nearby shore through the walls of the cabin.

  "The Western Ghats run parallel to the coast, from the southernmost tip of India all the way north to the Narmada River. They form the western boundary of the Deccan." He fluttered his hands. "The Ghats are not tall mountains. Nothing like the Himalayas! Their average height is less than a thousand yards. Even the greatest of them, Anai Mudi in Kerala, is not three thousand yards high. But they are quite rugged. The combination of their ruggedness and low altitude means that the western shore of India boasts a huge number of small rivers, instead of a few mighty ones like the Ganges and the Brahmaputra, as does the east coast."

  "Smugglers' terrain," grunted Ezana.

  Bindusara smiled. " 'Terrain'? Say better—smugglers' paradise. Don't forget the climate, Ezana. India's west coast is the wettest part of our land. Each one of those rivers enters the sea through forests of teak and palms. There are any number of hidden and secluded coves in which a cargo could be unloaded. And the local population would be quite happy to assist in the process. Poor farmers and fishermen they are, mostly, with a great need for extra money and no love for the Malwa."

  Shakuntala, seeing Wahsi nod, stated:

  "You could do it, then?"

  "Without question, Empress." The Ethiopian officer ran fingers through his mass of thick, kinky hair, eyeing Shakuntala all the while.

  "You want to break the siege of Deogiri by controlling all of southern Majarashtra," he speculated. "Using Suppara as your logistics base."

  The Empress nodded. "Exactly. I wouldn't think of trying it if the enemy's main army wasn't tied up in Persia. But with only Venandakatra to face, I think it can be done—provided we get access to gunpowder weapons."

  "There are cannons in Suppara," said the Maratha officer Shahji. "If we take the city, we will take them also."

  "Not enough," grunted Kungas. "Not by themselves."

  He looked at Holkar. "You have spies in Suppara. If I'm not mistaken, those cannons are fixed siege guns."

  Holkar nodded. "They're huge bombards. Three of them, positioned to defend the city against seaborne attack." He grimaced. "I suppose they could be moved, but—"

  "Forget it," interrupted Kungas. "We can use those cannons to defend Suppara against the Malwa fleet, but they'll be no use to us in a land war against Venandakatra's army. For that, we need help from the Romans. By now, I'm quite sure Belisarius has developed a Roman capacity to produce gunpowder weapons. If we can establish contact with him, the Ethiopians could smuggle the weapons to us. And keep us supplied with gunpowder."

  Everyone in the cabin exchanged glances.

  "We need to send a mission to Rome, then," said Bindusara.

  "Not to Rome," demurred Dadaji. "To Belisarius. To the Roman government, we are simply bizarre outlanders. Only Belisarius knows us well."

  The peshwa straightened his posture.

  "I will go," he announced. "Our delegation must be led by someone who is both highly placed in the Empress' government and personally known to Belisarius. I am the obvious choice."

  "Nonsense!" exclaimed Shakuntala. "The idea is utterly mad. You are my peshwa, Dadaji. I need you to remain here."

  Holkar frowned. "But I am the only one who—"

  He broke off, casting a startled glance at Kungas.

  The Kushan commander huffed. Coming from someone else, the noise would have been interpreted as humor. Coming from Kungas, it was hard to tell.

  "He is the commander of your bodyguard!" protested Dadaji.

  Shakuntala waved her hand. "He is not needed in that capacity, anymore. Kanishka is more than capable of taking his place. Actually, his talents are being wasted there."

  Everyone in the room was staring at Kungas. The expression on the faces of most of the Indians was a mixture of skepticism and hesitation.

  Shahji cleared his throat.

  "If you will forgive me, Your Majesty, it seems to me that sending Kungas might be a bad idea. He is not of noble blood—neither brahmin nor kshatriya—and I fear the Roman general Belisarius might be offended if your ambassador were of such a low—"

  The rest of the sentence was lost, buried beneath an eruption of laughter. Coming from the Ethiopians, mainly, but the Empress herself was participating and even Kungas emitted a chuckle or two.

  Dadaji simply smiled. Then said, shaking his head, "You do not understand, Shahji. Romans in general—and Belisarius in particular—do not look at these things the way we Indians do. They are punctilious about the forms of nobility, but, as to its real content—" He shrugged. "So long as Kungas is the official envoy of the Empress, and carries with him a sufficiently resounding title, the Romans will be quite satisfied. Certainly Belisarius will."

  "Excellent point, Dadaji," stated Shakuntala. She bestowed an imperial nod upon Kungas.

  "I hereby appoint you my ambassador to Rome, and give you the titles of Mahadandanayaka and Bhatasvapati."

  Kungas' incipient smile surfaced. Barely.

  " 'Great commandant' and 'lord of army and cavalry,' " he murmured. "My, how I've risen in the world!"

  Catching a glimpse of Garmat's face, Shakuntala turned toward him. The Ethiopian adviser's gaiety had quite vanished, replaced by a frown.

  "You disagree," she stated. There was no accusation in the words, simply a question.

  The old half-Arab stroked his beard.

  "Yes, Empress, I do." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Not, of course, for the reasons advanced earlier. Kungas would be quite acceptable as an ambassador, from the Roman point of view. More than acceptable, as far as Belisarius is concerned. The general trusts and admires the man, deeply. I know—he told me so himself."

  The Indian officers in the cabin moved their eyes to Kungas. As ever, the Kushan commander's face was impassive, like a mask. But they were reminded, again, that the unprepossessing Kushan—whom they tended, unconsciously, to regard as a lowborn half-barbarian—enjoyed a reputation among the greatest folk of their world which was far beyond their own.

  "What is the problem, then?" asked Shakuntala.

  Garmat pursed his lips. "The problem, Empress, is three-fold."

  He held up a thumb.

  "First. You will be sending off your—one of your—most capable military commanders on the very eve of a decisive battle. Suppara can be taken, I believe, despite its guns. But doing so, as we've discussed before, will depend on the Kushans seizing the cannons by a surprise assault. Until they do so, you cannot think to land in Suppara itself with your Maratha cavalry. The ships would be destroyed before they reached the docks."

  He pointed at Kungas. "If I were you, that is the man I would want leading that attack. No other."

  Shakuntala was shaking her head. Garmat held up a hand, forestalling her words. "No, Empress. You cann
ot wait until after the battle to send Kungas away. There is no time to lose, if you want to get Roman help. I myself must leave this expedition tomorrow, to report back to the negusa nagast. Your ambassador—whoever it is—should accompany me on that ship."

  Shakuntala bowed her head, thinking. As always, the young Empress was quick to decide.

  "I agree. We are pressed for time."

  She raised her eyes. "The other reasons?"

  Garmat held up a finger alongside his thumb.

  "Second. I think Kungas' mission would be futile. How will he find Belisarius? In that chaos in Persia?"

  The Ethiopian chuckled dryly. "It would be hard enough to find anyone, much less Belisarius. The general told me once that he considered the chaos of war to be his best friend. There is always an advantage to be found, he told me, if you seize it in a willing embrace. Do you understand what that means?"

  Shakuntala's Maratha officers were frowning, as was the Empress herself. All of them, it was clear, found the notion of treasuring war's confusion bizarre.

  But Kungas, understanding, nodded his head.

  "Belisarius will be riding the whirlwind," he said. "He will do everything in his power to create chaos, and then take advantage of it."

  The Kushan rubbed the topknot on his head. "He not only could be anywhere, he will be doing everything he can to make it seem as if he were one place while he is going somewhere else." He grunted, partly with admiration, partly with chagrin. "The intention, of course, is to confuse the enemy. But it will have the same effect on allies trying to find him."

  The top-knot rubbing grew vigorous. "It will be difficult. Difficult."

  "It will be impossible," countered Garmat. "And, finally, quite unnecessary."

  He waited for those last words to register, before raising another finger.

  "My third reason, Empress, is simple. There is no need to send Kungas as an ambassador to Rome, for the simple reason that I am quite sure Rome—and Belisarius—are sending an ambassador to you. That ambassador, I am certain, will be bringing what you need."

  Everyone stared at Garmat. The surprise was obvious on all faces—except those of the other Ethiopians.

  "You know something," stated Holkar.

  "Nothing specific," said Ezana. "Only—"

  Garmat cleared his throat.

  "The Kingdom of Axum has maintained a small but quite effective espionage service in the Roman Empire. For well over a century, now." He made a small, half-apologetic grimace. "There has been no trouble between us and Rome, mind you. Ever since the Roman Emperor Diocletian set Elephantine as the southern limit of Roman territory in Africa, the border has been quite tranquil. Still—"

  He shrugged.

  "Rome is a great empire, ours is much smaller. It always behooves a less powerful kingdom to keep an eye on its more powerful neighbor. Regardless of their current intentions or attitudes. You never know. Things might change."

  The Indians in the room all nodded. Common sense, that. And they had their own memories of the long and turbulent history of India.

  "Most of our attention, naturally, is given to their province of Egypt. There, we have the advantage that most of the population is Monophysite. Our own creed is very similar, and many of the Egyptian Monophysites look upon us as their religious brethren. Any number of Monophysite religious leaders have taken refuge in Ethiopia, over the years, when-ever the orthodox persecution became—"

  He broke off, seeing the incomprehension in the faces of the Indians. Only Dadaji Holkar, he realized, understood anything of what he was saying.

  Garmat had to restrain himself from muttering "Damned arrogant Indians!"

  "Never mind," he sighed. For all that he genuinely liked and admired many Indians, Garmat was struck again by their peculiar insularity. Even the most broad-minded Indians—with a few exceptions like Holkar—tended to look on the whole vast world beyond their own culture as an undifferentiated mass of semi-barbarians. The divisions within Christianity were quite beyond their ken—or interest.

  "The point is this," he drove on. "We discovered some time ago that the Roman Empress is sending a military and political expedition to Egypt. The official purpose of that expedition is to quell an incipient rebellion and reestablish tight imperial control over their richest province. But who did they send to command this force? Belisarius' own wife, Antonina."

  He shrugged. "We are speculating, of course. But, knowing Belisarius, I think the speculation is quite sound. Antonina's expedition is real enough on its own terms, of course—the Romans do need to keep a firm hand on Egypt. But we are quite sure that there is another purpose hidden within that public objective. We think Belisarius is sending his own wife in order to open a second front against the Malwa. It would be astonishing to us if that strategy did not include providing support for Andhra."

  He gave Shakuntala and Holkar a quick, knowing glance. The young Empress and her peshwa, understanding, nodded in reply. In order to maintain her prestige, Shakuntala had never publicly explained where she obtained the large fortune which served as her imperial war chest. Her Maratha officers, who rallied to her after her escape from Malwa, had never even thought to ask. Empresses are rich. Everyone knows that. It's a law of nature.

  In reality, the hunted young girl had been given that treasure by Belisarius himself, on the eve of her escape. The vast treasure with which Emperor Skandagupta had tried to bribe Belisarius into treason, the Roman general had turned over to Shakuntala in order to finance a rebellion in Malwa's rear.

  "Would that man have forgotten you?" asked Garmat quietly. "Would that man not have continued to develop his plans?"

  Shakuntala's eyes widened, slightly.

  "You're right," she whispered. "He is sending someone to us. Belisarius has thought of it already."

  Her shoulders slumped, just a bit. From relief, it was obvious. It suddenly dawned on everyone how hard a decision it had been for her, to send Kungas away.

  "You will stay, Kungas," she announced. "You will stay here, with me."

  The Kushan commander nodded. Then, with a sly little smile, murmured, "How quickly fortune passes."

  Shakuntala frowned, fiercely.

  "Nonsense! I did not remove your titles—except that of ambassador to Rome. You are still Maha-dandanayaka. Still, my Bhatasvapati."

  Her eyes softened, gazing on the man who had once been her captor, and always her protector.

  "As you have been since Amaravati," she whispered. "When you saved me from the Ye-tai beasts."

  Later, as they filed out of the cabin, the Maratha commander Shahji remarked to Garmat:

  "I wonder who the Romans are sending to us? A general of renown, no doubt."

  Fighting down a smile, Garmat made no reply. He glanced at Ezana and Wahsi, and saw that his two Ethiopian compatriots were fighting the same battle.

  Shahji moved on.

  "Poor fellow," murmured Wahsi.

  "What a shock, when he discovers," agreed Ezana.

  Now, Garmat found himself fighting down an outright laugh. Ezana and Wahsi had accompanied him, three years earlier, in his mission to Rome. They knew the realities of the Roman court. They knew the Empress Theodora's foibles.

  But he said nothing. Not until after the three Ethiopians had clambered into their small skiff and begun the trip back to their own ship. Only then did he burst into laughter. Ezana and Wahsi joined him in that gaiety.

  "It's bound to be a woman!" choked out Ezana.

  "Theodora wouldn't trust anyone else," gasped Wahsi. "Shahji'll die of horror!"

  Garmat shook his head. "That's not fair, actually. He's Maratha, don't forget. They recognize the legitimacy of female rulers. They even have a tradition of women leading armies. Still—"

  He fell silent. He was not sure, of course—it was pure speculation. But he thought he could guess who Theodora and Belisarius would send.

  Not Antonina. Garmat was quite sure that Belisarius had bigger plans for her. Of the Empress Theo
dora's inner circle of advisers—female advisers—that left only—

  Ezana completed the thought aloud.

  "They may have those traditions, Garmat," he chuckled. "But not even the Maratha have a tradition of sarcastic, quick-tongued, rapier-witted women who've read more books than they even knew existed."

  "Poor Shahji," concluded Wahsi. "He's such a stiff and proper sort. I foresee chagrin in his future. Great discomfiture."

  Chapter 22

  THE EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN

  Summer, 531 a.d.

  "Be careful!" hissed Antonina.

  "I am being careful," growled Irene. "It's the stupid boat that's being careless!"

  Hesitantly, gingerly, the spymaster stuck out her foot again, groping for the rail of the little skiff bobbing alongside Antonina's flagship. The sea was not particularly rough, but Irene's experience with climbing down a large ship into a smaller one was exactly nil.

  Her foot touched the rail, pressed down, skidded aside. Frantically, she clutched the rope ladder. A stream of vulgar curses ensued. Coarse phrases; unrefined terms. Aimed at the world in general and boats in particular.

  Above, Ousanas grinned down.

  "Witness, everyone! A miracle! There is a book which Irene has never read, after all! I refer, of course, to On the Transfer of Personnel From Craft to Craft At Sea, by the famous author Profanites of Dispepsia."

  A stream of really vulgar curses ensued. Utterly obscene phrases; incredibly gross terms. Aimed exclusively at one particular African.

  The African in question grinned even wider.

  "May I lend you a hand?" he asked pleasantly.

  Irene glared up at him furiously. "Yes!" she snarled. "Get me into this stupid fucking boat!"

  "No problem, noble Greek lady," said Ousanas cheerfully. The dawazz leapt onto the rail of Anton-ina's flagship, gauged the matter for perhaps a micro-second, and sprang directly down into the boat below. He landed lightly on his feet, easily finding his balance. Then, turned to face Irene. The spymaster was swinging against the hull of the larger ship above him. Her face was pale; the knuckles of her hands, clutching the rope ladder, were white as snow.