An Oblique Approach

by David Drake

  He cast a questioning eye at Belisarius.

  "Some of the rest, General, I confess I find perhaps excessively complex."

  " `Perhaps excessively complex,' " mimicked Valentinian harshly. The cataphract leaned forward.

  "General, in the absence of Maurice, I have to take his place. As best I can. The first law of battles—"

  Belisarius waved the objection aside, chuckling.

  "I know it by heart! This is not a battle, Valentinian. This is intrigue."

  "Still, General," interrupted Anastasius, "you're depending too much on happenstance. I don't care if we're talking battles or intrigue—or plotting how to cuckold the quartermaster, for that matter—you still can't rely that much on luck." Unlike Valentinian's voice, whose tenor had been sharp with agitation, Anastasius' basso was calm and serene. His words carried much the greater weight, because of it.

  Belisarius hesitated, marshaling his arguments. This was no place for simple authority, he knew. The cataphracts and the Ethiopians needed to be convinced, not commanded.

  Before he could speak, Ousanas interrupted.

  "I disagree with Anastasius and Valentinian. And Garmat. They are mistaking complexity for intricacy. The plan is complex, true, in the sense that it involves many interacting vectors."

  Belisarius restrained a laugh, seeing the gapes of his Thracian soldiers and the glum resignation on the faces of Ethiopian sarwen. Ousanas gestured enthusiastically.

  "But that is not the same thing as luck! Oh, no, not at all. Luck is my specialty, it is true, just as the sarwen said. But the simple-minded warrior" —a dismissive wave— "does not understand luck, and that is why he thinks I am lucky. I am not. I am fortunate, because I understand the way of good fortune."

  The dawazz leaned forward.

  "The secret of which is I will now tell you. One cannot predict the intricate workings of luck, but one can grasp the vectors of good fortune. All you must do is find the simple thing which is at the heart of the problem and seize it. Hold that—hold it with a grip of iron, and keep it always in your mind—and you will find your way through the vectors."

  "Fancy talk," sneered Valentinian. "But tell me this, O wise one—what's the simple thing about the general's plan?" He snorted. "Name any simple thing about his plan!"

  Ousanas returned the sarcasm with a level gaze.

  "The simple thing at the heart of the general's plan, Valentinian, is the soul of Venandakatra. The entire plan revolves around that one thing. Which is perhaps the simplest thing in the world."

  "No man's soul is simple," countered Valentinian, feebly.

  "Not yours, perhaps," replied the dawazz. "But the soul of Venandakatra? You think that thing is complex?" Ousanas barked. In that single laugh was contained a universe of contempt. "If you wish complexity, Valentinian, examine a pile of dog shit. Do not look for it in the soul of Venandakatra."

  "He's got a point," rumbled Anastasius. The huge cataphract sighed. "A rather good one, actually." Another sigh, like the resignation of Atlas to his labors. "Irrefutable, in fact."

  Valentinian glowered. "Maybe!" he snapped. "But still—what of the rest of it? The prince's part in the plot is simple enough, I'll admit." A skeptical glance at Eon. "If—begging your pardon, Prince—the young royal can stomach it." Now he pointed to Ousanas. "But what of his part in the plan? Do you call that simple?"

  Ousanas grinned. "In what way is it not? I am required to do two things only. Not more than two! I assure you, cataphract, even savages from the savanna can count as high as two."

  Menander interrupted, in a whisper.

  "Those are two pretty complicated things, Ousanas."

  "Nonsense! First, I must learn a new language. A trick I learned as a boy. Then, I must hunt. A trick I learned even earlier."

  "You're not going to be hunting an eland in the savanna, dawazz," said Eon uncertainly.

  "That's right," chimed in Valentinian. "You're going to be hunting a man in a forest. A man you don't know, in a forest you've never seen, in a land you've never visited."

  Ousanas shrugged. "What of it? Hunting is simple, my dear Valentinian. When I was a boy, growing up in the savanna, I did not think so. I was much impressed with the speed of the impala, and the cunning of the buffalo, and the ferocity of the hyena. So I wasted many years studying the ways of these beasts, mastering their intricate habits."

  He wiped his brow. "So exhausting, it was. By the time I was thirteen, I thought myself the world's greatest hunter. Until a wise old man of the village told me that the world's greatest hunters were tiny little people in a distant jungle. They were called pygmies, he said, and they hunted the greatest of all prey. The elephant."

  "Elephants?" exclaimed Anastasius. He frowned. "Just exactly how tiny are these—these pygmies?"

  "Oh, very tiny!" Ousanas gestured with his hand. "Not more than so. I know it is true. As soon as I heard the wise man's words, I rushed off to the jungle to witness this wonder for myself. Indeed, it was just as the village elder had said. The littlest folk in the world, who thought nothing of slaying the earth's most fearsome creatures."

  "How did they do it?" asked Menander, with youthful avidness. "With spears?"

  Ousanas shrugged. "Only at the end. They trapped the elephants in pits, first. I said they were tiny, Menander. I did not say they were stupid. But, mainly, they trapped the elephants with wisdom. For these little folk, you see, did not waste their time as I had done, studying the intricate ways of their prey. They simply grasped the soul of the elephant, and set their traps accordingly. The elephant's soul is fearless, and so they dug their pits in the very middle of the largest trails, where no other beast would think to tread."

  He stared at his prince. "Just so will I trap my prey. It is not complicated. No, it will be the simplest thing imaginable. For the soul of my prey is, in its way, as uncomplicated as that of Venandakatra. And I will not even have to grasp that soul, for it has been in my hand for years already. I have stared into the very eyes of that soul, from a distance of inches."

  He stretched out his left arm. There, wandering across the ridged muscles and tendons, was a long and ragged scar. It was impossible to miss the white mark against his black flesh, though the color had faded a bit over the years.

  "Here is the mark of the panther's soul, my friends. I know it as well as my own."

  Valentinian heaved a sigh. "Oh, hell. I tried."

  It was a signal, Belisarius knew. Quickly scanning the other faces in the cabin, he saw that they had joined in Valentinian's acceptance.

  Valentinian was even grinning, now. The cataphract looked at Ezana and Wahsi.

  "Remember what Anastasius and I told you?" he demanded. "You didn't believe us after the battle with the pirates!"

  Wahsi snorted. "This is what you meant by your general's famous `oblique approach'?"

  Ezana laughed. "Like saying a snake walks funny!" He reached up and touched the bandage on his head. "Still," he added cheerfully, "it's better than charging across an open deck."

  Belisarius smiled and leaned back against the wall of their cabin.

  "I think that's all we need discuss, for the moment," he said. "We'll have time to hone the plan, in the weeks ahead."

  Ousanas frowned. "All we need to discuss? Nonsense, General!" A quick dismissing gesture. "Oh, as to the plan—certainly! Good plans are like good meat, best cooked rare. Now we can move on to discuss truly important things."

  His great grin erupted.

  "Philosophy!" He rubbed his hands. "Such a joy to be surrounded by Greeks, now that I can speak the language of philosophy without that horrid pidgin nonsense getting in the way. I shall begin with Plotinus. It is my contention that his application of the principle of prior simplicity to the nature of the divine intellect is, from the standpoint of logic, false; and from the standpoint of theology, impious. I speak, here, of his views as presented by Porphyry in Book V of the Enneads. What is your opinion?"

  Another dismissive gesture.
"I ask this question of the Greeks present, of course. I know the views of the Ethiopians. They think I am a raving madman."

  "You are a raving madman," said Wahsi.

  "A gibbering lunatic," added Ezana.

  "I'm not Greek," growled Valentinian.

  "I've never heard such drivel in my life," rumbled Anastasius. "Absolute rubbish. The principle of prior simplicity is accepted by all the great philosophers, Plato and Aristotle alike, whatever their other disputes. Plotinus simply applied the concept to the nature of divinity."

  Anastasius' enormous shoulders rolled his head forward. The granite slabs, tors, and crevices which made up his face quivered with ecstasy.

  "The logic of his position is unassailable," continued the basso profundo, sounding, to all in the room save Ousanas, like the voice of doom itself. "I admit, the theological implications are staggering, at first glance. But I remind you, Ousanas, that the great Augustine himself held Plotinus in the highest regard, and—"

  "Oh, sweet Jesus," whispered Menander, falling back weakly. "He hasn't done this since the first day I showed up, the new boy, and he trapped me in the barracks." A hideous moan. "For hours. Hours."

  Eon and the sarwen were gaping at Anastasius, much as they might have gaped at a buffalo suddenly transformed into a unicorn.

  Garmat raised his eyes to the heavens.

  "It is an indisputable virtue of my mother's people," he muttered, "that they are poets rather than philosophers. Whatever other crimes they have committed, no Arab has ever bored a man to death."

  Valentinian glared at Belisarius. "It's your fault," hissed the weasel.

  Belisarius shrugged. "I forgot. And how was I to know he'd find a kindred spirit? On this expedition?"

  "It's still your fault," came the unforgiving voice. "You knew what he was like. You knew his father was Greek. You picked the troops. You're the general. You're in command. Command takes responsibility!"

  "Ridiculous!" exclaimed Ousanas. "How can you say such—"

  "—still," overrode Anastasius, "I fail to see how you can deny that Plato's Forms must also derive from prior elements—"

  "And now you insult Plato!"

  "How far is it to India?" whispered Menander.

  "Weeks, the way these wretched Malwa sail," groused Eon. And here the prince launched into his own technical diatribe, which, though it was just as long-winded as the debate raging elsewhere in the cabin, had at least the virtue of being more-or-less comprehensible, even to landlubbers like Belisarius.

  Chapter 18

  BHARAKUCCHA

  Summer, 529 AD

  Bharakuccha was the great western port of the Malwa Empire, located at the mouth of the Narmada River where it emptied into the Gulf of Khambhat. From its harbor, trading vessels of all sizes came and went daily.

  Some, like the embassy vessel upon which the general and his company arrived on a blistering hot day in August, came from the northwest and returned thither. Many of those vessels were tiny craft not much more than dugout canoes, which bore petty trade goods to the coastal villages of Gujarat, the Rann of Kutch, and Sind. Others were Indian craft as huge as the embassy ship, which crept their ponderous way along the coast bearing immense cargoes for Persia and Europe. Many more were Persian ships, smaller and swifter than the Indian craft, which competed in the same trade. A few—not many—were Greek and Axumite.

  The Greek and Axumite ships, in the main, avoided the northwest coast and sailed directly east and west across the Erythrean Sea. The western terminus of their trade was the Red Sea.

  Still other craft came and went from the south. Most of these carried trade to and from the coast of Kerala and the great island of Ceylon. But there were ships whose trade was still more distant. Some of these vessels rounded the tip of India and carried their commerce to the great subcontinent's eastern coast. Others were destined for truly exotic lands—the southeast Asian kingdoms of Champa and Funan, and even Cathay.

  Bharakuccha was like no city Belisarius had ever seen.

  It was not completely outlandish, of course. The city had a generic resemblance to other such places which the general had visited. Like all great ports, Bharakuccha was a city of contrasts and extremes. Immense palaces and mansions, the abodes of nobility and rich merchants, rose like islands out of a vast sea of slums. Huge emporia and tiny merchant stalls—simple carts, often enough—nestled cheek and jowl. Trade and commerce was the city's lifeblood, and its bustling streets, crowded shops and clamorous bazaars—bustling, crowded and clamorous at any time of the day or night—gave proof that Bharakuccha took its business seriously.

  But it was the scale of the phenomenon which astonished the visitors from Rome. The sheer size of the city, the incredible mass of its population, and the frenzy of its activity.

  "Mother of God," mumbled Anastasius, "this place makes Alexandria look like a sleepy fishing village."

  "They say you can buy anything in Bharakuccha," commented Ezana.

  "Every port makes that boast," scoffed Valentinian.

  "The difference, my friend, is that here it is true."

  The ship was now moored to its dock, and Belisarius watched as Venandakatra and his cluster of priests scurried ashore. They were met by an imposing reception of notables. After a brief ceremony, Venandakatra clambered into a palanquin and was carried off.

  Eon heaved a sigh of relief.

  "Thank God, we're rid of him."

  "For a while, Prince, only for a while," responded Garmat. The adviser stroked his beard, calculating.

  "What do you think, General? A week?"

  Belisarius laughed. "Are you mad? That pompous prick is going to need at least two weeks to put together the kind of expedition he's talking about. Probably three. Maybe even an entire month."

  The general shook his head. "You'd think he was planning to conquer the world instead of making a simple trip back to report to the Malwa emperor. With a quick stop at his own—what did he call it, Eon?"

  "Modest country residence."

  "Along the way. Modest country residence. I can't wait to see it. Probably bigger than the Great Palace in Constantinople." The general turned away from the rail. "But that's good for us. We'll have time to get our own arrangements underway. Venandakatra, I'm sure, won't be bothering to keep track of us himself, so we won't have to put up with the pleasure of his company until his expedition is ready to set out."

  He cast a stern look upon his companions. "But that doesn't mean we won't have spies watching us at all times. He's a pig, but he's not stupid. Remember that! Everything you do, while we're here in Bharakuccha, has to be done with the assumption that your actions will be reported to the Malwa. Everything." He gestured toward the teeming city. "In that maelstrom, there'll be no way to make sure someone isn't spying on you."

  Valentinian grinned. "Not a problem, General. You've provided us with the most brilliant cover imaginable. Not even a cover, actually. Just the sort of things we'd be doing naturally. Drinking, eating, carousing. The occasional fuck now and then. That sort of thing."

  "Catch every disease known to man," remarked Ousanas idly. But Valentinian's grin never wavered.

  Belisarius began to smile, turned it into a not particularly convincing frown. "Just remember, Valentinian, you're not here on a pleasure trip. Drink, eat and carouse all you want. Just make sure you find Kushans to do it with. That includes fornication. I catch you humping any whore who isn't Kushan, there'll be hell to pay."

  "A pity, that," mused Anastasius. "Variety's always appealed to me. It's my philosophical tendencies, I think." A wave of scowls appeared on all faces around him, except Ousanas. "But—so be it."

  He clapped his hand on Valentinian's shoulder. "We shall not fail you, General. In a land of multitudinous—infinite!—possibilities, we shall be as selective as the Stoics of old."

  "Get your fucking hand off me," snarled Valentinian.

  "Nothing shall we touch save the very Platonic Forms of Kushan drink and Kushan women
."

  "I'll cut it off, I swear I will."

  Within a few hours, Belisarius found appropriate lodgings for his party. The Emperor Justinian had been miserly as always in the monies which he had provided for Belisarius' mission. Fortunately, however, Garmat had been amply funded by King Kaleb.

  Fortunately indeed, for the lodgings which Belisarius selected were truly regal, and regally expensive. As agreed upon, Garmat obtained an entire suite in one of the most expensive hostels in Bharakuccha. He paid for it with Axumite gold coin. Belisarius and Garmat had already discovered that Axumite coinage was one of the three foreign currencies accepted in India. Byzantine coinage was the most prestigious, of course, but Axumite gold and silver were accepted as readily as Persian currency.

  Belisarius paid for the two extra rooms. The extra rooms were comparatively modest—by the standards, at least, of that hostel. One of the extra rooms was for himself and his cataphracts. The other was for Garmat, Ousanas, and the sarwen.

  The suite—the gigantic, opulent, lavishly furnished suite—was for Eon alone. Eon Bisi Dakuen, Prince of Axum (and all the other royal cognomens which Garmat had appended, to which the boy was not entitled—but who was to know otherwise in Bharakuccha?), could settle for nothing less. Some other prince, perhaps, but not this one. Not this pampered, spoiled, arrogant, whining, complaining, grousing, thoroughly obnoxious young royal snot.

  As soon as they entered the hostel, Eon began his litany of complaints. This was not right, that was not right, the other was all wrong, etc., etc., etc. By now, thought Belisarius with amusement, the boy had the routine down pat. Within three minutes, the proprietor of the hostel was stiff-faced with injured dignity. Were it not for the sizable profit he stood to make from the Ethiopians, Belisarius had little doubt that the proprietor would have pitched Eon out on his ear. (Figuratively, of course; a literal pitching would be difficult, what with the spears of the sarwen.)