by David Drake
He would know soon enough. He stopped a few feet from the group and bowed politely.
"I am Belisarius," he announced. "I am—"
"Rome's finest general!" said the older man. "Such a honor! I am Garmat, the adviser to Prince Eon Bisi Dakuen." He motioned to the young man standing at his side.
Belisarius examined the young man. The prince, he thought, was most handsome in an exotic sort of way. The boy was not tall, but he was obviously well built. Beneath the heavy embroidered coat, Belisarius suspected, lay a very muscular frame.
The prince nodded, so slightly as to be almost impolite. Immediately, the tall man standing behind him nudged the prince again, none too gently, and uttered a few words in a language unknown to Belisarius. The two Axumite soldiers standing by his side grunted something, which Belisarius sensed were words of approval.
Something odd was happening. The language was unknown to the general, but—for a moment, strangely, Belisarius thought he almost understood the words. Odd.
Under the darkness of the skin, Belisarius thought he saw the prince flush with embarrassment. The young man stood even straighter and nodded again. This time, very deeply and respectfully. The tall man behind him flashed Belisarius his quick toothy grin and said, in heavily accented Greek:
"I said to him: 'Show respect, fool boy! He is great general, tested in battle, and you but suckling babe.' " Again, the wide grin. "Of course, I spoke our language, so not to embarrass fool boy prince. And did not slap his head, for same reason. But now I find must translate, so as not to offend noble visitors."
"And who are you, if I might ask?"
The tall man grinned even more widely. "Me? I am nothing, great general. A miserable slave, no more. The lowest creature on earth, debased beyond measure."
Garmat interrupted. "Please! May we be introduced to your lovely wife?"
Belisarius apologized and made the introduction. Garmat was suave diplomacy itself, managing simultaneously to strew about fulsome praises of Antonina's beauty and charm without, at the same time, doing so in a manner which suggested even the slightest lechery. The prince did not manage so well. He was very polite, but too obviously smitten by her beauty.
The tall man behind him spoke sharply, again; again, the soldiers' grunting approval.
But this time, Belisarius understood the words—without knowing how.
"Idiot boy! Lust after local cowherds, if you must! Do not ogle the wives of great foreign generals!"
Belisarius kept a straight face. Or so, at least, he thought.
"You speak our language," announced Garmat.
Belisarius thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, no. I can understand a few words, that is all. But I cannot speak—uh, what exactly—"
"We call it Ge'ez."
"Thank you. I apologize for my ignorance. I know little of Axum. As I said, I can speak no Ge'ez, but I do understand it a bit."
Garmat was staring up at him shrewdly. "More than a bit, I think." The adviser glanced back at the tall man standing behind the prince.
"You are puzzled by Ousanas." It was more of a statement than a question.
Belisarius looked at the tall man. "That is his name?"
Ousanas spoke, again in Greek.
"Is my civilized Greek name, General Belisarius. In my own tongue am called—" Here came several unpronounceable syllables.
"You are Nubian," said Belisarius.
Ousanas now grinned from ear to ear.
"Should think not! Most wretched folk, the Nubians. Given to putting on great airs, pretending they are Egyptian. I fart on Meroe and Napata!"
Garmat interrupted. "Romans often make that mistake. He is actually from much farther south than Nubia. From a land between great lakes, which is quite unknown to the peoples of the Mediterranean."
Belisarius frowned. "He is not Axumite, then?"
"Should hope not!" cried Ousanas. "Most wretched folk, the Axumites. Given to putting on great airs, pretending they are descendants of Solomon."
Again, the grin. "I do not, however, fart on Axum and Adulis. Else the sarwen"—a thumb pointed in each direction to the warriors at his side—"would beat me for an impertinent slave."
The two sarwen grunted agreement.
Belisarius was now frowning deeply. Garmat smiled.
"You are puzzled, I think, by some of our customs."
"Is this a custom?" asked Belisarius dubiously.
Garmat nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes! A very old custom. Every man child born to the king—even girls, sometimes, if there are no male heirs—is assigned a special slave at the age of ten. This slave is always a foreigner, of some kind. He is called the dawazz. His is a very special job. The prince has an adviser to teach him statecraft, which a king must have to rule properly." Here Garmat pointed to himself. "Veteran soldiers from his regiment to teach him the skill of arms, which a king must have to maintain his rule." Here Garmat pointed to the two soldiers. "And then, most important, he has his dawazz. Who teaches him that the difference between slave and king is not so great, after all."
Ousanas grinned. "Much better to be slave! No worries."
Antonina smiled sweetly. "I should think you'd worry what the prince will do if he ever assumes the throne. And remembers the dawazz who abused him, all those many times."
The grin never wavered. "Nonsense, great lady. Prince be properly grateful. Shower faithful dawazz with gifts. Offer him prestigious posts."
Antonina grinned back. "Maybe. Especially if the dawazz was a kind and gentle man, who reproved his prince mildly and only upon rare occasions."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Ousanas. "Dawazz of that sort be useless!" He smacked the prince on top of the head, very hard. The Prince didn't even blink.
"See?" demanded Ousanas. "Good prince. Very strong and durable, with solid hard head. If he ever become king, Arabs tremble."
Belisarius was fascinated. "But—let's just suppose for the moment—what I mean is—"
Garmat interrupted. "You are wondering what would motivate the dawazz to be so strict in his duties? When, as your wife points out, there is always the risk that a king might remember the past sourly?"
Belisarius nodded. Garmat turned to Ousanas.
"What happens, Ousanas, if you neglect your duties? Fail to instruct the prince properly in the true scheme of things?"
The grin vanished from Ousanas' face. "Sarawit be angry." He glanced from side to side. "Very perilous, irritate sarwen." The irrepressible grin returned. "Prince is nothing. King is almost nothing. Sarawit important."
The soldiers grunted agreement.
Garmat turned back to Belisarius. "Our custom, you see, is that when the prince succeeds to the throne or reaches his maturity—which, among us, we reckon at twenty-two years of age—then his sarwe passes judgment on his dawazz. If the dawazz is judged to have done his job properly, he is offered membership in the sarwe. And, usually, a high rank. Or, if he prefers, he may return to his own people, laden with the sarwe's blessing and, of course, many gifts from his former prince."
"And if the sarwe judges against him?"
Garmat shrugged. From behind him, Ousanas muttered: "Very bad." The soldiers grunted agreement.
Belisarius scratched his chin.
"Is the dawazz always from the south?"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Garmat. "The dawazz may come from any foreign land, so long as his people are adjudged a valiant folk and he himself is esteemed for his courage. King Kaleb's dawazz, for instance, was a bedouin Arab."
"And what happened to him?"
Garmat coughed. "Well, actually, he's standing in front of you. I was Kaleb's dawazz."
Belisarius and Antonina stared at him. Garmat shrugged apologetically.
"My mother, I'm afraid, was not noted for her chastity. She was particularly taken by handsome young Ethiopian traders. As you can see, I was the result of such a liaison."
"How were you captured?" asked Belisarius.
Garmat frowned. He seemed
puzzled.
"Captured by whom?"
"By the Axumites—when they enslaved you, and made you Kaleb's dawazz."
"You never capture dawazz!" exclaimed the prince. "If a man can be captured, he is not fit to be dawazz!"
It was the first time the prince had spoken. Eon's voice was quite pleasant, although unusually deep for one so young.
Belisarius shook his head bemusedly. "I don't understand this at all. How do you make someone a dawazz, then?"
"Make someone?" asked the prince. He looked at his adviser in confusion. Garmat smiled. The soldiers chuckled. Ousanas laughed aloud.
"You don't make someone a dawazz, General," explained Garmat. "It is a very high honor. Men come from everywhere to compete for the post. When I heard that a new dawazz was to be appointed by the Ethiopians, I rode across half of Arabia. And I traded my fine camel for a dhow to cross the Red Sea."
"I walked through jungles and mountains," commented Ousanas. "I traded nothing. Had nothing to trade except my spear. Which I needed."
He bared a very muscular forearm, showing an ugly scar which marked the black flesh.
"Got that from a panther in Shawa." The grin returned. "But was well worth it. Scar got me into final round of testing. Not have to bother with silly early rounds."
Prince Eon spoke, his voice filled with pride. "Ousanas is the greatest hunter in the world," he announced.
Immediately, Ousanas slapped him atop the head.
"Fool boy! Greatest hunter in world is lioness somewhere in savanna. Hope you never meet her! You contemplate error from inside her belly."
"And you, Garmat?" asked Antonina. "Were you also a great hunter?"
Garmat waved his hands deprecatingly. "By no means, by no means. I was—how shall I put it? Let us say that the Axumites were delighted to select me. At one stroke, they gained a dawazz and eliminated the most annoying bandit chieftain in the Hadrawmat." He shrugged again. "I had gotten rather tired of the endless round of forays and retreats. The thought of a stable position was appealing. And—"
He hesitated, sizing up the two Romans before him. "And," he continued, "I always rather liked my father's people. Whoever my father was, I was always sure he was Ethiopian."
For a moment, the adviser's face grew hard. "I was raised Arab, and have never forgotten that half of my heritage. A great people, the Arabs, in many ways. But—they were very hard on my mother. Mocked her, and abused her, for no reason than that she found men attractive."
He looked away, scanning the milling crowd in the reception hall.
"She was a good mother. Very good. Once I became powerful, of course, the abuse stopped. But she was never truly respected. Not properly. So—I took her with me to Axum, where customs are different."
"How are they different?" asked Antonina.
Again, the appraising stare. Longer, this time. Belisarius knew that an important decision was being made.
"Let us simply say, Antonina, that among the Axumites there would be no whispering about powerful women with questionable pasts. As there is even here, among sophisticated Greeks."
Antonina grew still. Garmat's smile grew twisted. "Nor would there be any basis for such whispering, among the Ethiopians. Prostitution is unknown among them—except in the port of Adulis, where it is only practiced upon foreign seamen. Who are mocked, thereafter, for paying good money for what they could have had for nothing. Nothing, that is, except charm and wit and good conversation."
Ousanas spoke, grimacing fiercely. "A promiscuous folk, the Axumites. Is well known! I was shocked, when first heard the news, in my far distant little village in south. My own folk very moral people, of course." His face grew lugubrious. "Oh, yes! Was shocked at such news! Immediately went to see for myself, that I might lay to rest wicked rumors." The huge grin returned. "Alas, rumors proved true. I would have fled immediately, of course, but by the time I learned—"
"The day you arrived," grunted one of the soldiers.
"—was too late. Had already been tested for the dawazz. What could I do?"
Antonina and Belisarius laughed. Garmat spread his hands.
"You see? Even our priests, I'm afraid, are lax by your standards. But we are happy with our customs. Even the negusa nagast does not fret himself overmuch concerning the paternity of his sons. What does their blood matter, anyway? Only the approval of the sarawit matters, in the end."
The soldiers grunted agreement.
The adviser gazed at Belisarius, a shrewd glint in his eyes.
"You must really come to see Axum for yourself," he said.
"Not without me to keep an eye on him!" exclaimed Antonina, giggling. Then, remembering their purpose, she gasped slightly and fell silent.
Garmat immediately detected the false note. Before he could speak, Belisarius cleared his throat.
"As a matter of fact, Garmat, that is—"
He was interrupted by a great fanfare. The Emperor's heralds were blaring out on their cornicens.
Belisarius started. Cornicens were the instruments used by Roman generals to transmit orders on the battlefield. He was not accustomed to their peaceful use.
Justinian and Theodora's thrones were being elevated to their extreme height. Silence began to fall over the throng. It was clear that an important announcement was at hand.
"I'm afraid I must apologize to you," Belisarius whispered hastily to Garmat. "I became so engrossed in our conversation that I forgot the time. This announcement, well—"
Garmat laid a hand on his arm.
"Let us hear the announcement, General. Then we can discuss whatever needs to be discussed."
When the announcement was finished, Belisarius noted three things.
First, he noted a marked change in the manner of the crowd toward both himself and the Axumites. Where before they had been ignored, they were now, it was obvious, on the verge of being mobbed by sudden well-wishers.
Second, he noted the very sour expression on the face of Venandakatra, obvious even at a distance. And the hurried whispering among the Malwa entourage.
Third, he noted the trifold reaction of the Axumites. Garmat, even with the long experience of a royal adviser, was finding it impossible not to look pleased. Eon, with the short experience of a young and vigorous prince, found it even more impossible not to express displeasure. And the dawazz, as always, did his job, under the watchful eyes of the sarwen.
"We were not even informed!" snapped the Prince.
Immediately, Ousanas slapped him atop the head.
"Imbecile suckling! When lion invite you to share lunch, accept. Or would you rather be lunch yourself? Babbling babe!"
The sarwen grunted approval.
Chapter 13
Amavarati
Winter, 528 AD
Her youngest brother died well. Foolishly, but well.
Shakuntala did not hold the foolishness against the boy. He had been fourteen years old and was bound to die anyway. Better he should be cut down quickly by a Ye-tai beast than have his last moments be filled with humiliation as well as pain.
Her brother's hopeless charge against the Ye-tai made possible his revenge, too. The Ye-tai—an experienced warrior—had no difficulty side-stepping the boy's clumsy sword swing. The barbarian grinned savagely as his own sword hewed into her brother's neck, almost severing it completely. A moment later, the grin disappeared. Shakuntala's spear-point took the Ye-tai under the armpit and penetrated right into his heart.
The warrior began to slump, but his body was hurled aside by three other Ye-tai pouring into the princess' chamber. The Ye-tai in the lead stumbled slightly over his dead comrade's leg. It wasn't much of a stumble, but it was just enough to allow Shakuntala's spear to slide over the rim of his shield. The spear-point sank into his throat. The barbarian coughed blood and fell to his knees.
The princess immediately jerked the spear-blade back and plunged it toward another Ye-tai. This one brought his shield up to block the thrust. But the princess had been well-tau
ght. The thrust was a feint. The spear-tip sank into his leg just above the knee. The Ye-tai howled. Shakuntala jerked the blade out and drove it into the warrior's open mouth.
It was a quick, flickering, viper-like thrust—just as she had been taught. But—just as she had been warned not to do—the princess had driven the blade in much too furiously. The spear-tip jammed between two vertebrae.
A moment later, another Ye-tai struck at the spear shaft with his sword. His sword did not—quite—succeed in cutting the spear shaft. But the blow was more than sufficient to knock the spear out of Shakuntala's hands.
