by David Drake
Belisarius began to speak, but Theodora cut him off.
“Spare me, Belisarius. There’s no point in making reassurances. I don’t need them, and Justinian won’t believe them.”
She waved her hand. “No, the right course is exactly the one you propose.” Another laugh. “Although even in my wildest dreams I never would have thought of sending you to Axum and India! God, Justinian will be ecstatic!”
The Empress was silent for a moment, lost in thought. “And it’s not a bad idea, in any event, even leaving Justinian’s jealousies aside.”
She arose and walked slowly back to the window. Belisarius was struck by the regal grace of her movements, as encumbered as Theodora must have been by those incredible imperial robes. (Which, Antonina had told him, Theodora insisted on wearing at all times.) She looked every inch the ideal image of an Empress.
For a brief instant, Belisarius caught a glimpse of the woman’s inner demons: that fierce, driving ambition which had carried her and her husband to the throne from the lowest of beginnings. Justinian, a semiliterate peasant from Thrace-who had, of course, long since become as literate a man as any in the Empire, applying his own fierce intelligence. Theodora, a whore from Alexandria.
But Theodora had been no sophisticated courtesan like Antonina, gaily choosing her few consorts and reveling in the charm and wit of their company. Belisarius knew Theodora’s own history from Antonina. The Empress had been sold into prostitution by her own father at the age of twelve, to a pimp who had sold her in turn to every ruffian who hung about the Hippodrome.
He watched the still, beautiful face staring out the window. Watched the pride in the stillness, and the icy intelligence in the beauty, and thought he understood Theodora. Understood her, and understood her unshakable devotion to Justinian.
I swore an oath to Justinian, which I will always keep. But I wish I had sworn it to her. She would have made a far better Emperor.
“I don’t trust this Venandakatra,” Theodora said softly. “Even before Antonina told me of Irene’s suspicions, I had my own.” She glanced at Belisarius. “You’ve not met him?”
The general shook his head.
“I shall introduce you to him tomorrow. Justinian is having a reception for Venandakatra.”
She stared back out the window. “Trade envoy!” she sneered. “That man has enough arrogance in him to be Lord of the Universe. A foul creature, he is! As vile a man as ever lived, I suspect.”
Belisarius restrained his start of surprise. Antonina, he knew, had simply passed on that much of what they knew about Venandakatra which could reasonably have been spied out by Irene. There had been no mention of his vision.
Venandakatra the Vile. Apparently, the cognomen had been no personal fancy of Raghunath Rao.
Theodora shook her head. “No, I don’t like this Venandakatra. The Malwa are playing a deep and dark game. And we know almost nothing about them. Yes, best we find out what we can, as soon as possible.”
She turned back. “But there’s something more important. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know this Venandakatra creature. Much more, I assure you, than you’d ever want. In the meantime, however, there are other people you must get to know immediately. The Axumite embassy will also be present at the reception, which is doubling-as an afterthought, I’m afraid-as their departing ceremony. They are returning to Axum the next day.”
She resumed her seat on the throne. “To my mind, your proposed visit to Axum is even more important than the trip to India. For one thing, I’m not sure how much you’ll actually be able to find out in India. Whatever else he is, Venandakatra’s no fool, and he’ll have his own suspicions of you.”
“Will he agree?” asked Antonina. “To Belisarius accompanying him back to India?”
Theodora waved the concern away. “He can’t very well refuse, can he? After all, he’s supposedly a mere trade envoy. How could he refuse an imperial request to carry a Roman envoy back to his homeland?” She shook her head. “No, he’ll agree, however grudgingly. What I am much more concerned about, at the moment, is whether the Axumites will agree to that side of your proposal.”
“I thought they were on good terms with Rome,” commented Belisarius.
The Empress tightened her lips. “Yes, they were. Whether they still are, after the shameful way they’ve been treated since their arrival, is another matter.”
“They’ve been insulted?” asked Antonina.
“Not directly. But Justinian’s indifference to them was soon detected by the courtiers, who-” She snorted. “It’s the first rule of the courtier: if the Emperor breaks wind, you shit a mountain.”
Belisarius chuckled. Theodora shook her head.
“It’s not really funny. Justinian is so preoccupied with-well, never mind. Let’s just say that he has forgotten the first rule of the emperor. Do not trample over old friends in your eagerness to make new ones.”
“What’s your impression of the Axumites?” asked Antonina.
Theodora frowned. “The adviser, Garmat, strikes me as shrewd. I don’t think he’ll be a problem. It’s rather the prince who concerns me.”
She spoke the prince’s name slowly, savoring the words: “Eon Bisi Dakuen. Do you know what the name means?”
Belisarius and Antonina shook their heads.
“The Axumites are warriors. We forget that, here, because we only encounter them as traders and seamen. But they are a warrior people, with their own proud history. It is a tradition which is particularly ingrained in the ruling clan. It shows in their royal nomenclature.”
She closed her eyes, calling up memory. “The official name for the king of the Ethiopians is Kaleb Ella Atsbeha, son of Tazena, Bisi Lazen, King of Axum, Himryar, Dhu Raydan, Saba, Salhen, the High Country and Yamanat, the Coastal Plain, Hadramawt, and all their Arabs, the Beja, Noba, Kasu, and Siyamo, servant of Christ.”
“That’s a mouthful,” commented Antonina.
Theodora opened her eyes, smiling. “Isn’t it? But don’t shrug it off as royal grandiosity. It’s quite accurate, except for the ’Ella Atsbeha’ part, and accurate in significant ways.”
“What does ’Ella Atsbeha’ mean?” asked Belisarius.
“It means ’he who brings the dawn.’ ” Theodora shrugged. “That part of the title we can ignore. But the rest-ah, there’s what’s interesting. The long list of territories ruled, for instance, is quite precise. And the Axumites are punctilious about it. The listing of Himryar, for instance, as well as the Hadrawmat, is recent. The Axumites add and remove territories to the name of their ruler in strict accordance to the facts on the ground, so to speak.”
She cast a shrewd glance at Belisarius.
“What does that tell you, General?”
“It tells me they prize accurate intelligence, even formally.” Belisarius smiled crookedly. “That’s a rather rare trait in rulers.”
“Isn’t it? But the Axumites are rigorous about it. I had my historians check the records.” She went on. “The ’ella’ name is only given to ruling monarchs. Who, by the way, are properly known as the negusa nagast, which means ’King of Kings.’ My historians are not certain, but they think the title is also quite accurate. From old records of the first missionaries, it seems that Axum was forged by conquest and that it rules over many subordinate monarchs in the region of Ethiopia. Even Meroe and Nubia, it seems.”
“And the ’bisi’ name?” asked Belisarius. “It must mean something. I notice that both the King-the negusa nagast — and his son share the name. It’s a title, I imagine.”
“Yes. And that’s the most interesting part. King Kaleb’s oldest son Wa’zeb is named ’Wa’zeb Bisi Hadefan, son of Ella Atsbeha.’ He is granted the patronymic, because he is the heir. The younger son who is the envoy here, Eon, is stripped down the bare essentials. ’Eon Bisi Dakuen.’ That’s the only name he has, because it’s the only name Axumite royalty considers essential.”
“It’s a military title,” guessed Belisarius.
Theodora nodded approvingly. “Quite right. The Axumite army is organized into long-standing regiments. They call them sarawit. I believe the singular is sarwe. ’Bisi’ means ’man of.’ Hence the Prince, Eon, has as his only identity the fact that he is a man of the Dakuen sarwe. Just as his father, before all else, is a man of the Lazen sarwe; and his older brother Wa’zeb, the heir, is before all else a man of the Hadefan sarwe.”
Antonina looked back and forth between the Empress and the general. “I think I’m missing something here,” she said.
Belisarius pursed his lips. “Lord in Heaven, even the Spartans didn’t take it that far.”
He turned to his wife. “What it means, Antonina, is that the Axumites look at the world through the hard eyes of warriors. Proud ones. Proud enough that they name their kings and princes after regiments; and prouder still, that they disdain to claim territories which they don’t actually rule.”
Theodora nodded. “And these are the people who’ve been treated as unwanted guests since they arrived. Brushed off by insolent courtiers who don’t know one end of a lance from the other, and by officious bureaucrats who don’t even know what a lance looks like in the first place.”
“Oh, my,” said Antonina.
Belisarius eyed Theodora. “But you don’t think the adviser-Garmat, is it? — is the problem.”
The Empress shook her head.
“He’s an adviser, after all. Probably a warrior himself, in his youth, but he’s long past that now. No, the problem’s the boy. Eon Bisi Dakuen. As proud as any young warrior ever is-much less a prince! — and mortally offended.”
Theodora was startled to hear Belisarius laugh.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Empress! Not if he’s really a warrior, at least. And, with that name, I suspect he is.” For a moment, the look on the general’s face was as icy as that of the Empress. “Warriors aren’t mortally offended all that easily, Theodora, appearances to the contrary. They’ve seen too much real mortality. If they survive-well, there’s pride, of course. But there’s also a streak of practicality.”
He arose. “I do believe I can touch that practicality. As one warrior to another.”
Antonina rose with him. The audience was clearly at an end, except “You’ll arrange an interview with Justinian?”
Theodora shook her head. “There won’t be any necessity for a private interview. Justinian will agree to your plan, I’ve no doubt of it.” The Empress pondered. “I think the way to proceed is to have Belisarius’ mission announced publicly at tomorrow’s reception. That will box Venandakatra, and it may help to mollify the Axumites.”
“You can arrange it that quickly?”
Theodora’s smile was arctic. “Do not concern yourself, General. It will be arranged. See to it that you make good your boast concerning the young prince.”
Chapter 12
Belisarius thought the Emperor’s efforts were a waste of time, and said as much to Sittas. Very quietly, of course. Not even the fearless general Belisarius was fool enough to mock the Emperor aloud-certainly not at an official imperial reception.
“Of course it’s a waste of time,” whispered Sittas. “It always is, except with barbarians. So what? Justinian doesn’t care. He loves his toys, and that’s all there is to it. Think he’d pass up a chance to play with them?”
There followed, under his breath, various rude remarks about Thracian hicks and their childish delight in trinkets and baubles. Belisarius, smiling blandly, ignored them cheerfully.
For, in truth, Belisarius was not all that far removed from the Thracian countryside himself. And, if he was not exactly an uncouth hick-which, by the by, he thought was a highly inaccurate depiction of the Emperor! — still, he was enough of a rube to take almost as much pleasure as Justinian out of the- toys.
Toys, indeed.
There were the levitating thrones, first of all, upon which Justinian and Theodora were elevated far above the crowd. The thrones rose and fell as the Emperor’s mood took him. At the moment, judging from his rarefied height, Justinian was feeling aloof from the huge mob thronging the reception hall.
Then, there were the lions which flanked the thrones whenever the royal chairs were resting on the floor. Made of beaten gold and silver, the lions were capable of emitting the most thunderous roars whenever the Emperor was struck by the fancy. Which, judging from their experience in the half-hour since they had arrived at the reception, Belisarius knew to be a frequent occurrence.
Finally, there were Belisarius’ personal favorites: the jewel-encrusted metal birds which perched on metal trees and porcelain fountains scattered about in the vicinity of the Emperor. The general was fond of their metallic chirping, of course, but he was particularly taken by one bird on the rim of a fountain, which, from time to time, bent down as if to drink from its water.
Toys, indeed.
But, he thought, a waste of time and effort on this occasion. Neither the Indian nor the Axumite envoys were unsophisticated barbarians, to be astonished and dazzled by such marvels.
Belisarius examined the Malwa embassy first. The identity of Venandakatra was obvious, not only from his central position in the group of Indians but from his whole bearing. His clothing was rich, but unostentatious, as befitted one who claimed to be a mere trade envoy.
That assumed modesty was a waste of time, thought Belisarius. For, just as the Empress had said, Venandakatra carried himself in a manner which indeed suggested that he was the Lord of the Universe.
Belisarius smiled faintly. The elaborate and ostentatious reception for Venandakatra was Justinian’s own none-too-subtle way of making clear to the Malwa that the Roman Emperor was not taken in by the Indian’s subterfuge. A mere trade envoy would have been kept cooling his heels for weeks, before some midlevel bureaucrat finally deigned to grant him an audience in a dingy office. No genuine trade envoy had ever been given a formal imperial reception in the huge hall in the Great Palace itself, before the assembled nobility of Constantinople.
Belisarius glanced up at the enormous mosaics which decorated the walls. He almost expected to see looks of shock and dismay on the faces of the saints depicted thereon. Those holy eyes of tile were accustomed to gaze upon victorious generals, dignified Patriarchs, and the bejewelled ambassadors from the Persian court, not disreputable little- merchants.
Chuckling, Belisarius resumed his scrutiny of the Malwa “trade envoy.”
Beyond his haughtiness, there was not much to remark about Venandakatra. The man’s complexion was dark, by Byzantine standards, and the cast of his face obviously foreign. But neither of those features particularly set him apart. Constantinople was the most cosmopolitan city in the world, and its inhabitants were long accustomed to exotic visitors. Nor were Romans given to racial prejudice. So long as a man behaved properly, and dressed in a Byzantine manner, and spoke Greek, he was assumed to be civilized. A heathen, perhaps, but civilized.
Venandakatra was in late middle age, and of average height. His features were thin almost to the point of sharpness, which was accentuated by his close-set dark eyes. The eyes seemed as cold as a reptile’s to Belisarius, even from a distance. The web of scaly wrinkles around the orbits added to the effect.
In build, Belisarius estimated that Venandakatra should have been slender, by nature. In fact, his thin-boned frame and features carried a considerable excess of weight. Venandakatra exuded the odd combination of rail-thin ferocity and self-indulgent obesity. Like a snake distended by its prey.
A cold, savage grin came upon the general’s face, then, remembering a vision. In another time, in that future which Belisarius hoped to change, this vile man had been destroyed by a mere slip of a girl. Beaten to a pulp by her flashing hands and feet; bleeding to death from a throat cut by his own knife.
“Stop it, Belisarius!” hissed Antonina.
“Please,” concurred Irene. “You’re not supposed to bare your fangs at an imperial reception. We are trying to make a good impression, you know.”
Belisarius tightened his lips. He glanced again at Venandakatra, then away.
The Vile One, indeed.
He looked now upon the Axumites and at once felt his expression ease.
In truth, to all appearances the Axumites were far more outlandish than the Indians. Their skins, for one thing, were not “dark-complected” but black. Black as Nubians (which, Belisarius judged from his features, one of them was). For another, where the Indians’ hair was long and straight, that of the Axumites was short and very kinky. Finally, where the facial features of the Indians-leaving aside their dark complexion-were not all that different from Greeks (or, at least, Armenians), the features of the Axumites were distinctly African. That was especially true for the one whom Belisarius thought to be a Nubian. The features of the other Axumites had an Arab cast to them, for all their darkness. Positively aquiline, in the case of the oldest one of the group, whom Belisarius supposed was the adviser Garmat.
Belisarius knew that Ethiopia and southern Arabia had long been in contact with each other. Looking at the Axumites, and remembering some very dark-skinned Arabs he had met in the past, he decided the contact between the two races had often been intimate.
Yes, they were clearly even more foreign than the Indians-in habits as well as in appearance, Belisarius guessed. He chuckled softly, seeing how poorly the young prince wore the strange Byzantine costume he found himself encumbered within.
“It is a bit funny,” agreed Irene quietly. “I think he’s used to wearing a whole lot less clothing, in his own climate.”
“Too bad he didn’t come here a couple of centuries ago,” added Antonina, “when Romans still wore togas. He’d have been a lot more comfortable, I think.”
“So would I,” muttered Sittas. He glanced down, with considerable disfavor, at the heavy knee-length embroidered coat which he was wearing. It felt almost as heavy as cataphract armor.
“How did we get saddled with these outfits?” he groused. “Instead of nice, comfortable togas?”
“We got them from the Huns,” whispered Irene. “Who, in turn, got them from the Chinese.”
