by David Drake
David Drake Eric Flint
An oblique approach
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.)
The relief on the proprietor’s face when Garmat finally cajoled the prince into settling down was obvious, for all the man’s practiced diplomacy. Venandakatra had been equally relieved to finally part company with Eon, and had not been particularly loath to show it.
All in all, thought Belisarius, Eon was doing splendidly.
As the Ethiopian party were led to their rooms, Belisarius and h
is three cataphracts were guided to their own quarters. Once inside the room, Anastasius helped Menander lay down on a couch. The young cataphract had finally overcome the diseases produced by his wound, but he was still very weak.
“Eon’s going to bitch at us again tonight,” commented Anastasius. He glanced at the general. “Quite a task you assigned him, sir. Poor lad.”
“Poor lad, my ass,” snapped Valentinian. He perched on the couch next to Menander. “I’d trade places with him in a minute.”
“Me, too,” whispered Menander. “It’d kill me, for sure, but what a way to go.”
Belisarius smiled. “I didn’t realize you prized Venandakatra’s company so much, Valentinian.”
The cataphract sneered. “Not that! That part of the job the prince is welcome to. It’s the part coming now that I’d treasure.”
“Not everyone approaches these things like a weasel, Valentinian,” said Anastasius mildly.
“Crap! He’s a prince, for the sake of Christ. Probably got his first concubine when he was twelve.”
“Thirteen,” said Belisarius. “Her name is Zaia. She’s still with him, by the way, and he’s very fond of her.”
Belisarius took a seat himself. He grimaced, remembering the night in Venandakatra’s cabin when Eon-as instructed beforehand by Belisarius, coached by Garmat, and slapped atop the head innumerable times by Ousanas-had finally broached the subject of his insatiable sexual appetites. The prince had performed perfectly in the hours which followed, swapping tales with the Vile One. For all their boastfulness, none of Eon’s tales came close to Venandakatra’s in sheer debauchery, but the lad did quite well. His long and lascivious description of his first concubine had been particularly well done.
Afterward, in their own cabin, the boy had refused to speak to anyone for a full day. To Belisarius, not for three days.
Perfect. Now that they were ashore, of course, the boy would have to live up to his boasts. There had been no women aboard the ship, and Eon had hastily declined Venandakatra’s offer of a cabin boy. His tastes, he had explained, were exclusively oriented to the female sex.
“Poor lad, my ass,” muttered Valentinian again. He eyed Anastasius coldly. “And you have some nerve, lecturing me about weasels.”
Anastasius grinned. “I’m not a young prince, full of righteousness and royal propriety.” He stretched his arms and yawned. “I’m just a simple farm boy, at heart, with fond memories of haystacks. And such.” He returned Valentinian’s cold stare.
“Furthermore, I don’t see what you’re complaining about. Nobody said we have to remain abstinent. Quite the contrary, in fact.”
He raised his huge hand, forestalling Belisarius. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Kushans only. Not a problem, I assure you.”
“What do Kushans look like?” asked Menander. The young man’s expression bore equal parts of curiosity and frustration.
“Oh, you won’t be missing a thing, Menander!” exclaimed Anastasius. “Horrid folk, Kushans. Ugliest people in the world, especially the women.”
Valentinian shuddered. “I shudder to think of it.” He shuddered again. “See?”
“I hate mustaches on a woman,” grumbled Anastasius.
“I can live with the mustaches,” retorted Valentinian. “It’s those damned beards that bother me.”
“And the knobby fingers.”
“The scrawny legs.”
“Which go so oddly with those”-here Anastasius cupped his hands before his stomach-“bloated bellies.”
“And where did they get that habit of filing their teeth into sharp points?” demanded Valentinian crossly.
“Oh, well,” groaned Anastasius. “Duty calls.” He arose. “Come, Valentinian. We must be off, about the general’s business.”
As the two veterans were leaving the room, Anastasius shook his sausage-sized finger in Valentinian’s face.
“Remember! Kushans only! I won’t have you leading me astray!”
“Kushans only,” grumbled Valentinian. As they went through the door, a last repartee:
Valentinian, whispering: “But those eyes-those rheumy, salt-encrusted, lifeless-”
“It’s because of the diseases they all carry, you know. That’s what causes the sores on their-”
The door closed.
Menander looked at Belisarius. “They’re lying, aren’t they?”
Belisarius chuckled. “Through their teeth, Menander. Kushans are quite attractive folk, in their own way. They look much like Ye-tai. More like Huns, perhaps. They’re of the same stock.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Belisarius nodded. “Oh, yes. They’re all part of that great mass of central Asian nomads which erupts into civilized lands every century or so. The Kushans conquered Bactria and parts of north India a long time ago. Over the centuries, they lost most of their barbarousness and became rather civilized. They did quite well, in fact. Bactria under Kushan rule used to be quite a pleasant place, by all accounts.”
“What happened?”
Belisarius shrugged. “I don’t know, in detail. Fifty years or so ago, their Ye-tai cousins erupted into the area. They ravaged parts of Persia, conquered Bactria and reduced the Kushans to vassals, and then plundered their way into north India. Where, in the end, they seemed to have reached an accommodation with the Malwa.”
Frustration replaced curiosity on Menander’s face.
“Damn.” He struggled to find solace. “Oh, well, it’s not that bad. I never found Huns attractive anyway. They stink, all the ones I’ve met. And I think their way of greasing up their hair is grotesque.”
Belisarius forebore comment. Menander hadn’t thought through the implications of Belisarius’ little history lesson. The Kushans hadn’t been nomads for centuries, and had long since adopted such civilized customs as regular bathing. Belisarius himself had met a few Kushans, and he had found them a reasonably comely people.
But he saw no reason to enlighten the lad. The one part of this journey which Menander had looked forward to was encountering exotic and fascinating women. And here he was, in Bharakuccha, with uncountable numbers close at hand. And so weak he could barely feed himself, much less Belisarius rose.
“I’ve got to be off, myself. Will you-”
“I’ll be fine, sir. I think I’m going to sleep, anyway. I’m very tired.” Apologetically: “I’m sorry I’m of so little-”
“Quiet! Wounds are wounds, Menander. And yours was-well, there’s no reason not to tell you now. Yours was fatal, nine times out of ten. I’m surprised you’re still alive, and mending. I hardly expect you to do anything more. Not for weeks.”
Menander smiled, faintly. Within a minute, he was fast asleep. Belisarius left the room, closing the door softly.
Once outside the hostel, the general wandered in the vicinity of the docks. While their ship had been working its way into the harbor, he had noticed something he wanted to investigate further.
As he walked through the teeming streets, he let his mind go blank and allowed the jewel to work its linguistic magic. It was still strange to him, how the jewel could enable him to grasp languages so quickly and effortlessly. But its capacity to do so had been proven often enough.
There were limits to the magic. The jewel enabled him to understand language very swiftly. After hearing only a few sentences spoken in a foreign tongue, Belisarius was able to grasp the essential meaning of what was being spoken. Understanding every single word, especially when the speaker was talking rapidly, took longer.
Learning how to speak the language, however, was a different proposition altogether. Here, the muscles of the mouth and tongue were needed as much as intelligence. Belisarius had already discovered, from his experience with Ge’ez, that it took him much longer to learn to speak a language than to comprehend it. He could manage to make himself understood fairly quickly, so long as he spoke slowly and carefully. But being able to speak it fluently, and without accent, took a great deal of practice.
Still,
the jewel made that possible also. In some manner Belisarius did not clearly understand, the jewel fed his own words back to some part of his mind, acting as a continuous tutor. It took time and patience, true, but with practice Belisarius could make himself sound as a native speaker of any language.
Thus far, he had only used the capability to learn to speak Ge’ez. He could now understand Hindi and Ye-tai perfectly, when he heard it, but he had as yet had no practice in speaking them.
He had hoped, by pretending ignorance, that Venandakatra would reveal something inadvertently. It had been a small hope, however. And, as he had expected, the Indian lord was much too shrewd to utter any secrets in his own tongue in front of strangers. They did not seem to understand Hindi and Ye-tai, but who was to know?
The streets of Bharakuccha were a veritable Babel of languages, so much became obvious within minutes. Belisarius feared that the jewel would inundate him with the comprehension of a multitude of languages. But, after a while, he decided that the jewel understood his purpose. Of the untold number of phrases which surrounded him in his peregrination, in countless tongues, only those which were spoken in two languages were translated into comprehension.
And precisely the two languages he sought: Kushan and Marathi.
His progress in learning the languages was slow and haphazard, however, since he was not pursuing them systematically. Not today. His encounter with those two tongues simply came by chance, and the chances were few and far between.
At first, he thought the infrequency of encounter was simply due to the relative scarcity of Kushans and Marathas in the city. Eventually, however, as he began to discern the subtle physical features which distinguished Marathas from other Indians, he realized that he was only half right. Kushans were, indeed, rather rare. Marathas, on the other hand, were quite plentiful. But they did not speak much, for most of them were slaves, and slaves quickly learn to maintain silence in the presence of their masters.
Especially slaves like these, with masters like these.
A newly conquered people, and a proud one. They do not take to slavery well, judging from their looks and the marks of their beatings.
