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.