“I will not do this!” shouted the prince.
Belisarius shook his head. Eon snorted, but his glare faded somewhat. Hesitantly, the prince stretched out his hand. The girl on the bed moaned, flinched, drew herself up into an even tighter fetal curl.
“Don’t touch her,” said Belisarius.
From the door to the chamber, Valentinian’s voice came.
“Mary, Mother of God.”
The slave looked back at the cataphract. As before, he was struck by Valentinian’s appearance. Probably the most evil-looking man the slave had ever seen. Especially now, with his expression filled with cold, experienced disgust.
The cataphract turned his head and spoke over his shoulder:
“Anastasius! Get the women.”
Valentinian turned back.
“Move away from the bed,” he commanded. “All of you. Now.”
It did not seem strange to the slave, at the time, that all those present instantly obeyed their subordinate. Later, after he thought it over, it still did not seem strange. The most evil-looking man in the world, perhaps. Certainly at that moment.
Very soon thereafter, Anastasius entered the room, followed by the young cataphract and the half dozen young women. When the new arrivals saw the girl on the bed, they reacted differently. Anastasius’ face—which looked like a slab of granite at the best of times—grew even harder. The women gasped, cast quick frightened glances at the men in the room, and drew back. Menander gaped, confused, and began moving forward. He was instantly restrained by Anastasius’ huge hand.
“Don’t,” rumbled the giant cataphract.
“What’s wrong with her?” whispered Menander. It was not the bruises which confused him, the slave knew. It was the near-insane expression on her face.
Anastasius and Valentinian exchanged glances.
“I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be that innocent,” muttered Valentinian.
Anastasius took a breath. “You’ve never been in a town that’s been sacked, have you?”
Menander shook his head.
“Well, if and when you do, you’ll see plenty of this. And worse.”
The young cataphract, already pale from his illness, grew slightly paler as comprehension dawned. Anastasius motioned to the women, shooing them forward.
“Help the girl,” he said, in his thick, broken Kushan. “Comfort her.”
A moment later, Belisarius was issuing instructions to the girls in fluent, unaccented Kushan and Marathi. The girls hastened to do as he bade them. They were still casting reproachful glances at the soldiers in the room, but it was obvious to the slave that the reproach was generic, not specific.
Very odd soldiers, indeed.
But, he knew, not unique. He had not recognized the phenomenon at first, for he was unaccustomed to the informal Roman ways. But he had encountered such soldiers before, on occasion. Not often. Only Maratha and Rajput kshatriya possessed that code of honor. Men who would not stoop to murder, rape, and mindless mayhem, for they were the deadliest killers in creation. Such gross and common criminality was beneath their dignity.
The Malwa kshatriya had little of that code; the Ye-tai beasts derided them for what little they still possessed. And the common soldiers who made up the great mass of the Malwa army had none of it at all. Jackals, once discipline was loosened.
The slave shuddered, remembering the sack of his own town.
He would never see his beloved family again, but he knew their fate. His wife would be a drudge somewhere, slaving in the kitchen of a Malwa lord or merchant. His son would be a laborer, in the fields or in the mines. And his two daughters—
He glanced at the three Maratha women who were now on the bed, surrounding the half-crazed girl with female touches, female sounds and female scents. Three young slave girls, owned by a whoremaster.
He looked away, holding back a sob. Then forced himself to look back at the girl on the bed. There was a horrible comfort to be found in the sight. That much, at least, his wife and daughters had been spared. Spared, because by good fortune their own house had been seized by Rajputs during the sack, not Ye-tai or common soldiers. A Rajput cavalry troop, commanded by a young Rajput lord. A cold man, that lord; arrogant and haughty as only a Rajput kshatriya could be. The Rajputs had stripped their home of everything of value, down to the linen. Had then eaten all the food, and drank all the wine. But when the inevitable time came, and the cavalrymen began eyeing their captured women, the Rajput officer had simply said: “No.”