An Oblique Approach by David Drake and Eric Flint

Another squeal. A low, masculine groan.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Belisarius grinned. Then:

“Well, Eon’s certainly carried out his part in the plan. He was absolutely perfect, the first day of the trip.”

“Wasn’t he marvelous?” agreed Garmat. “I thought Venandakatra was going to die of apoplexy, right there on the spot.”

The adviser patted his mount affectionately. “Poor Venandakatra. Here he presents us with the finest horses available, and the prince can’t stop whining that he needs a howdah, with plump cushions for his royal fanny.”

“A very large elephant to carry it,” said Belisarius, laughing, “one strong enough to bear up under the prince’s humping.”

Garmat was laughing himself, now. “And then—did you see the look on Venandakatra’s face after—”

“—his petty plot backfired?” Belisarius practically howled. “Priceless! What a complete idiot! He presents the largest, most unruly elephant he can find—”

“—to Africans!”

Belisarius and Garmat fell silent, savoring the memory.

“This is your largest elephant?” Ezana had queried. “This midget?”

“Look at those puny ears,” mourned Wahsi. “Maybe he’s still a baby.”

“Probably not elephant at all,” pronounced Ousanas. “Maybe him just fat, funny-looking gnu.”

Venandakatra’s glare had been part fury, part disbelief. The fury had remained. The disbelief had vanished, after Ezana and Wahsi rapidly demonstrated their skills as mahouts. After the sarwen reminisced over various Axumite military campaigns, in which African elephants figured prominently. After Ousanas extolled the virtues of the African elephant, not forgetting to develop his point by way of contrast with the Indian elephant. So-called elephant. But probably not elephant. Him probably just big tapir, with delusions of grandeur.

After they stopped laughing, Garmat remarked:

“We may have overdone it, actually. I notice that Venandakatra hasn’t invited us to share his dinner since this trip began.”

“He will,” said Belisarius confidently. “It’s only been two weeks since we left Bharakuccha. At the rate this—this matronly promenade—is going, we’ll be two months getting to his ‘modest country estate.’ ” He snorted. “If I was one of those surveyors, I’d have died of boredom by now. I doubt we’re averaging more than ten miles a day. At best.”

“You are so sure, my friend? Your stratagem has still not gelled.”

“He will. In another two weeks or so, I estimate. Your average megalomaniac, of course, would only need a week to get over a petty snit. But even Venandakatra won’t take much more than a month. Whatever else he is, the man is not stupid, and I’ve given him enough hints. He’s developed his own plan, by now, which also hasn’t gelled. It can’t, until he talks to us further. To me, I should say. So—yes. Two weeks.”

And, sure enough, it was thirteen days later that the courier arrived from Venandakatra’s pavilion, shortly after the caravan had halted for the night. Bearing a message from the great lord himself, written in perfect Greek, politely inviting Belisarius to join him for his “modest evening meal.”

“I note that Eon and I are not invited,” remarked Garmat. The old adviser stared at Belisarius, and then bowed.

“I salute you, Belisarius. A great general, indeed. Until this moment, I confess, I was somewhat skeptical your plan would work.”

Belisarius shrugged. “Let’s not assume anything. As my old teacher Maurice always reminds me: ‘Never expect the enemy to do what you expect him to.’ ”

Garmat shook his head. “Excellent advice. But it does not encompass all military wisdom. Every now and then, you know, the enemy does do what you expect him to. Then you must be prepared to strike ruthlessly.”

“Exactly what I keep telling Maurice!” said Belisarius gaily. He tossed the message into the camp fire which Ousanas was just starting. The dawazz straightened, looked over.

“Time?” he asked. The grin began to spread.

Again, Belisarius shrugged. “We won’t know for a bit. But I think so, yes. Are you ready?”

Like the great Pharos at Alexandria, that grin in the night.

Within three hours of his arrival at Venandakatra’s pavilion, Belisarius was certain. For a moment, he considered some way of signaling Ousanas, but then dismissed the thought. A pointless worry, that, like fretting over how to signal prey to a crouching lion.

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