The tall man behind him spoke sharply, again; again, the soldiers’ grunting approval.
But this time, Belisarius understood the words—without knowing how.
“Idiot boy! Lust after local cowherds, if you must! Do not ogle the wives of great foreign generals!”
Belisarius kept a straight face. Or so, at least, he thought.
“You speak our language,” announced Garmat.
Belisarius thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, no. I can understand a few words, that is all. But I cannot speak—uh, what exactly—”
“We call it Ge’ez.”
“Thank you. I apologize for my ignorance. I know little of Axum. As I said, I can speak no Ge’ez, but I do understand it a bit.”
Garmat was staring up at him shrewdly. “More than a bit, I think.” The adviser glanced back at the tall man standing behind the prince.
“You are puzzled by Ousanas.” It was more of a statement than a question.
Belisarius looked at the tall man. “That is his name?”
Ousanas spoke, again in Greek.
“Is my civilized Greek name, General Belisarius. In my own tongue am called—” Here came several unpronounceable syllables.
“You are Nubian,” said Belisarius.
Ousanas now grinned from ear to ear.
“Should think not! Most wretched folk, the Nubians. Given to putting on great airs, pretending they are Egyptian. I fart on Meroe and Napata!”
Garmat interrupted. “Romans often make that mistake. He is actually from much farther south than Nubia. From a land between great lakes, which is quite unknown to the peoples of the Mediterranean.”
Belisarius frowned. “He is not Axumite, then?”
“Should hope not!” cried Ousanas. “Most wretched folk, the Axumites. Given to putting on great airs, pretending they are descendants of Solomon.”
Again, the grin. “I do not, however, fart on Axum and Adulis. Else the sarwen”—a thumb pointed in each direction to the warriors at his side—”would beat me for an impertinent slave.”
The two sarwen grunted agreement.
Belisarius was now frowning deeply. Garmat smiled.
“You are puzzled, I think, by some of our customs.”
“Is this a custom?” asked Belisarius dubiously.
Garmat nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes! A very old custom. Every man child born to the king—even girls, sometimes, if there are no male heirs—is assigned a special slave at the age of ten. This slave is always a foreigner, of some kind. He is called the dawazz. His is a very special job. The prince has an adviser to teach him statecraft, which a king must have to rule properly.” Here Garmat pointed to himself. “Veteran soldiers from his regiment to teach him the skill of arms, which a king must have to maintain his rule.” Here Garmat pointed to the two soldiers. “And then, most important, he has his dawazz. Who teaches him that the difference between slave and king is not so great, after all.”
Ousanas grinned. “Much better to be slave! No worries.”
Antonina smiled sweetly. “I should think you’d worry what the prince will do if he ever assumes the throne. And remembers the dawazz who abused him, all those many times.”
The grin never wavered. “Nonsense, great lady. Prince be properly grateful. Shower faithful dawazz with gifts. Offer him prestigious posts.”
Antonina grinned back. “Maybe. Especially if the dawazz was a kind and gentle man, who reproved his prince mildly and only upon rare occasions.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ousanas. “Dawazz of that sort be useless!” He smacked the prince on top of the head, very hard. The Prince didn’t even blink.
“See?” demanded Ousanas. “Good prince. Very strong and durable, with solid hard head. If he ever become king, Arabs tremble.”
Belisarius was fascinated. “But—let’s just suppose for the moment—what I mean is—”
Garmat interrupted. “You are wondering what would motivate the dawazz to be so strict in his duties? When, as your wife points out, there is always the risk that a king might remember the past sourly?”
Belisarius nodded. Garmat turned to Ousanas.
“What happens, Ousanas, if you neglect your duties? Fail to instruct the prince properly in the true scheme of things?”
The grin vanished from Ousanas’ face. “Sarawit be angry.” He glanced from side to side. “Very perilous, irritate sarwen.” The irrepressible grin returned. “Prince is nothing. King is almost nothing. Sarawit important.”