The barracks were crowded full with soldiers, especially in the huge room which had served the former owner of the estate for a formal dining hall. Some of that population density was due to the quarters themselves. The Thracians had been reveling in the luxuriance of the “barracks” since they arrived at the villa. But most of it was due to the contest taking place at a table in the center of the hall.
Seeing him, his bucellarii drew aside and let him approach the table. Belisarius examined the scene, and sighed with exasperation.
Garmat, to his credit, was obviously trying to keep a lid on the situation. So was Maurice, of course. And the two soldiers of the Dakuen sarwe were behaving in the rational manner which one expects from experienced veterans surrounded by strange veterans. Politely. Cautiously.
But the prince, alas, was still a young man, full of pride and eager to show his mettle. And not all of the general’s Thracian retinue were as relaxed in their experience as such veterans as Anastasius and Valentinian (both of whom, Belisarius noted, were lounging about amicably in nearby chairs). No, there were plenty of youngsters in the general’s retinue, most of whom were every bit as full of pride as the prince, and not in the slightest intimidated by his royal lineage.
At the moment, the mutual pride was taking the form of an arm-wrestling match. A good-humored one, probably, in its origin. But the humor was now wearing thin.
The reason for the growing ill temper was obvious, and was demonstrated for the general himself almost immediately. With a grunt of anger and disgust, the fist of the Thracian lad named Menander slammed down onto the table. Eon’s dark face was split by a grin.
Glancing about, Belisarius estimated that at least three other Thracian lads had already been trounced by the Axumite. And were none too happy about it.
He sighed again. During the course of the journey from Constantinople to Daras, Belisarius had found the prince to be quite charming. Once Eon got over a certain aloofness, which Belisarius knew was nothing more than his way of maintaining dignity in a sea of strangers, the prince was both good-natured and intelligent. He had even managed—after a few slaps on the head from his dawazz—to stop ogling Antonina in his uncertain adolescent way. And he got along very well with Sittas and, to the general’s surprise, got along even better with Irene. Under the young Axumite’s stiff exterior, there proved to be a sly wit which the spymaster enjoyed.
But—he was still barely more than a boy, and was inordinately proud of his strength.
Belisarius had already seen the prince stripped to the waist, so he was accustomed to the sight of that Herculean physique. Obviously, however, it had proved too much of a challenge for certain Thracians.
“That’s enough, Eon!” snapped Garmat.
“Let him wrestle Anastasius!” demanded a surly voice from somewhere in the crowd.
“By all means!” cried Ousanas. “Anastasius!”
The dawazz, seated at the table next to his prince, grinned over at the huge pentarch.
Anastasius yawned. “The lad’s much too strong for me. And besides, I’m a lazy man by nature. Contemplative.”
The prince frowned slightly. On the face of it—but— He sensed there was a mocking tone under Anastasius’ modest words.
The dawazz immediately brought it to focus. His grin widened.
“Oh! Such mockery! Such false self-effacement! Is very great insult to royal dignity of young prince! Prince must now defend his honor!”
Belisarius decided it was time to intervene.
“Enough,” he commanded. He cast a stern gaze upon the dawazz.
“Your duty is to restrain the prince from foolishness.”
Ousanas gaped. “Most insane concept!” he cried. “Impossible to restrain young royalty from foolishness. Might as well try to restrain crocodile from eating meat.”
Ousanas shook his head sadly. “You very great general, Belisarius. Stick to own trade. Make terrible dawazz.”
The grin returned. “Only way teach prince not to commit foolish acts is to encourage folly.” He spread his arms grandly. “Then probably-never-King-because-idiot-as-well-as-younger-son gets arm twisted off and maybe he learn. Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not. Royalty stupid by nature. Like crocodiles.”