He cupped Aide in his hands, sheltered from sight. Basil leaned over, awestruck.
“Michael of Macedonia brought this to me,” said Belisarius softly. “Over three years ago, now. He calls it the Talisman of God.”
“It is so beautiful,” whispered Basil. “I’ve never seen anything so wondrous.”
“It is a marvel. It is a messenger from the future, who came to warn us of the Malwa danger. It did so by giving me a vision of the future which Malwa would bring to the world.”
He paused, letting Basil absorb the shimmering glory of the facets. “Later, I will tell you all of what I saw, in that future. Indeed—”
He hesitated. Aide spoke.
Yes. It is time.
“I will tell all of you. All of the army commanders. It is time, now. But, for the moment—”
He spoke gently, then, for a few minutes. Telling the cataphract Basil of the vision he had received, once, of a princess held in captivity by the Malwa. Held for them, by a Kushan vassal named Kungas. And he told how, in that future, the Kushan named Kungas had held his tongue when a Malwa lord had entered his chamber to take possession of his new concubine. Had not warned the great lord that his new concubine was an assassin. And how that lord had died, in that future, because a Kushan had his own harsh concept of honor.
And then he told of how, in the future which Belisarius had created, that same Kushan had held his tongue, once again. Held it, and said nothing to his Malwa masters, when he realized that the Romans were smuggling the girl out of captivity.
“And where is he today, this Kungas?” asked Basil.
Belisarius slipped Aide back into his pouch.
“Today, the Kushan named Kungas—along with all of his men—are the personal bodyguard of the Empress Shakuntala. The heir of Satavahana. Rightful ruler of great Andhra.”
Basil looked up, startled. His eyes flashed south, looking toward the distant encampment of the Kushan captives.
“You think—?”
Belisarius shrugged.
“Who knows? Kungas is an unusual man. But in some things, I believe all Kushans are much alike. They have their own notions of loyalty, and duty. They are Malwa vassals, and have served them faithfully. But I do not think they bear any great love for their masters. None at all, in fact.”
He turned away, and began climbing down the dam.
“Most of all,” he added, over his shoulder, “they have their own peculiar sense of humor. Very wry. Rather on the grim side, too. But they cherish it quite deeply.”
At the bottom of the slope, he waited for Basil to join him. Once he had done so, Belisarius grinned.
“I’m counting on that sense of humor, you see. The Kushans wouldn’t warn the Malwa of what we’re doing. God, no—it would spoil a great joke.”
That night, in the gloom of his little tent, Vasudeva leaned over and filled Belisarius’ cup.
“Good wine,” he said. “Not enough, of course. The Persians are stingy. But—good. Good.”
He and Belisarius drained their cups. Vasudeva smiled.
“We like to gamble, you know. So we have a great bet going. All the Kushans have taken sides.” He shrugged modestly. “We have not much to wager, of course, being war captives. But it is always the spirit of a wager which is exciting, not the stakes.”
He refilled Belisarius’ cup. Again, he and the general drained their wine. When they lowered their cups, Belisarius stated:
“You are wagering over whether I will succeed. In my plan to drain the Euphrates dry and leave the Malwa stranded at Babylon without supplies.”
Vasudeva sneered. Waved his hand in a curt, dismissive little gesture. “Bah! What Kushan would be so stupid as to bet on that?”
He refilled the cups, again. Brought his own to his lips; but, before, drinking, added with a little smile: “No, no, Belisarius. We are betting on what you will do afterward.”
Belisarius managed to drain his cup without choking. Vasudeva’s smile became a grin.
“Oh, yes,” murmured the Kushan commander. “That’s the real question.”
He drained his own cup.
Vasudeva held up the amphora, in a questioning gesture. Belisarius shook his head, placing his hand over his cup.