“Just as well,” he stated firmly. “In the qanat, with no way to surround them, the advantage would have been all theirs.” He turned away from the well, and began picking his way across the mound of rubble.
“The ambush failed, that’s all. It happens—especially against an opponent as quick and shrewd as Belisarius.”
Seeing Ajatasutra standing before him, at the edge of the stone pile which had once been a farmhouse, Sanga stopped and drew himself up.
“I will not have my men criticized.” The Rajput’s statement was flat, hard, unyielding. His brows lowered over glaring eyes.
Ajatasutra smiled, and spread his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t say a word.” The assassin chuckled dryly. “As it happens, I agree with you. The only thing that surprises me is that you came as close as you did. I didn’t really think this scheme of yours was more than a half-baked fancy. Generals, in my experience, don’t conduct their own advance reconnaissance.”
“I do,” rasped Sanga.
“So you do,” mused Ajatasutra. The assassin eyed the Rajput king. His lips twisted humorously. “You were right, and Narses was wrong,” he stated. “You assessed Belisarius better than he did.”
Again, Ajatasutra spread his hands. “I will simply report the facts, Sanga, that’s all. The ambush was well laid, and almost succeeded. But it failed, as ambushes often do. There is no fault or failure imputed.”
Sanga nodded. For a moment, he studied the man standing before him. Despite himself, and his normal fierce dislike for Malwa spies, Sanga found it impossible not to be impressed by Ajatasutra. Ajatasutra was one of the Malwa Empire’s most accomplished assassins. A year earlier, he had been second in command of the mission to Rome which had engineered the attempted insurrection against the Roman Empire. Narses had been the Malwa’s principal co-conspirator in that plot. The insurrection—the Nika revolt, as the Romans called it—had failed, in the end, due to Belisarius. But it had been a very close thing, and the Malwa Empire had not blamed Ajatasutra or Narses for its failure. The two men had warned Balban, the head of the Malwa mission, that Belisarius and his wife, Antonina, were playing a duplicitous game. That, at least, had been their claim—and the evidence seemed to support them.
So, held faultless for the defeat, Narses had been assigned by Emperor Skandagupta to serve Lord Damodara as an adviser. The eunuch, from his long experience as one of the Roman Empire’s chief officials, possessed a wide knowledge of the intricate politics of the steppe barbarians and the semibarbarian feudal lords who ruled Persia’s easternmost provinces. He had been a great help to the campaign, as Damodara and Sanga fought their way into the Persian plateau.
Ajatasutra had accompanied Narses. He served the Roman traitor as his chief lieutenant—and as his legs and eyes. The old eunuch was still spry and active—amazingly so, given his years. But for things like this sudden twenty-mile ride to investigate a failed ambush, Ajatasutra usually served in his stead. The assassin would observe, and assess, and report.
Sanga relaxed. In truth, he had found Ajatasutra guiltless of the self-serving “reports” for which Malwa spies were notorious among their Rajput vassals. He would never be fond of Ajatasutra—he had no more liking for assassins than he did for traitors, even ones on his side—but he could not honestly find any other fault in the man.
“You’re lucky, in fact,” remarked Ajatasutra, “that you didn’t suffer worse casualties.”
“Four of my men were killed!” snarled Pratap. “Two others wounded, and yet another half-crushed when the farmhouse blew up. He will lose both his legs.”
Ajatasutra shrugged. The gesture was not callous so much as one of philosophical resignation. “Could have been a lot worse. Most of the stonework collapsed inward, when Belisarius blew the walls. Fortunately, he was just trying to cover his escape. If he’d been forced to make a last stand, I guarantee that half your men would be dead. And precious few of the survivors uninjured.”
Pratap’s eyes smoldered resentfully. “I didn’t realize you were well acquainted with the man.” Then, with a sneer: “Other than suffering a defeat at his hands in Constantinople.”