“How can any man think that far ahead?” whispered Damodara. “And even if he could—how could they coordinate their movements?”
Sanga crossed his heavy arms, and closed his eyes. Then, speaking slowly: “As to the first, he did not have to plan everything down to the last detail. Belisarius is a brilliant tactician as well as a strategist. He would have relied on himself to create the openings, where needed. As to the other, they have their semaphore stations. And—”
All traces of anger left his face. His eyes reopened. “I have often noticed, from my own life, how closely the thoughts of a man and his wife can run together. Like the thoughts of no other person.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I believe Narses is right, Lord Damodara. At this very moment, I think Belisarius is destroying Charax. And—this very moment—his wife is bringing a fleet to clear away the war galleys and escort her husband and his men to safety.”
The Rajput king stared at the map. “The question is—what do we do?”
He uncrossed his arms and leaned on the table. A long, powerful finger began tracing the Tigris. “We can do nothing to help the main army in the Delta. But the one advantage we have now is that Belisarius is no longer barring our way. We can strike north, into Assyria, and—”
“No!”
Startled, Sanga stared at Narses. The old eunuch rarely intervened in purely military discussions. And then, with diffidence.
Narses arose. “I say—no.” He looked to Damodara. “This army is the best army in the Malwa Empire, Lord. Within a month—two, at the outside—it will be the only Malwa army worth talking about, west of the Indus. I urge you, Lord, not to throw that army away.”
Narses pointed to the map. “If you go north to Assyria—then what? You could wreak havoc, to be sure. Possibly even march into Anatolia. But you are not strong enough, with your army alone, to conquer either Persia or Rome. And your army will suffer heavy casualties in the doing. Very heavy.”
Damodara was frowning. “Then what do you suggest, Narses?”
The eunuch shrugged. “Do nothing, at the moment.” He cast a glance at Sanga. The Rajput king was scowling, but there was no anger in the expression. He seemed more like a man puzzled than anything else.
“Do nothing, Lord,” repeated Narses. “Until the situation is clarified. Who knows? The emperor may very well want you to return to India, as soon as possible. Not even the Malwa Empire can withstand the blow which Belisarius is about to deliver, without being shaken to its very roots. The Deccan rebellion rages hot. Others may erupt. You may be needed in India, very soon—not in Assyria. And, if so, best you should return to India—”
The last words were spoken with no inflection at all. Which only made them the more emphatic.
“—with the best army in the possession of the Malwa dynasty. Intact, and in your hands.”
Damodara’s eyes seemed to widen, a bit. Then, his eyelids lowered.
“Narses raises a good point, Sanga,” he murmured, after a moment’s thought. “I think we must give it careful consideration.”
His eyes opened. The lord straightened in his chair and issued commands.
“Have the men make camp, Rana Sanga. A strong camp, on the near bank of the Tigris. Not permanent, but no route-camp either. We might be here for several weeks. And begin the preparations for a possible march back across the plateau.”
His eyes closed again. “It is true, what Narses says. Who knows what the future will bring? We might, indeed, be needed back in India soon.”
Sanga hesitated, for perhaps a second or two. Then, with a little shrug, he rose and left the pavilion.
When he was gone, Lord Damodara opened his eyes and gazed at Narses. The gaze of a Buddha, that was.
“I have been thinking,” he said serenely, “of what Belisarius said to me. When he swore that what he wished to discuss with you in private would cause no harm. To me, that is. As I think back, I realize it was a very carefully phrased sentence. Would you agree?”