Narses held up his forefinger alongside the thumb.
“The second small problem. In all the skirmishes we’ve fought over the past months—even during the battle at the pass when his situation was desperate—Belisarius has never used his mercenaries. Why? He’s got two thousand of the Goth barbarians, but he handles them like they were the only jewels in his possession.”
Sanga cleared his throat. “Doesn’t trust them, I imagine.” The Rajput king scowled. “I don’t trust mercenaries either, Narses.”
The eunuch snorted. “Of course you don’t!” Narses slapped his hand down on the table. The sharp sound seemed to fill the confines of the tent.
“Belisarius has never trusted mercenaries,” hissed Narses. The eunuch’s eyes were fixed on Sanga like a serpent’s on its prey. “He never has. He is well known for it, in the Roman army—which, as you know, is traditionally an army which uses mercenaries all the time. But Belisarius never uses them except when he has no choice, and then he only uses mercenaries as auxiliaries. Hun light cavalry, for the most part.”
Narses jabbed at the map. “So why would he bring two thousand Goth heavy cavalry with him, in a campaign like this one? There’s nothing in this kind of campaign which would keep a mercenary’s interest. No loot, no plunder. Nothing but weeks and weeks of arduous marches and countermarches, for nothing beyond a stipend.”
The eunuch laughed sarcastically. “Belisarius never would have brought Goth mercenaries along with him for the good and simple reason, if no other, that he would have known they’d desert within two months. Which brings me—”
He held up a third finger.
“Point three. Why haven’t those mercenaries deserted?” Another sarcastic, sneering laugh. “Goths are about as stupid as the horses they ride, but even horses aren’t that stupid.”
Narses planted both hands on the table and pushed himself against the back of his chair. For just an instant, in that posture, the small old eunuch seemed a more regal figure than the Malwa dynast and the Rajput king who faced him.
“So. Let’s put it all together. We have one of history’s most cunning generals—who always subordinates tactics to strategy—engaged in a campaign which, for all its tactical acumen, makes no sense at all strategically. In the course of this campaign, he drags along a bunch of mercenaries he has no use for, and which have no business being there on their own account. What does that all add up to?”
Silence.
Narses scowled. “What it adds up to, Lord and King, is—Belisarius. He’s up to something. Something we aren’t seeing.”
“What?” demanded Damodara.
Narses shrugged. “I don’t know, Lord. At the moment, I only have questions. But I urge you”—for just an instant, the eunuch’s sarcastic, sneering voice was filled with nothing beyond earnest and respectful pleading—”to take my questions seriously. Or we will find ourselves, in the end, like so many of Belisarius’ opponents. Lying in the dirt, bleeding to death, from a blow we never saw coming.”
The silence which now filled the tent was not the silence of a breath, held in momentary suspense. It was a long, long silence. A thoughtful silence.
Damodara finally broke it.
“I think we should talk to him,” he announced. “Arrange a parley.”
His two companions stared at him. Both men were frowning.
Narses was frowning from puzzlement. “What do you hope to accomplish? He’ll hardly tell you what he’s planning!”
Damodara chuckled. “I didn’t imagine he would.” The Malwa lord shrugged. “The truth? I would simply like to meet the man, after all this time. I think it would be fascinating.”
Damodara shifted his eyes to Rana Sanga. The Rajput king was still frowning.
Not from puzzlement, but—
“I am bound to your service by honor, Lord Damodara,” rasped Sanga. “That same honor—”
Damodara raised a hand, forestalling the Rajput. “Please, Rana Sanga! I am not a fool. Practical, yes. But practical in all things.” He chuckled. “I would hardly plan a treacherous ambush, in violation of all codes of honor, using Rajputs as my assassins. Any Rajputs, much less you.”
Damodara straightened. “We will find a meeting place where ambush is impossible. A farmhouse in open terrain, perhaps, which Belisarius’ scouts can search for hidden troops.”