“Better yet,” countered Belisarius, “let us pity them not at all.”
A Man and His Purpose
In the cabin of a ship, another Empress argued with a slave.
“We will arrive in Muziris tomorrow. You must now decide. I need you, Dadaji. Much more than he does.”
“That may be true, Your Majesty.” The slave shrugged. “The fact remains, he is my legal master.”
Shakuntala chopped her hand. “Malwa law. You were bought in Bharakuccha.”
Again, Holkar shrugged. “And so? The sale is legally binding anywhere in the world. Certainly in the Roman Empire. Malwa India has not, after all, been declared an outlaw state.”
The Empress glared. The slave held up a hand, trying to mollify her.
“I am not quibbling over the fine points of law, Your Majesty. The truth is, even if the Malwa Empire were to be declared outlaw”—he chuckled—“although I’m not sure who would be powerful enough to do so!—I would still feel bound to my obligation.”
He took a deep breath. “I owe my life to the general, Empress. I was a dead man, when he found me. Still walking—still even talking, now and then—but dead for all that. He breathed life back into my soul. Purpose.”
Shakuntala finally saw her opening.
“What purpose?” she demanded. “The destruction of Malwa, isn’t it?”
Dadaji leaned back. He and the Empress were seated, facing each other three feet apart, each on cushions, each in the lotus position. He eyed her suspiciously.
“Yes. That. One other.”
Shakuntala nodded vigorously, pressing the advantage.
“You can serve that purpose better as my imperial adviser than you can as his slave,” she stated. “Much better.”
Holkar stroked his beard. The gesture, in its own way, illustrated his quandary.
As a slave, he had been forced to shave his respectable beard. That beard, and the middle-aged dignity which went with it, had been restored by Belisarius. It was a symbol of all that he owed the general.
Yet, at the same time—it was a badge of his dignity. Full, now; rich with the gray hairs of experience and wisdom. Foolish, really, to waste the beard and all it signified on the life of a slave. A slave who, as Shakuntala rightly said, was no longer of great use to his master.
Stroke. Stroke.
“How do you know I could serve you properly?” he demanded.
Shakuntala felt the tension ease from her shoulders. Get the argument off the ground of abstract honor and onto to the ground of concrete duty, and she was bound to win.
“You are as shrewd as any man I ever met,” she stated forcefully. “Look how you managed this escape—and all the preparations which went into it. Belisarius always relied on you for anything of that nature. He trusted you completely—and he is immensely shrewd himself, in that way as well as others. I need men I can trust. Rely on. Desperately.”
Stroking his beard. “What you need, girl, is prestige and authority. An imperial adviser should be noble-born. Brahmin. I am merely vaisya. Low-caste vaisya.” He smiled. “And Maratha, to boot. In most other lands, my caste would be ranked among the sudra, lowest of the twice-born.”
“So?” she demanded. “You are as literate and educated as any brahmin. More than most! You know that to be true.”
Holkar spread his hands. “What does that matter? The rulers and dignitaries of other lands will be offended, if your adviser does not share their purity. They would have to meet with me, privately and intimately, on many occasions. They would feel polluted by the contact.”
The Empress almost snarled. “Damn them, then! If they seek alliance with me, they will have to take it as it comes!”
Holkar barked a laugh.
“Tempestuous girl! Have you already lost your wits—at your age? They will not be seeking alliance with you, Empress. They are not throneless refugees, hunted like an animal. You will be knocking on their doors, beggar’s bowl in hand.”
With amazing dignity (under the circumstances; she was, after all, a throneless refugee): “I shall not.”
“You shall.”
“Shall not.”
Dadaji glowered. “See? Already you scorn my advice!” Shaking his finger: “You must learn to bridle that temper, Empress! You will indeed treat with possible allies with all necessary—I won’t say humility; I don’t believe in magic!—decorum.”