Belisarius spoke no further during the rest of their ride back to their camp. Menander, also, was silent, grappling with thoughts which were new to him, and which went far beyond the simple preachings of his village priest.
They reached the grove within which the Romans and Ethiopians had pitched their camp. Still preoccupied, Menander gave only cursory attention to the task of guiding his horse through the trees. But once they broke through into the clearing at the center of the grove, all thoughts of theology vanished.
“There’s trouble, Menander,” said his general softly.
The moment Belisarius rode into the little clearing, he knew something was amiss. Ezana and Wahsi were both standing guard in front of Prince Eon’s pavilion. Normally, only one or the other assumed that duty at any given time. What was even more noticeable was that two sarwen were actually standing guard. Usually, the sarwen on duty relaxed on a stool. There was no reason not to. For many weeks, now, the Romans and Ethiopians had been guarded by their Kushan escorts, a troop of over thirty men who were consummate professionals in their trade—and particularly expert at maintaining security.
There was obvious tension in the pose of the Ethiopian soldiers. They weren’t just standing—they were standing alertly, poised, and ready.
Quickly, Belisarius scanned the clearing. The lighting was poor. Dusk was almost a memory, now, only a faint tinge of dark purple on the horizon. The sun itself had disappeared, and what little daylight still remained was blocked off by the trees surrounding the camp. For all practical purposes, the only illumination in the clearing was that cast by lanterns hanging from tent poles.
His next glance was toward the two Roman tents, situated not far from Prince Eon’s large pavilion. Both Valentinian and Anastasius, he noted, were standing in front of them. Much like the sarwen—alert, poised, tense.
Next, he stared across the clearing to the line of tents which marked the Kushan part of the encampment. Normally, at this time of the evening, the Kushans would have been busy preparing their evening meal. Instead, they were gathered in small clusters, murmuring quietly, casting quick glances at Prince Eon’s pavilion and—most of all—at the figure of their own commander.
Belisarius now examined Kungas. The Kushan commander was standing alone. As always—now more than ever, it seemed to Belisarius—his face appeared to have been hammered out of an iron ingot. Kanishka, his nephew and second-in-command, stood not far away. From what little Belisarius could discern of his features, the young Kushan lieutenant seemed distressed.
Kungas met his gaze. The Kushan said nothing, and there was not the slightest movement in that iron mask of a face. But Belisarius did not miss the almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.
He knew what had happened, then. The sight of Garmat emerging from Eon’s pavilion and hurrying toward him simply confirmed the knowledge.
“All good things come to an end,” he sighed, dismounting from his horse. By the time Garmat reached him, Menander was leading both of the horses away.
“We have a problem, Belisarius,” said Garmat urgently. “A very big problem.”
Belisarius smiled crookedly. “It couldn’t last forever, Garmat. The Kushans are not stupid. To a point, of course, they will obey Kungas and ask no questions. But only to a point.”
He gave the Kushans another glance.
“What happened?” he asked.
Garmat shrugged. “You can hardly expect vigorous young people like Eon and Shakuntala—royalty, to boot—to share a tent, week after week, with no opportunity for exercise or even movement, without—”
He sighed. Belisarius nodded.
“They quarreled.”
Garmat smiled, faintly. “Oh, yes. A royal quarrel! What started it, I have no idea. They don’t even remember themselves, now. But soon enough, Eon became overbearing and the Princess—the Empress, I should say—challenged him to single combat. Unarmed combat, of course. If he used weapons, she told him, he would be damned for eternity as a coward.”
For all the seriousness of the moment, Belisarius could not help bursting into laughter. The image which came to his mind was incongruously funny. Eon, Prince of Axum, was not a tall man. But he was amazingly well-muscled, and as strong as a bull. Whereas Shakuntala was a small girl, not half his weight.