What he really was, was a spy. It might be better to say, the spy. Or, better still, the grand spymaster.
Nanda Lal’s laugh died away. After a last, rueful shake of his head, he asked:
“So, general, tell me. What did you think? I am quite curious, really. I was only joking, you know—about the horse trader business.” Another little hearty chuckle. “Only a general would have demanded a tour of inspection of our military facilities before he gave his allegiance to our cause. In addition, of course, to a fortune.” Hearty chuckle. “Another fortune, I should say.” Hearty chuckle. “That was quite nicely done, by the way, if you’ll permit me saying so.” Hearty chuckle. “That little casual wave. ‘Oh, something simple. Like the other chest you gave me.’ ”
Belisarius shrugged. “It seemed the most straightforward thing to do. And I wanted to know—well, let’s just say that I’m sick to death of stingy, tight-fisted emperors, who expect miracles for a handful of coins. As to your question—what did I think?—”
Before answering, Belisarius examined the room carefully. He was not looking for eavesdroppers. He had not the slightest doubt they were there. He was simply interested.
Nanda Lal’s official quarters, by Malwa standards, were positively austere. And Belisarius had noted, earlier, that Nanda Lal had brewed and served the tea they were drinking with his own hands. No servants were allowed in his inner sanctum.
Capable hands, thought Belisarius, glancing at them. Like most members of the dynastic clan, Nanda Lal was heavyset. But the spymaster’s squat form had none of the doughy-soft appearance of most anvaya-prapta sachivya. There was quite a bit of muscle there, Belisarius suspected. And he did not doubt that Nanda Lal’s hands were good at other tasks than brewing tea. For all their immaculate, manicured perfection, they were the hands of a strangler, not a scribe.
“I was very impressed,” he replied. “Especially by the scale of the cannon manufacturing, and the ammunition works. You are—we are—amassing a tremendous weight of firepower to throw into battle.”
He fell silent, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
“But—?” queried Nanda Lal.
“You haven’t given enough thought to logistics,” said Belisarius forcefully. “There’s an old soldier’s saying, Nanda Lal: Amateurs study tactics; professionals study logistics. The Veda weapons, whatever their origin—and you will please notice that I do not ask—are not truly magical. Even with them, it still took you two years to recapture Ranapur. You should have done it much sooner.”
Nanda Lal seemed genuinely interested, now.
“Really? Let me ask you, general—how long would it have taken you to reduce Ranapur?”
“Eight months,” came the instant reply, “without cannon. With them—four months.”
The Malwa official’s eyes widened.
“So quickly? What did we do wrong?”
“Two things. First, as I said, your logistics are lousy. You substitute mass labor for skill and expertise. You need to develop a professional quartermaster corps, instead of—” He did not sneer, quite. “Instead of piling up tens of thousands of men on top of each other. If you were to study the Ranapur campaign, I’m sure you’d find that most of that absurd pile of provisions simply went to feed the men who amassed it.”
Belisarius leaned forward in his chair. “And that leads me to my second criticism. Your armies are much too slow, and—well, I won’t say timid, exactly. Your soldiers seem courageous enough, especially the Ye-tai and Rajputs. But they are used timidly.”
Nanda Lal’s eyes held equal amounts of interest and suspicion.
“And you would use them better?” he asked. “If we made you our high commander?”
Belisarius did not miss the veiled antagonism. Suspicion came as naturally to Nanda Lal as swimming to a fish.
The Roman general dismissed the notion with a curt flip of his hand.
“Why ask, Nanda Lal? We have already agreed that I can best serve by returning to Rome. I will encourage Justinian’s ambition to reconquer the western Mediterranean, and make sure that his armies are tied up there for years. That will clear the way for you to invade Persia without hindrance.”
“And after Persia?”
Belisarius shrugged. “That is a problem for the future. When war finally erupts between Malwa and Rome, I will have to openly change allegiance. When that time comes, you will decide what position in your army to give me. I am not concerned with the question, at the moment. It is still several years away.”