But, when he stated those concerns to the broad back of Anastasius ahead of him, the veteran was unconcerned.
“First, lad, don’t worry about getting lost. The Kushan seems to know his way. Don’t ask me how—I can’t see a damn thing, either—but he does. And as for the other—be serious. When the Malwa get to the guardhouse and find the dead guards, they’ll assume we continued on the road south. They’ll never spot this little trail to the side. They’ll charge right past it and keep going.”
“We didn’t cover our tracks.”
Anastasius laughed scornfully.
“What tracks?” he demanded. “This downpour—this fucking Noah’s flood—will wash away any tracks in less than a minute.”
Menander was still unconvinced, but he fell silent. And then, half an hour later, when they finally emerged from the forest, admitted that his fears had been foolish.
Admitted, at least, to himself. He said nothing to Anastasius, and ignored with dignity the veteran’s dimly-seen smile of vindication.
Once they emerged from the forest, they found themselves on another dirt road. (Mud road, rather.) They reversed directions completely, now, and headed north. After a mile, perhaps less, the road curved and began heading due west. Menander’s fears resurfaced—new ones; he seemed to have a Pandora’s box of them that night.
“Does Kadphises know where the hell we’re going?”
The rain had eased off considerably. Enough that Menander’s words carried forward. Kadphises’ reply came immediately. The prologue to that reply was quick, curt, and very obscene. Thereafter, relenting, the Kushan deigned to explain.
“This road does not connect to the other until a small town fifty miles to the south. Nor does it go to Kausambi. It circles two sides of a swamp to our left, and from here will go due west for more than twenty miles. Before then, however, we will have turned south, again, on yet another road. By now, the Malwa will have no idea where we are. And, best of all, this road is not guarded. It is a peasants’ road, only, not a merchant’s route.”
“Where will we meet Ousanas, and the other Kushans?” asked Eon.
Kadphises’ shrug could barely be seen in the darkness.
“That is up to them, Prince. Kujulo knows what road we are taking. If he can find your hunter—or your hunter finds him—they will track us down. If your hunter is as good as you claim.”
Eon’s only reply was a grunt of satisfaction.
In the event, Ousanas did not have to track them down. Shortly after daybreak, many miles down the new road heading south, they came upon Ousanas. The hunter, along with Kujulo and the three other Kushans, were waiting for them by the side of road. Fast asleep—even reasonably dry, under the semi-shelter of a long-abandoned hut—except for one Kushan standing guard.
Valentinian was exceedingly disgruntled. Especially after he spotted the basket of food, with very little food left in it.
“You had time to eat, too?” he demanded crossly, climbing down from his horse.
Ousanas sat up, stretched his arms, grinned.
“Great cavalrymen move very slow,” he announced. “I be shocked. Shocked. All illusions vanished.”
Kujulo smiled. “You should try traveling with this one. Really, you should. He was already waiting for us when we made our break from the army camp. How the hell he got there so fast from the river, I’ll never know. Especially with two baskets of food.”
“Two baskets?” whined Valentinian.
“We saved one for you,” said another of the Kushans, chuckling. “Ousanas insisted. He said if we didn’t, Anastasius would never argue philosophy with him again.”
“Certainly wouldn’t,” agreed the giant. “Except for simple precepts from Democritus. All matter can be reduced to atoms. Including Ousanas.”
The cataphracts and the Ethiopians tore into the food. After their initial hunger was sated, Menander’s youthful curiosity arose.
“What is this stuff?” he asked.
“Some of it is dried fish,” replied Kujulo. “The rest is something else.”
Menander, thinking it over, decided that he would leave it at that. The stuff didn’t actually taste that bad, after all, even if he suspected “the rest” had once had far too many legs to suit a proper Thracian.
By the time the food was gone, the rain had finally stopped. Kujulo and another Kushan went into the woods and brought out their horses.