Nanda Lal cleared his throat. “There is the matter of Sanga’s existing wife. And his three existing children.”
The thing inside Lady Sati swiveled her head. “A DETAIL. BY ALL ACCOUNTS, HIS WIFE IS PLAIN AND PLUMP.” Again, the shapely hands made that little gesture. “THIS FORM IS BEAUTIFUL, AS MEN COUNT SUCH THINGS. AND, AS I SAID, PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL. RAJPUTANA’S KING WILL HAVE NEW CHILDREN SOON ENOUGH. HE WILL BE RECONCILED TO THE LOSS.”
The Malwa spymaster hesitated. This was dangerous ground. “Yes, of course. But my spies report that Sanga dotes on his family. He will still be upset—suspicious, even—if—”
“BY ROMAN HANDS. SEE TO IT, SPYMASTER. USE NARSES. HE WILL KNOW HOW TO MANAGE THE THING IN SUCH A WAY AS TO DIVERT SUSPICION ONTO THE ENEMY. SANGA WILL BLAME BELISARIUS FOR THE MURDER OF HIS FAMILY.”
Very dangerous ground. But, whatever else he was, Nanda Lal was no coward. And, in his own cold way, as devoted to the Malwa purpose as any man alive.
“Narses cannot possibly be trusted,” he growled. “He was a traitor to the Romans. He can betray us as well.”
For the first time, the creature from the future seemed to hesitate. Watching, Skandagupta and Nanda Lal could only wonder at the exact thought processes which went on behind that cold, beautiful exterior. Lightning calculation, of course—that much was obvious from the years they had spent in Link’s service. But not even the icy spymaster could imagine such an emptiness of all emotion. Try as he might.
“TRUE, NANDA LAL. BUT STILL NOT AN INSUPERABLE PROBLEM. BRING NARSES BEFORE ME. IN PERSON. I WILL DISCOVER THE TRUTH OF HIS LOYALTIES AND INTENTIONS.”
“As you will, Lady Sati,” stated Nanda Lal. He bowed his head obediently. An instant later, the Emperor of Malwa followed suit. The thing was settled, beyond any further discussion and dispute. And if neither man—especially Skandagupta—faced the prospect of a future half-Rajput dynasty with any pleasure, neither did they concern themselves over the possibility of Narses’ treachery. Not with Link itself to ferret out the eunuch’s soul. No man alive—no woman or child—could hide its true nature from that scrutiny. Not even their great enemy Belisarius had been able to accomplish that.
Chapter 6
MESOPOTAMIA
Spring, 533 a.d.
“What’s the matter, large one? Are you sick?” asked Belisarius. “You haven’t complained once since we left Ctesiphon.”
Sittas smiled cheerfully. Planting his feet firmly in the stirrups, he raised himself off the saddle and heaved his huge body around to study the army following in their tracks.
“Complain?” he demanded. “Why should I complain? God in Heaven, would you look at the size of that thing!”
Belisarius copied Sittas’ maneuver, albeit with considerably more ease and grace. The army following them seemed to cover the entire flood plain. To inexperienced eyes—such as those of the peasants who stared at it from the relative safety of their huts—it would have seemed like a swarm of locusts. And, for the peasants, just about as welcome. True, Emperor Khusrau had promised to pay for any damage done by the army in its passage. Mesopotamian peasants, from the experience of millennia, viewed imperial promises with a skepticism that would have shamed the most rigorous Greek philosopher.
Belisarius had no difficulty finding the underlying order in the seeming chaos.
Kurush’s Persian dehgans, fifteen thousand strong, maintained their position on the prestigious left flank. They had done so since the moment the army’s core passed through the gates of Ctesiphon and began collecting the units gathered outside the city. The gesture was a bit pointless, since there was no danger of a flank attack here in Mesopotamia. But the Persian aristocracy treasured its little points of honor.
Sittas’ own units, the ten thousand heavy cataphracts from Constantinople and Anatolia, were assuming the equivalent position on the army’s right wing. Whatever disgruntlement they might still be feeling at the implied slight was being exercised by their vigilance in keeping raiders from the desert at bay. Not that any Arab freebooter in his right mind would attack such an army, even if Belisarius didn’t have his own Arab camel contingents riding on the flank of the cataphracts.
Belisarius smiled at the sight, but his study was soon concentrated on the army’s center. The cataphracts and dehgans were familiar things. They had dominated warfare in the eastern Mediterranean for centuries. It was the units marching in the army’s center which were new. Very new.