Rao took a deep breath. He nodded abruptly, indicating his acceptance of Kungas’ point. But, still, he was scowling. “I don’t trust this thing!”
“Trust?” exclaimed Irene. “What has that got to do with it?” Her own laugh had none of the young empress’ pealing quality. It was more like the caw of a crow.
“I don’t trust Narses, Rao. What I trust is simply his craftsmanship.”
She pointed a stiff finger at the opened parcel on the low table near the door. The shriveled hands and the message for the empress lay exposed. The shakily written message for Holkar, and the coin, were absent. Dadaji and his wife had those in their own chambers, clutching them as fiercely as they did each other. Adding their own tears of joy to the long-dried ones which had smeared the ink.
“He’s up to something, I tell you!”
The empress ended the discussion, in her usual decisive manner. She clapped her hands, once. “Enough! It is not for us to decide, in any event. We are simply the conduit. If there is a trap, it is aimed at Belisarius. He must make the decision.”
She pointed her own imperious finger at the parcel. “Take it with you tomorrow, Irene. Kungas. Take it with you on your journey to Persia, and put it into Belisarius’ hands. Let him decide.”
Mention of that journey, even more than the empress’ command, ended the discussion. With not much less in the way of sorrow than Shakuntala, Rao gazed at the two people who would, within a day, be gone from their company. Probably forever. Two people who had done as much as any in the world to bring one empire back from the grave, where Malwa had thought Andhra safely planted. And now proposed to do the same yet again, in Malwa’s very heartland.
“God be with you,” he murmured. His usual wry smile emerged. “He is rumored to have good vision, you know. Even in the Hindu Kush, I am certain he will notice you.”
* * *
The glee came as Irene and Kungas were walking through the halls of the palace, back toward their own chambers.
“I hope you’re right,” muttered Kungas.
Irene’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m right! He’s up to something. And since—I know I’ve told you this—he’s probably the only spymaster in the world as good as me, that means—”
She seized Kungas’ muscular arm in both hands and began spinning her lover around her, whirling down the corridor like a top.
“Oh, Kungas! We’re going to have so much fun!”
Chapter 1
CTESIPHON
Spring, 533 a.d.
Are you sure of this? asked Aide. The crystalline thought in Belisarius’ mind shivered with uncertainty. They have protected you for so long.
Belisarius made the mental equivalent of a shrug. This coming campaign is different, Aide. I will be commanding—
He broke off for a moment, scanning the imperial audience chamber. The crooked smile that came so naturally to him made its reappearance. There was enough of royalty, nobility, officers and advisers crowded about to fill even that huge and splendiferous room. The costumes and uniforms worn by that mob were as varied as the mob itself. Roman, Persian, Ethiopian, Arab—only the Kushans were absent, for reasons of secrecy.
No one in the West has assembled such a gigantic force since the days of Xerxes and Darius and Alexander the Great. I will be leading well over a hundred thousand men into India, Aide. So there’s no way I’ll be at the forefront of any more cavalry charges.
The crystal being from the future flashed an image in Belisarius’ mind. For just an instant, the Roman general saw a Homeric figure storming a rampart, sword in hand.
Aide’s voice came sour, sour. Alexander the Great did.
Belisarius snorted. Alexander was a lunatic as well as a genius. Thought he was Achilles come back to life. I have no such pretensions, myself. And if I ever did—
He winced, remembering the way Rana Sanga, Rajputana’s greatest king as well as champion, had hammered Belisarius into a bleeding pulp on a battlefield in the Zagros mountains. Would have killed him, in fact, if Valentinian hadn’t come to his rescue.