An Oblique Approach

" `Perhaps excessively complex,' " mimicked Valentinian harshly. The cataphract leaned forward.

"General, in the absence of Maurice, I have to take his place. As best I can. The first law of battles—"

Belisarius waved the objection aside, chuckling.

"I know it by heart! This is not a battle, Valentinian. This is intrigue."

"Still, General," interrupted Anastasius, "you're depending too much on happenstance. I don't care if we're talking battles or intrigue—or plotting how to cuckold the quartermaster, for that matter—you still can't rely that much on luck." Unlike Valentinian's voice, whose tenor had been sharp with agitation, Anastasius' basso was calm and serene. His words carried much the greater weight, because of it.

Belisarius hesitated, marshaling his arguments. This was no place for simple authority, he knew. The cataphracts and the Ethiopians needed to be convinced, not commanded.

Before he could speak, Ousanas interrupted.

"I disagree with Anastasius and Valentinian. And Garmat. They are mistaking complexity for intricacy. The plan is complex, true, in the sense that it involves many interacting vectors."

Belisarius restrained a laugh, seeing the gapes of his Thracian soldiers and the glum resignation on the faces of Ethiopian sarwen. Ousanas gestured enthusiastically.

"But that is not the same thing as luck! Oh, no, not at all. Luck is my specialty, it is true, just as the sarwen said. But the simple-minded warrior" —a dismissive wave— "does not understand luck, and that is why he thinks I am lucky. I am not. I am fortunate, because I understand the way of good fortune."

The dawazz leaned forward.

"The secret of which is I will now tell you. One cannot predict the intricate workings of luck, but one can grasp the vectors of good fortune. All you must do is find the simple thing which is at the heart of the problem and seize it. Hold that—hold it with a grip of iron, and keep it always in your mind—and you will find your way through the vectors."

"Fancy talk," sneered Valentinian. "But tell me this, O wise one—what's the simple thing about the general's plan?" He snorted. "Name any simple thing about his plan!"

Ousanas returned the sarcasm with a level gaze.

"The simple thing at the heart of the general's plan, Valentinian, is the soul of Venandakatra. The entire plan revolves around that one thing. Which is perhaps the simplest thing in the world."

"No man's soul is simple," countered Valentinian, feebly.

"Not yours, perhaps," replied the dawazz. "But the soul of Venandakatra? You think that thing is complex?" Ousanas barked. In that single laugh was contained a universe of contempt. "If you wish complexity, Valentinian, examine a pile of dog shit. Do not look for it in the soul of Venandakatra."

"He's got a point," rumbled Anastasius. The huge cataphract sighed. "A rather good one, actually." Another sigh, like the resignation of Atlas to his labors. "Irrefutable, in fact."

Valentinian glowered. "Maybe!" he snapped. "But still—what of the rest of it? The prince's part in the plot is simple enough, I'll admit." A skeptical glance at Eon. "If—begging your pardon, Prince—the young royal can stomach it." Now he pointed to Ousanas. "But what of his part in the plan? Do you call that simple?"

Ousanas grinned. "In what way is it not? I am required to do two things only. Not more than two! I assure you, cataphract, even savages from the savanna can count as high as two."

Menander interrupted, in a whisper.

"Those are two pretty complicated things, Ousanas."

"Nonsense! First, I must learn a new language. A trick I learned as a boy. Then, I must hunt. A trick I learned even earlier."

"You're not going to be hunting an eland in the savanna, dawazz," said Eon uncertainly.

"That's right," chimed in Valentinian. "You're going to be hunting a man in a forest. A man you don't know, in a forest you've never seen, in a land you've never visited."

Ousanas shrugged. "What of it? Hunting is simple, my dear Valentinian. When I was a boy, growing up in the savanna, I did not think so. I was much impressed with the speed of the impala, and the cunning of the buffalo, and the ferocity of the hyena. So I wasted many years studying the ways of these beasts, mastering their intricate habits."

He wiped his brow. "So exhausting, it was. By the time I was thirteen, I thought myself the world's greatest hunter. Until a wise old man of the village told me that the world's greatest hunters were tiny little people in a distant jungle. They were called pygmies, he said, and they hunted the greatest of all prey. The elephant."

"Elephants?" exclaimed Anastasius. He frowned. "Just exactly how tiny are these—these pygmies?"