An Oblique Approach

Belisarius sighed and pulled up another chair. After sitting, he smiled crookedly. "We're engaged in a deep and dark conspiracy, John."

The naval officer's foul mood vanished. He grinned like a wolf—which, thought Belisarius, he rather resembled. A short, sinewy, handsome, blue-eyed, black-haired, grey-bearded, well-groomed wolf.

"Well!" he exclaimed. "That's more like it!" He leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his hands together cheerfully.

"Tell me all about it."

When Belisarius finished, John eyed him askance.

"You're still keeping something from me," he announced. "I don't believe for a minute that these—visions, to use your term—simply came to you out of nowhere. Someone, or something, is behind them."

Belisarius nodded.

"And you're not going to tell me who it is? Not now, at any rate."

Belisarius nodded again.

John looked away, frowning. A few seconds later, his face cleared.

"I can live with that," he said. "For a time, at least."

He stroked his beard. "But there's one other question I must have answered. Now. Is this conspiracy aimed at the throne? Against the Emperor?"

Belisarius shook his head firmly. John stared at him.

"Swear," he commanded. "I know your reputation, General. If I have your oath, I'll be satisfied."

"I swear to you before God, John of Rhodes, that the conspiracy of which you are a part is not aimed against the Emperor Justinian."

Again, the raffish grin. "But he doesn't know about it either, does he?"

"No."

"Does the Empress?"

"No. Not yet, at least."

John rose to his feet and resumed stumping about.

"Good. Let's keep it that way, shall we? Especially when it comes to Justinian." The naval officer grimaced. "Such a suspicious tyrant, he is."

After a moment, John blew out his cheeks again and looked toward the workbench. "Not, mind you, that there's much of a conspiracy here to begin with. Plenty of deep darkness, but precious little to hide."

"You've had no success at all?"

"None—beyond some minor improvements in the Greek fire we already had. But nothing that'd be in the slightest way suitable for land combat."

Belisarius rose. "Come outside," he said. "There are some people I want you to meet."

When he couldn't find the Axumites in the villa, Belisarius suspected he would find them in the barracks. And so he did.

The barracks were crowded full with soldiers, especially in the huge room which had served the former owner of the estate for a formal dining hall. Some of that population density was due to the quarters themselves. The Thracians had been reveling in the luxuriance of the "barracks" since they arrived at the villa. But most of it was due to the contest taking place at a table in the center of the hall.

Seeing him, his bucellarii drew aside and let him approach the table. Belisarius examined the scene, and sighed with exasperation.

Garmat, to his credit, was obviously trying to keep a lid on the situation. So was Maurice, of course. And the two soldiers of the Dakuen sarwe were behaving in the rational manner which one expects from experienced veterans surrounded by strange veterans. Politely. Cautiously.

But the prince, alas, was still a young man, full of pride and eager to show his mettle. And not all of the general's Thracian retinue were as relaxed in their experience as such veterans as Anastasius and Valentinian (both of whom, Belisarius noted, were lounging about amicably in nearby chairs). No, there were plenty of youngsters in the general's retinue, most of whom were every bit as full of pride as the prince, and not in the slightest intimidated by his royal lineage.

At the moment, the mutual pride was taking the form of an arm-wrestling match. A good-humored one, probably, in its origin. But the humor was now wearing thin.

The reason for the growing ill temper was obvious, and was demonstrated for the general himself almost immediately. With a grunt of anger and disgust, the fist of the Thracian lad named Menander slammed down onto the table. Eon's dark face was split by a grin.

Glancing about, Belisarius estimated that at least three other Thracian lads had already been trounced by the Axumite. And were none too happy about it.

He sighed again. During the course of the journey from Constantinople to Daras, Belisarius had found the prince to be quite charming. Once Eon got over a certain aloofness, which Belisarius knew was nothing more than his way of maintaining dignity in a sea of strangers, the prince was both good-natured and intelligent. He had even managed—after a few slaps on the head from his dawazz—to stop ogling Antonina in his uncertain adolescent way. And he got along very well with Sittas and, to the general's surprise, got along even better with Irene. Under the young Axumite's stiff exterior, there proved to be a sly wit which the spymaster enjoyed.

But—he was still barely more than a boy, and was inordinately proud of his strength.