Fortune's Stroke

Suspicion returned, like a landslide. "Why are you telling me this?" demanded Narses. "And don't give me any crap. I know how tricky you are. There's an angle here." The eunuch's angry eyes scanned the interior of the pavilion, and the landscape visible beyond, as if looking for the trap.

"Of course there's an angle, Narses. I should think it's obvious. Ambition."

Narses' eyes snapped back to Belisarius.

"Such a waste," repeated Belisarius. Then, firmly and surely: "I forgive you your treason, Narses the eunuch. Theodora won't, because she cannot abandon her spite. But I can, and I do. I swear to you now, before God, that the past is forgiven. I ask only, in return, that you remain true to the thing which brought you to treason. Your ambition."

Belisarius spread his hands, cupped, like a giant holding an invisible world. "Don't think small, Narses. Don't satisfy yourself with the petty ambition of bringing me down. Think big." His grin returned. "Why not? You've still got at least thirty more years to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

Narses' quick eyes glanced at Rana Sanga. The Rajput king was standing outside, perhaps forty feet away. He and Damodara were chatting amiably with Valentinian.

"Don't be stupid," he hissed. "I cleaned up Damodara's nest, sure. He was sick and tired of Nanda Lal's creatures watching his every move. But—more than that?"

The great sneer was back in force. "This is a Rajput army, Belisarius, in case you haven't noticed. Those crazy bastards are as likely to violate an oath as you are. They swore eternal allegiance to the Malwa emperor, and that's that."

Belisarius scratched his chin, smiling crookedly. "So they did. But I suggest, if you haven't already, that you investigate the nature of that oath. Oaths are specific, you know. I asked Irene, last year, to find out for me just exactly what the kings of Rajputana swore, at Ajmer, when they finally gave their allegiance to Malwa."

The smile grew as crooked as a root. "They swore eternal allegiance to the Emperor of Malwa, Narses." Belisarius began to leave. At the edge of the pavilion, just within the shade, he stopped and turned around.

"There was no mention of Skandagupta, by the way. No name, Narses. Just: the Emperor of Malwa."

He almost laughed, then, seeing Narses' face. Again, it was the face of a young boy. Not the face of trusting innocence, however. This was the eager face of a greedy child, examining the cake which his mother had just placed before him in celebration of his birthday.

With many more birthdays to come. Lots of them, with lots of cake.

* * *

On the way back, riding through the badlands, Aide spoke only once.

Deadly with a blade, is Belisarius.

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Framed

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Chapter 23

The minute Belisarius entered the headquarters tent, he knew. The grinning faces of his commanders were evidence enough. Maurice's deep scowl was the proof.

He laughed, seeing that morose expression.

"What's the matter, you old grouch?" he demanded. "Admit the truth—you just can't stand it, when plans go right, that's all. It's against your religion."

Maurice managed a smile, sort of. If a lemon could smile.

" 'T'ain't natural," he grumbled. "Against the laws of man and nature." He held up the scroll in his hand and offered it to Belisarius. Then, shrugging: "But, apparently, it's not against the laws of God."

Eagerly, Belisarius unfolded the scroll and scanned its contents.

"You read it." It was a statement, not a question.

Maurice nodded, gesturing to the other officers. "And I gave them the gist."

Belisarius glanced at the faces of Cyril, Bouzes and Coutzes, and Vasudeva. A Greek, two Thracians, and a Kushan, but they might as well have been peas in a pod. All four men were beaming. Satisfaction, partly, at seeing plans come to fruition. Sheer pleasure, in the main, because they were finally done with maneuvers. Except for one last, long, driving march, of course—but that was a march to battle. That the march would end in triumph, they doubted not at all. Theirs was the army of Belisarius.

Not quite peas in a pod. The Kushan's grin was so wide that it seemed to split his face. Belisarius gave him a stern look and shook the scroll admonishingly.

"The helmets stay on until we're well into the qanat, Vasudeva. Any Kushan who so much as sheds a buckle, before we're into the passage—I'll have him impaled. I swear I will."

Vasudeva's grin never wavered. "Not to fear, General. We are planning a religious ceremony, once we're in. A great mounded pile of stinking-fucking-stupid-barbarian crap. We will say a small prayer, condemning the shit to eternal oblivion." He spread his hands apologetically. "By rights, of course, we should set it all afire. But—"