Fortune's Stroke

Damodara was Malwa. Practical. Yet he had discovered, as so many practical men before him, that being practical was a lot harder than it looked. So, for a moment, he envied Sanga's certainties.

But only for a moment. Humor came to his rescue. Damodara had a good sense of humor. Practical men needed it.

"Well, we can't have that!" he proclaimed. "A commander should have a bodyguard."

Damodara turned his head and whispered something to Narses. The eunuch nodded, and passed the message to the young Rajput who was serving as their attendant in the pavilion. A moment later, the youth was on his horse and cantering toward the Rajput camp a short distance away.

* * *

And so it was, by the time Belisarius drew up his horse before the small pavilion in which the parley would be held, that he discovered he would have a bodyguard after all.

Valentinian helped him down. The cataphract was not wearing any armor, beyond a light Rajput helmet, but he was carrying a sword slung from a baldric. And, of course, knives and daggers. Belisarius could see three of them, thrust into a wide sash. He did not doubt there were as many more, secreted away somewhere. Most men counted wealth in coins. Valentinian counted wealth in blades.

"How are you feeling?" asked Belisarius.

Valentinian's narrow face grew even more pinched. "Not too well, sir, to be honest. I stopped seeing double, at least. But my head still hurts, more often than not, and I don't have much strength back."

Valentinian glanced at the Malwa sitting in the open pavilion. They were out of hearing range. Damodara had politely allowed Valentinian to meet Belisarius alone.

"I'll do my best," he whispered, "if there's any trouble. But I've got to warn you that I'm not my old self. Not yet, anyway."

Belisarius smiled. "There won't be any trouble. And if there is, we'll have Sanga to protect us."

Valentinian grimaced. "Pity those poor bastards. God, that man's a demon." Gingerly, he touched the light helmet on his head. "I don't ever want to do that again, I'll tell you for sure. Not without him tied up, and me using grenades."

Again, Valentinian glanced at the enemy in the pavilion. This time, however, it was a look of respect rather than suspicion.

"I've been well treated, general. Pampered like a lord, if you want to know the truth. Sanga himself has come to visit me, any number of times. Even Damodara." A look of bemusement came to his face. "He's actually a friendly sort of fellow, the fat little bugger. Odd, for a Malwa. Even got a sense of humor. Pretty good one."

Belisarius shrugged. "Why is that odd? The Malwa are humans, Valentinian, not gods." Belisarius gave his own quick glance at the pavilion. "Which is the reason, when the dust settles, that the new gods will find Malwa has failed them. They're trying to make perfection out of something which is not only imperfect by nature, but must be. Only imperfect things can grow, Valentinian. Striving for perfection is as foolish as it is vain. You can only create a statue—a thing which may look grand, on a pedestal, but will not stand up so well on the field of battle."

Belisarius brought his eyes back to Valentinian. "You swore an oath, I assume."

Valentinian nodded. For a moment, he seemed uncomfortable. Not ashamed, simply . . . awkward, like a peasant in the company of royalty. Men of Valentinian's class and station did not swear solemn oaths with the same practiced ease that nobility did.

"Yes, sir. They stopped putting a guard over me. But I had to swear that I would make no attempt to escape and that I wouldn't fight, except in self-defense. And I'll have to go back with them, of course, after this parley."

Valentinian's feral, weasel grin made its appearance. "On the other hand, they didn't make me swear I'd keep my mouth shut." Another glance at the pavilion. "I've learned some things, General. Real quick: you were right about Damodara's arms complex. It's in Marv, just like Vasudeva thought it might be. They'll have their own handcannons soon enough. The Malwa have already started making them, in Kausambi. But Damodara's boasting that he'll have his own, made in Marv."

Belisarius shook his head. "He wasn't boasting, Valentinian—and he didn't tell you by accident. He knows you'll pass on the information. He wants me to have it."

Valentinian frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a very smart man. Smart enough to understand something which few generals do. Sometimes a secret given away can serve as well as a secret kept. Or even better. He's probably hoping I'll try to make a raid on Marv, once he forces me out of the Zagros, rather than retreating into Mesopotamia. The city's in an oasis, and I'm sure he's got it fortified like Satan's jaws. We'd be eaten alive, trying to storm the place, and the few table scraps would be snapped up in the desert."

Valentinian squinted at him, as if he were seeing double. His hand, again, touched his helmet gingerly.