In the Heart of Darkness

"I know something of that, man," muttered the nobleman. He stepped close and reached, again, into his purse. The stablekeeper was astonished at the small pile of coins which were placed in his hand.

The nobleman's next words were spoken very softly:

"As I said, keep the stable closed. For a few days. This should make good the loss."

Now, he did turn away. Watching him stride toward the howdahs, the stablekeeper was seized by a sudden impulse.

"Noble sir!"

The nobleman stopped. The stablekeeper spoke to the back of his head.

"If I might be so bold, noble sir, may I suggest you exit the city by the Lion Gate. It is a bit out of your way, but—the soldiers there are—uh, relaxed, so to speak. They are poor men themselves, sir. Bengali, as it happens. Whenever I have occasion to leave the city, that is always the gate which I use. No difficulties."

The nobleman nodded. "Thank you, stablekeeper. I believe I shall take your advice."

A minute later, he and his wife were gone, along with their retinue. They made quite a little troupe, thought the stablemaster. The nobleman rode his howdah alone, in the lead elephant, as befitted his status. His wife followed in the second, accompanied by one of her maids. The three other maids followed in the last howdah. Ahead of them marched a squad of their soldiers, led by the commander. The rest of the escort followed behind. The stablemaster was impressed by the disciplined order with which the soldiers marched, ignoring the downpour. An easy, almost loping march. A ground-eating march, he thought.

He turned away from the pouring rain, made haste to close and bar the gates to the stable.

Not that they'll need to eat much ground with those mounts, he thought wrily. The most pleasant, docile little elephants I've ever seen.

Halfway across the stable, his wife emerged from the door to the adjoining house. She scurried to meet him.

"Are they gone?" she asked worriedly. Then, seeing the closed and barred gates, asked:

"Why did you shut the gates? Customers will think we are closed."

"We are closed, wife. And we will remain closed until that madness"—a gesture to the north—"dies away and the city is safe." Wry grimace. "As safe, at least, as it ever is for poor folk."

His wife began to protest, but the stablekeeper silenced her with the coins in his hand.

"The nobleman was very generous. We will have more than enough."

His wife argued no further. She was relieved, herself, at the prospect of hiding from the madness.

Later that night, as they prepared for bed, the stablekeeper said to his wife:

"Should anyone inquire about the nobleman, in the future, say nothing."

His wife turned a startled face to him.

"Why?"

The stablekeeper glared. "Just do as I say! For once, woman, obey your husband!"

His wife shrugged her thick shoulders with irritation, but she nodded. (Not so much from obedience, as simple practicality. Poor men are known, now and then, to speak freely to the authorities. Poor women, almost never.)

Much later that night, sleepless, the stablekeeper arose from his bed. He moved softly to the small window and opened the shutter. Just a bit—there was no glass in that modest frame to keep out the weather.

He stood there, for a time, staring to the east. There was nothing to see, beyond the blackness of the night and the glimmering of the rain.

When he returned to his bed, he fell asleep quickly, easily. Resolution often has that effect.

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Framed

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Chapter 15

After an hour, Belisarius finally found what he was looking for.

It had been a thoroughly frustrating hour. On the one hand, he had found plenty of lone soldiers. But all of them had been common Malwa troops, shirking their duty by hiding in alleys and out-of-the-way nooks and crannies of the city. None of these men had been big enough for their uniforms to fit him. Nor, for that matter, did he think he could pass himself off as an Indian from the Gangetic plain.

Ye-tai was what he wanted. The Ye-tai, in the west, were often called White Huns. The word "white," actually, was misleading. The Ye-tai were not "white" in the sense that Goths or Franks were. The complexion of Ye-tai was not really much different than that of any other Asian steppe-dwellers. But their facial features were much closer to the western norm than were those of Huns proper, or, for that matter, Kushans. And, since Belisarius himself was dark-complected for a Thracian—as dark as an Armenian—he thought he could pass himself off as Ye-tai well enough. Especially since he could speak the language fluently.

Ye-tai tended to be big, too. He was quite sure he could find one whose size matched his own.

Ye-tai he found aplenty. Big Ye-tai, as well. But the Ye-tai always traveled in squads, and they tended to be much more alert than common troops.