But, he knew, not unique. He had not recognized the phenomenon at first, for he was unaccustomed to the informal Roman ways. But he had encountered such soldiers before, on occasion. Not often. Only Maratha and Rajput kshatriya possessed that code of honor. Men who would not stoop to murder, rape, and mindless mayhem, for they were the deadliest killers in creation. Such gross and common criminality was beneath their dignity.
The Malwa kshatriya had little of that code; the Ye-tai beasts derided them for what little they still possessed. And the common soldiers who made up the great mass of the Malwa army had none of it at all. Jackals, once discipline was loosened.
The slave shuddered, remembering the sack of his own town.
He would never see his beloved family again, but he knew their fate. His wife would be a drudge somewhere, slaving in the kitchen of a Malwa lord or merchant. His son would be a laborer, in the fields or in the mines. And his two daughters He glanced at the three Maratha women who were now on the bed, surrounding the half-crazed girl with female touches, female sounds and female scents. Three young slave girls, owned by a whoremaster.
He looked away, holding back a sob. Then forced himself to look back at the girl on the bed. There was a horrible comfort to be found in the sight. That much, at least, his wife and daughters had been spared. Spared, because by good fortune their own house had been seized by Rajputs during the sack, not Ye-tai or common soldiers. A Rajput cavalry troop, commanded by a young Rajput lord. A cold man, that lord; arrogant and haughty as only a Rajput kshatriya could be. The Rajputs had stripped their home of everything of value, down to the linen. Had then eaten all the food, and drank all the wine. But when the inevitable time came, and the cavalrymen began eyeing their captured women, the Rajput officer had simply said: “No.”
Coldly, arrogantly, haughtily. His men had obeyed. Had not even grumbled. They were not kshatriya themselves, simply commoners. But they possessed their own humble share of Rajput discipline, and Rajput pride, and Rajputana’s ancient glory.
He was brought back to the present by his master’s voice. Belisarius, he realized, was ordering all of the men out of the room.
Once in the corridor, Belisarius began digging into his purse. Garmat interrupted.
“I will pay for it, Belisarius. We both know your funds are meager.”
The Ethiopian gave instructions to one of the sarwen. The black soldier disappeared, searching for the hostel proprietor. Shortly thereafter, he reappeared, with the proprietor in tow. The man was smiling, as well he might be. Yet another room for his guests! By all means!
Within an hour, the injured girl had been moved into the new room. It was a small room adjoining Eon’s suite, but separated from the suite by a door. Belisarius instructed the women to make sure that one of them was with her at all times. And, under no conditions, to allow any men into the room unless he said otherwise.
The girls glanced hesitantly at the soldiers. Their thoughts were obvious: And just how, exactly, does the idiot general expect us to prevent men like this from going anywhere they choose?
Belisarius shook his head. “They will not try to enter, I assure you.”
That matter taken care of, for the moment, Belisarius led all of the men into his own room. The slave followed. Uncertainly, hesitantly, and with great reluctance.
Once everyone had taken a seat-those who could, that is, the room was small-Belisarius sighed and stated:
“This is going to play hell with our plans.”
As one, just as the slave had feared, every man there looked at him. Their thoughts were also obvious:
Dead men tell no tales.
Belisarius smiled crookedly. “No,” he said. “I’m keeping him with me, all the way back to Rome. The problem is with the girls. The Malwa will certainly question them, after we leave Bharakuccha. Until now, I didn’t care. But the way we are treating this new girl will not gibe with the image that we’ve been carefully forging. Venandakatra’s no fool. He’ll smell something wrong.”
Garmat coughed. Belisarius cocked his eye.
“Actually, Belisarius, I’m afraid the problem existed already. Even before the new girl arrived.” Another cough. “Because of you, actually.”
“Me?” demanded the general. “How so?”
Garmat sighed, then threw up his hands. “I share this room with you, General! I’m not blind.”
He tugged on his beard.
“Should your wife ever inquire, I will be able to assure her that you were astonishingly faithful during your trip to India, even when lovely young women were coming to your room every night. But I don’t think Venandakatra will find that reassuring. Not after you’ve spent so much time and effort trying to convince him you were almost as debauched as he is.”
Belisarius’ face was stony. The muscles along his jaw were tight.
“Ha!” exclaimed Eon. “So! I am required to mount every female shoved into my room. I am required to act the part of a breeding bull. But the general whose plan this is-”
The dawazz slapped him atop his head. The slave tried not to goggle. He did not think he would ever get accustomed to that. No Indian prince had ever been treated that way by a slave.
“Be quiet, Eon! You are not married. And stop complaining. I’m tired of it.”
“We all are,” snarled Valentinian.
“You copulated with every woman in Axum you could coax into your bed,” growled Ezana. “Since you were fourteen.”
“Thirteen,” corrected Wahsi.
“That was different! They weren’t shoved into my room, and I wasn’t doing it because of-”
“Shut up!” barked Menander. The young cataphract flushed. “Begging your pardon, Prince. But I really can’t stand it any longer. You bitch about this all the time, and I can’t-well, maybe in a day or so, I hope-but-”
“Enough,” commanded Belisarius. “Actually, I agree with Eon. At least, I will admit the justice of his charge. I have been somewhat hypocritical.”
Anastasius chuckled. “I do believe that’s the first time I’ve heard fidelity characterized as hypocrisy.”
A little laugh swept the room. Even Eon, after a moment, joined in.
Valentinian cleared his throat.
“As it happens, General, I think there’s a simple solution to the problem. Been thinking about it, myself, I have, and-”
“Capital idea!” exclaimed Ousanas.
“Splendid,” agreed Anastasius. “My own thoughts have been veering that way themselves, oddly enough.”
“So?” asked Ezana. The sarwen’s face registered dumbfounded astonishment, a wild surmise come from nowhere.
Ezana and Wahsi exchanged gapes of wonder.
Wahsi spoke first: “Truly amazing. Can you believe, Ezana and I-and Ousanas-have been grappling with the very same-”
“The perfect solution!” cried Ezana.
Garmat was frowning with puzzlement. Belisarius started laughing.
“What are they talking about?” demanded the adviser.
Belisarius managed to stop laughing long enough to ask Valentinian:
“I assume the parties involved have-uh, how shall I put it-” (here he choked) “-found their own thoughts veering, or perhaps I should say-” (laughter) “-have been grappling with the-” (Here he fell silent altogether, holding his sides.)
Valentinian stared up at the ceiling.
“Well, actually, I believe one of the girls did mention-”
“They’re really quite tired of Bharakuccha,” added Menander eagerly.
“Sick to death of the place,” rumbled Anastasius. “Eager for new experiences. New sights.”
Ezana pitched in: “The Maratha girls are even more anxious to depart this pesthole.”
“Horrible city,” growled Wahsi. “Horrible.”
Garmat was now glaring at Ousanas. “You put them up to this,” he accused. “I know it was you.”
“Me? Me? How can you say such a thing? I am my prince’s dawazz! My thoughts are only of his welfare! I am
