In the Heart of Darkness

'What did you expect? Did you think these men would abandon their families-just to be your grenade- tossers?'

Gobbling ceased. Generals stared at other. A naval officer stumbled in his stumping.

Antonina snorted.

'You didn't think.'

Snort. 'Sometimes I agree with Theodora. Men.'

Sittas leveled his finest glare upon her. The boar in full fury.

'You'll not be making any royal decrees here, young woman!'

'I most certainly will,' replied Antonina, quite sweetly. 'I'm the paymaster, remember?'

She cocked her head at John of Rhodes. 'Are you done with your stumping?'

The naval officer pouted. Antonina reached to the floor, hauled up a sack, clumped it on the table.

'Hire workmen, John. Better yet-pay the peasants themselves. The lads are handy with their hands. They'll have the huts up in no time, and they'll be the happier for having made their own new homes.'

From the doorway came Michael's voice:

'They'll be wanting a chapel, too. Nothing fancy, of course.'

The generals, cowed by the woman, transferred their outrage to the monk.

The Macedonian stared back. Like a just-fed eagle stares at chittering mice.

Contest of wills, laughable.

Chapter 10

Kausambi

Summer 530 AD

From the south bank of the Jamuna, Belisarius gazed at the temple rising from the very edge of the river on the opposite bank. It was sundown, and the last rays of the setting sun bathed the temple in golden glory. He was too distant to discern the details of the multitude of figurines carved into the tiered steps of the temple, but he did not fail to appreciate the beauty of the structure as a whole.

'What a magnificent temple,' he murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Menander's lips tighten in disapproval.

For a moment, he thought to let it go, but then decided it was a fine opportunity to advance the young cataphract's education.

'What's the matter, Menander?' he queried, cocking an eyebrow. 'Does my admiration for heathen idolatry offend you?'

The words were spoken in a mild and pleasant tone, but Menander flushed with embarassment.

'It's not my place-' he began, but Belisarius cut him off.

'Of course it is, lad. You're required to obey my orders as your commander. You are not required to agree with my theological opinions. So, spit it out.' He pointed to the temple. 'What do you think of it? How can you deny its splendor?'

Menander frowned. The expression was one of thought, not disapproval. He did not respond immediately, however. He and Belisarius had dismounted upon reaching the river, in order to drink its water, and their horses were still assuaging their thirst. Idly, he stroked the neck of his horse for a few seconds, before saying:

'I can't deny that it's a beautifully made edifice, general. I just wish it had been made for some different purpose.'

Belisarius shrugged. 'For what? Christian worship? That would be better, of course, to be sure. Unfortunately, Christian missionaries have only begun to penetrate this far into India's interior.' With an smile of irony: 'And all of them, alas, are Nestorian heretics. Not much better than outright heathens. According to most orthodox churchmen, at least.'

He turned, so as to face Menander squarely.

'In the meantime, India's millions grope their own way toward God. That'-pointing again to the temple-'is the proof of it. Would you rather they ignored God altogether?'

Menander's frown deepened. 'No,' he said softly, after a moment. 'I just-' He hesitated, sighed, shrugged.

'I've seen Dadaji praying in your tent, many times. And I don't doubt his sincerity, or his devotion. I just-' Another shrug, expressing a fatalistic acceptance of reality.

'Wish he were praying to the Christian God?'

Menander nodded.

Belisarius looked back to the temple. Now, he shrugged himself. But his was a cheerful shrug, expressing more of wonder than of resignation.

'So do I, Menander, come down to it. But I can't say I lose any sleep over the matter. Dadaji's is a true and pure soul. I do not think God will reject it, when the time comes.'

The general glanced toward the west. The lower rim of the sun was almost touching the horizon.

'We'd best head back,' he said. 'I'd hoped to get a glimpse of Kausambi before nightfall, but I can see that we're still a few miles away from the outskirts.'

He and Menander mounted their horses and rode away from the river. As they headed back toward their camp, Menander said:

'I thought you were orthodox, sir.' The youth's brow was furrowed in thought. Then, realizing that his statement might be construed amiss, Menander began to apologize. But his general dismissed the apology with a wave of the hand.

'I am orthodox.' Then, a crooked smile. 'I suppose. I was raised so, as Thracians are. And it is the creed to which I have always subscribed.'

He hesitated. 'It is hard to explain. I do not care much for such things, Menander. My wife, whom I love above all others in this world, is not orthodox. For the sake of my reputation, she disguises her creed, but she inclines to Monophysitism, as do most Egyptians. Am I to believe that she is condemned to eternal hellfire?'

He glanced at Menander. The young cataphract winced. If anything, Menander was even more adoring of Antonina than were most of the bucellarii.

Belisarius shook his head. 'I think not. Not by the Christ I worship. And it is not simply she, Menander. I am a general, and I have led soldiers into battle who believed in every heresy, even Arians, and watched them die bravely. And held them in my arms as they died, listening to their last prayers. Were those men predestined for damnation? I think not.'

His jaws tightened. 'My indifference to creed goes deeper than that. Years ago, in my first command-I was only eighteen years old-I matched wits with a Persarmenian commander named Varanes. His forces were small, as were mine, and our combat was prolonged over weeks. A thing of maneuver and feint, as much as battle. He was a magnificent commander, and taxed me to the utmost.'

He took a deep breath. 'An honorable and gallant foe, as well. As Medeans often are. Once I was forced to abandon three of my men. They were too badly wounded to move, and Varanes had caught me in a trap from which I had to extricate myself immediately or suffer total defeat. When he came upon them, Varanes saw to it that they were well cared for.'

He looked away. For a moment, the usual calm of his face seemed to waver. But not for long, and Belisarius resumed his tale. Menander was listening with rapt attention.

'I discovered the fact after I defeated Varanes. I trapped him myself, finally, and overran his camp. My three men were still there. One of them had died in the meantime, from his wounds, but it was through no fault of the Persians. The other two were safe, thanks to Varanes. Varanes himself was mortally wounded, from a lance-thrust to the groin. It took him hours to die, and I spent those hours with him. I attempted to comfort him as best I could, but the wound was terrible. It must have been pure agony for him, but he bore it well. He even joked with me, and we passed the time discussing, among other things, our relative assessment of our previous weeks in combat. He had had the upper hand, through most of it, but I had learned quickly. He predicted a great future for me.'