In the Heart of Darkness

As always, whenever possible, Belisarius had made their camp within a grove of trees. He had explained that preference to the Malwa, casually, as a matter of the comfort which the trees provided from the blistering sun of India. The Malwa, for their part, had made no objection. They were happy enough, for their own reasons, to see the foreigners secluded. Privately, the Malwa thought the outlanders were idiots. True, trees provided shade. But a good pavilion did as much, and trees also stifled the breeze and were a haven for obnoxious insects.

The Malwa had also thought, happily, that trees would provide a haven for spies.

As Belisarius watched, Ousanas appeared from the edge of the trees and padded into the clearing. The hunter was casually wiping blood from the huge blade of his spear.

No Malwa spies now, thought Belisarius. His lips quirked into that distinctive, crooked smile.

Ousanas was a slave, of sorts. Of a very, very odd sort. The tall African was not Ethiopian. Like the Axumites, his skin was black. But Ousanas' broad features had not a trace of the aquiline characteristics which distinguished those of most Ethiopians. He came from a land between great lakes which was-so Belisarius had been told-some considerable distance south of the Kingdom of Axum. He was the personal slave of Prince Eon-his dawazz, as the Axumites called his position. An adviser, of a sort. A very, very odd sort.

When Ousanas reached Belisarius, he nodded curtly. The general noted that the hunter's usual beaming grin was entirely absent.

'No spies now,' said Ousanas softly. He jerked his head toward the tent.

'Let us go in,' he growled. 'I must advise fool boy.'

Ousanas stalked toward the pavilion entrance, Garmat trailing in his wake like a remora trailing a shark. Belisarius felt a moment's pity for the young prince. The dawazz, when he felt it appropriate, was given to stern measures.

Again, Belisarius quickly scanned the clearing. His own three cataphracts were now fully armed and armored, and their expressions were every bit as grim as those of the sarwen. Belisarius caught the eye of Valentinian and made a subtle motion with his hands. Valentinian relaxed slightly and muttered something to Anastasius and Menander. The cataphracts maintained their watchfulness, but they eased away from their former tension.

Belisarius now concentrated his attention on the Kushans, gauging their mood. The Malwa vassals were also armed, and obviously tense. But they too seemed willing to allow the situation to unfold before taking any decisive steps. They were angry, true-so much was obvious. Angry at their commander, for the most part, Belisarius thought. But they were also confused, and uncertain. Kungas was their commander, after all, and it was a position which he had earned on a hundred battlefields. And, too, they were all related by blood. Members of the same clan, banded together in service to the Malwa overlords. An unhappy and thankless service.

Hard years had taught the Kushans to trust themselves alone, and, most of all, to trust their commander. Such habits cannot be overcome in an instant. Belisarius gauged, and pondered the angles, and made his decision. As always, the decision was quick. He strode across the clearing and planted himself before the Kushans.

'Wait,' he commanded. 'I must go into the pavilion. Make no decisions until I return.'

The Kushans stiffened. The Roman general's words had been spoken in fluent Kushan. They knew his command of their language was good, but now it was perfect and unaccented. A few of them cast glances toward the trees.

Belisarius smiled-broadly, not crookedly.

'There are no spies. Not any more.'

The Kushans had also seen Ousanas emerge from the woods. And, if they did not know of the African's extraordinary skill as a hunter, they had never misunderstood the easy manner in which he handled the huge spear which was his everpresent companion. Imperceptibly, they began to relax. Just a bit.

Belisarius glanced at Kungas. The Kushan commander nodded slightly. The Roman general wheeled and headed toward the pavilion. As he turned, he caught sight of Dadaji Holkar standing near the pavilion. Though middle-aged, and unarmed, and a slave, the man was obviously prepared to help defend the pavilion against assault.

Belisarius did not smile, but he felt a great affection surge into his heart.

'Come,' he commanded, as he strode by Holkar. 'I suspect you already know the truth, but you may as well see for yourself.'

As they entered the pavilion, Ousanas was just warming to his subject.

'— be forced to tell negusa nagast he do better to drown his fool boy in the sea and beget another. Dakuen Sarwe be furious with me! Beat me for failing in my duty. But I bear up under the regiment's savage blows with great cheer! Knowing I finally rid of hopeless task of teaching frog-level intelligence to worm-brained prince.'

'No attack him!' snapped Shakuntala. 'Was my wrongdoing!'

The girl spoke in Ge'ez, as had Ousanas. Her command of the language of the Axumites was still poor, heavily accented and broken, but she understood enough to have followed Ousanas' tirade.

The young woman was sitting crosslegged on a plush cushion to one side of the pavilion. Her posture was stiff and erect. For all her youth, and her small size, she exuded a tremendous imperial dignity.

Ousanas scowled. He was not impressed by royalty. Axumites in general, and Ousanas in particular, shared none of the Indian awe of rulership. Ousanas himself was a dawazz, assigned the specific task of instructing a prince in the simple truth that the difference between a king and a slave was not so great. A matter of luck, in its origin; and brains, in its maintenance.

The dawazz switched to Hindi, which was the common language used by all in the pavilion.

'Next time, Empress,' he growled, 'do not challenge cretin prince to combat. Simply pounce upon him like lioness and beat him senseless. Fool girl!'

Ousanas shook his head sadly. 'True, royalty stupid by nature. But this! This not stupidity! This-this-' He groaned woefully. 'There is no word for this! Not even in Greek, language of philosophy, which has words for every silliness known to man.'

Eon, squatting on his own cushion, raised his bowed head. The young prince-at nineteen, he was but a year or so older than Shakuntala-attempted to regain some measure of his own royal dignity.

'Stop speaking pidgin!' he commanded.

Belisarius fought down a grin. He knew Ousanas' rejoinder even before the dawazz spoke the words.

Not speaking pidgin. Speaking baby talk. All fool prince can understand!

When Belisarius had first met Ousanas, the year before in Constantinople, the African had spoken nothing but a bizarre, broken argot. Ousanas had maintained that manner of speech for months, until the alliance which Belisarius sought between Romans and Ethiopians had finally gelled, following a battle with pirates in the Erythrean Sea. Then-at the Prince's command-Ousanas had stopped pretending he spoke only pidgin Greek. The Romans had been astonished to discover that the outlandish African was an extraordinary linguist, who spoke any number of languages fluently. Especially Greek, which was a language Ousanas treasured, for he was fond of philosophical discourse and debate-to Anastasius' great pleasure and the despair of his other companions.

Ousanas now launched into a savage elaboration of the ontological distinction between ignorance and stupidity.

'— ignorance can be fixed. Stupid is forever. Consider, fool boy, the fate of-'

'Enough,' commanded Belisarius.

Ousanas clamped his jaws shut. Then:

'I was just warming to my subject,' he complained sourly.

'Yes, I know. Save it for another time, Ousanas. The Kushans will not wait that long.'

The general jerked his head toward the pavilion entrance.

'We have to solve this problem. Quickly.'

Eon suddenly blew out his cheeks. His massive shoulders hunched.

'What do they know?' he asked. He was looking at no one in particular.

Garmat answered.

'They know that Shakuntala is here, in this tent. Tonight.' The adviser squatted himself, now, and stared at his Prince from a distance of a few feet.

'That is all that they know,' he continued. 'But they are not stupid. They will also understand that she must have been with us ever since the massacre at Venandakatra's palace at Gwalior. They