In the Heart of Darkness

The quandary was not whether to kill the Ye-tai. That was no quandary at all. As soon as he removed the barbarian's clothing, and, thereby, any danger of leaving tell-tale bloodstains, Belisarius drew his knife. He plunged the sharp little blade into the back of the man's neck and, with surgical precision, severed the spinal cord.

The quandary was what to do with the body. Belisarius dragged it to the side of the alley and began stuffing it under some shrubbery. He was not happy with that solution, since the body would surely be found soon after daybreak, but-

He stopped, examining the mudbrick wall. It was not, he suddenly realized, the wall of a house. It was a wall sealing off one of the tiny backyard garden plots with which most of Kausambi's poor supplemented their wretched diet.

He glanced around, gauging the area. He was in one of the many slums of the city.

Decision came instantly. He hoisted the body over his head and sent it sprawling across the wall. A split second after he heard the body's wet thump in the yard on the other side, he sent his own Roman uniform after it. Then he began striding down the alley, marching with the open, arrogant bearing of a Ye-tai.

He was taking a gamble, but he thought the odds favored him. He was quite sure that the residents of that humble little house-shack, say better-had heard the commotion. By the time he reached the end of the alley, they would probably already be examining the grisly-and most unwelcome-addition to their garden.

What would they do? Alert the authorities?

Possibly. In a rich neighborhood, they would certainly do so.

But in this neighborhood, he thought not. Poor people in most lands-certainly in Malwa India-knew quite well that the authorities were given to quick solutions to unwelcome problems.

Found a dead man in your own back yard? Why'd you kill him, you stinking swine? Robbed him, didn't you? You deny it? Ha! We'll beat the truth out of you.

No, Belisarius thought that by sunrise the Ye-tai's body would have disappeared, along with the Roman uniform. The uniform, cut up, could serve a poor household in any number of ways. The body? Fertilizer for the garden.

He wished that unknown family a good crop, and went on his way.

The three cataphracts thundered down the road leading due south from Kausambi. Valentinian was in the lead, followed by Anastasius, with Menander bringing up the rear.

The young cataphract was more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.

'Slow down, Valentinian! Damn you-slow down!'

It was no use. The driving rain hammered his shouts into the mud.

At least the mud might keep us from breaking our necks, after we spill the horses, thought Menander sourly.

Valentinian was setting an insane pace. He was driving his horse at a full gallop, down an unknown road, in pitch dark, into a rain coming down so heavily it was impossible even to keep one's eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.

Oh, yes-and without stirrups.

Yet, somehow, they survived. Without spilling the horses or falling off their saddles.

They were past the guardhouse before they even saw it. By the time they managed to rein in the horses, and turn them around, the Ethiopians were already there.

'Are you mad?' demanded Garmat.

Valentinian shrugged. 'We were short of time.' He pointed with his face toward the guardhouse.

'Are they taken care of?'

'Be serious,' growled Wahsi. 'We got here half an hour ago.'

Eon, Ezana and Kadphises brought up the extra horses.

'We'd better switch mounts,' said Anastasius. 'We've pretty well winded these.'

'Winded me, too,' grumbled Menander. 'Valentinian, you are fucking crazy.'

The veteran's grin was as sharp and narrow as a weasel's. 'You survived, didn't you? We're cataphracts, boy. Cavalrymen.'

As the cataphracts switched to new horses, Wahsi stated very forcefully: 'We are not cavalrymen. So let us maintain a rational pace.'

'Won't matter,' said Kadphises. 'We're cutting into the forest a half mile down. We'll have to walk our horses through that trail. If you can call it a trail.'

'You do know where we're going, I hope?' said Valentinian.

The Kushan's grin was every bit as feral as Valentinian's. 'I will not tell you how to ride a horse. Do not tell me how to find a trail.'

He was as good as his word. Five minutes later, the party of eight men and twenty horses turned off the road and entered into the forest. At first, Menander was relieved. As Kadphises had said, it was impossible to move down that trail at any pace faster than a horse could walk.

Walk, slowly. Menander had thought it was too dark to see, before. Now, he was essentially blind. The thick, overhanging branches, combined with the overcast night sky, turned the forest into a good imitation of a leafy underground mine. Without lanterns.

The only good thing, as far as he could tell, was that the tree canopy was so dense that it sheltered them- more or less-from the downpour.

Menander was not worried about falling off his horse. They were moving at the pace of an elderly woman. Nor, after a time, was he concerned that the horse might trip. The trail, though narrow, did not seem to be littered with obstacles.

He was simply worried that they would get lost. And, in addition, that they were making such poor time that their Malwa pursuers would catch up with them-even with the tremendous head start that Valentinian's insane ride had given them.

But, when he stated those concerns to the broad back of Anastasius ahead of him, the veteran was unconcerned.

'First, lad, don't worry about getting lost. The Kushan seems to know his way. Don't ask me how-I can't see a damn thing, either-but he does. And as for the other-be serious. When the Malwa get to the guardhouse and find the dead guards, they'll assume we continued on the road south. They'll never spot this little trail to the side. They'll charge right past it and keep going.'

'We didn't cover our tracks.'

Anastasius laughed scornfully.

'What tracks?' he demanded. 'This downpour-this fucking Noah's flood-will wash away any tracks in less than a minute.'

Menander was still unconvinced, but he fell silent. And then, half an hour later, when they finally emerged from the forest, admitted that his fears had been foolish.

Admitted, at least, to himself. He said nothing to Anastasius, and ignored with dignity the veteran's dimly- seen smile of vindication.

Once they emerged from the forest, they found themselves on another dirt road. (Mud road, rather.) They reversed directions completely, now, and headed north. After a mile, perhaps less, the road curved and began heading due west. Menander's fears resurfaced-new ones; he seemed to have a Pandora's box of them that night.

'Does Kadphises know where the hell we're going?'

The rain had eased off considerably. Enough that Menander's words carried forward. Kadphises' reply came immediately. The prologue to that reply was quick, curt, and very obscene. Thereafter, relenting, the Kushan deigned to explain.

'This road does not connect to the other until a small town fifty miles to the south. Nor does it go to Kausambi. It circles two sides of a swamp to our left, and from here will go due west for more than twenty miles. Before then, however, we will have turned south, again, on yet another road. By now, the Malwa will have no idea where we are. And, best of all, this road is not guarded. It is a peasants' road, only, not a merchant's route.'

'Where will we meet Ousanas, and the other Kushans?' asked Eon.

Kadphises' shrug could barely be seen in the darkness.

'That is up to them, Prince. Kujulo knows what road we are taking. If he can find your hunter-or your hunter