The Dance of Time

Damodara cocked his head. 'You think Khusrau himself instigated the affair?'

Belisarius shrugged. 'Who knows? And you can be sure and certain we'll never know. I do find a number of things odd, in the reports. First, that the assassins never got within four hundred yards of the emperor. Second, that not one of them survived. Third, that when the 'rebellion' broke out-truly odd, this item-the conspirators somehow managed to start the affair when they were themselves surrounded by imperial loyalists. And, somehow, didn't manage to suborn even a single artillery unit.'

He stacked the reports neatly and slid them back across the huge desk toward Damodara. Belisarius was, as usual in their many private meetings, sitting across from Damodara in a chair that was almost as large, ornately designed, and heavily bejeweled as the emperor's.

That, too, outraged the courtiers. First, because they were excluded; second, because Belisarius got to sit in the royal presence when they never did; and, third, because under the circumstances they couldn't possibly substitute fakes for the jewels on his chair and sell them on the black market.

That third reason only applied to a few of the courtiers, however. The rest were smarter men. They'd already figured out that Damodara's rule, while far more tolerant in most respects than Skandagupta's, was going to be a nightmare for swindlers and influence-peddlers. Outright thievery would be sheer madness.

'So, at a guess,' Belisarius continued, 'I think Khusrau himself engineered the thing. Whether he did or not, it certainly worked to his advantage. He's now got the grandees completely cowed.'

Damodara chuckled, very dryly. 'There's this, too. The punishments he leveled afterward have made my treatment of the Amaravati garrison seem downright mild.'

The emperor, who'd been slouched in his chair, levered himself upright. 'Well, it's none of our concern. Not for this decade, at any rate. In the long run, I suspect a Persia run along well-organized imperial lines will pose more of a problem for us-you, too-than the old one did. But by the time we find out, I might hopefully be old enough to retire and hand the throne over to my successor. Not that I wish any grief on my oldest son, you understand. He's a good boy, by and large.'

It was Belisarius' turn to cock his head. 'You've decided, then, to adopt your father's suggestion?'

Damodara barked a laugh. 'Hardly a 'suggestion'! More in the way of a slapped-together excuse he came up with, to explain the awkwardness of how I happened to be the emperor instead of him. But since he did it, I find that the notion appeals to me. Didn't some Roman emperor do the same?'

'Yes. Diocletian.' Belisarius cleared his throat. 'Mind you, that didn't work out too well. On the other hand. .'

He thought about it, for a moment, then shrugged again. 'Who knows? Part of the problem was that we Romans were using adopted heirs, at the time. It might work more smoothly if the retired emperor is directly related to his successor.'

'Might not, too. My son isn't a sadhu, after all. Neither am I, for that matter. Speaking of which. .'

Damodara rummaged through the mass of papers on his desk. 'Bindusara sent me an interesting proposal, a few days ago. I wanted to discuss it with you.'

'I already know what it is. And I agree with it.'

It had been Belisarius' idea in the first place. Aide's, rather. For perhaps the thousandth time, he felt a sharp pang of grief.

Damodara stopped shuffling the paper and lifted his head. 'The caste system is ancient, in India. It goes back to Vedic times.'

'More like an ancient disease,' Belisarius said harshly. 'I can tell you this, Your Majesty. In that other universe that Aide came from, the caste system crippled India for millennia. It will take decades-centuries, perhaps-to uproot it, as it is. So I'd recommend you start now. Bindusara's proposal-set of proposals, more properly-are as good a place to start as any.'

The emperor eyed Belisarius closely, for a moment. Then, asked abruptly: 'Why should a Roman general care if India is crippled? If anything, I'd think you'd prefer it that way.'

'Meaning no offense, Your Majesty, but that mode of thinking-also ancient-is. . well, 'wrong-headed' is the most polite term I can think of. The old notion is that a man-or a nation-benefits if his neighbors remain mired in poverty and want. There was a certain logic to the idea, for societies that were stagnant. But, whether we wanted it or not, asked for it or not, the main long-term effect of the war we just fought is that it triggered off the industrial revolution a millennium earlier than it happened in that other universe. Societies and economies based on growth, which ours are now becoming, are simply hampered by poor neighbors. Poverty-stricken nations produce very little and consume even less.'

He'd wound up sitting very straight and stiff, in the course of that little speech. Now, finished, he slumped back.

'Leave it at that, if you will. Or simply ascribe it to the fact that a Roman general can get sick of war too.'

After a while, Damodara said: 'The great loss was yours, Belisarius. But don't ever think you are the only one who misses Aide, and his counsel.'

'Oh, I don't. But thank you for saying it.'

'This was his counsel, I assume?'

'Yes. I embellished it some. Then, passed it along to Bindusara. Not to my surprise, the sadhu was very receptive. He'd been thinking along similar lines, himself.'

The emperor nodded. 'We'll do it, then. The Talisman of God should have many monuments, not all of them stone.'

'Not most of them. I knew him, Emperor, better than anyone. He would have taken far more satisfaction in seeing intolerance eased, in his name, than another pile of stones erected.'

Damodara's eyes widened.

Belisarius laughed, then. The first genuine laugh he'd been able to enjoy since Aide died.

'Of course! Unfortunately, my own Christian faith is a bit too stiff-necked to do it properly. Yes, I checked, with my friend Anthony, the Patriarch of Constantinople. He thinks he can make Aide a saint, given some time. But, beyond that. .'

Damodara grinned. 'Such misers you are! Only three gods-and then you try to insist they're really only one. We Hindus, on the other hand-'

He spread his arms expansively. 'A generous people! A lavish people!'

Still grinning, he lowered his hands to the armrests of the chair. 'What do you think? An avatar of Vishnu?'

'Why not? Raghunath Rao already thinks he was. So does Dadaji Holkar. If you don't hurry, Emperor Damodara, the consort and peshwa of Andhra will steal a march on you.'

After a time, the good humor in the room faded away. Replaced, not by sorrow, but simple acceptance.

'And who can say he wasn't?' the emperor demanded.

'Not me,' came the general's answer.

Epilogue

A father and his concerns

Belisarius emerged from the palace just before sundown. In what had become something of a daily custom for him, whenever he could manage it, he went to sit on the bench where he could watch the sun set. The same bench where Aide had left him.

To his surprise, Rana Sanga was already on the bench. Waiting for him, clearly enough.

Belisarius took a seat next to the Rajput king. 'May I be of service, Sanga?'

'Perhaps. I hope so. I am concerned for my son.'

Belisarius frowned. 'He is ill? He seemed quite healthy when I saw him last. Which was just yesterday, now that I think about it.'

'His health is excellent. No, it's. .' The tall king took a slow, deep breath. 'He fought beside me, you know, the day we took Kausambi. All the way to the imperial palace, and even into it.'