Second, by the time and energy Theodora spent hollering at Belisarius for: a) putting her husband at risk; b) keeping him away from her for an unholy length of time, and c) giving away half of her empire-sorry, your son's empire-in the course of his fumble-fingered so-called 'negotiations.'
Third, by the time and energy she spent mollifying her best friend Antonina's anger over the preposterous way she was treating the man who had won the greatest war in history and saved her empire for her three times over-against the Medes, internal rebellion, and the Malwa.
And, finally, of course, as Tahmina had also foreseen. .
'You agreed to be a business partner in a manufacturing scheme?
'I'm not the Emperor any longer, dear,' Justinian pointed out mildly. 'Photius is.'
'Still!'
'I'm the Grand Justiciar. And you know how much I love to play with gadgets.' He tried to dampen the gathering storm: 'Besides, I'll have to keep it quiet anyway. Otherwise it might look like a conflict of interest.'
Theodora frowned. ' 'Conflict of interest'? What in the world is that?'
'It's a new legal concept I'm about to introduce. I thought of it while I was in India.'
That wasn't really true. He'd gotten the original idea from Aide. But since the jewel wasn't around any longer, Justinian saw no reason to give him credit. He'd never much liked the creature anyway.
It took him a while to explain the concept of 'conflict of interest' to the Empress Regent. When he was done, Theodora burst into laughter.
'That's the silliest thing I ever heard of! My husband!'
A husband and his promise
Ousanas delayed his return to Ethiopia, long enough to ensure that a full year had passed since Eon's death. When he arrived at Adulis, he discovered that Rukaiya had already overseen the transfer of the capital there from Axum.
He was surprised. True, this had been planned for some time, but he hadn't thought Rukaiya would be bold enough, in his absence, to push the matter through. Many of the Ethiopians were not happy at the prospect of sharing their capital with Arabs.
Ezana met him at the docks, and provided part of the reason.
'Why not? And it gave me the chance to demonstrate that the queen had the full support of the royal regiments.'
Ousanas eyed him sidewise. 'And just how vigorous was this 'demonstration'?'
'Not vigorous at all,' Ezana said, sounding disgruntled. 'Didn't need to be. Everybody kept their mouth shut. In public, anyway.'
When Ousanas arrived at the palace-a new one, still being built-Rukaiya provided him with the other reason.
'I thought it would be best, when you returned. Eon never lived here. His ghost does not walk these halls, or hover in these rooms. We will remember him always, of course, and keep him in our hearts. But this palace belongs to us alone.'
By then, they had entered their private chambers. Night was falling.
Rukaiya turned to face him squarely. 'You are home, Ousanas. Finally and truly home. No more the hunter, no more the rover, no more the stranger. You are a husband, now-mine-and will soon be a father.'
He wasn't able to return that gaze, yet. His eyes avoided hers, roaming the room until they spotted the bookcase. Which they did quickly. It was a very large bookcase.
He moved over to examine the titles. Then, for the first time since his ship docked, was able to smile.
'How long-'
'I began assembling it the day you left. There are still a few titles missing, but not many.'
'No, not many. Although I'll want to be adding some new titles I discovered in India. I can read Sanskrit well enough, by now.'
His fingers drifted across the spines. 'This must be the finest collection of books on philosophy in the whole world.'
'That was my plan. Home should not mean abstinence. Look at me, Ousanas.'
He could, then. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Or, perhaps, it was simply that he was looking at her for the first time as his wife.
'I am good at loving,' she said. 'That, too, I learned from Eon. Do not waste that gift he gave you, husband. His ghost is not here. His gift remains.'
'I won't,' he promised.
A man and his memories
For the rest of his life, sundown was always a special time for Belisarius. Sadness, mostly, in the beginning. As the years passed, fading into a sort of warm melancholy.
Watching the sunset never really became a ritual for him, however, although he did it more often than most people. He saved ritual for an annual occasion.
Every year, on the day that Aide died, he would go alone into the night and stare up at the stars. If the night was overcast, or if it rained, he would keep coming until the skies cleared.
Antonina never accompanied him, although she would always see him to the door when he left, and be there to welcome him when he returned in the morning. She, too, grieved Aide. So, as the years passed, did millions of people the world over, as the Talisman of God became incorporated, one way or another, into the various religions. But for all of them other than Belisarius, with only the partial exception of Ousanas, it was an abstract sort of grief. They had lost a talisman, or a saint, or a symbol, or an avatar. Belisarius had lost a person.
So, she felt that night belonged to him alone, and he loved her for it.
All night, he would spend, just staring at the stars and watching them twinkle. Looking out into a universe whose heavens reminded him of the way a jewel's facets had flashed once in his mind. Looking up at the universe that jewel had guaranteed, by sacrificing his life.
Many monuments were erected to Aide, over the years, in many lands. Belisarius visited none of them, except the grove of sal trees on those occasions he returned to India. Even then, he went to spend his time at Ashot's grave. He would barely glance at the memorial devoted to Aide.
Others might need stones to remember Aide. Belisarius had the heavens.
The memories of the man
His ritual was reciprocated, although he would never know it. Aide had transformed his crystalline branch of humankind, by the same sacrifice, and they never forgot. Neither Aide nor the man who had enabled his life.
They did forget the man's name, eventually. But by they time they did, it hardly mattered. A ritual had emerged-perhaps the only thing that could really be called a ritual, for them. They were, as a rule, a more practical-minded folk than their protoplasmic kin. Certainly more so than the Great Ones.
No matter where they went, to whatever star system-in time, to whatever galaxy-the crystals would select a constellation from the skies. It was their only constellation. Often enough, simply adopted from a constellation named by the fleshy humans among whom they lived.
But if they adopted the star pattern from their neighbors, they did not adopt the name. The crystals had their own name for that one and only constellation. As if the ritual of the invariant name was a great talisman of their own, protecting them from whatever horrors might lurk in the universe.
They would call it, always, The Craftsman.
