Destiny's shield

optimism, Kungas. True, the Malwa press them close. But that is just as likely-more likely, in my opinion-to make them hesitate before offering the Malwa any provocation. Kerala also shares the mainland with Malwa, and we all know how that fact led Shakuntala's own grandfather to betray-'

'I agree with Kungas,' interrupted Shakuntala forcefully. 'We should wait. Not accept this first offer. We should wait. Longer.'

Holkar blew out his cheeks. He knew that tone in Shakuntala's voice. Knew it to perfection.

No point in further argument, not now. So, he desisted; even did so graciously. Although he could not help casting an angry glare at Kungas.

No point in that either, of course. As well glare at an iron mask.

'What are you playing at?' Holkar demanded, after he and Kungas left the Empress' chamber. 'You know how critical this question is! You and I have spoken on the matter before-many times.'

Kungas stopped abruptly. Dadaji did likewise. The two men stood in the corridor for a moment, staring at each other. The peshwa, angry. The Bhatasvapati-amused, perhaps.

'Not quite, Dadaji,' came the mild response. 'You have spoken to me on this matter, that is true. Many times. But all I ever said was that I agreed that Shakuntala's marriage-whenever and however it comes-will be a decisive moment for our struggle.'

Holkar frowned. 'Yes. And so?'

Kungas twitched his shoulders. It might have been called a shrug.

'So-that does not mean I agree that she should marry the youngest son of the King of Tamraparni. I think she can do better.'

Holkar, scowling: 'With whom? Chola? If, of course, the Cholas even-'

'Who is to say, who is to say?' interrupted Kungas. Again, that little vestige of a shrug. The Bhatasvapati took his friend by the arm. 'You should have more confidence in the Empress, Dadaji. When the time comes, she will know what to do. I am sure of it.'

Silence followed, as the two men resumed their progress down the corridor. On the part of Kungas, it was an inscrutable sort of silence. On the part of Holkar, an irritable one.

Had the peshwa known the thoughts of the Bhatasvapati, at that moment, he would have been considerably more than irritated.

Dig in your heels, girl, dig in your heels. Stall. Make excuses. Dither. I will help, I will help. When the question of marriage is finally posed, you will know what to do. Then, you will know.

The Bhatasvapati shook his head, slightly, thinking of the strange blindness in the people around him.

So obvious!

A general and his officer

Within a minute of his arrival in Agathius' room, Belisarius knew that the crippled officer was preoccupied with something. The cataphract was plucking at the sheets of his bed, as if distracted. The motion seemed to make his wife nervous. Or perhaps it was just that the young girl was fussing over her injured husband, the way she kept fluffing his pillows and stroking his hair.

Belisarius decided that he should come to the point. He began pulling a scroll from his tunic.

At that moment, however, Agathius turned to his wife and said, 'Would you leave us for a moment, Sudaba? I have something I must discuss privately with the general.'

Sudaba nodded. Then, after a last fluff of the pillows and a quick smile at Belisarius, scurried from the room. Belisarius was struck by the way Agathius watched her as she went. Odd, really. He seemed like a man trying to burn an image into his memory.

Once the Persian girl was gone, Agathius took a deep breath and looked to the general.

'I need your advice,' he said abruptly. 'I will have to divorce Sudaba, now, and I want to make sure-if it can be done-that the divorce does not cause problems for you. With your alliance with the Persians, I mean.'

He spoke the sentences quickly, but clearly, in the way a determined man announces a decision which he does not like but must carry out.

Belisarius' jaw dropped. It was the last thing he had been expecting to hear.

'Divorce Sudaba?' His eyes wandered about, for an instant, as if searching for rhyme and reason hidden away in a corner of the room.

'But-why?'

Agathius' face grew pinched. With a sudden, quick flip of his muscular wrist, the cataphract twitched aside the blankets covering his body. From the hips and above, that body was still as broad-shouldered and thick-chested as ever. A bit wasted, perhaps, from his long weeks of bed-ridden recovery, but not much.

His legs, however-even that part of his legs which still remained-were pitiful remnants of the powerful limbs which had once gripped a warhorse in the fury of a battlefield.

'Look at me,' he said. Not with anger so much as resignation.

Belisarius frowned. Scratched his chin. 'It does not seem to me that Sudaba cares, Agathius. Judging from what I can see, I think she is not put off-'

'Not that,' growled Agathius. The man's usual good humor made a brief re-entry. 'Far as that goes, I think she's happier than ever,' he chuckled. 'I'm here all the time now, where she can get her hands on me. And there's nothing wrong with my-'

He broke off, sighing. 'The problem's not with her, general. Or with me, for that matter. It's-it's-' He waved a hand, weakly. 'It's the way things are, that's all. She's a Persian noblewoman. I'm a fucking baker's son with a battlefield rank in the military nobility.'

Agathius glanced around the luxurious chamber, for a moment, as if assessing its value.

'I've still got plenty of booty left, from Anatha-a damn little fortune, by my old standards. But it's really not going to last more than a year or two. Not the way I have to live, if I'm to meet her expectations-and, even more, the expectations of her family.

'I've got to face facts, general. I'm a legless cataphract-which is the most ridiculous thing in the world-whose only other skill is baking bread. There's no way I can-'

He gaped, then, seeing his general burst into riotous laughter.

Gaped. That was the last reaction he had been expecting.

With a fierce struggle, Belisarius forced his laughter down. 'Oh, God, I am sorry,' he said weakly, wiping his eyes. 'I feel so guilty, now. I wanted the pleasure of telling you myself. I had to come to Peroz-Shapur anyway, to refit the army, and so I thought I'd bring the news personally instead of just sending it by courier.'

Agathius' face was a study in confusion. 'News? What news?'

Belisarius was grinning now. And there was not a trace of crookedness in that expression, not a trace.

He hauled out the scroll. 'As soon as it was clear that we'd driven the Malwa back to Charax, I sent-well, 'recommendations' is hardly the word. Emperor or no, he's still my kid. I gave Photius firm and clear instructions, and, I'm pleased to say, the marvelous boy followed them to perfection.'

He handed over the scroll. 'Here you are. The official document will arrive by courier, some weeks from now. This is a copy sent over the semaphore line. Doesn't matter. It's as good as gold.'

Gingerly, Agathius took the scroll. In an instant, Belisarius' quick mind understood the expression on the man's face.

'You can't read,' he stated.

Agathius shook his head. 'No, sir. Not really. I can sign my name well enough, as long as I've got some time. But-'

He fell silent. Not from embarassment so much as frustration.

The embarassment, in that moment, was entirely Belisarius'. The general should have remembered that a man of Agathius' background was almost certain to be illiterate.

The general waved his hand, as if brushing aside insects.

'Well, that'll have to change. Right off. I'll send word to Patriarch Anthony to send one of his best monks to be your tutor. Two of them, now that I think about it. Sudaba's probably not literate, either. Not a dehgan's