An oblique approach

Chapter 4

“So what do we conclude?” asked Belisarius.

Cassian pursed his lips. He pointed to the thing in the general’s hand.

“Has there been-?”

Belisarius shook his head. “No. I don’t think there will be, for some time. Not much, at least.”

“Why not?”

“It’s-hard to explain.” He shrugged slightly. “Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. The-jewel, let’s call it-is very weary.”

Antonina spoke up:

“What were your own visions, Anthony? You did not speak of them yesterday.”

The bishop looked up. His pudgy face looked almost haggard.

“I do not remember them very well. My visions-and Michael’s even more so-had none of the clarity and precision of your husband’s. I sensed at the time that the-the jewel-would fit Belisarius much better. I cannot explain how I knew that, but I did.”

He straightened his back, took a deep breath.

“I saw only a vast ocean of despair, mute beneath a-a church, can you call it? — that was the essence of godlessness. A church so foul that the world’s most barbarous pagans would reject it without a thought, and find in their savage rituals a cathedral of pity compared to that monstrosity of the spirit.”

His face was pale. He wiped it with a plump hand.

“I saw myself, I think. I am not sure. I think it was me, squatting in a cell, naked.” He managed a croaking laugh. “Much thinner, I was!” A sigh. “I was awaiting the Question, with a strange eagerness. I would die beneath their instruments soon, for I would not give them the answer they demanded. I would refuse to interpret scripture as a blessing for the slaughter of the innocent. And I was satisfied, for I believed in the truth of my faith and I knew I would not yield to the agony because I had-”

He gasped, his eyes widened. “Yes! Yes-it was me! I remember now! I knew I would have the strength to resist the torment because I had the image of my friend Michael always before me. Michael, and his unyielding death, and his great curse upon Satan from the flames of the stake.”

He looked at the Macedonian and wept gentle tears. “All my life I have thanked God that Michael of Macedonia has been my friend since boyhood. And never more than on that day of final hopelessness. On my own, I am not certain I would have had the courage I needed.”

“ Ridiculous.” As ever, Michael’s voice carried the finality of stone.

The emaciated monk leaned forward in his chair, fixing the bishop with his gaze.

“Hear me now, Bishop of Aleppo. There is no pain on earth, nor torment in hell, that could ever break the soul of Anthony Cassian. Never doubt it.”

“I doubt often, Michael,” whispered Anthony. “There has never been a day in my life that I have not doubted.”

“I should hope not!” The raptor had returned, and the blue eyes of the Macedonian were as pitiless as an eagle’s. “Where else but from doubt can faith arise, wise fool?” Michael glowered. “It is the true sin of the churchman that he doubts not. He knows, he is certain, and thus he is snared in Satan’s net. And soon enough, casts the net himself, and cackles with glee when he hauls up his catch of innocence.”

The raptor vanished, replaced by the friend. “Others see in you the gentleness of your spirit, and the wisdom of your mind. Those are there, true. I have always recognized them. But beneath lies the true Cassian. There is no strength so iron hard as gentleness, Anthony. No faith so pure as that which always doubts, no wisdom so deep as that which always questions.”

The monk straightened his back. “Were this not true, I would reject God. I would spit in His face and join the legions of Lucifer, for the archangel would be right to rebel. I love God because I am His creation. I am not his creature.”

The Macedonian was rigid. Then his face softened, and for just a fleeting moment, there was as much gentleness there as was always present in the face of the bishop. “Do not fear your doubt, Anthony. It is God’s great gift to you. And that He placed that great doubt in your great mind, is his gift to us all.”

The room was silent, for a time. Then Antonina spoke again.

“Was there nothing else in your vision, Anthony? No hope of any kind?”

The bishop raised his head and looked up at her.

“Yes-no. How can I explain? It is all very murky. In my vision itself, no, there was no hope of any kind. No more than there was in Belisarius’ vision. All was at an end, save duty, and what personal grace might be found. But, there was a sense-a feeling, only-that it need not have been. I was seeing the future, I knew, and that future was crushing and inexorable. But I also sensed, somehow, that the future could have been otherwise.”

“All is clear, then,” pronounced Michael. “Clear as day.”

Belisarius cocked a quizzical eyebrow. The Macedonian snorted.

“The message is from the Lord,” pronounced the monk. The raptor resumed its perch. “None here can fail to see it, nor their duty. For our wickedness, we are doomed to damnation. But that wickedness can be fought, and overcome, and thus a new future created. It is obvious! Obvious!” The raptor’s eyes fixed on Belisarius, as the hawk’s on the hare. “Do your duty, General!”

Belisarius smiled his crooked smile. “I am quite good at doing my duty, Michael, thank you. But it is not clear to me what that duty is.” He held up his hand firmly, quelling the monk’s outburst. “Please! I am not questioning what you say. But I am neither a bishop nor a holy man. I am a soldier. Fine for you to say, overcome wickedness. At your service, prophet! But, would you mind explaining to me, somewhat more precisely, exactly how that wickedness is to be overcome?”

Michael snorted. “You wish a withered monk from the desert, whose limbs cannot even bear his own weight, to tell you how to combat Satan’s host?”

Cassian spoke. “May I suggest, Belisarius, that you begin with your own vision?”

The general’s quizzical gaze transferred itself to the bishop.

“I am not a soldier, of course, but it seemed to me that there were two aspects of the enemy’s strength which were paramount in your vision. The great numbers of his army, and his strange and mysterious weapons.”

Belisarius thought back to his vision, nodded.

“It would seem, therefore, that-”

“We must seek to lessen his numbers, increase our own, and above all, discover the secret of the weapons,” concluded Belisarius.

The bishop nodded. Belisarius scratched his chin.

“Let us begin with the last point,” he said. “The weapons. They bear some resemblance, it seems to me, to the naphtha weapons used by our navy. Vastly more powerful, of course, and different. But there is still a likeness. Perhaps that is where we should begin.”

He spread his hands in a rueful gesture. “But I am a soldier, not a sailor. I have seen the naphtha weapons, but never used them. They are much too clumsy and awkward for use in a land battle. And-” Oddly, he stopped speaking.

Antonina began to say something, but Belisarius made an urgent gesture which stilled her. His eyes were unfocused, his thoughts obviously turned inward.

“The jewel?” asked Cassian. Again, Belisarius made a stilling gesture. All fell silent, watching the general.

“Almost,” he whispered. “But I can’t quite make out what-” He hissed.

Subterranean, underground images. Impossible to discern clearly-not from the absence of light, but because the visions were so bizarre. Vision: three men in a room, below a building, watching some sort of giant, intricate machine. A sense of danger and anticipation. Vision: the same men, wearing strange eyepieces, staring through a slit; fear, suspense; a sudden blinding flash of light; exhilaration; terror; awe. Vision: other men, laboring underground on some sort of gigantic-pipe? Vision: the pipe flashing through the sky. Vision: weird buildings in an odd city suddenly destroyed, leveled as if from the blow of a giant. Vision: a different man, young, bearded, sitting in a log hut in a forest, showing indecipherable marks on a page to four other men-mathematics? Vision: the same bearded young man, wearing the same eyepieces as the men in the first vision, staring through a similar slit. Again, that incredible blinding light. Again: exhilaration; terror; awe.

The images vanished as suddenly as they came. Belisarius shook his head, took a deep breath. He described the visions, as best he could, to the others in the room.

“They make no sense,” said Antonina. Belisarius stroked his chin and said, slowly:

“I think they do. Not in themselves, no. I have no idea what was happening, in those visions. But-there was a logic, underneath. In every case, there was a sense of men working together to discover a secret, and then create machines which could implement that secret. They were- projects — deliberate, planned, coordinated efforts. Not the haphazard fiddling of artisans and craftsmen.”

He sat up straight. “Yes! That’s what we need. We need to launch such a project, to ferret out the secret of the Malwa weapons.”

“How?” asked Antonina.

Belisarius pursed his lips. “Two things, it seems to me, are paramount. We need to find a man who can lead such an effort, and we need to set up a place where he can work.”

Cassian cleared his throat. “I may have a solution. The beginnings of one, at least. Are you acquainted with John of Rhodes?”

“The former naval officer?” Belisarius shook his head. “I know of his reputation as an officer. And that he resigned under a cloud of disgrace, of some sort. Other than that, no. I have never met him.”

“He resides in Aleppo, now,” said Cassian. “As it happens, I am his confessor. He is at loose ends, at the moment, and quite unsatisfied with his situation. The problem is not material in nature. He is rather wealthy, and has no need to fret over mundane things. But he is very bored. He is a quick-thinking man, with an active spirit, and he chafes at his current idleness. I believe he might very well be willing to assist us in this project.”

“What if he is recalled to service?”

Anthony coughed. “That is, under the circumstances, quite unlikely.” Another cough. “He has-well, you understand I may not betray the confidentiality of confession, but let us simply say that he has offended too many powerful figures on too many occasions for there to be much chance of him ever regaining his position in the navy.”

“Moral turpitude?” demanded Michael.

Anthony looked down, examining the tiles of the floor with a keen attention which the plain, utilitarian objects did not seem to warrant. “Well, I suppose,” he muttered. “Again, I must remind you of the confid-”

“Yes, yes,” said Michael impatiently, waving his hand in a manner which suggested that he regarded the confidentiality of confession with as much esteem as he regarded manure.

“Let me simply say that-” Anthony hesitated, unhappy. “Well, John of Rhodes’ naval career would have progressed more smoothly, and not ground ashore on a reef, had he been a eunuch. He is a raffish character, even now, in his forties. He finds women quite irresistible and, alas, the converse is all too often true.”

“Marvelous,” growled Michael. “A libertine.” The raptor examined a particularly distasteful morsel of decayed rodent. “I despise libertines.”

Belisarius shrugged. “We must work with what we have. And with what little time we have. I cannot stay here long. I expect a conflict with Persia will be erupting again, soon, and I have much to do to prepare my army. I will have to leave for Daras within a week. So, whatever it is we are going to do, if it involves me, will need to be started immediately.”

He looked to Cassian.

“I think your suggestion is an excellent one. Approach this John of Rhodes and feel him out. We need to examine the problem of these strange weapons, and he seems as good a place as any to start.”

“What if he agrees?” asked Cassian. “What, precisely, are we asking him to do?”

Belisarius stroked his chin. “We will need to create a workshop, somewhere. An armory, of sorts. A- weapons project. And, if we have any success in uncovering the secret of these weapons, we will need to recruit and train men who can use them.”

“A question,” interrupted Antonina. “Should we tell this John about the jewel?”

The four people in the room looked at each other. Belisarius was the first to speak.

“No,” he said firmly. “At least, not until we are certain he can be trusted. But, for the moment, I think we must keep the knowledge to ourselves. If word begins to spread too quickly, there’ll be an uproar about witchcraft.”

“I think we must tell Sittas, also,” added Antonina.

“Yes,” agreed Belisarius. “Sittas must be brought fully into our confidence, as soon as possible.” He picked up the jewel. “ Fully. ”

Michael frowned, but Cassian nodded. “I agree. For many reasons. The war we are about to launch will be waged on many fronts, not all of them military. There are many enemies within the ranks of Rome, also. Some, within the Church. Some, within the nobility and the aristocracy.” He took a deep breath. “And, finally, there-”

“Is Justinian.” Belisarius voice was like iron. “I will not be false to my oath, Cassian.”

The bishop smiled. “I am not asking you to be, Belisarius. But you have to deal with some realities, also. Justinian is the Emperor. And, whether for good or ill, is enormously capable. He’s no fool to be led around by the nose, and no indolent layabout to be safely ignored. And he’s also, well, how shall I put it?”

Antonina answered. “Treacherous, suspicious, envious, jealous. A conspirator who sees conspiracy everywhere, and who is firmly convinced that all the world seeks to do him harm.”

Cassian nodded. “Ironically, we are not seeking to do him harm. Rather the contrary. We are seeking to preserve his empire, among other things. But, in order to do so, we will need to conspire behind his back.”

“Do we?” asked Belisarius.

Cassian was firm. “Yes. I know the man well, Belisarius-much better than you, actually, even though you share Thracian ancestry. I have spent many hours with him in private conversation. He attends every council of the Church, you know, and participates fully. Both in the formal discussions and then, in private, with many of the leading theologians of the Church. Though I rank only middling high in the hierarchy of the Church, I rank very high in the esteem of theologians. And Justinian, as you may know, thinks he is quite the theologian himself.”

He stroked his beard. “Actually, he is quite good at it. Justinian’s own theological inclinations are excellent, in truth. In his heart, he leans toward a compromise with heresy and a tolerant policy. But his cold, ambitious mind leans toward a close tie to severe orthodoxy, given his ambitions in the west.”

“What ambitions?” demanded Belisarius.

Anthony was surprised. “You don’t know? You, one of his favorite generals?”

There was a rare bitterness in the general’s crooked smile, now.

“Being one of Justinian’s favored generals does not make him a confidant, Anthony. Rather the reverse. He is shrewd enough to want capable generals, and then suspects the use that capability would be put to. So he tells his generals nothing until the last moment.”

Belisarius waved his hand. “But we are getting side-tracked. Later, I would be interested in hearing more from you regarding Justinian’s western ambitions. But not now. And you are mistaking my question. I was not asking if we needed to keep our conspiracy secret from Justinian. Obviously, if we conspire, we must do so. The question is: do we need to conspire at all? Can we not simply bring him into our confidence? For all Justinian’s obvious faults, he is one of the most capable men who ever sat upon the imperial throne.”

Antonina drew in a sharp breath. Cassian glanced at her and shook his head.

“No. Absolutely not. Justinian must know nothing. At least, not until it is too late for him to do more than simply acquiesce in what we have done.” He made a rueful grimace. “And, then, we will have to hope he doesn’t remove our heads.”

Belisarius seemed still unconvinced. Cassian pressed on.

“Belisarius, have no delusions. Suppose we told Justinian. Suppose, further, that he accepted all that we told him. Suppose, even-and here I tread on fantastical ground-he did not suspect our motives. What then? ”

Belisarius hesitated. Antonina answered.

“He would insist on placing himself at the head of our struggle. With all of his competence. And with all of his pigheaded stubbornness, his petty vanities, his constant intrigues, his overweening pride, his endless petty meddling and fussing, his distrust of anyone else’s competence as well as loyalty, his-”

“Enough!” cried Belisarius, chuckling. “I am convinced.” He laced his fingers together and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor. Again, the simple tiles received an unaccustomed scrutiny.

Cassian’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Are you familiar, Belisarius, with India? Or you, Antonina?”

Antonina shook her head. Belisarius, still gazing absently at the floor, shrugged and said:

“I know a bit about that distant land, from hearsay, but I have never even met-”

He stopped in midsentence, gasping. His head snapped erect.

“What am I saying? I know an enormous amount about India. From my vision! I spent thirty years in an unending struggle against India. Against the Malwa tyranny, I should say. And I always had the shrewd advice of Raghunath Rao to fall back on.” His face grew pale. “God in Heaven. Anthony, you are right. We must conspire, and bury the conspiracy deep. I only hope it is not too late already.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Antonina.

Belisarius looked at her. “One thing I remember now, from my vision, is that the Malwa Empire has the most extensive and developed espionage service in the world. An enormous apparatus, and highly skilled.” His eyes lost their focus for a moment. “It was one of the deadly blows they inflicted on us, I remember. By the time we finally awoke to the full scope of the danger, the Roman Empire was riddled with Indian spies and intriguers.”

He focused on Cassian. “Do you think-”

The bishop waved his hand. “I do not think we need concern ourselves, Belisarius. I am quite certain Michael was not seen coming here. And I am a frequent guest, so my presence will not be noteworthy. We will have to be careful when Michael leaves, of course, but that is not difficult.”

The bishop stroked his beard vigorously. “In the future, however, the problem will quickly become severe. But let us come back to that problem. For the moment-I can provide us with a place to establish our initial base. Where we can create an arms foundry-a ’weapons project,’ as you called it. And, if we can uncover the secret of the Malwa weapons, begin to forge an army to wield them. Recently, as it happens, a wealthy widow bequeathed her entire inheritance to the Church, with the specific stipulation that I was to have control of its disposition. She died three months ago. Among her many possessions was a large estate not far from Daras. Near the Persian border.

“The villa at the estate is quite large, with more than enough buildings to serve our purpose. And the peasants who till the land are borderers. Syrians and Monophysites, down to the newborn babes.”

Belisarius nodded. “I know the breed well, Anthony. Yes, that would be splendid. If we can gain their trust and confidence, they will be impossible to infiltrate.” He frowned pensively. “And might very well make-let me think on that.”

“All right,” said Antonina. “But what will we tell these peasants? And John of Rhodes? And we will need to engage the services of a number of artisans. And then, if we meet with any success, we will need to recruit men who can learn to use the new weapons. If we do not tell these people about the jewel, how will we explain to them the source of the knowledge we give them?”

“I think the solution to the problem is obvious,” said Cassian. The bishop shrugged. “We simply tell them nothing. Everyone knows Belisarius-and Sittas-are among Justinian’s favorite generals. And you, Antonina, are known to be a close friend of the Empress. If we simply act mysterious, but emphasize the imperative necessity of maintaining complete secrecy, then John of Rhodes and all the others will assume they are involved in a project which has the highest imperial authority.” He smiled. “And my own frequent presence will assure them that the work has the blessing of the Church, as well.”

Michael spoke up. “I will also speak to the peasants. I have some small authority among them.”

Cassian laughed gaily. “ Small authority? That’s a bit like Moses saying he had some tentative suggestions to make.”

Michael glared at him, but the bishop was not abashed. “That will do wonders, actually. In truth, Michael’s word will carry greater weight with Syrian common folk than anyone else’s. If he gives the work his blessing, and bids them maintain silence, be assured they will do so.”

“That still does not solve the problem of keeping our work secret from the world at large,” said Antonina. “Even if all who are engaged in the work at the estate keep silent, it will be noticed by others that there is a constant traffic of outsiders coming to and fro. We cannot do this work in isolation, Cassian. Not for long.”

Cassian glanced at Belisarius. The general’s thoughts seemed far away. The bishop spoke:

“No, but it will help. As for the rest-”

“It is the simplest thing in the world,” said Belisarius. His voice seemed cold, cold.

The general rose to his feet and walked about, accompanying his words with stiff little gestures.

“It will work as follows. Michael will quietly rally the common folk to our side. Cassian, you will serve as our intriguer within the church. Sittas, once he is brought into our conspiracy, will serve as our intriguer within the imperial court and the nobility. Unlike me, he is of the most impeccable aristocratic lineage. I will, as I must in any event, maintain my military responsibilities.”

He stopped, gazed down at Antonina.

“And Antonina will be the center of it all. She will set up residence at this villa near Daras and stay there. She will no longer accompany me with the army. She will assemble and oversee the weapons work. She will, when the time comes, take charge of training a new army.”

He waved down her developing protest. “I will help, I will help. But you are more than capable of all this, Antonina. You are at least as intelligent as any man I ever met. And these weapons are new to all of us. The methods of using them, as well. I will help, but I will not be surprised if your untrained intelligence does a better job of devising new forces and methods than my well-trained experience does. You will not have your eyes blinkered by old habits.”

He took a deep breath. “Finally, you are the perfect conduit through which all of our disparate efforts may be kept aligned and coordinated. Through you, we can all communicate, with no one suspecting our true purpose.”

Antonina’s intelligence was every bit as high as her husband proclaimed it to be. Her back grew rigid as a board, her face as stiff as a sheet of iron.

“Because everyone’s suspicion will have another target,” she said bitterly.

“Yes.” The general’s voice was calm; calm but utterly unyielding.

The bishop’s eyes widened slightly. He looked from husband to wife, and back again. Then looked away, stroking his beard.

“Yes, that would work,” he murmured. “Work perfectly, in fact. But-” He gazed up at the general. “Do you understand-”

“ Leave us, Anthony,” said Belisarius. Calmly, but unyieldingly. “If you please. And you also, Michael.”

Michael and Cassian arose and made their way to the door. There, the bishop turned back.

“If you are still determined on this course, Belisarius, after discussing it with Antonina, there is a perfect way to implement it quickly.”

Antonina stared straight ahead. Her dusky face was almost pale. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Belisarius tore his gaze away and looked at the bishop.

“Yes?”

“A man approached me, recently, seeking my help in gaining employment. Newly arrived in Aleppo, from Caesaria. I know his reputation. He is a well-trained secretary, very capable by all accounts, and quite an accomplished writer. A historian. Such, at least, is his ambition. You have no secretary, and have reached the point in your career where you need one.”

“His name?”

“Procopius. Procopius of Caesaria. In addition to serving as your secretary, I am quite certain he will broadcast your talents to the world at large and be of assistance to your career.”

“He is a flatterer, then?”

“An utterly shameless one. But quite talented at it, so his flattering remarks are generally believed, by the world at large if not by his employer.”

“And?”

The bishop looked unhappy. “Well-”

“Speak plainly, Anthony!”

Cassian’s lips pursed. “He is one of the vilest creatures I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. A flatterer, yes, but also a spiteful and envious man, who complements his public flattery with the most vicious private rumor-mongering. A snake, pure and simple.”

“He will do marvelously. Send him to me. I will hire him at once. And then I will give him all he needs, both for public flattery and private gossip.”

After Cassian and Michael left, Belisarius sat by his wife and took her hand.

His voice was still calm, and still unyielding, but very gentle.

“I am sorry, love. But it is the only course I can see which will be safe. I know how much pain it will cause, to have people say such things about you, but-”

Antonina’s laugh was as harsh as a crow’s.

“Me? Do you think I care what people say about me?”

She turned her head and looked him in the eyes.

“I am a whore, Belisarius.” Her husband said nothing, nor was there anything but love in his eyes.

She looked away. “Oh, you’ve never used the word. But I will. It’s what I was. Everyone knows it. Do you think a whore gives a fig for what people say about her?” Another harsh laugh. “Do you understand why the Empress Theodora trusts me? Trusts me, Belisarius. As she trusts no one else. It is because we were both whores, and the only people whores really trust- really trust-are other whores.”

For a moment, tears began to come back into her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily.

“I love you like I have never loved anyone else in my life. Certainly more than I love Theodora! I don’t even like Theodora, in many ways. But I would not trust you with the knowledge of my bastard son. Yet I trusted Theodora. She knew. And I trusted another whore, Hypatia, to raise the boy.” Her voice was like ice. “Do not concern yourself, veteran, about what I feel when people talk about me. You cannot begin to imagine my indifference.”

“Then-”

“But I do care what people say about you!”

“ Me? ” Belisarius laughed. “What will they say about me that they don’t already?”

“ Idiot,” she hissed. “ Now they say you married a whore. So they mock your judgment, and your good taste. But they see the whore does not stray from your side, so they-secretly-admire your manhood.” Incongruously, she giggled, then mimicked a whispering voice: “ ’He must be hung like a horse, to keep that slut satisfied.’ ” The humor vanished. “But now they will call you a cuckold. They will mock you, as well as your judgment. You will become a figure of ridicule. Ridicule, do you hear me?”

Belisarius laughed again. Gaily, to her astonishment.

“I know,” he said. “I’m counting on it.” He arose and stretched his arms. “Oh, yes, love, I’m counting on it.” He mimicked the whispering voice himself: “ ’What kind of a man would let his wife flaunt her lovers in front of him? Only the most pathetic, feeble, weak, cowardly creature.’ ” His voice grew hard as steel. “And then word will get to the enemy, and the enemy will ask himself: and what kind of a general could such a man be? ”

She looked up at him, startled.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted.

“I know. But this is all beside the point. You are lying, Antonina. You don’t really care what people say about me, any more than I care what people say about you.”

She looked away, her lips tight. For a moment, she was silent. Then, finally, the tears began to flow.

“No,” she whispered, “I don’t.”

“You are afraid I will believe the tales.”

She nodded. The tears began pouring. Her shoulders shook. Belisarius sat by her side and enfolded the small woman in his arms.

“I will never believe them, Antonina.”

“Yes, you will,” she gasped, between sobs. “Yes, you will. Not at once, not soon. Not for years, maybe. But eventually, you will. Or, at least, you will wonder, and suspect, and doubt, and distrust me.”

“I will not. Never.”

She looked up at him through teary eyes. “How can you be sure?”

He smiled his crooked smile. “You do not really understand me, wife. Not in some ways, at least.” His eyes grew distant. “I think perhaps the only person who ever understood me, in this way, was Raghunath Rao. Whom I’ve never met, except in a vision. But I understand him, kneeling in the woods below Venandakatra’s palace, praying with all his heart that the princess he loved would allow herself to be raped by the Vile One. More than allow it-would smile at her defiler and praise his prowess. I, too, would have done the same.”

Belisarius took his wife’s head in his hands and turned her face toward him.

“Raghunath Rao was the greatest warrior the Maratha produced in centuries. And the Maratha are the great warrior people of India, along with the Rajput. Yet this great warrior, kneeling there, cared nothing for those things warriors care for. Pride, honor, respect-much less virginity and chastity-meant nothing to him. And that is why he was so great a warrior. Because he was not a warrior, at bottom, but a dancer.”

Antonina couldn’t help laughing. “You’re the worst dancer I ever saw!”

Belisarius laughed with her. “True, true.” Then, he became serious. “But I am a craftsman. I never wanted to be a soldier, you know. As a boy, I spent all my time at the smithy, admiring the blacksmith. I wanted to be one, when I grew up, more than anything.” He shrugged. “But, it was not to be. Not for a boy of my class. So a soldier I became, and then, a general. But I have never lost the craftsman’s way of approaching his work.”

He smiled. “Do you know why my soldiers adore me? Why Maurice will do anything for me-such as this little trip to Antioch?”

Now on treacherous ground, Antonina kept silent.

“Because they know that they will never find themselves dying in agony, on a field of battle somewhere, because their general sent them there out of pride, or honor, or valor, or vainglory, or for any other reason than it was the best place for them to be in order to do the work properly.” The smile grew crooked. “And that’s why Maurice will see to it that a certain pimp named Constans gets his deserts.”

Antonina was still. Very treacherous ground.

Belisarius started laughing. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see past your scheme, once I had time to think about it?” He released her and stretched his arms languorously. “After I woke up, feeling better than I’ve felt in months, and could think without my thoughts clouded with fury?”

She glanced at him sideways. Then, after a moment, began laughing herself. “I thought I’d pulled it off perfectly. The little tremors, hesitations, the slight tinge of fear in the voice-”

“The enticing roll of the rump was particularly good,” said Belisarius. “But it’s what gave it all away, in the end. When we play our little game you always try to win, even if you enjoy losing. You certainly don’t wave your delicious ass under my nose, like waving a red flag before a bull.”

“And with much the same result,” she murmured. A moment later: “You’re not angry?”

“No,” he replied, smiling. “I began to be, at first, until I remembered Valentinian’s little whisper to Maurice: ’You know he won’t tell you himself.’ ”

“Maurice took Valentinian?”

“ And Anastasius.”

Antonina clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Oh, God! I almost feel sorry for that stinking pimp.”

“I don’t,” snarled Belisarius. “Not in the slightest.” He took a deep breath, blew it out.

“I pretended I didn’t hear Valentinian, but-it is hard, for a quirky man like me, with my weird pride, to accept that people love him. And that he forces them to manipulate him, at times.” He gave his crooked smile. “Would you believe, Anastasius actually said-” Here Belisarius’ voice became a rumbling basso: “ ’violent characters, your pimps.’ ”

“Anastasius can bend horseshoes with his hands,” choked Antonina.

“And then Valentinian whined: ’stab you in the back in a minute.’ ”

Antonina couldn’t speak at all, now, from the laughter.

“Oh, yes. Exactly his words. Valentinian-who is widely suspected to wipe his ass with a dagger, since nobody’s ever seen him without one.”

For a time, husband and wife were silent, simply staring at each other. Then, Antonina whispered:

“There will never be any truth to the tales, Belisarius. I swear before God. Never. A month from now, a year from now, ten years from now. You will always be able to ask, and the answer will always be: no.”

He smiled and kissed her gently.

“I know. And I swear this, before God: I will never ask.”

He rose to his feet.

“And now, we must get back to work.” He strode to the door and called into the hallway beyond: “Dubazes! Fetch Michael and the bishop, if you would!”

David Drake Eric Flint

An oblique approach