The Dance of Time

His gaze grew unfocussed, as he pulled on his beard. "All along, I think... If you consider everything, from the beginning. He never planned to defeat the Malwa Empire by outright conquest. Never once. Instead, he pried it apart. Worked at all the weaknesses until it erupted. Forged alliances with Axum and Persia—the latter, an ancient Roman enemy—not so much to hammer us but so that he could support and supply a Maratha rebellion. Which he fostered himself. And then..."

"We did beat him at the Pass," pointed out Damodara.

Sanga left off the beard-pulling, and grimaced.

Damodara chuckled, quite humorlessly. "Yes, I know. A tactical victory only. You could even argue it was a strategic defeat. Still, as an army we were never defeated by him. Not even badly battered, really."

"Well, of course not," said Narses, in the same toneless voice. "He planned that, too. All through that campaign—if you recall it again, from this angle—he was careful to keep our casualties to a minimum. His army's, as well, of course. We thought at the time that was simply because he needed it intact to take Charax. But, as usual, there was a second string to the bow. He wanted your army intact also. So that, some day, you could do what you're doing now."

His old eyes were pure slits, now, glaring at the message. "That bastard! I should have had him assassinated when I could."

Sanga's lips twisted. "And when was that, exactly?"

"I could have done it when he was still six years old," replied Narses gloomily. "Of course, he was nobody then, so it never occured to me. Just another scion of minor Thracian nobility, with pig shit on his bare feet."

"Enough!" snapped Damodara. "I, for one, am glad he's here." He held the message up, inclining it toward Sanga. "What's the answer? Can we get someone to Ajmer in time to meet him? Someone the Rajputs there will listen to—but it can't be you, Sanga. We've got our own forced march to make, with a great siege at the end."

The Rajput king went back to beard-pulling. "A fortnight... That's the problem. I'll send Jaimal and Udai, with fifty men. Neither of them are kings, but they're both well-known and much respected. Also known to be among my closest lieutenants. The Rajputs will listen to them."

A smile came, distorted by a sharp yank on the beard. "Ha! After these years, Belisarius is something of a legend among the Rajputs also—and we are a people who adore our legends. The truth, Emperor? If Jaimal and Udai are there to vouch for him, most Rajput warriors will flock to his banner. Especially the young ones."

"No problem with the oath?"

"No, not really. The old men will quibble and complain and quarrel, of course. But who cares? It won't be old men that Belisarius leads toward the headwaters of the Ganges, to meet a monster on the field of battle. Young men, they'll be. With no love for Skandagupta, an interpretation of the oath that's good enough—since it was good enough for me—and a commander out of legend."

He lowered his hand. "Yes, it'll work. If Jaimal and Udai can reach Ajmer in time."

He looked around. "I need to summon them. Also need a map. One moment."

He went to the door, opened it, and barked the orders.

Damodara leaned over the radio operator's shoulder. "How much longer can we transmit?"

"Hard to say, Your Majesty. The best time, at this distance, is around sunrise and sunset. But, especially once the sun is down, the window—that's what we call it—can stay open for hours. All night, sometimes."

"We'll just have to hope for the best. If necessary, we can send the final message in the morning. For now, send the following. Exactly as I give it you, understand? Great Lady Sati will be receiving it also, and she mustn't be able to understand what it means."

* * *

The operator's nod was nervous, but not the terrified gesture it had been hours earlier. As time had passed, the man had come to conclude that while the new self-proclaimed emperor was a scary man—the tall Rajput and the evil-looking old eunuch, even worse—he was not as scary as Nanda Lal had been.

Not even close. The truth was that the radio operator had no more love for the old dynasty than anybody. Certainly not for their stinking priests and torturers.

* * *

The buzzing was brief.

"Here's all there is, General," Calopodius said apologetically. "I thought there'd be more. And what there is doesn't make much sense."

Belisarius looked at the message.

AGREE IN PRINCIPLE STOP RETURN OF PEDDLER EMERALD MAY BE DELAYED STOP

He needed a moment himself, to decipher it. "Very clever. Sanga must have found that peddler, after all."

"What peddler?" demanded Justinian. "And what kind of peddler has an emerald to begin with?"

"A very happy peddler—although I imagine his joy vanished once Sanga caught him."