Eric Flint - An Oblique Approach

As it turned out, Garmat was quite familiar with both Michael and Anthony—by reputation, if not by personal acquaintance. Belisarius suspended his tale for a moment, upon that discovery, allowing Garmat to inform the other Ethiopians of the nature of those persons. Eon and the sarwen seemed suitably impressed.

Thereafter, Belisarius spoke without interruption until his tale reached the present moment. He withheld nothing, save the subtleties of his standing with the Emperor. He saw no need to involve his companions in that delicate matter. It was enough to speak of his meeting with the Empress Theodora (that part of the meeting, at least, which dealt with India), and to remind them of the Emperor's official blessing for his mission. He suspected that Garmat understood quite a bit more of the maneuverings of the Byzantine court, but the adviser said nothing.

No one did, after Belisarius finished. The crowded cabin was utterly still.

Oddly enough, it was Menander who finally broke the silence. The young cataphract was very weak, but quite alert. The fever and delirium which all the veterans knew would soon be produced by his abdominal wound had not yet made their appearance.

"May I see it?" whispered Menander. There was nothing in his voice of the young warrior, just the awe of a village lad.

"You may all see it," replied Belisarius. The general reached into his tunic and withdrew the pouch. He spilled the jewel into his palm and held it out. All save Menander leaned forward to see. A moment later, the young Thracian's shoulders were gently held up by Ezana, so that he too might observe the miraculous sight.

Miraculous, indeed. Weary, aimmight have been. But it understood the importance of the moment and drew the facets to itself.

The jewel did not blaze, here, as it had once in Belisarius' villa in Antioch. There was no energy for such a solar display. But there were none in the cabin, gazing upon that shifting and flashing wonder, those cool, translucent combinations of every hue known to man and many never seen before, who doubted for one moment that they were witness to a miracle.

Eventually, Garmat spoke.

"It is not enough," he whispered. Belisarius cocked his eyebrow.

The adviser shook his head. Not in an unfriendly manner, no, but in a manner which bespoke no deference either.

"I am sorry, Belisarius. I do not distrust you, or what you say, and the jewel is certainly as awesome as you described, but—"

Garmat made a gesture which encompassed the ship and everything in the world beyond it.

"What you say involves not us alone, but those to whom we are responsible."

"You want to touch the jewel yourself," said Belisarius gently.

Garmat shook his head, smiling.

"Certainly not! At my age, terrible visions are the last thing I need. I've seen enough of those already."

Belisarius shifted his gaze—and, subtly, his hand—to the Prince. "Eon, then."

The prince stared at the jewel, his brow furrowed with thought. Thought only, however, not fear—so much was obvious to all who watched. Belisarius was not the only one present, then, who saw the adult majesty of the future in that dark young face.

"No," said Eon, finally. "I do not trust myself yet." He turned to Ousanas. "Take it."

"Why me?"

"You are my dawazz. I trust you more than any man living. Take it."

Ousanas stared at his charge. Then, without moving his eyes, extended his hand to Belisarius. The general placed the jewel on his palm.

A moment later, the dawazz closed his hand; and left the world, for a time.

When he returned, and opened his eyes, he seemed completely unchanged. The others present were a bit surprised. Belisarius was astonished.

When the dawazz spoke, however, the general thought he detected a slight tremor in his rich baritone.

His first words were to his Prince.

"Always dawazz wonders. And fears."

He took a deep breath, and briefly looked away. "No longer. You were great prince. King, at the end."

The dawazz fumbled for words.

"Oh, stop speaking pidgin!" snapped Eon.

Ousanas cast him an exasperated look.

"It was your silly idea in the first place." The dawazz glanced at Garmat, unkindly. "And you backed him up."

Garmat shrugged. Ousanas grinned at the Romans. (That much, at least, had not changed. Not the grin.)

"You must forgive my companions," said the dawazz. His Greek was now perfect, mellifluous, and completely unaccented. Belisarius managed not to gape. His cataphracts failed.

"The boy has the excuse, at least, of tender years. His adviser, only the excuse of doddering old age. And, of course, the fact that he is half-Arab. A folk who would rather scheme than eat."

Again, the unkind glance. But the glance fell away, softening. "Always an Arab, and a full one, at the end. After Kaleb died, Garmat, you returned to Arabia. You died well there, in the Nejed, leading your beloved bedouin against the Malwa."

He shrugged. "You lost, of course. Not even the bedouin in their desert could withstand the Indian juggernaut. Not after the Malwa brought the Lakhmites under their rule, and broke the Beni Ghassan, and dispersed the Quraysh from Mecca."

"You saw the future, then," stated Garmat.

"Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. And it was just as terrible as foretold." Ousanas' eyes grew vacant. "I saw the future until the moment of my own death. I died somewhat ignominiously, I regret to say, from disease brought on by a wound. No glorious wound won in single combat with a champion, alas. Just one of those random missiles which are such a curse to bards and storytellers."

He glanced at Menander and veered away from the subject of wound-produced diseases. Instead, he smiled at the prince.

"Your end, I do not know, Eon. I died in your arms, in the course of the trek which the surviving Ethiopians undertook under your leadership. South, to my homeland between the lakes, where you hoped to found a new realm which might still resist the Malwa. Although you had no great hope in success."

He fell silent.

"You speak perfect Greek," complained Valentinian.

Ousanas grimaced. "I suspect, my dear Valentinian, that I speak it considerably better than you do. With all respect, I am the best linguist that I know. It comes from being raised in the heart of Africa, I suspect, among savages. In the land between the great lakes, there are at least eighteen languages spoken. I knew seven of them by the time I was twelve, and learned most of the rest soon thereafter."

The grin lit up the cabin. "At the age, that is, when the urge to seduction comes to vigorous lads. My own tribe, sad to say, was much opposed to fornication outside proper channels. Other tribes enjoyed more rational customs, but alas, spoke other tongues. So I became adept at learning languages, a habit I have found it useful to maintain."

He pointed at the prince, his finger like a spear.

"This budding conspirator, this still-sprouting-intriguer, this not-yet-genius-spymaster, thought it would be most clever if, in our travels through the Roman Empire, I pretended to be a pidgin-babbling ignoramus from the bush. Unsuspecting Romans, he thought, might unthinkingly utter deep secrets in the presence of a thick-tongued slave."

The finger transferred its aim to Garmat.

"This one, this grey-bearded-not-yet-wise-man, this decrepit-old-broken-down-so-called-adviser, thought the plan might have some merit. So, there I was, trapped between the Scylla of naïveté and the Charybdis of senility."

He raised his eyes to the heavens.

"Pity me, Romans. There I was, for months, as cultured a heathen as ever departed the savanna, forced to channel my fluid thoughts through the medium of pidgin and trade argot. Ah, woe! Woe, I say! Woe!"

"You seem to have survived the experience," chuckled Valentinian.