Eric Flint - An Oblique Approach

The cataphract turned his head and spoke over his shoulder:

"Anastasius! Get the women."

Valentinian turned back.

"Move away from the bed," he commanded. "All of you. Now ."

It did not seem strange to the slave, at the time, that all those present instantly obeyed their subordinate. Later, after he thought it over, it still did not seem strange. The most evil-looking man in the world, perhaps. Certainly at that moment.

Very soon thereafter, Anastasius entered the room, followed by the young cataphract and the half dozen young women. When the new arrivals saw the girl on the bed, they reacted differently. Anastasius' face—which looked like a slab of granite at the best of times—grew even harder. The women gasped, cast quick frightened glances at the men in the room, and drew back. Menander gaped, confused, and began moving forward. He was instantly restrained by Anastasius' huge hand.

"Don't," rumbled the giant cataphract.

"What's wrong with her?" whispered Menander. It was not the bruises which confused him, the slave knew. It was the near-insane expression on her face.

Anastasius and Valentinian exchanged glances.

"I've forgotten what it's like to be that innocent," muttered Valentinian.

Anastasius took a breath. "You've never been in a town that's been sacked, have you?"

Menander shook his head.

"Well, if and when you do, you'll see plenty of this. And worse."

The young cataphract, already pale from his illness, grew slightly paler as comprehension dawned. Anastasius motioned to the women, shooing them forward.

"Help the girl," he said, in his thick, broken Kushan. "Comfort her."

A moment later, Belisarius was issuing instructions to the girls in fluent, unaccented Kushan and Marathi. The girls hastened to do as he bade them. They were still casting reproachful glances at the soldiers in the room, but it was obvious to the slave that the reproach was generic, not specific.

Very odd soldiers, indeed.

But, he knew, not unique. He had not recognized the phenomenon at first, for he was unaccustomed to the informal Roman ways. But he had encountered such soldiers before, on occasion. Not often. Only Maratha and Rajput kshatriya possessed that code of honor. Men who would not stoop to murder, rape, and mindless mayhem, for they were the deadliest killers in creation. Such gross and common criminality was beneath their dignity.

The Malwa kshatriya had little of that code; the Ye-tai beasts derided them for what little they still possessed. And the common soldiers who made up the great mass of the Malwa army had none of it at all. Jackals, once discipline was loosened.

The slave shuddered, remembering the sack of his own town.

He would never see his beloved family again, but he knew their fate. His wife would be a drudge somewhere, slaving in the kitchen of a Malwa lord or merchant. His son would be a laborer, in the fields or in the mines. And his two daughters—

He glanced at the three Maratha women who were now on the bed, surrounding the half-crazed girl with female touches, female sounds and female scents. Three young slave girls, owned by a whoremaster.

He looked away, holding back a sob. Then forced himself to look back at the girl on the bed. There was a horrible comfort to be found in the sight. That much, at least, his wife and daughters had been spared. Spared, because by good fortune their own house had been seized by Rajputs during the sack, not Ye-tai or common soldiers. A Rajput cavalry troop, commanded by a young Rajput lord. A cold man, that lord; arrogant and haughty as only a Rajput kshatriya could be. The Rajputs had stripped their home of everything of value, down to the linen. Had then eaten all the food, and drank all the wine. But when the inevitable time came, and the cavalrymen began eyeing their captured women, the Rajput officer had simply said: "No."

Coldly, arrogantly, haughtily. His men had obeyed. Had not even grumbled. They were not kshatriya themselves, simply commoners. But they possessed their own humble share of Rajput discipline, and Rajput pride, and Rajputana's ancient glory.

He was brought back to the present by his master's voice. Belisarius, he realized, was ordering all of the men out of the room.

Once in the corridor, Belisarius began digging into his purse. Garmat interrupted.

"I will pay for it, Belisarius. We both know your funds are meager."

The Ethiopian gave instructions to one of the sarwen. The black soldier disappeared, searching for the hostel proprietor. Shortly thereafter, he reappeared, with the proprietor in tow. The man was smiling, as well he might be. Yet another room for his guests! By all means!

Within an hour, the injured girl had been moved into the new room. It was a small room adjoining Eon's suite, but separated from the suite by a door. Belisarius instructed the women to make sure that one of them was with her at all times. And, under no conditions, to allow any men into the room unless he said otherwise.

The girls glanced hesitantly at the soldiers. Their thoughts were obvious: And just how, exactly, does the idiot general expect us to prevent men like this from going anywhere they choose?

Belisarius shook his head. "They will not try to enter, I assure you."

That matter taken care of, for the moment, Belisarius led all of the men into his own room. The slave followed. Uncertainly, hesitantly, and with great reluctance.

Once everyone had taken a seat—those who could, that is, the room was small—Belisarius sighed and stated:

"This is going to play hell with our plans."

As one, just as the slave had feared, every man there looked at him. Their thoughts were also obvious:

Dead men tell no tales.

Belisarius smiled crookedly. "No," he said. "I'm keeping him with me, all the way back to Rome. The problem is with the girls. The Malwa will certainly question them, after we leave Bharakuccha. Until now, I didn't care. But the way we are treating this new girl will not gibe with the image that we've been carefully forging. Venandakatra's no fool. He'll smell something wrong."

Garmat coughed. Belisarius cocked his eye.

"Actually, Belisarius, I'm afraid the problem existed already. Even before the new girl arrived." Another cough. "Because of you, actually."

"Me?" demanded the general. "How so?"

Garmat sighed, then threw up his hands. "I share this room with you, General! I'm not blind."

He tugged on his beard.

"Should your wife ever inquire, I will be able to assure her that you were astonishingly faithful during your trip to India, even when lovely young women were coming to your room every night. But I don't think Venandakatra will find that reassuring. Not after you've spent so much time and effort trying to convince him you were almost as debauched as he is."

Belisarius' face was stony. The muscles along his jaw were tight.

"Ha!" exclaimed Eon. "So! I am required to mount every female shoved into my room. I am required to act the part of a breeding bull. But the general whose plan this is—"

The dawazz slapped him atop his head. The slave tried not to goggle. He did not think he would ever get accustomed to that . No Indian prince had ever been treated that way by a slave.

"Be quiet, Eon! You are not married. And stop complaining. I'm tired of it."

"We all are," snarled Valentinian.

"You copulated with every woman in Axum you could coax into your bed," growled Ezana. "Since you were fourteen."

"Thirteen," corrected Wahsi.

"That was different! They weren't shoved into my room, and I wasn't doing it because of—"

"Shut up!" barked Menander. The young cataphract flushed. "Begging your pardon, Prince. But I really can't stand it any longer. You bitch about this all the time, and I can't—well, maybe in a day or so, I hope—but—"