In the Heart of Darkness

Sanga shook his head. "It's nothing that he's ever said. But I know that man, Lord Damodara. Treason is not within his nature."

Damodara bestowed a quick, shrewd glance at Sanga. For all his Malwa upbringing, he knew something of the Rajput code. He did not share that code—no Malwa did—but, unlike most, he at least understood it. Damodara's lips quirked.

"Yet, by your own words, you say that Belisarius would not stoop to the work of menials. Now you claim that a general is willing to act as a spy."

Sanga shrugged. "His honor is not the same as mine—as ours. I do not know Romans well, but enough to know that they place less emphasis on the form of honor than they do on its content. They are heathens, after all, who have no understanding of purity and pollution. But even heathens can have honor."

Damodara was silent for a moment, gazing away, thinking. Then:

"Still—do you really think a great general would stoop so low, simply for the sake of spying? It's true, we have the secret of the Veda weapons. But I do not see where he has been able to learn much. We have been very careful. As you know—it is your own charge."

"Nor have I failed that charge," replied Sanga. Then, grudgingly: "And it is true, he has not been in a position to learn much."

Damodara pressed on:

"Nor would he in the future, no matter how far he were to—how did you put it?—`insinuate himself into our graces.' "

The Malwa lord, Sanga noted, was courteous enough not to add: any more than we have ever allowed Rajput generals to learn the secrets.

Now it was Sanga's turn to hesitate, tug his beard.

"I understand your words, Lord. I have given some thought to the matter, myself. I do not understand what Belisarius is doing, but I do know the man is incredibly shrewd. And that he sees opportunities where others do not."

Damodara frowned. "I have not seen any— Explain."

Sanga smiled grimly. "Yes, you have seen, Lord Damodara. You simply did not notice—as I did not myself, at the time."

Sanga pointed down the slope upon which the pavilion rested. To that same battlefield which had seen Ranapur's final charge. "I am a good general," he stated.

"You are a great general," countered Damodara.

Sanga grimaced. "So I had thought, once. But let me ask you, Lord Damodara—why didn't I think to rally the soldiers on that battleground? It would have been far easier for me, with five hundred Rajputs at my disposal, than for a foreigner with only three men. But I did not think of it, then. I took the direct course, the simple course. The obvious course."

Damodara stared down at the battlefield. Even now, days later, the grisly signs of death were everywhere apparent.

"I—begin to understand your point. You are saying that he is a man who will, almost automatically, approach his task from the side. From an angle, so to speak."

Sanga nodded. Then, made a small gesture toward the pavilion.

"In there, Lord Damodara, I likened Belisarius to a tiger. And I suggested the use of a long stick."

Damodara nodded, smiling.

"It is a poor analogy, the more I think about it. A tiger, you can bait with a long stick. But ask yourself this, Lord Damodara: how long a stick must you use if you seek to bait a mongoose?"

Later, when the assembly reconvened, Lord Damodara demanded that only the innermost circle of Malwa advisers be allowed to remain. The Emperor agreed, readily enough, and the pavilion was cleared of all others. Even the Ye-tai bodyguards stood far back, well out of hearing range.

When he rose to speak, Lord Damodara repeated nothing of his conversation with Rana Sanga. The Rajput sense of honor was foreign to him, but he understood it. It was that understanding, perhaps, which caused him to shield Sanga from retribution.

Instead, he simply exercised—for the first time ever—his sacred right as a kinsman of the highest Malwa. He demanded that the problem of Belisarius be placed before the highest authority.

The demand would have astonished anyone other than the men in that pavilion. All the world knew—all of India, at least—that Emperor Skandagupta was the very God-on-Earth. The highest of all authority.

But the men in that room knew otherwise. Great as Skandagupta was, another was greater still. Above the God-on-Earth, after all, are the heavens.

His demand was agreed to. Grudgingly, to be sure—angrily, on the part of Venandakatra. But agreed to it was, for they had no choice.

The question of Belisarius would be taken to the very soul of the dynasty. To the great mind of Malwa's destiny. To the divine being called Link.

Link. A strange name, but appropriate. For, as the divine being had often explained, it was simply the face shown to humanity of the great, new, Gods-in-Heaven.