In the Heart of Darkness(41)
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.
Later that night, long after all his other Rajputs were asleep, Rana Sanga stood in the entrance of his own tent. He had stood there for hours, almost motionless, simply staring. Staring at the moon, for a time. Staring, for a longer time, at the flickering fires which still burned, here and there, in the rubble which had once been called Ranapur. Staring, and lost in thought.
Ranapur was silent, now, so Sanga's thoughts were not interrupted by noise. True, the stench of Ranapur's death penetrated his nostrils. But the Rajput had long been familiar with that particular odor. His mind automatically blocked it out.
Finally, Sanga turned away. One last glance at the moon, high and silvery, before he entered his tent.
His last thought, before he stooped into the darkness, was the same thought which he had clung to throughout those long hours.
I swore an oath.
The next morning, imperial heralds spread throughout the gigantic encampment, carrying the announcement that the emperor was returning to Kausambi. The announcement came much sooner than anyone had expected, and so the preparations for departure were ragged and disorganized.
The foreigners in the encampment, from long and ingrained habit, made their preparations within an hour. Their obvious, simple, direct preparations, at least. Their other preparations took much longer, more than a day, but they had plenty of time. Plenty of time to see to the movement of many excellent, high-spirited horses and a few small, docile elephants. Plenty of time, even, to see to it that those movements had no apparent connection to them.
Plenty of time. Not for three days more did the first departure take place from the encampment. A small army—a large army, actually, by any but Malwa standards—began its long march southward. The army which had been assigned to Lord Venandakatra, in his new manifestation as the Goptri of the Deccan. It was a glorious manifestation, even by Venandakatra's standards, and so the great Lord was mollified for the unseemly haste with which he made his departure.