That was the worst incident, by far. Fortunately, the cease fire in the Punjab, where all the truly great armies were assembled and tensely facing each other, remained peaceful. Maurice had his soldiers under tight discipline; so did Irene, until Kungas returned, when the discipline became tighter still; and Samudra was too intimidated to even think about violating the ceasefire. Besides, he had an epidemic on his hands.

The real risk of a cease-fire violation came from the Persians. Their armies, still half-feudal in nature, were never as tightly disciplined as Roman ones were. To make things worse, by now the grandees were sorely vexed at the outcome of the war.

That produced the single worst eruption of violence since the cease-fire went into effect. But since all the parties involved were Aryans, and the fighting never spilled beyond the territory it had been agreed was theirs, everyone else ignored it.

A rebellion, apparently, conspiratorially organized and led by the Karin sahrdaran. Triggered off, it seemed, by an assassination attempt on Khusrau.

After studying the available reports, Belisarius' lips twisted into something that was still not the crooked smile of old. But at least it bore some resemblance to it.

"'Apparently' and 'it seems,' I think, are the only words in this report I'd give much credence to."

Damodara cocked his head. "You think Khusrau himself instigated the affair?"

Belisarius shrugged. "Who knows? And you can be sure and certain we'll never know. I do find a number of things odd, in the reports. First, that the assassins never got within four hundred yards of the emperor. Second, that not one of them survived. Third, that when the 'rebellion' broke out-truly odd, this item-the conspirators somehow managed to start the affair when they were themselves surrounded by imperial loyalists. And, somehow, didn't manage to suborn even a single artillery unit."

He stacked the reports neatly and slid them back across the huge desk toward Damodara. Belisarius was, as usual in their many private meetings, sitting across from Damodara in a chair that was almost as large, ornately-designed, and heavily-bejeweled as the emperors.

That, too, outraged the courtiers. First, because they were excluded; second, because Belisarius got to sit in the royal presence when they never did; and, third, because under the circumstances they couldn't possibly substitute fakes for the jewels on his chair and sell them on the black market.

That third reason only applied to a few of the courtiers, however. The rest were smarter men. They'd already figured out that Damodara's rule, while far more tolerant in most respects than Skandagupta's, was going to be a nightmare for swindlers and influence-peddlers. Outright thievery would be sheer madness.

"So, at a guess," Belisarius continued, "I think Khusrau himself engineered the thing. Whether he did or not, it certainly worked to his advantage. He's now got the grandees completely cowed."

Damodara chuckled, very dryly. "There's this, too. The punishments he leveled afterward have made my treatment of the Amaravati garrison seem downright mild."

The emperor, who'd been slouched in his chair, levered himself upright. "Well, it's none of our concern.

Not for this decade, at any rate. In the long run, I suspect a Persia run along well-organized imperial lines will pose more of a problem for us-you, too-than the old one did. But by the time we find out, I might hopefully be old enough to retire and hand the throne over to my successor. Not that I wish any grief on my oldest son, you understand. He's a good boy, by and large."

It was Belisarius' turn to cock his head. "You've decided, then, to adopt your father's suggestion?"

Damodara barked a laugh. "Hardly a 'suggestion'! More in the way of slapped-together excuse he came up with, to explain the awkwardness of howI happened to be the emperor instead of him. But since he did it, I find that the notion appeals to me. Didn't some Roman emperor do the same?"

"Yes. Diocletian." Belisarius cleared his throat. "Mind you, that didn't work out too well. On the other hand..."

He thought about it, for a moment, then shrugged again. "Who knows? Part of the problem was that we Romans were using adopted heirs, at the time. It might work more smoothly if the retired emperor is directly related to his successor."

"Might not, too. My son isn't a sadhu, after all. Neither am I, for that matter. Speaking of which..."

Damodara rummaged through the mass of papers on his desk. "Bindusara sent me an interesting proposal, a few days ago. I wanted to discuss it with you."

"I already know what it is. And I agree with it."

It had been Belisarius' idea in the first place. Aide's, rather. For perhaps the thousandth time, he felt a sharp pang of grief.

Damodara stopped shuffling the paper and lifted his head. "The caste system is ancient, in India. It goes back to Vedic times."

"More like an ancient disease," Belisarius said harshly. "I can tell you this, Your Majesty. In that other universe that Aide came from, the caste system crippled India for millennia. It will take decades-centuries, perhaps-to uproot it, as it is. So I'd recommend you start now. Bindusara's proposal-set of proposals, more properly-are as good a place to start as any."

The emperor eyed Belisarius closely, for a moment. Then, asked abruptly: "Why should a Roman general care if India is crippled? If anything, I'd think you'd prefer it that way."

"Meaning no offense, Your Majesty, but that mode of thinking-also ancient-is... well, 'wrong-headed'

is the most polite term I can think of. The old notion that a man-or a nation-benefits if his neighbors remain mired in poverty and want. There was a certain logic to the idea, for societies that were stagnant.

But, whether we wanted it or not, asked for it or not, the main long-term effect of the war we just fought is that it triggered off the industrial revolution a millennium earlier than it happened in that other universe.

Societies and economies based on growth, which ours are now becoming, are simply hampered by poor neighbors. Poverty-stricken nations produce very little and consume even less."

He'd wound up sitting very straight and stiff, in the course of that little speech. Now, finished, he slumped back.

"Leave it at that, if you will. Or simply ascribe it to the fact that a Roman general can get sick of war too."

After a while, Damodara said: "The great loss was yours, Belisarius. But don't ever think you are the only one who misses Aide, and his counsel."

"Oh, I don't. But thank you for saying it."

"This was his counsel, I assume?"

"Yes. I embellished it some. Then, passed it along to Bindusara. Not to my surprise, the sadhu was very receptive. He'd been thinking along similar lines, himself."

The emperor nodded. "We'll do it, then. The Talisman of God should have many monuments, not all of them stone."

"Not most of them. I knew him, Emperor, better than anyone. He would have taken far more satisfaction in seeing intolerance eased, in his name, than another pile of stones erected."

Damodara's eyes widened.

Belisarius laughed, then. The first genuine laugh he'd been able to enjoy since Aide died.

"Of course! Unfortunately, my own Christian faith is a bit too stiff-necked to do it properly. Yes, I checked, with my friend Anthony, the Patriarch of Constantinople. He thinks he can make Aide a saint, given some time. But, beyond that..."

Damodara grinned. "Such misers you are! Only three gods-andthen you try to insist they're really only one. We Hindus, on the other hand-"

He spread his arms expansively. "A generous people! A lavish people!"

Still grinning, he lowered his hands to the armrests of the chair. "What do you think? An avatar of Vishnu?"

"Why not? Raghunath Rao already thinks he was. So does Dadaji Holkar. If you don't hurry, Emperor Damodara, the consort and peshwa of Andhra will steal a march on you."

After a time, the good humor in the room faded away. Replaced, not by sorrow, but simple acceptance.

"And who can say he wasn't?" the emperor demanded.

"Not me," came the general's answer.

Epilogue.

A father and his concerns Belisarius emerged from the palace just before sundown. In what had become something of a daily custom for him, whenever he could manage it, he went to sit on the bench where he could watch the sun set. The same bench where Aide had left him.

To his surprise, Rana Sanga was already on the bench. Waiting for him, clearly enough.

Belisarius took a seat next to the Rajput king. "May I be of service, Sanga?"

"Perhaps. I hope so. I am concerned for my son."

Belisarius frowned. "He is ill? He seemed quite healthy when I saw him last. Which was just yesterday, now that I think about it."

"His health is excellent. No, it's..." The tall king took a slow, deep breath. "He fought beside me, you know, the day we took Kausambi. All the way to the imperial palace, and even into it."

"Fought extremely well, I was told."

"Belisarius, he frightened me. I have never seen a thirteen year old boy who could fight like that. He was deadly beyond belief. And suffered not so much as a scratch himself."

He shook his head. "Thirteen! At that age, I could certainly wield a sword with great strength and vigor.

But I doubt I was much of a threat to anything beyond a log, or a cutting post. My soldiers are already spreading stories about him."

"Ah." Belisarius thought he understand the nature of the Rajput's worries. "He was trained by Valentinian, Sanga. Meaning no disrespect to your own prowess, but-being honest-much of that prowess is simply due to your incredible strength and reflexes. Valentinian is actually a more skilled fighter than you. For a boy like Rajiv, who is not and will never be his father's physical match, the perfect trainer."

Sanga started to say something, but Belisarius forestalled him with a raised hand. "That is simply an explanation. As for what I think concerns you, there are many stories about Rajiv. The one I think personally is the most significant is Valentinian's story. Told, mind you, with considerable exasperation.

The story of your son's lunacy when he saved the lives of the soldiers garrisoning the southern gate."

There was an odd expression on Sanga's face, one that Belisarius couldn't decipher. Then the Rajput king chuckled, quite warmly.

"That! Ha! The truth is, Belisarius, I tend to agree with Valentinian. It's certainly not something I'd have done-at that age or any other."

He shook his head again. "You misunderstand. I am not concerned for my boy's soul. He is no budding monster, simply... what he is. A thirteen year old boy who is deadly beyond his years because he was born a Rajput prince but then-for long months, in the most intense period of his life-raised by a Roman soldier. A very unusual Roman soldier, at that. 'Stripped to the bone,' as my wife describes him."

He turned to look at Belisarius directly. He was frowning slightly, but there was no anger in his eyes.

"You understand, now? He is no longer Rajput, Belisarius. Not really. Something... else. Not Roman, either, just... else. So. How am I to raise him? I have been pondering that, these past weeks."

The sun was setting. Belisarius paused, to watch it do so. For his part, Sanga simply waited.

By the time the sun was down, Belisarius understood. "You think he would do better being raised by someone else. The rest of the way, so to speak. And that someone would be me."

"Yes. I have thought about it, a great deal. If I tried to force him back into the Rajput mold, he would rebel. Not because he wanted to-he is a very dutiful son, I have no complaint-but simply because he could do no other. Not now, when he is already thirteen. But neither do I want him to drift, not really knowing who he is or why he lives. I can think of no man in the world I would trust more than you, to see him safely through that passage."

"Have you spoken to your wife about the matter?"

Sanga had a smile on his face that was almost as crooked as a Belisarius smile.

The Roman general chuckled. "Stupid question."

"It was her suggestion, actually. I wouldn't have thought of it on my own, I don't think."

That was probably true. Belisarius admired and respected Sanga enormously, but it was a simple fact that the man was on the stiff side. Very unlike his wife, from the sense Belisarius had gotten of her these past weeks.

He probed himself, to see how he felt about the idea. And was a little shocked by how strongly he reacted.

"I knew someone once," he said, very softly, "who was much like Rajiv. Neither this nor that.

Great-souled, but also very deadly even at a very young age. Yes, Sanga, I will be glad to do it."

The Rajput king looked away, then nodded. Stiffly.

"We need to find a way to persuade Rajiv, however," he cautioned. "I do not want him to think-not for a moment-that his father is rejecting him."

When Belisarius said nothing, Sanga turned back to look at him.

"I have missed that crooked smile of yours. It's nice to see it back."

"Leave it to me," Belisarius said.

A wife and her worries "I don't have anything to wear!"

"Of course, you do," Calopodius said. "Wear your usual uniform."

"To animperial reception? Don't be absurd! There are going to be-wait a moment, I actually have to count-"

Anna did so, quickly, on her fingers. Then: "Three emperors, an empress-ruling empress, mind you, not the usual wife business-more kings that I can remember since every realm in India is sending their monarchs-the highest official of Axum short of the negusa nagast himself-thank God he's not coming, what would we do with a babe less than a year old?-and-and-and-"

She threw up her hands. "More royal officials than sages, more sages than generals, and more generals than there are leaves on a tree." Scowling, now: "I leave aside the presence of heroic figures of legend.

You know, the sort of people who have nicknames like 'the Mongoose' and 'the Panther' and bards write verses about them. And you want me to wear auniform? "

Antonina came into the chamber just in time to hear the last few sentences.

"Well, of course. What else would you wear? You're hosting it-one of the hosts, at least-as the leader of a medical order. Naturally, you should wear your uniform."

Anna glared at her. "Is that so? Well, then. Since the same applies to you, may I assume you'll be wearing that obscene brass-titted cuirass of yours?"

"To animperial reception ? Don't be absurd!"

A husband and his observations "I think the reception is going splendidly, Belisarius," commented Khusrau. "Much better than I thought it would, to be honest. Given that this salon is packed with people who were killing each other just a few months ago."

The two men took a moment to gaze out over the milling crowd.

"Such a relief, to be able to stand instead of sit for change," the Persian emperor continued, "and without a thousand courtiers swarming over me. A wonderful idea, this was, to hold the reception in a salon instead of an official audience chamber."

Belisarius grinned. "No room for courtiers. And no need for bodyguards, of course. Not with the room sprinkled with people who have nicknames like 'the Panther' and 'the Mongoose.' It was my wife's idea, by the way."