The quick thoughts in Belisarius’ eyes were obvious to all. He nodded slightly.
“Yes. That’s when you said you were visiting your sister. The mysterious sister, whom for some reason I have never met.” Hotly, bitterly: “Do you even have a sister?”
His wife’s voice was equally bitter, but hers was a bitterness cold with ancient knowledge, not hot with new discovery.
“No. Not of blood. Only a sister in sin, who agreed to take care of my boy when-”
“When I asked you to marry me,” concluded Belisarius. “Damn you!” His tone was scorching.
But it was like the pale shadow of moonlight compared to the searing fury of the monk’s voice.
“Damn you!”
The eyes of both husband and wife were instantly drawn to Michael, like hares to the talons of a hawk. And, indeed, the Macedonian perched on his seat like a falcon perches on a tree limb.
At first, the eyes of Belisarius were startled; those of his wife, angry. Until, in a moment, they each realized they had mistaken the object of the curse.
Not often did Belisarius flinch from another man’s gaze, but he did so now.
“By what right do you reproach your wife, hypocrite?” demanded the monk. “ By what right? ”
Belisarius was mute. Michael slumped back in his seat.
“Verily, men are foul. Even so does the churchman who sells his soul damn the harlot who sells her body. Even so does the magistrate in robes of bribery condemn the thief in stolen rags.”
Belisarius opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Repent,” commanded Michael.
Belisarius was mute.
“ Repent! ” commanded the monk.
Seeing the familiar crooked smile come to her husband’s face, Antonina sighed. Her little hand fluttered toward his large one, like a shy kitten approaching a mastiff. A moment later, his hand closed around hers and squeezed. Very gently.
“I’m beginning to understand why they flock to him in the desert,” Belisarius quipped, somewhat shakily.
“Quite something, isn’t it?” agreed the bishop cheerfully. “And you can see why the Church hierarchy encourages him to stay there. Nor, I believe, have any magistrates objected recently to his prolonged exile.”
He cocked an eye at the Macedonian.
“I trust, Michael, that your remark concerning churchmen was not aimed at anyone present.”
Michael snorted contemptuously. “Do not play with me.” He glanced at the bishop’s frayed coat. “If you have turned to simony since our last encounter, you are singularly inept at it. And of this I am certain: if the subtlest Greek of all Greek theologians, Anthony Cassian, ever sold his soul to the Devil, all creation would hear Satan’s wail when he discovered he’d been cheated.”
Laughter filled the room. When it died down, the bishop gazed fondly upon Belisarius and Antonina. Then said:
“Later, you will need to discuss this matter of Photius. May I suggest you begin with an assumption of good motives. I have always found that method reliable.” A smile. “Even in theological debate, where it is, I admit, rarely true.”
Michael snorted again. “ Rarely true? Say better: as rare as-” He subsided, sighing. “Never mind. We do not have time for me to waste assuring you that present company is excluded from every remark I could make concerning churchmen.” Gloomily: “The remarks alone would require a full month. And I am a terse man.”
The Macedonian leaned forward and pointed to the thing in Belisarius’ hand.
“Tell us,” he commanded.
When Belisarius was finished, Michael leaned back in his chair and nodded.
“As I thought. It is not a thing of Satan’s. Whence it comes, I know not. But not from the Pit.”
“The foreigner-the dancer-was not Christian,” said Antonina, uncertainly. “A heathen of some sort. Perhaps-not of Satan, but some ancient evil sorcery.”
“No.” Belisarius’ voice was firm. “It is not possible. He was the finest man I ever knew. And he was not a heathen. He was-how can I say it? Not a Christian, no. But this much I know for certain: were all Christians possessed of that man’s soul, we should long since have attained the millenium.”
All stared at Belisarius. The general shook his head.
“You must understand. I can only tell you the shell of the vision. I lived it, and the whole life that went before it.”
He stared blankly at the wall. “For thirty years he served me. As I told you, even after I offered him his freedom. When he refused, he said simply that he had already failed, and would serve one who might succeed. But I failed also, and then-”
To everyone’s astonishment, Belisarius laughed like a child.
“Such a joy it is to finally know his name!”
The general sprang to his feet. “ Raghunath Rao! ” he shouted. “For thirty years I wanted to know his name. He would never tell me. He said he had no name, that he had lost it when-” A whisper. “When he failed his people.”
For a moment, the face of Belisarius was that of an old and tired man.
“ ’Call me ’slave,’ ” he said. ’The name is good enough.’ And that was what we called him, for three decades.“ Again, he shook his head. ”No, I agree with Michael. There was never any evil in that man, not a trace. Great danger, yes. I always knew he was dangerous. It was obvious. Not from anything he ever said or did, mind you. He was never violent, nor did he threaten, nor even raise his voice. Not even to the stableboys. Yet, there was not a veteran soldier who failed to understand, after watching him move, that they were in the presence of a deadly, deadly man. His age be damned. All knew it.“ He chuckled. ”Even the lordly cataphracts watched their tongues around him. Especially after they saw him dance.“
He laughed. “Oh, yes, he could dance! Oh, yes! The greatest dancer anyone had ever seen. He learned every dance anyone could teach him, and within a day could do it better than anyone. And his own dances were incredible. Especially-”
He stopped, gaped.
“So that’s what it was.”
“You are speaking of the dance in your vision,” said Cassian. “The one he danced at the end. The-what was it? — the dance of creation and destruction?”
Belisarius frowned. “No. Well, yes, but creation and destruction are only aspects of the dance. The dance itself is the dance of time.”
He rubbed his face. “I saw him dance that dance. In Jerusalem, once, during the siege.”
“What siege?” asked Antonina.
“The siege-” He waved his hand. “A siege in my vision. In the past of my vision.” He waved his hand again, firmly, quellingly. “Later. Some soldiers had heard about the dance of time, and wanted to see it. They prevailed on ’slave’-Raghunath Rao-to dance it for them. He did, and it was dazzling. Afterward, they asked him to teach it to them, and he said it couldn’t be taught. There were no steps to that dance, he explained, that he could teach.” The general’s eyes widened. “Because it was different every time it was danced.”
Finally the facets found a place to connect. It was almost impossible, so alien were those thoughts, but aim was able to crystallize. future.
“What?” exclaimed Belisarius. He looked around the room. “Who spoke?”
“No one spoke, Belisarius,” replied Cassian. “No one’s been speaking except you.”
“Someone said ’future.’ ” The general’s tone was firm and final. “Someone said it. I heard it as plain as day.” future.
He stared at the thing in his hand.
“You?” future.
Slowly, all in the room rose and gathered around, staring at the thing.
“Speak again,” commanded Belisarius.
Silence.
“Speak again, I say!”
The facets, were it within their capability, would have shrieked with frustration. The task was impossible! The mind was too alien! aim began to splinter. And the facets, despairing, sent forth what a human mind would have called a child’s plea for home. A deep, deep, deep, deep yearning for the place of refuge, and safety, and peace, and comfort.