"We'll manage," muttered Endubis. The captain turned and began bellowing orders. His seamen immediately scurried about the ship, preparing for departure.
"I wish you'd gotten here tomorrow," Endubis grumbled. "I'd have a cargo, then. I hate sailing empty. Surest way I know to poverty."
Garmat grinned. "Not so, Endubis. An empty ship will make a fast trip, and we'll not be too crowded. As for poverty-" His hand dipped into a pouch, came out, spread wide.
The captain, again, was goggling like a frog.
"You'll accept Malwa coin, I assume?" murmured Garmat. "Oh, and look! I believe there's even a ruby here. No-three rubies."
On the way out of Bharakuccha's harbor, a Malwa vessel hailed them and tried to come alongside.
"Ignore it," commanded the Prince. "Sail on."
The captain glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "That'll make it hard on the next Axumite trader," he pointed out.
Eon shrugged. "There won't be any `next Axumite trader.' We are at war, now, with Malwa."
The captain sighed. "Ah. Too bad. It was good business."
The officer in the bow of the Malwa ship hailed them again. His voice sounded angry.
"You can outsail them?" demanded Eon.
Endubis sneered. "That Malwa tub?" He disdained any further answer, beyond the orders he shouted at his seamen.
An hour later, the officer commanding the Malwa vessel broke off the pursuit.
He was practically gibbering.
Some of his rage was due to the superior seaworthiness of the Ethiopian ship. Most of it was due to the bare black ass hanging over the stern of the Axumite vessel, defecating. And the great, gleaming grin on the face above it.
A week later, in the port at Tamralipti on India's opposite coast, another Malwa naval officer grinned with sheer delight. As well he should. He had made more money that day than in the previous three months put together.
His lieutenant was grinning, too. His own cut of the nobleman's bribe was enough for a lavish spree in the Bay of Bengal's most notorious harbor district.
The lieutenant gestured with his head toward the merchant ship which was even now passing the harbor's breakwater.
"Should we notify Murshid and his men? There's a fortune in that nobleman's chests. And his wife's young. Pretty, too, probably. She and the other women would bring a good price."
The commanding officer stroked his beard, considering the question. He and his officers made a tidy profit, on the side, selling information on lucrative targets to the local pirates.
He did not ponder the matter for very long.
"No," he said firmly. "Not with that escort."
"There weren't more than thirty of them," argued his lieutenant. "Murshid can muster three ships, with over a hundred-"
The commander glared.
"A hundred what?" he snarled. "Three-to-one odds, you're talking about-four-to-one, at best. Murshid's rascals against-those?"
The lieutenant grimaced. "Well-"
The commander brushed the idea aside, as a man might brush away flies.
"Forget it. Murshid wouldn't thank us afterward, believe me. And what would our cut be-a barrel of guts? Two barrels?"
Looking back at them from the stern of his vessel, the captain of the merchant ship decided he was reading the posture of the Malwa officers properly. The distance was great, but he had very good eyes. And much experience.
Satisfied, he turned away. "We can relax," he said to his own lieutenant. "There'll be no problem."
His lieutenant heaved a sigh of relief. He had thought his captain mad, to accept such a cargo in these waters. They normally hauled nothing but bulk goods in the Bay of Bengal, infested as it was by pirates. The type of goods which no brigand finds attractive.
But, his captain had decided to take the chance. The nobleman's offered price had been too good to pass up. A small fortune to transport him, his wife, and their retinue to Muziris, the principal port of the south Indian kingdom of Kerala.
Besides-
The lieutenant glanced at the nearest of the nobleman's soldiers. He was not certain, but he thought the man was the officer commanding the nobleman's escort.
The officer was leaning against the rail, watching the receding harbor, idly honing his sword with a small whetstone. It seemed a pointless exercise. The blade was already like a razor.
His eyes met the lieutenant's.
"Trouble?" The whetstone never ceased its motion.
The lieutenant shook his head.
"We don't think so."
No expression at all crossed the officer's face. It seemed, in its rigid immobility, like an iron mask.
"Too bad," he murmured. He held the blade up to the sunlight, inspecting its edge. "My men are a little rusty. Could use a bit of honing."
A month later, Rana Sanga returned to his home near Jaipur. He had not seen his family in a year, and he had decided he must do so before he went on to Kausambi. He might never have the chance again. When he reported his failure to capture Belisarius, he would be punished. Possibly even executed.
To Sanga's surprise, Lord Damodara was waiting for him at the Rajput king's residence. He had arrived two weeks earlier, sure that Sanga would come there first, whether the news was good or foul.
As eager as he was to greet his family-Lord Damodara politely offered to wait until he had done so-Sanga insisted on giving his report first. He and Damodara met in a small room adjoining the great hall which served Sanga as his royal audience chamber. They sat on cushions across from each other at a low table. Alone, after servants had placed tea and pastries for their refreshment.
Sanga's report was full, precise, and unsparing. But as he came to the final episodes of their pursuit of Belisarius, Damodara cut him short.
"Never mind the rest, Sanga. The gist, I assume, is that you found no sign of him in Barbaricum or any of the other small ports?"
Sanga shook his head. "None, Lord Damodara. I am convinced he took ship there, somewhere, but he disguised his traces perfectly. If they investigate-long enough-Nanda Lal's spies can probably discover the truth. But-"
"What is the point?" asked Damodara. He waved a pudgy little hand in dismissal. "If they find any evidence, it will be far too late to do any good."
He sipped at his tea. Munched on a pastry.
"Such an investigation would do nothing but harm," he stated. "Great harm, in fact."
Sanga sat stiffly, silent. Damodara eyed him for a moment. Then, surprisingly, smiled. "You are, indeed, the true Rajput. Honor above all."
Sanga, if such were possible, stiffened further.
"I am not Rajput," rasped Damodara. "I respect your view of things, Rana Sanga-I even believe that I understand that view-but I do not share it." Harshly: "I am Malwa. And, thus, am a practical man. I was sent here to meet you, and assess the results of your search. I have now done so."
Another sip of tea.
"Here are my findings. Rana Sanga, acting on the possibility that Belisarius might have made his escape to the west, led a long, rigorous, and most diligent search-all the way to Barbaricum, no less!"
Another sip of tea.
"No trace of Belisarius was found. For a time, it appeared that the Rajputs were on his trail. But, in the end, it proved a false lead. The only things actually found were a ragged peddler and the bloody trail of a Ye-tai deserter from the royal bodyguard, who fled the Empire after viciously murdering several soldiers and royal couriers and robbing a merchant."
Sanga began to protest. Damodara drove him down.
"Nothing proves otherwise, Rana Sanga. Your suspicions were simply groundless. That is all." Another wave of his hand. The gesture done, the hand reached for a pastry.