by Eric Flint
The cataphract scowled. "These imperial Malwa are even worse than Greek nobility, when it comes to hobnobbing with celebrities. Bad enough he's got to waste hours with every third-rate bureaucrat in the Palace. Now, they're insisting he has to meet with old women."
Shakuntala frowned. "Old women? In the palace?"
Valentinian shook his head. "No, worse. They're dragging him off to some barge in the river to meet with one of the Emperor's elderly relatives. A great-aunt, I think."
Shakuntala grew still. Utterly still.
"What is her name?" she hissed.
Valentinian squinted at her, startled by her tone of voice.
"She's called the Great Lady Holi. Why?"
Shakuntala shot to her feet.
"She is a witch! A sorceress!"
Valentinian and Eon gaped at her. Shakuntala stamped her foot angrily.
"It is true, you fools!"
With an effort, the girl restrained herself. These were the type of men, she knew, for whom any hint of hysterics would be counterproductive.
"Believe me, Valentinian. Eon." Her voice was low and calm, but deadly serious. "My father spoke of her several times to me. His spies did not know much—it was dangerous to get near her—but they did learn enough to know that she is very powerful among the Malwa. Do not let her age deceive you. She—is—a—witch."
Valentinian was the first to recover.
"I'll get the others," he said, spinning around to the door.
Less than a minute later he was back, followed by all the members of the Roman and Axumite missions. He brought Kungas also.
Eon took charge.
"We have an unexpected situation, which we need to assess."
Quickly, the Prince sketched the situation. Then, to Kungas:
"Bring Kanishka. And Kujulo, and your other two troop leaders."
Kungas disappeared. Eon waved everyone else into the room.
"All of you. Come in and sit."
In the short seconds that it took for everyone to take a seat—most of them on the floor—Kungas returned with his four chief subordinates in tow. The five Kushans entered the room but did not bother to sit.
Eon began at once.
"You've all heard—" He hesitated, casting a glance at Kungas.
"I've told them," grunted the Kushan commander.
"You've all heard about the situation," continued Eon. "It may be a false alarm. But there's enough reason to think otherwise." He took a breath. "As you know, we hoped to make our exit from India quietly. Just a peaceful diplomatic mission heading back for home. But Belisarius always warned us that things could go wrong. That's why he insisted on obtaining those horses, and the elephants."
Another breath. A deep breath.
"Well, that time may be here. We have to assume that it is."
He scanned the room. Everyone's face was grim, but not distraught. Except, possibly, for Menander. The young cataphract's face was pale from fear. Not fear for himself, but for his general.
"Do you have a plan?" asked Anastasius.
Eon shrugged. "Belisarius discussed some possible alternatives. You heard them yourself. But none of those alternatives really apply, since Belisarius himself may not be able to join us. So we'll have to improvise."
He stared at Shakuntala.
"The first thing is to make sure she gets out safely. Kungas, you and your men will escort the Empress and her women."
The Kushans nodded.
Eon glanced around the room, examining the treasure chests. "Good. You're already prepared."
Anastasius interrupted. "They'll have to take the Kushan girls, too. If the general's in a trap, we'll need to make one hell of a diversion. We won't be able to do it with the girls in tow."
"That's not a problem," stated Kungas. "We can fit them in as camp followers. No one will think it odd."
Eon nodded his head. "All right. The rest of us—except Dadaji—will be the lure. Dadaji, you'll have to go with the Empress."
Eon drove down Holkar's protest.
"You are not thinking, man! Forget your obligation to Belisarius, and remember your obligation to his purpose. The only way to get Shakuntala out of here is by subterfuge. A young noblewoman would never travel through India unaccompanied. Someone has to pose as her husband. It can't be one of us. Only Valentinian looks enough like an Indian, and his accent is terrible. You're the only one who could pull it off."
Holkar opened his mouth, snapped it shut. Then, grudgingly, nodded. He even recaptured his sense of humor. "With your permission, Your Majesty."
Shakuntala nodded imperiously, but there was just a little trace of a smile on her lips.
"I'll need a change of clothes," murmured Holkar. "A loincloth simply won't do." He chuckled. "How fortunate that Belisarius made me buy those clothes! Is he a fortune-teller, do you think?"
Valentinian shook his head. "No. But he does like to plan for all eventualities. Cover all the angles."
"Such mechanistic nonsense," said Ousanas cheerfully. "The truth is quite otherwise. Belisarius is a witch himself. Fortunately, he is our witch."
Valentinian ignored the quip. "Anything else?" he demanded.
"Yes," said Kungas. "You will need a guide." He pointed to Kujulo. "Kujulo is very familiar with the Deccan, and his Marathi is fluent. Three or four other of my men are also. Take all of them with you. You will need the added manpower, anyway. Yours will be the bloody road."
Kujulo grinned. Eon frowned.
"We can't have any hint that Kushans are involved," he protested. "That could jeopardize the Empress."
Kungas waved the protest aside. "They can disguise themselves as Ye-tai. Kujulo does an excellent imitation."
Immediately, Kujulo stooped, thrust out his lower jaw, slumped his shoulders, allowed a vacant look to enter his gaze, grunted animal noises. A little laugh swept the room.
There was no time for hesitation. Eon nodded. Then said:
"Fine. That's it, then. Let's—"
"No."
The imperial tone froze everyone in the room. Eon began to glare at Shakuntala.
"We've already—"
"No."
Valentinian tried. "Your Majesty, our plans—"
"No."
Before anyone else could speak, Shakuntala said forcefully:
"You are not thinking clearly. None of you."
Eon: "The general—"
"You are especially not thinking like the general."
Valentinian, hotly: "Of course we're thinking of him! But there's nothing—" The cataphract stopped abruptly. Shakuntala's actual words penetrated.
Her piercing black eyes, fixed upon him, held Valentinian pinned.
"Yes," she said. "You are not thinking like Belisarius. If he were faced with a sudden change in his situation, he would alter the situation. Add a new angle."
"What angle?" demanded Eon.
Shakuntala grinned. "We need another diversion. A great one! Something which can serve to signal all of us—we will be separated, remember—that the escape is on. A diversion so great it will not only help cover our own escape, but make it possible—maybe—for Belisarius himself to escape."
"I'm for it!" announced Menander. With a shrug: "Whatever it is."
Shakuntala told him what it was. When she finished, the room erupted with protests from everyone except Menander.
"I'm for it," repeated the young cataphract stubbornly.
"Fool girl is mad," muttered Ousanas. "I say it again—royalty stupid by nature."
Shakuntala overrode all protests with the simplest of arguments.
I command.
Protest, protest, protest.
I command.
Protest, protest, protest.
I command.
On the way out, Kanishka complained bitterly to his commander.
"How are we supposed to be an imperial bodyguard if the damned Empress herself—"
Kungas looked at him. As always, his face showed nothing. But there
might have been just a trace of humor in his words:
"You could always go back to work for Venandakatra. He never took any personal risks."
Kanishka shut up.
As he and Nanda Lal walked out of the palace that evening, Belisarius found that a palanquin had already been brought up to convey them to the Great Lady Holi's barge. The palanquin was festooned with the red and gold pennants of the dynasty. The pennants alone guaranteed that all would give way to the palanquin, wherever it went in the teeming capital. But they were hardly necessary. The forty Ye-tai bodyguards who rode before the palanquin would cheerfully trample anyone so foolish as to get in the way. And the palanquin itself, toted by no less than twelve slaves, looked solid and heavy enough to crush an elephant.
"Quite an entourage," he murmured. "Does she really insist on so many bodyguards?"
Nanda Lal shook his head.
"As it happens, the Great Lady is petrified by armed strangers anywhere in the vicinity of her barge. She maintains her own special security force. She does not even trust the imperial bodyguard." The spymaster pointed to the red-and-gold uniformed Ye-tai. "Only four of these men will be allowed to remain after we arrive."
The journey to the barge was quite brief. The wharves where the Malwa empire's highest nobility maintained their pleasure barges were less than half a mile from the Grand Palace. Once they climbed out of the palanquin, Belisarius found himself almost goggling at the Great Lady Holi's barge.
As Nanda Lal had said, it was truly splendid. In its basic size and shape the barge was no different from that of all the Malwa luxury barges. About ninety feet long and thirty feet wide, the barges had a rounded and big-bellied shape. The oddest thing, to the Roman's eyes, were the double sterns, looking not unlike the sterns of two ships joined. Each stern sported a huge figurehead in the form of an animal's head. Lions, in the case of Great Lady Holi's barge.
The splendor was in the trimmings. Everywhere, the red and gold colors of the dynasty: The huge lion's-head figurines were covered with beaten gold. All the oarlocks were trimmed with gold. Rubies inlaid into gold plaques formed the edging of the guard rails. And on and on and on. It was amazing the boat didn't sink from the sheer weight of its decoration.
Belisarius followed Nanda Lal up the ramp which connected the barge to the wharf. The ramp debouched in a covered walkway which encircled the main cabins. Once aboard the vessel, Nanda Lal entered through a door directly opposite the ramp. A moment later, Belisarius found himself in the plush interior of the barge.
Aide's thought came like a thunderclap.
Danger.
Belisarius almost stumbled.
Why?
Link is here. I can sense it.
The facets shivered with agitation. But the general simply smiled.
At last. My enemy.
Chapter 12
At the corner of the alley, Kungas made a little motion with his hand. The Kushan soldiers following him immediately halted. Kungas edged to the corner and peeked out onto the main street.
He was not worried about being spotted. At night, the streets of Kausambi were lit by lanterns, but the Malwa were stingy in their placement. As great as was the dynasty's wealth, it was not unlimited, and the massive armament campaign forced a stretching of funds elsewhere. The elite themselves did not worry about stumbling in the dark. They were borne everywhere on slave-toted palanquins, after all. And if the slaves should stumble, and discomfit their masters, what did it matter? After the slaves were impaled, new ones would replace them. Unlike street lanterns, slaves were cheap.
Satisfied, he turned away. The ten Kushans following him clustered closely, so that they could hear his whispered words.
"Two doors. The main door, almost directly across, is guarded by three Mahaveda. Fifty feet farther down is another door. Two Ye-tai."
"That'll be the guardhouse," whispered one of the Kushans. "A full squad of Ye-tai inside."
Kungas nodded. "Bring the Empress."
Another of the soldiers glided back down the alley. A minute later he returned, with Shakuntala and her Maratha women in tow.
Watching them approach, Kungas managed not to smile, though he found it a struggle. Some of his soldiers failed completely. Two of them were grinning outright. Fortunately, they had enough sense to turn their faces away.
Never in India's history, he thought wrily, has an Empress looked liked this.
Any trace of imperial regalia was gone, as if it had never existed. Shakuntala, and her ladies, were now costumed in the traditional garb of north Indian prostitutes. Their saris were not unusual, but the bright orange scarves which wrapped their waists were never worn by respectable women. And while poor women customarily walked barefoot, none but prostitutes wore those large, garish bangles attached to their ankles.
The bangles and scarves had been provided by Ahilyabai. The Maratha woman, it turned out, had kept them secreted away in her traveling pack. She had hoped never to use them again, but—who could know what life might bring? She and the other Maratha women had shown Shakuntala how to wear them.
Quickly, Kungas sketched the situation for the Empress. Shakuntala nodded.
"We will wait, then, for the signal. If it comes."
She glanced around, frowning.
"But what will we do if someone spots us in the meantime? We may be here for some time. We are still not sure if this escape will be necessary."
Kungas did smile, now. Very slightly.
"That's no problem at all, Your Majesty. In the darkness, it will simply look like a squad of soldiers entertaining themselves in an alley. No-one will think to investigate, not even Ye-tai. Soldiers get surly when they are interrupted in their sport."
Shakuntala grimaced.
"I'm getting awfully tired of that particular disguise," she muttered. But, in truth, there was no ill-humor in the remark. Watching her, Kungas thought the Empress was almost hoping the escape attempt would be necessary. She was as high-spirited as a racing horse, and whatever else, a desperate escape would at least bring relief from the endless weeks of immobility.
He turned away, partly to keep a watchful eye on the mouth of the alley. Mostly, however, he turned away because even Kungas could not suppress a grin, now.
Being the bodyguard to this Empress is going to be interesting. Like being a bodyguard for the monsoon.
In his own alley, a half mile to the northwest, Ousanas was also finding it hard not to grin. The Ye-tai guarding the Great Lady Holi's barge were, as usual, paying no attention to their duty. All four of them were engrossed in a quiet game of chance, rolling finger bones across the wood planks of the wharf. The bones themselves made little noise beyond a clattering rattle, but the Ye-tai grunts and hisses of triumph and dismay were audible for thirty yards.
Ousanas glanced up at the barge. Two Malwa stood guard at the head of the ramp which provided access to the barge. The Malwa guards, unlike the Ye-tai on the wharf below them, were lightly armored and bore only short swords. But the grenades suspended from their belts indicated their kshatriya status.
The kshatriyas were leaning against the rail of the barge, glaring down at the Ye-tai. Again, Ousanas fought down a grin. Like anyone who chooses to keep a wild animal for a pet, the Malwa were often exasperated by the Ye-tai. But, for all their obvious displeasure at the Ye-tai behavior, the kshatriyas made no attempt to stop the gambling. No more would a man try to stop his pet hyena from gnawing on a bone.
Ousanas moved back a little farther into the alley, hiding against the overhanging branches of a large bush. He was not worried about being spotted. The Malwa dynasty also did not waste money clearing wild shrubbery from the alleys of their capital. Why should they? They did not travel through alleys.
He hefted one of his javelins, gauging the throw. He had brought two of the weapons, along with his great stabbing spear. The blades of all three had been blackened with soot.
Again, Ousanas hefted the javelin. Yes, the range was good. If it proved nece
ssary, he would use the javelins to deal with the kshatriyas on the barge. The stabbing spear he would save for the Ye-tai.
He did not even think about the two grenades which Menander had given him. To Ousanas, the grenades were simply signaling devices. They were far too impersonal for Ye-tai.
Elsewhere, a mile to the southwest, Menander was regretting the absence of his stolen grenades. As he watched the mass of Malwa common soldiers milling around the campfires where they were cooking their evening meal, he thought that a couple of well-placed grenades would do wonders.
But he said nothing. The grenades had been the only things they had which could give the signal, if the signal proved necessary. It had been Menander himself who had made the suggestion. And besides, the young cataphract didn't want to hear another lecture from Valentinian on the virtues of cold steel.
Menander turned his head and looked to his left. Valentinian was crouched behind a tree trunk, not four feet away. The veteran met his gaze, but said nothing. Menander looked to his right. He could not see Anastasius, but he knew the cataphract was there, hidden a little further down the line of trees which bordered the Malwa army camp. Ezana and Wahsi would be hiding near him, still farther down the line. Prince Eon would be somewhere near them.
Garmat was hidden in the trees also, but the adviser was further back. Despite his protests, the old brigand had been assigned the duty of holding the horses. He and Kadphises, the Kushan soldier who would serve as their guide if they had to make an escape. Somebody had to do it, after all. There were twenty of those horses, all of them high-spirited and tense. Garmat was the best horseman among them, Ezana had pointed out forcefully, and so the duty naturally fell to him. No one had mentioned the adviser's age, of course, but Garmat's glare had shown plainly what he thought of the arrangement.
Menander did not even try to spot Kujulo and the three Kushan soldiers with him. They would also, by now, have found their own hiding place in the trees. But that hiding place would be on the opposite side of the little army base.
