Fortune's stroke b-4 Page 20

  Lady Sati's fingers came to a stop. They did not clench the armrests. Not exactly. But the grip was very firm.

  "You suspect Damodara," she stated. Her quick, Link-trained mind sped beyond. "Narses."

  "Yes. The entire affair is too convenient." Again, Nanda Lal lifted the scroll. "This, combined with the arms complex, is making me uneasy."

  Abruptly, Skandagupta drained his cup and set it down, rattling, on the side table. "I still think it's nonsense! I've known Damodara since he was a toddler. That's a practical man if you'll ever meet one. And he's not given to ambition, beyond a reasonable measure."

  Slowly, Nanda Lal shook his head. "No, Emperor, he is not. But practicality is a malleable thing. What is impractical one day, may be practical on the morrow. As for ambition-?" He sniffed. "That, too, changes with the tide."

  When Sati spoke, her voice was low and calm. "Your fear is for the future, then. Not the immediate present. A possibility."

  "Yes." Nanda Lal paused. "Yes, that. I do not propose to take action, at the moment. But I think we should not close our eyes to the-possibility, as you call it."

  Lady Sati shrugged. "It's a simple enough matter." She leaned toward the Emperor. "Bestow great honors on Damodara, Skandagupta. And riches. Hold a ceremony within a week. Among those riches will be a mansion here at the capital. Very near to this palace." She smiled, thinly. "Among those honors will be the expectation that Damodara's entire family will take up residence therein. And stay there."

  Skandagupta squinted; then, smiled his own thin humor. "Hostages. Yes. That should do nicely. Damodara dotes on his children."

  Still, Nanda Lal seemed unhappy. But, after a moment, he shook off the mood. His next words were almost cheerful: "Venandakatra's siege guns should be arriving at Deogiri very soon. Within two weeks, three at the most."

  "Finally!" exclaimed the emperor. His eyes narrowed. "That should do for Raghunath Rao. I look forward to seeing his skinsack suspended in my feast hall." Fat folded further; the eyes became mere slits. "And Shakuntala's. I will hang her right next to her father."

  "Shakuntala will take a bit of time," cautioned Sati. "Even after we take Deogiri."

  She looked to Nanda Lal. "We must tighten the blockade of Suppara. Make sure the rebel empress does not make her escape."

  The spymaster scowled. "I'm afraid that's impossible. We don't have the naval forces available-not with Axum to contend with."

  "A pity," muttered Skandagupta, "that we didn't catch Prince Eon with the rest." He shrugged. "But I don't see where it matters. Even if Shakuntala escapes after we take Deogiri, where can she go? Only to Ethiopia, or Rome. Where she will be nothing but an impoverished exile."

  The emperor nodded toward Sati. "Just as Link said, long ago. Without Majarashtra, Shakuntala is nothing but a nuisance."

  Sati nodded grudging agreement. "True. Although I would prefer to see her flayed."

  "Whatever we do," sneered Nanda Lal, "we certainly won't make the mistake of handing her over to Venandakatra again. Dead-or exiled. That's it."

  The spymaster reached up and stroked his nose. As always, the feel of that crushed and mangled proboscis stirred his fury. Belisarius had done for that.

  Since there was no way, at present, to vent his feelings for Belisarius, Nanda Lal transferred his cold rage elsewhere. "One last point," he snarled, "before we end this meeting. The rebel bands in Bihar and Bengal are growing bolder. I recommend-"

  "More impalings!" snapped the emperor. "Line every road with the bandits!"

  "I agree," chimed in Great Lady Sati. "The male ones, anyway. Better to turn their women over to the soldiers, before auctioning them to the whoremasters. Add defilement to destruction. That will cow the peasants."

  Nanda Lal's snarl of fury slid into something resembling a leer. "Not enough," he demurred. "It's too hard to catch the bandits in the forests."

  He bestowed the leer on the emperor. "Since all the news is good-Belisarius defeated; Deogiri about to fall-I see no reason that half your Imperial Guard can't be released for a campaign."

  The emperor smiled. Grinned. "Excellent idea! The Ye-tai are getting restless, anyway, from garrison duty here in Kausambi. A campaign in Bihar and Bengal would do them good."

  Skandagupta leaned forward, planting his hands on his knees. "What do you have in mind? A punitive campaign, right through the countryside?" He barked a laugh. "Yes! Sweep everything, like a knife. Cut a swath twenty miles wide-from Pataliputra to the Bay of Bengal. The hell with hunting for bandits! Just burn everything, kill everyone." Another barked laugh. "Except the women, of course. My Ye-tai will have a better use for those."

  Nanda Lal leaned forward to match gazes with the emperor. "I was thinking of two swaths, actually. One-just as you say-starting at Pataliputra. The other-"

  There came a knock on the door. Nanda Lal paused. One of the assassins opened the door and peered through. A moment later, he turned to the emperor and announced: "Sire, your lunch is here."

  "Ah!" exclaimed Skandagupta. "Excellent." He smacked his hands together. "Let us eat. We can develop our plans over the meal."

  "Food will sustain us," concurred Sati. "This will be a long session."

  Nanda Lal's leer returned. "Yes-but the discussion will season the meal. I like my food hot and spicy."

  Chapter 18

  Majarashtra

  Summer, 532 A.D.

  Irene stared nervously at the Malwa milling around the impromptu field camp which Ezana's soldiers had set up alongside the road to Deogiri. There appeared to be thousands of them-especially leering Ye-tai, who were making no attempt to hide their ogling of her. Muttered phrases swelled from the mob. The content of those coarse words was not quite audible, but their meaning was more than clear enough-like surf, frothing lust. Ezana's four hundred sarwen, standing guard with their spears in hand, reminded her of a pitiful dike before a surging ocean. A child's sand castle, with the tide about to come in.

  Why did I ever agree to do this? Irene demanded of herself.

  Herself babbled reassurance: "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

  That was then; this is now.

  "Get a grip on yourself, woman. The whole idea was to distract them, which has definitely been done."

  Sure has. I'll bet they'll be even more distracted when all four thousand of them start gang-raping me. Wonderful!

  "You and your husband, Ezana, are supposed to be envoys from the King of the Vandals, seeking an alliance against Rome. Surely they wouldn't-"

  Surely, my ass! Do those drooling thugs look like diplomats to you? Whoever came up with this insane scheme?

  "Well, actually-you did."

  Thanks for reminding me. I forgot I'm an idiot.

  "It's a good plan," herself repeated stubbornly. Herself reminded Irene of one child reassuring another that there really aren't any monsters, as the ogre stuffs them into his gullet.

  I'm an idiot. Idiot-idiot-idiot! This is the stupidest plan-

  Ezana entered the small pavilion-not much more than a canopy, really, shielding the richly garbed "Vandal" noblewoman from the blistering sun. Her "noble African husband" had to stoop, in order to keep his elaborate ostrich-plume headdress from being swept off.

  "Good plan!" he grunted, as soon as he straightened. Ezana gazed placidly on the Malwa soldiery swarming around them. In the far distance, to the north, the first of the siege guns in the column was now visible, being painfully hauled another few feet south to Deogiri.

  "Will you look at that rabble?" he demanded. "They make bedouin look like a Macedonian phalanx. The officers are worse than the men."

  "Don't remind me," snarled Irene. She glanced apprehensively at the cluster of officers sitting their horses nearby. The officers were perched a few yards up a slope, giving them a better view of Irene than that enjoyed by the common troops. Behind them reared the crest of one of Majarashtra's multitude of ridges.

  The officers were ogling her even more openly than the Ye-tai. She saw
one of them say something, followed by a round of leering laughs.

  "What is wrong with these animals?" she demanded, half-angrily and half-nervously. "Haven't they ever seen a woman before? If I looked like Antonina, I might understand it. She could make the sun stop in its tracks. But I'm-"

  She gestured at herself. Again, anger was mixed with apprehension. "I'm not ugly, I suppose. But with my big nose-"

  Ezana chuckled. "You are quite an attractive woman, Irene, in my opinion. But it really doesn't matter."

  He hooked a thumb toward the Malwa. "This is why we agreed to the plan, Irene. If you hadn't volunteered to come, we never would have considered it. Kungas and I both knew what would happen, if the Malwa encountered a large party of foreigners claiming to have been shipwrecked on the coast. They are not diplomats. They would have just attacked us, on general principle. Even if they weren't guarding their precious siege guns."

  He gazed at her with approval. "But with you here, all dressed up in such finery-" His gaze, falling on her bosom, became very approving. "Such provocative finery-scandalous, the way foreign women dress! And they're all sluts, those heathens, everybody knows it."

  Irene scowled. "Those monkeys know as much about Vandals as I do about-" She groped for a simile, but couldn't find an appropriate one. With her voracious reading habits, Irene couldn't think of any subject that she didn't know more about than Ye-tai and Malwa soldiers did about the people and politics of North Africa.

  Ezana grinned. "They know Africa is a land of black people." He cupped his hand under his chin, as if presenting his ebony face. "And if the woman is pale, and beautiful, so much the more exotic!"

  "I am not beautiful," insisted Irene.

  Ezana, still grinning, shook his head. Then, nodding toward the Malwa soldiers gawking at her: "You look beautiful to them, woman. After weeks on the road, struggling through India's heat and dust, you look like Aphrodite herself."

  Again, he admired her bosom. "Especially your tits."

  Even as nervous as she was, Irene couldn't help but chuckle. She glanced down at the objects in question, which were almost entirely visible due to the cut of her tunic. She had overseen the seamstresses in Suppara herself, blending Roman style with what she remembered of the costumes of Minoan women painted on vases. The small amount of skin still covered-a fifth, at most-simply framed, supported, presented, and emphasized the splendid remainder.

  "It is impressive, isn't it? Makes me look like Antonina, almost."

  Ezana's grin faded to a simple smile. "It was bound to happen, Irene. You've never been a soldier, on a long and arduous march. Even disciplined sarwen or Roman cataphracts would be ragged in their ranks, with every man eager to get a look. Hot, tired, aching feet and butts-most of all, bored. Especially since Rao stopped attacking the column many days ago."

  The smile became a sneer, cheerfully bestowed on the mob surrounding the Ethiopian camp. "Those soldiers? Ha!"

  He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "No, no. It worked just like you planned. Four hundred sarwen, some Syrian gunners disguised as slaves, and one Roman woman have completely distracted an army ten times their number. Stopped them in their tracks, diverted their attention, disintegrated their formations-"

  His eye caught movement to the north. He barked a laugh. "Look! Even some of the troops dragging the guns are trotting our way."

  "Oh, marvelous," hissed Irene. Gloomily: "At least I'm not a virgin." She eyed the leering mob, and the artillery soldiers hastening down the road to join them. "Step aside, Messalina," she muttered. "I think I'm about to exceed your exploits. Put them completely in the shade, in fact."

  Ezana chuckled. "I'm not sure who Messalina was, but if-" Humor remained, in his eyes, but Ezana's face was suddenly stern and solemn.

  "You are a bold woman, Irene Macrembolitissa. Hold fast to that courage, and set aside your fears. No one will harm you. Kungas would never have agreed to this, if he did not think we Ethiopians could shield you when the hammer falls." The stiff face became a black mask; as hard and unyielding as Kungas' own. "Which it will, and very soon."

  Irene's eyes began to move toward the ridge above them, but she forced them aside.

  Ezana, seeing the movement, nodded. "He will be there, Irene. Kungas will come."

  Irene, trying to settle her nerves, fastened on that image. Kungas, and his hard face, coming toward her. Kungas, smiling with his eyes as she corrected his grammar. The little twitch in his lips, before he made a jest about thick-headed Kushans, even though she herself had been astonished by his ability to learn anything quickly. Kungas, day after day after day, sitting by her side in a chamber, learning to read. Never complaining, never grumbling, never angry at her for his own shortcomings.

  The memory of a hard face, and clear almond eyes, and a heart beating hidden warmth and humor, and a mind like an uncut diamond, steadied her. She took a few deep breaths. Kungas will come. A few more breaths. He will. A few more. Kungas.

  She felt herself return. To the memory of a hard face she added her own irrepressible humor.

  "What do you think, Ezana?" she asked, gesturing with her chin toward the cluster of officers not more than thirty yards away. The Malwa were still staring at her, exchanging unheard quips. "Will they start the seduction with fine wine? Some music, perhaps?"

  Ezana chuckled. Irene snorted. "Not likely, is it?" Her sour gaze fell on one particularly gross Malwa officer. The man had his tongue sticking out, wagging it at her.

  "Will you look at-"

  The officer's eyes bulged. Blood coughed out of his mouth, coating the obscene tongue. An arrowhead was protruding through his throat.

  An instant later, the clustered officers were swept off their horses as if struck by a giant sickle. Irene gaped. Part of her mind identified the objects which had turned men into shredded meat. Arrows. But most of her brain simply went blank.

  Dimly, she heard Ezana shouting. Her mouth still wide open from shock, she turned her head. The Syrian gunners had abandoned their servile toil and were already hurling grenades. The missiles were joined in mid-flight-and then overtaken-by four hundred javelins. Ethiopia's spearmen were also in action.

  The javelin volley swept the front ranks of the Malwa mob like another great sickle. The second volley was on its way before the grenades even landed. Again, Death swung its sickle-and then again, as the grenades began exploding in the packed crowd. Some of the grenades were smoke bombs. Within seconds, the bloody scene began to disappear behind streaked and wafting clouds.

  She was in a daze. Irene had never been in a battle before. She had never been near a battle before. Part of her shock and confusion was produced by simple fear. But most of it was an even simpler collapse of intelligence.

  Irene's well-trained, logical mind stumbled and tripped, trying to find order and reason in the bedlam around her. Everything seemed pure chaos. An inferno of unreason. Through the eddying smoke, she caught glimpses of: men dying; sarwen locking their shields; the flight of arrows and javelins, and grenades; yelling Kushans charging down the slope; bellowing Ye-tai, desperately trying to rally confused troops. Shouts of confusion; shrieks of agony; screams of death and despair; cries of victory and triumph.

  Noise, noise, everywhere. Steel and wood and flesh breaking. She clapped her hands over her ears, in her own desperate struggle to rally intelligence. Half in a crouch, sheltered under a canopy, she forced her eyes to watch. Desperately-desperately-trying to find a place where reason could set its anchor.

  The anchor scraped across stone, finding no place.

  How can men stand this? she wondered. Her eyes recognized purpose in the chaos. Her eyes saw the discipline of the sarwen, the way their shield wall held like a dike-and no pitiful child's castle of sand, this, against the coming tide. Her eyes saw-she had been told, but had never really believed-how the Malwa broke against those shields and spears. Men-enemies, yes, but still men-using their own flesh like water, trying to break the reef. Flesh became red ruin; blood ev
erywhere; a severed arm, here; a coil of intestines, there; a piece of Malwa brain, crushed under an Ethiopian sandal.

  Irene's eyes watched Satan spread his carpet across a dusty road in India. She saw, but her mind could not encompass the seeing.

  A powerful hand seized her shoulder and drove her to her knees.

  "Down, woman!" Her ears heard Ezana's voice, shouting further commands. Her eyes saw five sarwen, surrounding her like a wall. Her mind understood nothing. She was no more than a child, now, recognizing shelter.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her hands over her ears. Finally, darkness and relative quiet brought back a modicum of reason. In that small eye of the storm, Irene sought herself.

  After a time-seconds? minutes? hours? — she began to recognize herself.

  Courage, foundation of all virtues, came back first.

  I will not do this. Firmly, she opened her eyes and removed her hands from her ears.

  She could see nothing, on her knees, except a few glimpses through the legs of the sarwen standing guard over her. And what little she could see was still obscured by smoke. After a moment, she stopped trying to make sense of the battle. She simply studied the legs of the soldiers shielding her.

  Excellent legs, she concluded. Under the black skin, powerful muscles flexed calves and thighs. The easy movement of men watching, not fighting themselves, but ready to spring into action at an instant's notice. Human leopards. Horny, calloused feet rested firmly in sturdy sandals. Toes shaped in Ethiopia's mountains fit stony Majarashtra to perfection.

  She listened to their banter. Her Ge'ez was good enough, now, to understand the words. But her mind made no attempt to translate. Most of the words were profanity, anyway-nothing more than taunting curses hurled down on the invisible enemy. She simply listened to the confidence in those voices. Human leopards, growling with predator satisfaction.

  Two phrases, only, did she ever remember.