“Indeed so! Most insolent uprising! Prince do well to beat rebel down!” Then, with a flourish: “Here! Use my spear!”
Remembering, and smiling, Shakuntala’s eyes met those of the prince. A little smile came to his own face. Then, a subtle expression-a wry, apologetic twist of his lips; a little roll of his eyes; a faint shrug-combined with an equally subtle movement of his arm. His left arm, the one which was not encircling Tarabai.
Understanding, Shakuntala eased over and nestled against his shoulder. His left arm encircled her. She turned her face into his muscular neck. A moment later, she felt Jijabai snuggling into her own left shoulder. Trembling with fear at the princess’ departure. Shakuntala cradled the girl and pressed her head into her own neck. She felt Jijabai’s shivering ease.
Inwardly, she sighed. It would be tedious-even, after a time, uncomfortable-spending days and weeks in that position. But she suppressed the thought ruthlessly. They were at war, and war required many tactics. This tactic had worked before. A tried and tested tactic. Should anyone manage to look within the howdah, they would see nothing but the notorious Axumite prince, surrounded as always by his submissive women. Whose faces were rarely seen, of course, so timid had the creatures become in his brutal presence.
Across the prince’s chest, her eyes met those of Tarabai. The Maratha girl smiled shyly.
She was still in awe, Shakuntala realized. The Maratha women had known for some time that the foreigners into whose care they had placed themselves were engaged in some strange activity. (And had sensed, even, that the activity was in some way opposed to the hated Malwa.) But they had not known the exact nature of that activity until that very morning. Just before departing for the caravan, the Maratha women had been ushered into the room, Shakuntala had been introduced to them by Eon and his men, and the plan explained.
Hearing the name, Jijabai had looked up, begun to cry out in startlement. The cry had been choked off by Shakuntala herself, embracing her former maidservant. From that moment until they climbed into the howdah, the girl had not stopped weeping. Shakuntala had stayed by her the entire time. At first, from love and pity. Then, as well, from a realization that the pose was perfect for their purpose.
The other three Maratha women had been too stunned to do more than walk through the exercise in a daze. Which, also, had been perfect, if unplanned.
Tarabai was no longer stunned. Eon’s close presence, Shakuntala realized, had restored the girl’s courage. But she was still in awe. The girl had all the signs of a simple upbringing. Of vaisya or sudra birth, undoubtedly (insofar as Maratha measured such things-but that thought, as ever, was too painful to bear, so Shakuntala banished it). Never in her life had Tarabai imagined she would share a howdah-much less a man’s chest! — with royalty.
Shakuntala now gazed at the two Maratha women whom she did not know. They, too, were staring at her with round eyes. But there was more than simple awe in those eyes, she realized. The two women were almost shivering with terror. Then, seeing the princess’ eyes upon them, the two women dropped their heads. Now, they did begin to shiver.
This must stop, thought Shakuntala.
“Look at me,” she commanded. For all its youthful timbre, her voice was sharp. Not harsh, simply- commanding.
Immediately, the women raised their eyes. Eon, listening, was impressed.
“You are very frightened,” stated the princess. After a moment, the women nodded their heads.
“You fear the Malwa fury, if they discover what is happening. You fear you will be destroyed.”
Again, they nodded.
For a moment, Shakuntala simply gazed at them. Then said:
“Your fear is understandable. But you must conquer it. Fear will gain you nothing, and may betray us all into disaster. You must be courageous. These men-these foreigners-are good men. Brave, and resourceful. You know this to be true.”
She waited. After a moment, the two women nodded.
“You trust these men.”
Again, waited. Again, the nods.
“Then trust them. And me as well.”
Waited.
“I am your princess. Your empress, now. I am the rightful heir to the throne of Andhra.”
The Maratha women nodded immediately. Majarashtra was one of the few lands of India where a woman in power was accepted without question, if she held that power legitimately. Maratha women had even led armies, in the past.
(But thoughts of Majarashtra brought pain, so she forced her way past them.)
“I call you to service, women of the Great Country. Andhra will rise again, and the Malwa filth be destroyed. To that end I devote my life. If you are destroyed by the Malwa, your empress will be destroyed with you. You will not be deserted.”
After a moment, the women bowed. The bow, Shakuntala acknowledged, but did not cherish in her heart. The fading fear in their eyes, and the hint of dawning courage, brought her great joy.
(But joy brought pain, and so she banished it. There would be no joy in her life, she knew. Only courage, and duty. She had made her vow to these women, and she would keep it. Though that vow would banish joy forever.)
She heard the prince mutter something. A phrase in his own language.
“What did you say?” she asked, glancing up at him.
His dark eyes were staring at her, very seriously. After a moment, the prince said softly:
“What I said was: ’And so, once again, Belisarius was right.’ ”
Shakuntala frowned, puzzled. She knew who Belisarius was, of course. Raghunath Rao had explained (as much as he knew himself, which was little). But she had not met him yet, only seen him out of the corner of her eye.
“I do not understand.”
A quirky smile came to his lips.
“I asked him, once, why we were doing all this. I was not opposed, you understand. It seemed a worthy project in its own right, rescuing a lovely princess from such a creature as Venandakatra. But-I am a prince, after all. In direct line of succession to the throne of Axum. My older brother Wa’zeb is quite healthy, so I don’t expect I’ll ever be the negusa nagast. Which is fine with me. But you learn early to think like a monarch, as I’m sure you know.”
Shakuntala nodded.
“So I asked Belisarius, once-as the cold-blooded heir of a ruler rather than a hot-blooded romantic prince-why were we taking these risks?”
He began to make some sort of apologetic aside, but Shakuntala cut him off.
“There’s no need, Eon. It’s a perfectly good question. Why did you do it?” A smile. “Not that I’m ungrateful, you understand.”
Eon acknowledged the smile with one of his own. Then, when the smile faded:
“We are doing it, he said, for three reasons. First, it is worth doing in its own right. A pure and good deed, in a world which offers few such. Second, we are doing it to free the soul of India’s greatest warrior, so he can turn that soul’s full fury onto the enemy. And finally, and most importantly, we are doing it because we cannot defeat India alone. India itself must be our ally. The true India, not this bastard sired by a demon. And for that, we need to free India’s greatest ruler from her captivity.”
“I am not a ruler,” she whispered. “Much less India’s greatest.”
Again, the quirky smile. “That’s exactly what I said.”
The smile disappeared. “ ’She will be,’ replied Belisarius. ’She will be. And she will make Malwa howl. ’ ”
When night fell, and the caravan halted, Prince Eon and his women moved from the howdah into his royal tent, unseen by any, in the darkness. Throughout, Shakuntala never left his side. After he fell asleep, she lay against him, just as she had in the howdah, nestled in his arm. So that if any should intrude, she could once again be shielded from their sight.
But the princess-the empress, now-did not sleep. Not for hours. No, once she was certain that all the others in the tent were asleep, Shakuntala finally let the tears flow. Allowed the pain of her loss to sweep through her, like
