Fortune's stroke

Irene frowned. 'Puzzled by what?'

'Why are you wearing such a stupid costume?' he asked, gesturing to the heavy Roman robes. 'In this climate?'

Kungas' lips seemed to twitch. Irene thought that might be a smile. She wasn't sure.

'I grant you,' he continued, 'many of the Indian customs are ridiculous. But the women are quite sensible when it comes to their clothing. You would do much better to wear a sari, and leave your midriff bare.'

Irene grinned. 'I'm a diplomat,' she explained. 'Got to maintain my ambassadorial dignity. Especially since I'm a woman. Everybody looks at these absurd robes instead of me. So all they see is the Roman Empire, rather than the foreign female.'

'Ah.' Kungas nodded. 'Good thinking.'

'You must be on your way to the audience chamber yourself,' said Irene. She cocked her head to the side. 'The empress will be delighted to see you. She has missed you, I think. Although she says nothing.'

Now, finally, Kungas did smile. 'She never does. Lest people see the uncertain girl, instead of the ruler of Andhra.'

He made a slight bow. 'Envoy from Rome, I must give my report to the empress. May I escort you to the audience chamber?'

Irene bowed in return, and nodded graciously. Side by side, she and Kungas headed toward the great double doors at the end of the corridor.

From the corner of her eye, Irene studied Kungas. She was a bit fascinated by the way he moved. Silently, and surely-more like a cat than a thick, stocky man. But, mostly, she was fascinated by Kungas himself. Such a thick, hard, rigid statue, he seemed. But she had not missed the warm humor lurking inside the bronze casting, nor the intelligence.

Then, turning her eyes to the front, she gave her head a little shake.

You're the envoy from Rome, she reminded herself. For a moment, her fingers plucked at her heavy robes. So just forget it, woman. Besides, the man can't even read.

'How long does Rao think it will take Venandakatra to bring up the siege guns?' asked Shakuntala. The empress, seated on a plush cushion, leaned forward from her lotus position. Her brow was wrinkled, as if she were a schoolgirl straining to understand a lesson.

Irene was not fooled by Shakuntala's resemblance to a young student. That is one very worried monarch, she thought, watching from her vantage point against the east wall of the small audience chamber.

Irene's translator leaned over, whispering, but she stilled him with a gesture. Her Hindi had improved well enough that she was able to follow the discussion. Irene had an aptitude for languages-that skill was a necessity for a spymaster in Rome's polyglot empire-and she had been tutored by Belisarius before leaving Constantinople. In the months since her arrival at Suppara, she had been immersed in Hindi. And Marathi. As was true of most Indian monarchs, Shakuntala used Hindi as the court language, but Irene had begun learning the common tongue of Majarashtra as well.

'How long?' repeated the empress.

Seated easily in his own lotus position, Kungas shrugged. 'It is difficult to say, Your Majesty. Many factors are involved. The siege guns were at Bharakuccha. Venandakatra has thus been forced to haul them across the Great Country. Very difficult terrain, as you know, through which to move huge war engines. And Rao has been harassing the Malwa column with his mountain fighters.'

'Can he stop them?' demanded Shakuntala. 'Before they can bring the guns to Deogiri?'

Kungas shook his head. As with all the man's gestures, the movement was slight-but emphatic, for all that.

'Not a chance, Your Majesty. He can slow it down, but he does not have the forces to stop it. Venandakatra has reinforced the column's escort with every spare military unit at his disposal. He cannot reduce Deogiri without those guns-and with them, he cannot fail. Any one of those cannons is big enough to shatter Deogiri's walls, and he has six of them.'

Shakuntala winced. For a moment, Kungas' face seemed to soften. Just a tiny bit.

'There is this much, Your Majesty,' he added. 'The Vile One has been forced to end the punitive raids in the countryside. He cannot spare the men. Every cavalry troop he has, beyond the ones investing Deogiri, are assigned to guard the column bringing the cannons.'

Shakuntala rubbed her face. For all her youth, it seemed an old, tired gesture. Venandakatra's atrocities in the Maratha countryside, Irene knew, had preyed heavily on her soul. Even by Malwa standards, Venandakatra was a beast. The man's official title was Goptri of the Deccan-the 'Warden of the Marches,' assigned by the Malwa emperor to subjugate his most unruly new province. But by Marathas themselves, the man was called nothing but the Vile One.

Shakuntala's face rubbing ended, within seconds. Her natural energy and assertiveness returned.

'It is up to us, then,' she pronounced. 'We must organize a relief column of our own.'

The two Maratha cavalry officers seated next to Kungas stirred, and glanced at each other. The senior of them, a general by the name of Shahji, cleared his throat and spoke.

'I do not think that is wise, Empress. We have been able to hold Suppara, and the coast, but our forces are still not strong enough to relieve Rao at Deogiri.'

'Unless we took our whole army,' qualified Kondev, the other Maratha general. 'But that would leave Suppara defenseless.'

Shakuntala's face tightened. Kondev drove home the point:

'You have a responsibility here also, Your Majesty.'

'I can't simply let Rao be destroyed!' snapped the empress. She glared angrily at the two Maratha cavalry generals.

Shakuntala's chief adviser, Dadaji Holkar, intervened. As always, the scholarly peshwa-'premier,' Irene translated the term-spoke softly and calmly. And, as always, his tone calmed the empress.

Although, thought Irene, his words did not.

'There is the other alternative, Your Majesty.'

Holkar's statement seemed to strike Shakuntala like a blow, or a reprimand. The young empress' face grew pinched, and Irene thought she almost recoiled.

Holkar's lips tightened, for a moment. To Irene, his eyes seemed sad.

Sad, but determined.

'If we insist, as a condition to the marriage,' he continued, 'I am quite certain that the Cholas will send an army. A large enough army to relieve Deogiri, without requiring us to abandon Suppara.'

Holkar glanced quickly at Kungas. 'At the time, I thought Kungas was unwise, to urge you to decline the offer of marriage from the Prince of Tamraparni. But his advice proved correct. The Cholas did make a better offer.'

His gaze returned to the empress. Still sad, but still determined.

'As you know,' he stated, gently but emphatically. 'I read you the text of their offer last week. You said that you wanted to think about it. I suggest that the time for thinking is over.'

Again, Holkar glanced at Kungas. More of a lingering look, actually. Irene, watching, was puzzled by Holkar's stare. It seemed more one of anger-irritation, perhaps, and apprehensiveness-than admiration and approval. And she noticed that the empress herself was staring at Kungas rather oddly. Almost as if she were beseeching him.

For his part, Kungas returned their gazes with nothing beyond masklike imperturbability.

Something's going on here, thought Irene.

As other advisers began speaking, also urging the marriage on the empress, Irene's quick mind flitted over the situation. She knew of the Chola king's offer of his oldest son in marriage to Shakuntala. Irene had learned about it almost as soon as Shakuntala herself. The Greek spymaster had begun creating her own network of informants from the moment she arrived in India. But Irene had simply filed the information away for later