Fortune's stroke

Everyone was staring at her, eyes wide open. Except Kungas, she saw. The Kushan was looking at her also, but his gaze seemed less one of surprise than-

Interest? Irene lowered her own eyes, plucking at her robes. For a moment, looking down, she caught sight of her nose.

Damn great ugly beak.

She brushed back her hair and raised her head. Envoy from Rome, she reminded herself firmly.

The wide-eyed stares were still there.

'Is your spy network really that good?' asked Holkar, a bit shakily. 'Already? You've only been here for-'

He broke off, as if distracted by another thought.

Irene coughed. 'Well. . Yes, peshwa, it is that good.'

She gave Shakuntala an apologetic little nod. 'I was intending to give you this latest information at our next meeting, Your Majesty.' The empress acknowledged the apology with a nod of her own.

Irene turned her gaze back to Kungas.

'So that objection to the Bhatasvapati's proposal is moot,' she said. 'But I confess that I have no idea how he intends to destroy the existing guns.'

Kungas began to explain. Irene listened carefully to his plan. She was required to do so, not simply by her position as the envoy of Rome, but by the nature of the plan itself. At one point, in fact, the meeting was suspended while Irene sent for one of the Syrian gunners who had accompanied her to India, in order to clarify a technical problem.

So, throughout the long session, Irene was attentive to Kungas' proposal. But there was a part of her mind, lurking far back, which focused on the man himself.

When the session was over, and she was striding back to her rooms, she found it necessary to discipline that wayward part.

The envoy of Rome! Besides, it's absurd. I'm the world's most incorrigible bookworm, and he's an illiterate. Ugly, to boot.

Not long after arriving in her quarters, a servant announced the arrival of the peshwa.

Irene put down her book, a copy of the Periplus Maris Erythraei, and rose to greet her visitor. She had been expecting Dadaji Holkar, and she was quite certain why he had come.

The peshwa was ushered into her chamber. The middle-aged scholar seemed awkward, and ill at ease. He began to fumble for words, staring at the floor.

'Yes, Dadaji,' said Irene. 'I will instruct my spies to search for your family.'

Holkar's head jerked up with surprise. Then, lowered.

'I should not ask,' he muttered. 'It is a private matter. Not something which-'

'You did not ask,' pointed out Irene. 'I volunteered.'

The demands of her profession had trained Irene to maintain an aloof, calculating stance toward human suffering. But, for a moment, she felt a deep empathy for the man in front of her.

Dadaji Holkar, for all the prestige of his current status as the peshwa of India's most ancient and noble dynasty, was a low-caste scribe in his origins. After the Malwa had conquered Andhra, Dadaji-and his whole family-had been sold into slavery. Belisarius had purchased Holkar while he was in India, in order to use the man's literary skills to advance his plot against Venandakatra. In the end, Holkar had been instrumental in effecting Shakuntala's escape and had become her closest adviser.

But his family-his wife, son, and two daughters-were still in captivity. Somewhere in the vastness of Malwa India.

It was typical of Holkar, she thought, that he would even hesitate to ask for a personal favor. Most Indian officials-most officials of any country, in her experience-took personal favors as a matter of due course.

She smiled, brushing back her hair. 'It's not a problem, Dadaji. It will be an opportunity, actually. To begin with, it'll give my spies a challenge. The Malwa run an excellent espionage service, but they have grown too confident and sure of themselves. Quite easy to penetrate, actually. Whereas finding a few Maratha slaves, scattered across India, will test their skills.'

She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, before adding: 'And there's more. I've been thinking, anyway, that we should start probing the sentiments of the lower classes in Malwa India. A very good way to do that is to have my spies scouring India looking for some Maratha slaves.'

'Can you find them?' he asked, in a whisper.

'I can promise you nothing, Dadaji. But I will try.'

He nodded, and left. Irene returned to her chair. But she had not read more than a page of the Periplus when the servant announced another visitor.

The Bhatasvapati was here.

Irene rose again. She was interested-and a bit annoyed-to find that her emotions were unsettled. She was even more interested-and not annoyed at all-to realize that she had no idea why Kungas had come.

I like surprises. I get so few of them.

When Kungas came into her chamber, Irene got her first surprise. As soon as he entered, he glanced over his shoulder and said: 'I saw Dadaji leaving, just a minute ago. I don't think he even noticed me, he seemed so preoccupied.'

Kungas swiveled his head back to face her. 'He came to speak to you about his family,' he stated. 'To ask you for your help in finding them.'

Irene's eyes narrowed. 'How did you know?'

Kungas made the little shoulder-twitch which served him for a shrug. 'There are only two reasons he would come here, right after the session in the imperial audience chamber. That is one of them. Like everyone else, he was impressed by your spy network.'

'And the other reason?'

Kungas seemed to be examining her carefully. 'The other reason would be to discuss with you the question of Empress Shakuntala's marriage prospects. He is much concerned with that subject, and would want to enlist the support of the Roman envoy.'

Kungas' looked away for a moment, in a quick scrutiny of the chamber. The furniture he gave no more than a glance, but his gaze lingered on a chest in the corner. The lid was open, and he could see that it was full of books.

When his eyes returned to Irene, she thought there was some impish humor lurking within them.

She got her second surprise.

'But I knew that couldn't be it. He would not have left so soon. You do not agree with him, I think, and so he would have stayed to argue.'

'How do you know my opinion?' she demanded.

Again, the little shoulder-twitch. 'It is-not obvious, no. Nothing about you is obvious. But I do not think you agree that the empress should make a dynastic marriage with one of the independent south Indian monarchies.'

Irene studied Kungas for a moment, in silence.

'No, I don't,' she said slowly. 'I am not certain of my opinion yet, mind you. But I think. . ' She hesitated.

Kungas held up his hand. 'Please! I am not prying, envoy from Rome. We can discuss this matter at a later time, when you think it more suitable. For the moment-'

A very faint smile came to his lips. 'Let me just say that I suspect you look at the thing as I do. A monarch should marry the power which can uphold the throne. And so the thing is obvious-to any but these idiot Indians, with their absurd fetishes.'

Irene suppressed her little start of surprise. But Kungas' eyes were knowing.

'So I thought,' he murmured. 'Very smart woman.'

He turned away, heading for the door. 'But that is not why I came,' he said. 'A moment, please. My servant is