Fortune's stroke

enough otherwise.'

Antonina was not fooled by that smile. She understood how little Eon cared, so soon after the death of Tarabai and Zaia, to even think of marriage. But the young king, here also, was showing that he could put the needs of his kingdom first.

'Negusa nagast,' she murmured, under her breath.

Or so she thought. Perhaps she spoke louder than she intended, because the words were almost instantly echoed by others in the room. By all in the room, within seconds.

'Negusa nagast,' repeated the regimental commanders. The two words, alone, were the token of their submission.

Ethiopia's new King of Kings had established his rule. In what mattered, now, not in the formalities of ritual and custom. The regiments had raised him to the throne, but he had shown that he could break them to his will.

At first, as she carefully studied the faces of the commanders of the sarawit, Antonina was surprised that she could see no signs of resentment. To the contrary-for all their impassivity, she was sure she detected an underlying sense of satisfaction in those hard, black faces.

But, after a time, she realized that she had misunderstood those men. Traders and merchants they might be, in some part of their lives. But at the heart of those lives lay spears, not coins. When all was said and done, those warriors counted victory as the greatest treasure of all. And, like all such men, they knew that triumph was impossible without sureness of command.

Sureness of which they had just been given evidence. With their own heads offered, if need be, as the proof.

There was no need. In the hours which followed, as the session relaxed and delved into the specifics of war, and campaigns, and negotiations, and trade privileges, Antonina witnessed the forging of Ethiopia's new leadership. It centered on Eon, of course; but Ousanas was there also, and Garmat and Wahsi, and, by the end of the day, every single commander of the sarawit except those in rebellion in Arabia.

Watching the easy confidence with which those men planned their next campaign-participating in it fully, in fact, for her own forces were integral to the plans-Antonina found herself, again and again, forced to suppress an urge to giggle.

Bad move, Malwa. Oh-bad, bad move.

Chapter 10

Deogiri

Spring, 532 A.D.

Raghunath Rao finished his bowl of rice and set it down on the stone floor of the rampart. Still squatting on his heels, he leaned back against the outer wall. His head, resting against the rough stones, was only inches from one of the open embrasures in the crenellated fortification. The breeze coming through the gap in the wall helped to ease the heat. It was the middle of garam, India's dry season, and the land was like an oven.

Rao exuded satisfaction. 'It's nice to get rice for a change,' he commented. 'I get sick of millet.'

Squatting next to him, Maloji nodded cheerfully. 'We should have enough for several days, too. That was a big shipment smuggled in from the coast.'

Rao turned his head, peering through the embrasure at the distant lines of the Malwa besieging Deogiri. 'Was there any trouble?'

Maloji grinned. 'Not the least.' He jerked his head toward the Malwa. 'Half of those wretches, by now, are simply trying to stay alive. The Vile One isn't sending out many patrols any longer, and most of those keep their eyes closed. We let them pass unmolested, they don't see anything. That's the unspoken agreement.'

Rao smiled. His eyes scanned the enemy trenches and fieldworks. That was simply habit. The Malwa besiegers were not trying to advance their lines any longer. They were simply waiting for the siege guns to arrive and break Deogiri's huge walls.

The walls of Deogiri had shrugged off Venandakatra's light field artillery, and they had been the doom of thousands of Malwa soldiers. The enemy had not tried to assault the city for weeks, now. Not even Venandakatra, who cared as much for the lives of common soldiers as he did for insects, would order any more charges.

Maloji continued. 'If the Rajputs were still here, of course, we'd have a problem. But they've all been sent north. Our spies in Bharakuccha say the Malwa are having nothing but grief with the Romans in Persia.' He spit on the floor. 'Not even the Vile One's Ye-tai can force the regular rabble to conduct serious patrols any longer.'

Both men fell silent, for several minutes. Then, clearing his throat, Maloji spoke again.

'Have you received word from the empress?'

Rao nodded. 'Yes. A letter arrived yesterday. But she said nothing concerning the siege guns. I didn't expect her to. If Kungas was able to convince her of our plan, she would not send any message to us. For fear of interception. The plan can only succeed if absolute secrecy is maintained.'

Maloji hesitated, then scowled. 'I still don't like it. How can you trust that man so much? He betrayed Malwa once. Why would he not betray us? Everything depends on him, and his fellow traitors.'

Rao's eyes left the enemy and settled on Maloji. His expression was utterly serene.

'Words, Maloji. Those are just words. The veil of illusion. How can the man be accused of betraying Malwa, when he never gave his loyalty to them in the first place? He was born into their world, he did not choose it freely.'

'He worked for them,' countered Maloji stubbornly. 'All the Kushans did.'

Rao smiled. 'Tell me, Maloji. Did you ever catch wild animals-cubs-when you were a boy, and keep them in a pen?' His friend and subordinate nodded. 'Did they escape?'

Maloji chuckled. 'The mongoose did.'

Rao nodded. 'And then? Did you denounce the mongoose for a traitor?'

Maloji laughed. After a moment, he made a little gesture with his hand, opening the palm. It was not the first time in his life he had made that gesture, nor, he knew, would it be the last. The student, acknowledging the master.

Rao's eyes grew slightly unfocused. 'I know that man, Maloji. Better, perhaps, than I know any other man alive. I spent weeks studying him, outside the walls of the Vile One's palace, while he was still Shakuntala's captor. My enemy, he was then. I hated him with a pure fury. But I never misunderstood him.'

Rao rolled his shoulders against the stone wall, pointing to the south.

'I will never forget the day I saw Kungas coming through that gate, bringing word from the empress that she had taken Suppara. I fell to my knees, I was so stunned. I knew Belisarius must have found Indian allies, to smuggle Shakuntala out of captivity, but I had no idea it was him.'

Rao's eyes closed, as he savored the memory.

'On my knees. He came up to me and extended his hand, but I refused the offer. I stayed on my knees for several minutes, not because I was still shocked, but because I was praying.'

He opened his eyes and stared at the blinding sky of India. 'I understood, then-I knew- that God has not forsaken us. I knew the asura was doomed.'

He brought down his eyes to meet those of his friend. 'Trust me in this, Maloji. If the thing can be done, Kungas will do it.'

Silence reigned for several minutes. Then, with a little shake of his head, Rao spoke again. His voice was perhaps a bit harsh.

'The empress wrote the letter to ask for my advice. The Cholas have offered marriage to her. The eldest son of the dynasty.'

Maloji studied Rao intently. 'And what did you say?'

Rao flexed his hands. He spent a few seconds examining the opening and closing fingers, as if they were