If the Ye-tai hadn't been seized by the fury of their charge, they might have wondered about that level ground. An area fifty yards wide, just within the northern wall, had been cleared by Belisarius' troops. 'Cleared,' in the sense that the buildings had been hastily knocked apart. The sun-dried bricks hadn't been hauled away, simply spread around. The end result was a field of stones and wall stumps, interspersed with small mounds of mud brick.
They might have wondered about those mounds, too. But they would have no time to do so.
There were now at least a thousand Ye-tai packed into the level ground, along with perhaps two hundred Kushans and kshatriyas. The Malwa soldiers were advancing toward the first line of still-intact buildings. They were moving more slowly now, alert for ambush. Kshatriya grenadiers began tossing grenades into the first buildings.
'
Dozens of fuses were lit. Fast-burning fuses, these. Three seconds later, the holocaust began.
The mud brick mounds scattered everywhere erupted, as the huge amphorae buried within them were shattered by explosive charges. The amphorae-great two-handled jugs-had been designed to haul grain. But they held naphtha just as nicely.
Some of the jugs were set afire by the explosions. Mud brick mounds became blooming balls of flame and fury, incinerating the soldiers crowded around them.
Most of the jugs did nothing more than shatter, spilling their contents. The naphtha they contained was crude stuff. Undistilled, and thick with impurities. Explosive charges alone were not usually enough to set it aflame. But the charges did send clouds of vapor and streams of smelly naphtha spewing in all directions. Within seconds, most of the Malwa soldiers packing the level ground were coated with the substance.
The next round of charges went off. Mines, disguised with rubble, had been laid against the walls of the nearest tenement buildings. They had been manufactured over the past few days by Roman troops working in the harbor's warehouses, smithies and repair shops.
The mines, too, were crude. Not much more than buckets, really, packed with explosives and laid on their sides. Some were copper kettles, but most were simply amphorae reinforced with iron hoops. Wooden lids held the charges from spilling out.
These mines were designed for incendiary purposes. As soon as the charges in the bases of the buckets were fired, combustible materials saturated with distilled naphtha spewed forth. Hundreds-thousands-of burning objects rained all over the ground before them, igniting the crude naphtha which already saturated the area.
Within seconds, hundreds of Malwa troops had been turned into human torches. All other sounds were submerged under a giant's scream.
'Jesus,' whispered Maurice, peering through the slit. 'Jesus, forgive us our sins.'
Belisarius, after a few seconds, turned away. His face seemed set in stone.
'That should stop the charge,' he said. 'From now on, they'll advance like snails.'
Maurice's gaze was still fixed on the human conflagration below. It could not be said that he turned pale, but his cheeks were drawn. He hissed a slow breath between clenched teeth.
Then, with a quick, harsh shake of the head, he too turned away.
He glanced at Belisarius. 'Snails? They'll advance like trees growing roots, more like.' Again, hissing:
* * *
Musketeers began to clamber onto the tower platform and take their places at the arrow slits. Belisarius and Maurice edged through the soldiers and started descending the stairs. Both men were silent.
Vocally, at least. Trying to shake off the horror, Belisarius spoke to Aide.
Aide understood the question. His mind and Belisarius', over the years, had entwined their own roots.
Yes. Wars of the future will not really be civilized, even when the Geneva Convention is followed. More antiseptic, perhaps, in the sense that men can murder each other at a distance, where they can't see the face of the enemy. But, if anything, I think that makes war even more inhumane.
It did not seem strange-neither to the man nor the crystal-that Aide should use the word 'inhumane' as he did. From the 'inside,' so to speak. Nor did it seem strange that, having used the word, Aide should also accept the consequence. If there had been any accusation in the word, it had been aimed as much at himself as the men who fired the naphtha. Had it not been Aide, after all, who showed Belisarius the claymore mines of the future?
The question of Aide's own humanity had been settled. The Great Ones had created Aide and his folk, and given them the name of 'people.' But, as always, that was a name which had to be established in struggle. Aide had claimed his humanity, and that of his crystal clan in the human tribe, in the surest and most ancient manner.
He had fought for it.
Chapter 35
Deogiri
Irene chuckled sarcastically. 'Well, Dadaji, what do you think they're saying now?' She draped her right elbow over the side of the howdah, leaned back, and looked at the elephants trailing them in the procession. The Keralan delegation was riding in the next howdah. The sight of Ganapati's face was enough to cause her to laugh outright.
Holkar did not bother to turn his head. He simply gazed upon the cheering crowds lining the road and smiled beatifically. 'No doubt they are recognizing their error, and vowing to reapply themselves to their philosophical studies.'
Irene, her eyes still to the rear, shook her head in wonder. 'If Ganapati doesn't close his mouth a little, the first strong breeze that comes along will sweep him right out of his howdah.'
She craned her neck a bit, trying to get a better glimpse of the elephants plodding up the road behind the Keralans. 'Same goes for the Cholan envoys. And the Funanese, from what I can see.' Again, she shook her head- not in wonder, this time, but cheerful condemnation. 'O ye of little faith,' she murmured.
She removed her elbow and turned back into her own howdah. For a moment, Irene's eyes met those of the woman sitting across from her, nestled into Holkar's arm. Dadaji's wife smiled at her. The expression was so shy- timid, really-that it was almost painful to see.
Irene immediately responded with her own smile, putting as much reassurance into the expression as she possibly could. Dadaji's wife lowered her gaze almost instantly.
Irene moved her eyes away from the small, gray-haired woman tucked under Holkar's shoulder. She felt a deep sympathy for her, but knew that any further scrutiny would just make Holkar's wife even more withdrawn. The problem was not that Gautami was still suffering any symptoms from her long captivity. Quite the opposite, in truth. Gautami had gone from being the spouse of a modest scribe in a Maratha town to a Malwa kitchen slave, and then from a slave to the wife of ancient Satavahana's peshwa. The latter leap, Irene thought, had been in some ways even more stressful than the first plunge. The poor woman, suddenly discovering herself in India's most rarified heights, was still gasping for breath.
Looking away, Irene caught sight of yet another column of Marathas approaching the road along which Shakuntala was making her triumphant procession toward Deogiri. The gentle smile she had bestowed on Gautami was transformed into something vastly more sanguine-a grin that bordered on pure savagery.
'Column,' actually, was an inappropriate word. 'Motley horde' better caught the reality. At the forefront, whooping and hollering, came perhaps two dozen young men. Five of them were on horseback, prancing forward and then back again-the self-appointed 'cavalry' of whatever village had produced them. The rest were marching- half-charging, say better-on foot. All of them were bearing weapons; although, in most cases, the martial
