The tide of victory

Begram is not a village, after all. It is a sizeable city, with walls, and a large population to guard it. An enthusiastic population, to boot.'

She inclined her head, indicating the riotous celebration going on in the streets below. 'Any Pathan chief will know full well that, while he might take Begram, he will pay a hard price for it. And if the price is too hard-which it is likely to be; the populace is Kushan, after all-his tribe will be at the mercy of your army when you return.'

'If we return.'

' 'If' you return,' Irene allowed. 'But the Pathans will wait to see what happens at the Khyber, Kungas. Not even the most hot-headed tribesman will make any attempt on Begram until they are certain your army is not something to be feared. And besides-'

Old habit triumphed. She reached back, drew the horse-tail over her shoulder, and began stroking it. 'And besides,' she said softly, almost crooning with anticipation, 'I will not be spending those weeks idly. Diplomacy, after all, can often accomplish greater wonders than feats of arms.'

* * *

'You must be joking,' hissed Valentinian. He stared at the implements in Ajatasutra's hands as if they were so many cobras. In the moonlight, his narrow face and close-set features made him look not so much like a weasel as a demon.

And a greatly offended demon, at that.

Ajatasutra shrugged. 'There is another alternative, if you prefer.'

Lifting his left hand, still holding one of the digging tools, he indicated Ajmer at the bottom of the slope which served the city for a cemetery. 'I can purchase a suitable woman and three children in the slave market. A quick bit of blade work-much less effort than all this digging-and we'll have what we need.'

He lowered the digging tool and gave Valentinian a hard-eyed stare. 'Of course, you will have to do the work. Not me.'

Valentinian stared down at the city below, his face even sharper than usual. Clearly enough, he was considering the alternative.

Anastasius heaved up a sound which was as much of a sigh as a humorless chuckle. 'Not even you, Valentinian. And you know it. So there's no point postponing the inevitable.'

The giant cataphract stepped forward and took one of the tools from Ajatasutra. 'You do know which graves we want, I hope. Or are we digging at random?'

Ajatasutra's chuckle was quite full of humor. 'Please! I am no fonder of labor than either of you. I did not spend my weeks here idly, I assure you.' Handing one of the tools he still had in his hands to Valentinian, he began working at the soil with the other. 'One grave will do. This one. A big family, it was, although we will need only four of the bodies. One woman and three children. Two boys and a girl, of approximately the right age.'

Although he began sharing in the work, Valentinian was still sour. 'Died of the plague? Wonderful. We're digging up disease too.'

'No disease. Just an impoverished family-one of many, now-huddling in a shack on the outskirts of the city. Easy pickings for a street gang. So the bodies will even show suitable injuries.'

* * *

Some time later, after the four bodies had been extracted, Valentinian's sourness was still as strong as ever.

' 'Suitable injuries,' ' he mimicked. 'Who could possibly tell?' He scowled down at what was left of four corpses, still wrapped in what was left of rags. Which was not much, in either case.

Ajatasutra shrugged. 'There will be enough signs to satisfy anyone who investigates. We will burn the caravan after the attack, so there wouldn't be much left anyway.'

Anastasius, unlike Valentinian, was devoted to the study of philosophy. So he had already walked through the steps of the logic. And, having done so, heaved another great sigh.

'It gets worse,' he rumbled. 'The corpses will be suitable. But those rags have got to go.'

Valentinian's eyes began widening with new indignation. Indignation which became outrage, when he saw what Ajatasutra was hauling out of a sack he had brought with them.

'Indeed,' said the assassin cheerfully, as he began tossing items of clothing to the two Romans. 'These cost me a small fortune, too. Narses, at least. The garments of Rajput royalty are enough to bankrupt a man.'

* * *

That same night, in Kausambi, Lady Damodara entered the chamber where her new maids slept. It was the first time she had ever done so.

The two sisters drew back a little, on the bed where they were both sitting. For all the subtlety of the movement, it exuded fear and apprehension.

'I'm sorry, great lady,' said the older hastily. She bounced the little boy in her arms, trying to quiet the squalling infant. 'He isn't usually so bad.'

Lady Damodara swept forward to the bed and leaned over, studying the child. She was a short woman. But, though she was as plump as her husband had been in times past, there was a certain solidity to her form which made her stature seem much greater than it was. The fact that she was wearing the expensive garments of a member of the Malwa royal clan, of course, added a great deal to the impression.

'He's sick,' she pronounced. 'You should have told me. Come.'

She straightened and swept out of the chamber. Confused and fearful, the two sisters followed her.

In the course of the next few hours, their fear abated. Almost vanished, in fact. But their confusion grew. It was unheard of, after all, for a great Malwa lady to serve as a physician for a slave servant's infant. Using her own chamber for the purpose! Feeding him potions with her own hands!

As they began to leave, the infant having finally fallen asleep, Lady Damodara's voice stopped them in the doorway.

'You remember, I trust, what Ajatasutra told you?'

The sisters, more confused than ever, turned around and stared at her.

Lady Damodara sighed. 'Spymasters, assassins,' she muttered. 'He did not even tell you his name?'

After a moment or two, the meaning of her words finally registered on them. Both sisters' eyes widened.

'What did he tell you?' demanded Lady Damodara. 'The most important thing?'

'Ask no questions,' the younger sister whispered. 'Do as you are told. Say nothing to anyone.'

Lady Damodara stared at them. Short she might have been, and plump besides, but in that moment she resembled a great hawk. Or an owl, which is also a predator.

The moment lasted not more than seconds, however. 'Oh, pah!' she suddenly exclaimed. 'Spymasters are too smart for their own good. If any part of the thing is discovered, we are all dead anyway. Better you should know, so that when the time comes you are not overwhelmed with confusion.'

She moved over to her own great regal bed and sat down on the edge. 'Come here, girls,' she commanded, patting the bedding. 'Sit, and I will tell you who you are.'

The sisters-now completely confused, and again fearful-moved toward the bed. On the way, the youngest clutched to the only certainty which their universe had possessed for years. 'We are the daughters of Dadaji Holkar.'

Lady Damodara laughed. Softly, with gentle humor. 'Indeed so!'

And then, in the minutes which followed, she told them who their father was. Told them that the humble small town scribe from whom they had been torn had since become the peshwa of mighty Andhra. An Andhra growing mightier by the day.

By the time she finished, both girls were weeping. From joy, because they knew their father-and mother, too-were still alive. From grief, hearing of the death of their brother.

But, mostly, from fear and heartbreak.

'You are holding us hostage, then,' whispered the youngest.

'Our father will never want us back, anyway,' sobbed the older, clutching her child to her breast. 'Not now. Not so great a man, with such polluted daughters.'

Lady Damodara studied them for a moment. Then, rose and went to the window of her bedchamber. Once at the window, she stared out over great Kausambi.