The tide of victory

A woman's voice was screaming inside the wagon. Valentinian stooped and entered, both his weapons ready for combat. Ajatasutra delayed a moment, leaning his head over the side to assess the progress of the battle between the Kushans and the Ye-tai. Then, grunting soft satisfaction, he followed Valentinian within.

'The Kushans should have it wrapped up soon,' he said cheerfully. 'I think we only lost four of them, too. Better than I expected.'

Then, seeing Valentinian's rigid stance, Ajatasutra tensed. He couldn't really see most of the wagon's interior, because the cataphract was in the way. All Ajatasutra could spot was a young servant huddled in one far corner, shrieking with terror. The moment his eyes met hers, the servant's screaming stopped abruptly. Clearly enough, her terror had now gone beyond shrieks.

Crouched in the other corner, wearing very fine clothing, was a little girl. Sanga's daughter, he supposed. The girl's face was pale, and she was wide-eyed as only a six-year-old girl can be. But she seemed otherwise composed. At least she hadn't been screaming like the servant.

But what was in front of Valentinian? Ajatasutra had never seen the deadly cataphract so utterly prepared for mortal combat. As taut and alert as a mongoose facing a cobra. Apparently- Ajatasutra had not foreseen this possibility-Lady Sanga had brought one of her husband's most capable Rajput warriors along as a personal bodyguard.

'You draw him off to one side,' Ajatasutra hissed, speaking in Greek. 'I'll take him from the other.'

Valentinian began to mutter something. Then, as he obeyed Ajatasutra's instructions, the mutter became something more in the way of a laughing exclamation.

'Good! You figure out how to handle this, you genius!'

With Valentinian out of the way, Ajatasutra could finally see the whole interior of the wagon. Lady Sanga, a plump, plain-faced and gray-haired woman, was sitting on the large settee at the front of the wagon. On her lap, clutched tightly, she was holding a four-year-old boy.

In front of her, standing between his mother and Valentinian, was the last of Sanga's children. A twelve- year-old boy, this one was. Ajatasutra knew that his name was Rajiv, and that the gap in age between himself and his two siblings was due to the death in infancy of two other children.

What he hadn't known.

— although he should have assumed it-

'Great,' muttered Valentinian. 'Just great. 'You draw him off and I'll take him from the other side.''

Suddenly, the cataphract straightened and, with an abrupt-almost angry-gesture, slammed his spatha back in its scabbard. A moment later, the knife vanished somewhere in his armor.

Now empty-handed, Valentinian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually against the wagon's wall. Then he spoke, in clear and precise Hindi.

'I fought the kid's father once already, Ajatasutra. And once is enough to last me a lifetime. So you can kill the kid, if you want to. You can spend the rest of your life worrying that Sanga will come looking for you. I am not an idiot.'

Ajatasutra stared at the boy. Rajiv held a sword in his hand and was poised in battle stance. Quite adeptly, in fact, given his age.

Of course, the boy's assurance was not all that surprising, now that Ajatasutra thought about it. He was the son of Rana Sanga, after all.

Ajatasutra was still trying to figure out how to disarm the boy without hurting him, when Rajiv himself solved his quandary. As soon as Valentinian finished speaking, the boy curled his lip. Quite an adult sneer it was, too.

'Had you truly fought my father, bandit, you would not be alive today.' The twelve-year-old spit on the floor of the wagon. Quite a hefty glob of spittle it was, too. Ajatasutra was impressed.

'Only two men have ever faced my father in battle and lived to speak of it afterward. The first was the great Raghunath Rao, Panther of Majarashtra. The other was-'

He broke off, his eyes widening. Then, for the first time since Ajatasutra got sight of him, the boy's eyes lost that slightly vague focus of the trained swordsman who is watching everything at once, and fled to Valentinian's face.

His eyes widened further. Behind him, his mother uttered a sharp little cry. Ajatasutra couldn't tell if the wordless sound signified fear or hope. Possibly both.

'You are the Mongoose?' Rajiv's question was barely more than a whisper.

Valentinian grinned his narrow-faced weasel grin. Which was a bit unfortunate, thought Ajatasutra. That was not a very reassuring expression.

But then, moving quickly but easily, Valentinian removed the helmet from his head and dropped to one knee in front of the boy. Seeming completely oblivious to the naked blade not more than inches from his neck, he reached up a hand and parted the coarse black hair on his head.

'You can still see the scar,' he said quietly. 'Feel it, too, if you want to.'

Rajiv lowered the sword, a bit. Then, slowly and hesitantly, reached out his other hand and ran fingers over Valentinian's scalp.

'It's a big scar,' he said wonderingly. And now, in a tone of voice more appropriate to his age.

His mother finally spoke, after clearing her throat. 'My husband always said the Mongoose was an honorable man. And certainly not a bandit or cutthroat.'

Ajatasutra sighed with relief and sheathed his own dagger. 'Nor is he, Lady Sanga. Nor am I or the men who came with us. I apologize for killing and injuring your Rajput companions. But we had no choice.'

Mention of those men brought home to Ajatasutra that all noise coming from without the wagon had ceased. Clearly enough, the battle was over.

Proof came immediately. Making very little noise, Kujulo landed on the balcony and stuck his head into the interior.

'The Ye-tai are all dead. We're driving off those gutless cart-drivers now. Killed three so far. We thought to leave two, maybe three alive.'

Ajatasutra nodded. 'Just so long as they're driven far away. Near enough to see the caravan burn, but too far to see any details.'

'What about the one guard? He'll never use that shoulder again-not for much, anyway-but he'll live if we take care of the wound. So will the old man.'

Ajatasutra hesitated. There had been no room in his plans for bringing badly injured men with them. But, seeing the new stiffening in Rajiv's stance, he decided the alternative was worse. Clearly enough, Sanga's son- probably the mother, too-would put up a struggle to save their close retainers.

'Bind them up,' he ordered curtly. 'We can probably disguise them as diseased men. Or simply the victims of a bandit attack. Who knows? That might even help keep prying eyes away.'

That done, he turned back to Lady Sanga. 'We did not come to kill you, but to save you from harm. It is all very complicated. I do not have time now to explain it to you. You will just have to trust us, for the time being. We must move immediately or-'

'Malwa,' hissed Lady Sanga. 'Men and their stupid oaths! I told my husband they would play him for a fool.' Seeing her son stiffening in front of her, she reached out a hand and swatted his head. Half-playfully, half. not.

'Stupid!' she repeated. 'Even you, at twelve! Malwa will ruin us all.'

When her eyes came back to Ajatasutra's, the assassin was almost stunned by the warmth and humor gleaming in them. For the first time, he began to understand why the great Rana Sanga had such a reputation for fidelity, despite the lack of comeliness of his wife.

* * *

An hour later, as they rode away from the scene of an apparent massacre, a pillar of smoke rising behind them, Valentinian claimed to have almost fallen in love with her.

'Would have, actually, except not even that woman is worth fighting Sanga again.'

'You'd do anything to get out of doing a stint of honest work,' jibed Anastasius.

Valentinian sneered. 'Pah! The way she arranged the bodies from the cemetery? Perfect! Didn't even flinch once. Didn't even grimace.'

The cataphract turned in his saddle and bestowed a look of mighty approval on the woman who was