After giving Valentinian a quick, nervous glance, the Bihari nodded vigorously. 'Not a problem! Not a problem! Look here!' He scurried over to one of the nearby wood pillars that held up the roof and began jabbing with his finger. Here, there-everywhere, it seemed.
'See how the wedges are set? The charges will blow them all loose. Without the wedges, everything will come down. We put all the doglegs deep, too. Deeper than the rest of the tunnels. With that much weight of earth above them-especially the first dogleg, near the river, with all that muddy soil-they'll come right down.'
Anastasius swiveled a bit, to be able to look at Valentinian. 'Looks good to me. You have a problem with anything?'
Valentinian was in a half-crouch also, although in his case he was leaning his rump against one of the pillars to support his weight rather than using hands on knees. He wasn't as tall as Anastasius, but he was still much too tall to stand upright in the low tunnel. Even the short Bihari miners had to stoop a little.
'Not really,' he said, 'beyond the general principle that something's bound to get fucked up.' He gave the miner a little nod of the head. 'It's not as if I really distrust him and his men. If it doesn't work, they're dead meat along with the rest of us.'
The miner nodded his head, maybe a dozen times. 'Yes! Yes! And if it works, we get our freedom and a big bonus. The lady promised. And-ah-'
He left off the rest, since it was a bit awkward. What was more to the point was that Valentinian had agreed to the lady's promise, and done so to their faces. For all that he frightened the miners-and frightened the Ye-tai even more, probably-there was an odd way in which they all trusted Valentinian. A man that murderous simply didn't need to stoop to petty treachery, when all was said and done.
Rajiv's fight with the three traitors had cemented Valentinian's reputation with those men. Especially the Ye- tai, who were experienced warriors themselves. 'The Mongoose' might be a legend, inflated and overblown as legends often are. A man so deadly he could train a thirteen-year-old boy to kill three mercenaries-with jury-rigged weapons, to boot-was a living, breathing human cobra in their midst.
They were scared of Anastasius, also. But for all his size and strength and the fact they knew him to be an experienced fighter, he just didn't have the same dark aura about him. If anything, like the stable-keeper, they found his presence alongside Valentinian something of a relief.
Besides, there was hope as well as fear. Freedom and enough money to set themselves up well, for the slave miners. For the Ye-tai who had remained loyal, the chance to join an imperial bodyguard, with all its perks and privileges.
That presumed, of course, that the scheme worked. By now, all of them knew the gist of the thing, since there was no point in trying to keep any of it a secret any longer. But if it didn't work, they were all dead anyway. So why not dream?
* * *
When the two cataphracts got back to the palace late in the afternoon and reported to Lady Damodara, she expressed some doubts.
'This is all so risky. We're depending on the loyalty of a man we don't know at all, simply because of a message sent by a man who is our enemy.'
Anastasius shrugged. 'I've met Holkar. Know him pretty well, actually. I really don't think this is the sort of thing he'd get tricky about. If he vouches for the character of the stable-keeper, I think we can trust him. Don't forget that the life of Holkar's daughters is at stake, too.'
Valentinian started to spit on the floor. Then, remembering where he was, swallowed the phlegm. 'Besides, we're not trusting the stable-keeper. I'm threatening him. Big difference.'
Lady Damodara shook her head disapprovingly. 'You shouldn't bully him so. He does seem like a nice man, after all.'
'So? When this is all over, he's still a nice man. Except he's a nice man with the favor of the new emperor instead of a dirt-poor stable-keeper with no friends worth talking about. He'll have the fanciest stable in India. His biggest problem will be keeping the help from stealing the jewels encrusting the imperial saddles and howdahs.'
Lady Damodara laughed softly. 'I'm not sure I've ever met anyone with quite your view of life, Valentinian. I don't know how to describe it, exactly.'
'Stripped to the bone,' Valentinian supplied. He jerked a thumb at his huge companion. 'This one can prattle about Plato and Aristotle all he wants. My philosophy is simple. Moralize like a miser.'
* * *
Still later that evening, it was Dhruva's turn to chide Valentinian.
'You're spoiling him again!'
Valentinian studied the infant in his arms. Baji was grinning at him, his hands waving about for another sweet to suck on.
'I know.' He was silent for a while, playing tug-of-war with Baji over his finger. 'Terrific grip. I've got hopes for the kid.'
'Give him to me,' Dhruva insisted. 'He needs to eat real food. He can't live on sweets.'
After handing him over, Valentinian sighed. 'I know I spoil him. Maybe it's my way of making amends.'
'For what?'
He waved his hand vaguely. 'I don't know. Me.'
Dhruva started to feed the baby. 'That's silly. You're not so bad.'
Valentinian chuckled. 'You're one of the few people I know who'd say that.'
She shrugged with only one arm and shoulder, the other being occupied with the baby at her breast. 'Most people haven't been Maratha slave whores in a Malwa brothel.'
She said it almost serenely. After a while, she looked up. 'I have never asked. Does that bother you?'
'No. It's like I told Lady Damodara. I'm pretty well stripped to the bone.'
She nodded and looked back down at Baji. 'Yes. You must have done something right in your former life.'
Valentinian watched her, for a time. 'I think maybe I did.'
Chapter 21
Bharakuccha
The soldiers along the battlements were so excited they weren't even trying to maintain disciplined formations. The closer Lord Damodara's army came to the gates of Bharakuccha, they more excited they got. By now, most of them were shouting.
Malwa's soldiers hated service in the Great Country. The war against the Marathas had been a savage business. But now, it seemed, it was finally over.
'A great victory, clearly,' commented Toramana to Nanda Lal. 'Look at those skin-sacks! Dozens of them. That must be Raghunath Rao's, floating from Rana Sanga's lance.'
Nanda Lal squinted into the distance. 'Yes, probably. .'
It was frustrating! A properly prepared skin-sack had all its holes sewed up, so the skin could be filled with air. Thus buoyant and bloated, it swung gaily in the breeze, like a paper lantern. Best of all, the features could be distinguished. Grossly deformed, of course, but still made out clearly enough. Even all these years later, the face of the former emperor of Andhra was recognizable, where he hung in the great feasting hall of the imperial palace at Kausambi.
These skin-sacks, however, were limp and flaccid. Simply the flayed pelts of men, flapping like streamers and quite unrecognizable as individuals. No way to avoid it, of course. A field army like Damodara's simply wasn't equipped to do the work properly. Flaying skin came naturally enough to soldiers. Careful sewing did not.
No matter, in and of itself, as long as the skins weren't too badly damaged. Once the sacks arrived in the city, they could be salvaged and redone correctly. Nanda Lal was simply frustrated because he was a man who liked to
