Bertram was looking at him again, eyes pleading.
John, throat tight, looked down at his lap. When he looked up again, it felt like everyone had joined Bertram in looking at him.
“Look, I understand why you did what you did, and why the princess asked you to do it. I still think the men she had me issue the guns to would be a lot better trained if I could have given them some live-fire training, but I see the value in making the enemy believe we were out of options. Problem is, I thought we were out of options. I can’t see how deceiving your general up to the eve of battle is even an option…”
“Salim was in on it from the beginning, and he was to be Dara’s second,” Monique said.
John just looked at her.
“He ain’t here,” Rodney said.
“But he is still fighting for Dara!” Monique said. “His exile was part of the attempt to make us appear weak so Aurangzeb will attack head-on.”
“We are weaker without him than with!” John said, a little louder and angrier than he’d meant to.
Rodney stirred, then spoke. “Dara was already cutting Salim out of the picture, you know. He thought the pair of them were knocking boots, and wanted Salim exiled. It was a weird fixation he had. Every time he started coming down with one of those brutal headaches he would start in about it.”
Gervais nodded and added, “Jahanara made use of the only option that both removed Salim from the court, as Dara wished, and retained his services, and in the process deceived Aurangzeb. It was an elegant solution to a potential disaster.”
“I don’t disagree, Gervais. Thing is, when you play these kind of games with people, your mileage may vary. What if I was so pissed I just took Ilsa and we rode for the God-damned hills like the men who snuck out after Salim left? What then?”
They had no answer for that, and all of them had the good grace to look guilty. A part of John figured he’d said enough, but couldn’t help continuing, “Look, we already know we aren’t going to change everything about these people or this place, and we all learned exactly how dangerous court politics can be when they killed Shah Jahan. But I’m not going to sit by and idly take that crap for normal!”
Rodney and Priscilla were nodding agreement. Monique and Bertram both looked like they wanted to say something, but John plowed on. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about taking her on right now. It’s too important that we get through these next few days without the men realizing there’s been yet another reason to worry. But once we get through this, if we get through this, there will be a God-damned reckoning.” His voice was shaking by the time John stopped talking.
“John, we’re gonna make it,” Rodney said.
“I sure hope so, but Rodney, you’ve been neck-deep in setting up the hospital with Pris, so you don’t know what we’ve been going through on my end since Salim left.” He glanced at Bertram. “And you didn’t get a chance to hear what Dara is planning now.”
“No?” Rodney said, blinking.
“He wants to sally.”
“Sally? You’re kidding,” Ilsa said. He’d not told her the news before the meeting, more because he hadn’t the heart than from any real lack of time for it.
“Nope. No joke at all. Dara said that once we’ve stalled the attack at the walls, he will lead a couple thousand sowar out and ‘sweep them before us like leaves carried on a cleansing wind.’”
“Jesus,” Rodney said.
“Right?” John said, catching Ilsa’s frown at Rodney’s casual use of the name. For some reason her expression struck him as funny. So funny he had to hide a foolish grin. Foul language allowed, just no blaspheming, thank you very much.
“Tell them the rest, John,” Bertram said.
Memory killed the smile. “I argued about it—as much as I dared—and he’s dead serious. I said we couldn’t afford to lose him or that many fighting men and he laughed. Said we wouldn’t, that God was with us. You know how he gets. I gave the signal to Bertram and things went from bad to worse from there.”
Bertram sighed. “When it seemed we were going back over the same ground and Dara remained unconvinced, I told him to send for Bidhi Chand, thinking an experienced warrior would add his voice to John’s wisdom.”
Gervais tutted. “Didn’t I teach you better, mon fils? Never, ever ask anyone else’s opinion unless you coached them on it yourself.”
Bertram’s cheeks reddened. “How was I to know he’d fully endorse the idea?”
John laughed bitterly. “That wasn’t the only opinion Bidhi had. He offered the services of his men in the sally.”
“But they’re infantry,” Ilsa said. Far better at organizing than her husband, she had been a great help to John in planning and implementing the training regimen for the garrison. “Won’t they deploy too slowly to make a difference?”
“Exactly what I said,” John muttered.
“And his response was along the lines of, ‘John, we will be like the wind, and take the fight to them, provided the preparations you and Talawat have arranged do their job and stop the storm at the second wall.’”
“But, how does—”
“He and Bidhi say they can get outside the gates in quick time. Dara will lead”—he had to pause to let the gasps of surprise die—“the horse straight out and at the retreating backs of the enemy while Bidhi follows out the gate and wheels parallel to the walls and start mopping up. They are confident of accomplishing a great slaughter.”
“But if they are retreating, won’t they all be out of range of the infantry?” Ilsa asked. “And what happens when they recover? Won’t the Sikhs be caught against the wall? And if they’re pursued as they try and return through the gate?”
“All valid points I made sure to bring up,” John said. “He didn’t listen. Bidhi was even worse, he just smiled and said he
