“Was Talawat there?” Rodney asked.
“Yes, but he wasn’t the voice of reason I’ve grown to expect. He was grinning like a madman.”
“What did you do?” Monique said.
“I tried to convince them not to throw away our best men in an attack that would likely fail and only serve to put his own life at risk.” He shook his head. “They didn’t listen.”
“John may have pulled off a minor miracle by convincing Dara to only sally if it was clear that any attempted storm was a failure on at least two fronts.” John didn’t miss the admiration in Bertram’s tone.
“But then he’s the one decides what constitutes success and failure, so he might order the sally on a whim.” John lowered his voice and dropped into his fastest Amideutsch. “Frankly, dude is hurt and I worry he might fall out under pressure.”
Rodney and Gervais shared a concerned look.
“Oh, I think he’ll be all right,” Gervais said.
Rodney snorted. “For certain values of all right. His blood pressure is down, and I think he’s chasing the dragon again, because he’s nowhere near as high strung and hasn’t shown any signs of another seizure despite being under what has to be a huge strain…”
“He is,” Gervais confirmed, then held up his hands to ward off Rodney’s anger. “I didn’t give it to him, Rodney.”
“I asked today and apparently Jahanara authorized it when their brother arrived,” Monique explained.
“I might just have to talk to Jahanara about interfering with patients,” Priscilla said angrily.
Ilsa looked from Priscilla to Rodney. “Do either of you know if he’ll fall out again?”
“Can’t say for sure. He hasn’t had another seizure, and he was sure angry enough to bring one on when Aurangzeb showed up…” Rodney shrugged wide shoulders and looked at his wife.
Priscilla nodded. “He’s been working out, trying to get his strength back, and hasn’t had any episodes, but there’s just no telling. Not with certainty. If you want, Rodney and I can work to convince him and Nadira riding to battle is a bad idea, but it sounds like he’s ready for those arguments and I worry he’d stop listening to us on everything if we push too hard.”
John nodded. “Yeah, add to that the need he has to be seen leading.”
“Aurangzeb doesn’t lead from the front, does he?” Ilsa said.
“No, but his brother has a history, however short, of victories. Dara doesn’t.”
“Seems a huge risk for ‘might.’”
“The warriors like the idea, though,” Gervais said.
John nodded agreement.
“Oh?”
“I asked Atisheh what she thought of him fighting with them on the walls. Her response was one of those hard stares that make you feel like you’re about to get cut, if you know what I mean.”
John smiled. He knew the look very well.
“But when I persisted, eventually she muttered something that sounded like, ‘About time!’ and left.”
“She’s quite the social butterfly, is Atisheh,” Priscilla said, grinning.
“So delicate and dainty,” Monique chuckled.
They all shared a brief, tired laugh that served to dispel some of the worried atmosphere they’d been struggling through.
“Back to the point, though: The idea that Dara be seen leading was something Salim mentioned before. He said it was critical to his eventual rule, and I have to believe he’s got the experience and wisdom to know,” John said.
“So do we try and stop him riding out or not? Trying to stop him after he’s announced that he will makes the decision irrevocable, so we need to get on it before the next durbar,” Gervais said.
“I don’t think so,” John and Bertram said at nearly the same instant.
“And why not?” Ilsa asked, looking across at Bertram.
Bertram nodded at John to go first.
“I don’t think he can afford the hit his credibility would suffer if word got out that he’d wanted to but his doctors told him ‘no.’ The court is already leery of how much power, privilege, and attention we’ve been receiving from Dara and Jahanara.”
Bertram nodded. “Much of the correspondence we were reading before we rolled up the network was complaints about how much power Dara was allowing us and”—he looked at Monique—“how he was a fool for, as they saw it, ‘making himself a slave to his sister’s unnatural lust for power.’”
John yawned hugely.
“I’m sorry to have kept you so late, but I wanted to clear the air if we could,” Gervais said.
Wiping tiredly at the tears forming at the corners of his eyes, John nodded.
“Did we, John?” Bertram asked, leaning forward on his cushions and staring intently at John.
“Did we what?”
“Did we clear things up? I know my apologies are late, but I count you among my very best friends, and hate that I hurt you with this.”
John thought about it another moment, then nodded. “We have, Bertram. Wish it hadn’t happened, and I hope it never does again, but I accept your apology.” He lifted his head to look at Monique and Gervais in turn. “All your apologies. I understand your reasons and accept them. Just wish we could have done better.”
Chapter 41
Aurangzeb’s camp
Nur’s tent
“Damn him,” Nur hissed. Crumpling the report in one small, hennaed fist, she threw it from her in a fit of anger.
Tara, just entering, was struck in the chest. She bent with the graceful suppleness of youth and retrieved the crumpled piece of paper from the carpets. She knew better than to try and open it, however.
“I disappoint, mistress?” she asked.
Nur shook her head. Taking a deep, cleansing breath and expelling her anger with it, she said, “What word?”
“You are to attend Aurangzeb in the Red Tent an hour before sunset.”
Seeing the glitter of delight in her advisor’s eyes, Nur raised a questioning brow.
Tara approached and knelt. “That pet priest of Carvalho’s was making a scene again. Rumor has it Aurangzeb is going to put a stop to the Christian’s complaints at last,” she said, excitement obvious despite the low tones used to convey the message.
“I see,” Nur said. She despaired, some
