That last was a surprise. She would not have thought so many men would choose to remain with their exiled leader when he was unable to pay them. Salim Gadh Yilmaz had been a penniless adventurer before entering imperial service, and so had no great personal wealth to support his followers out of his own coffers. Dara had revoked all Salim’s ranks—zat and sowar alike—and made certain, by royal decree, that the proceeds and title to all jagdirs given to the outcast Salim Gadh Yilmaz were to revert to the imperial offices. He must be quite the leader, to inspire so many to follow him into exile.
Unless…the umara were so certain of Dara’s defeat that following Salim into exile was far preferable to remaining here?
That thought made her bite her lip to stop a joyful noise.
I simply must pass this on.
Red Fort, Delhi Gate
Ilsa paused on exiting the shade of the interior gateway of Delhi Gate, casting about for the escort John and Gervais had arranged to protect Mission personnel on their travels between Mission House and Red Fort.
She sighed. It was the changing of the guard, and, if they were even here, the men of her small escort were lost in the sea of two-hundred-odd men occupying the courtyard. John had said the design of the courtyard—which required a hard left turn from her position and then a hard right turn and shallow descent in order to enter the outer gatehouse—was not only intended to prevent an elephant from making a full-speed charge at the inner gate, but to force the creatures to advance one at a time, all while being stung by arrow and shot from defenders on all sides. She glanced at the shadowed gateway she’d departed, shaking her head. If one of the majestic giants were killed there, its massive corpse would block the passage as well as any boulder.
Shaking her veiled head free of thoughts of the siege that was to come, Ilsa looked again for Ahmed and her escort. The smell coming off the court was a pungent mix of sweating men and stale horse piss that made her queasy.
Her hopes rose momentarily, only to be dashed when she spied what she thought was Ahmed’s signature dirty green turban, but the wearer turned out to be an imperial messenger walking a short string of horses to the stables lining one edge of the courtyard. The man stared at her when he caught her looking at him. Veiled or no, these people had a real problem with women who went out in public without an escort.
Ilsa sighed again. She understood the need for them, but didn’t like the way the men the Mission had hired behaved around women in general and her in particular, so the last thing she wanted to do was wander in search of them among other men who clearly saw her as an interloper at best and a game animal at worst.
A stable hand approached. She asked for her mount and spent the next few minutes letting her eyes travel in a fruitless search for Ahmed or one of the other guards she knew by sight.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk among them in search of him, no matter how badly I want to get away from here.
Harem life had become oppressive in the days since Salim’s exile, and while Dara didn’t treat the married women of the Mission any differently, Jahanara, and, to a lesser extent, the other unmarried women resident in the harem like Monique, were suffering from Dara’s displeasure with Jahanara. It all led to an atmosphere of distrust and uncertainty in the harem that set everyone’s nerves on edge. She’d remained as long as she could, but her pregnancy already made Ilsa uncomfortable and tired, so however much she might want to support her friends, she had to take care of herself, too.
On top of which, she wanted to be alone with John as soon and as much as possible before the siege, and there was only so much time remaining to them before Aurangzeb and his army arrived to make privacy next to impossible for everyone. The rumors had it that Aurangzeb was approaching Gwalior, and if that fortress fell as quickly as Burhanpur, then they would be under siege in months if not weeks. In light of the approaching threat, John’s schedule had grown even more difficult. Training, drills, and long war councils with Dara consumed nearly every waking moment of John’s day. He’d arranged for this time only by taking the men into the field for the day on something called “close-order drill.”
“Heading back to Mission House?” Atisheh asked from above, startling Ilsa from her musings. The warrior woman was already mounted on a fine bay gelding, and armored cap-à-pie.
“I am,” Ilsa said. “But my escort is nowhere to be found.” She gestured up at the surrounding walls and the many fighting men in the tiered galleries overlooking the killing ground.
“If you like, I will escort you to Mission House.”
“If it will not take you away from some other duty?” Ilsa said, grateful for the woman’s offer.
“Hammerfall needs exercise,” Atisheh explained, patting her horse’s neck. She nodded at the stables. “And so does your mare, from the look of her.”
Ilsa turned, watching Flower, the deaf mare she’d preferred since that fateful day in the hills, as the horse was led from the stable. She did
