I thank you, O mighty Ye-tai. You saved my life. And probably that of all the Kushans.
As he walked out of the courtyard, he thought back on the episode.
Leave it to Venandakatra—the great warrior, the brilliant tactician. What a genius. As soon as he got the news, he rushed here ahead of his little army. Accompanied only by a few priests and that handful of foreigners. Within the hour, he was in a full rage. He ordered all the Ye-tai guards of the palace impaled—in public, right in front of them—and then noticed that the only soldiers he had to enforce the order were a Rajput cavalry troop. Leaving aside a hundred or so Malwa infantry, who ran like rabbits as soon as the Ye-tai went berserk.
Oh, what a fray that was! And after it was over, of course, he could hardly impale us next to them. Who’d do it? Not the Rajputs! Those snotty pricks suffered most of the casualties, except a handful of common soldiers who didn’t run fast enough. We were unarmed, at the beginning—at the genius’ own command—so the Ye-tai ignored us. By the time we could collect our weapons, it was almost over.
Grudgingly:
I’ll give that much to the Rajputs. They fought well, as always.
But it still would have been touch and go, if the foreigners hadn’t waded in. Lethal, they were. Absolutely murderous.
He pondered that last thought.
Why, I wonder? The Rajputs were happy enough, of course, to chop up Ye-tai dogs. So were we, once we got our weapons. But why should foreigners care? I can understand why they’d side with Venandakatra—they’re his guests, after all. By why do it with such avid enthusiasm? You’d think they’d had some quarrel of their own with the Ye-tai.
With his usual quick pace, Kungas was soon well down the tiled entryway to the courtyard. He was now beyond sight of anyone watching him from the palace. For the first time, the amusement in his mind surfaced on Kungas’ face. Barely, of course. Only someone who knew the man intimately would have interpreted that faint, hairline curve in his lips as a smile.
Oh, yes, they were beautiful. I think they butchered almost as many Ye-tai as the Rajputs did. And didn’t suffer anything more than scratches, except for that kid. Too bad about him. But he’ll recover, eventually.
The thought brought him back to his current assignment.
Yes, I think a courtesy call is quite the right thing to do. A very courteous courtesy call.
I definitely want to be on civil terms with those men. Oh, yes. Very civil. This assignment’s a bit like escorting a group of tigers.
Then:
Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather have tigers.
It took Kungas a while to find the party he was looking for. To his surprise, he discovered that the foreigners had been assigned a position at the very tail end of the huge caravan. After the supply train, right in the middle of the horde of camp followers.
Odd place for honored guests.
As he walked down the line of the caravan, Kungas puzzled over the matter.
Now that I think about it, our great lord did seem a bit peeved with them. Their leader, especially. I noticed Venandakatra casting quite a few glares in his direction. Didn’t think much of it, at the time. I assumed it was just the great lord’s mood, being spread around as usual. He has no reason to be pissed off at the foreigners, that I can see. Did him a service, they did. Without them, a few of the Ye-tai might have gotten to the bastard and carved him up.
Odd.
Eventually, Kungas found his party. The leader was standing off to the side of the road, watching the progress in loading the howdahs on the two elephants assigned to the foreigners. He and the two men with him were apparently seeking relief from the midday heat in the shade of the trees. That alone marked them for foreigners, leaving aside their pale skins and outlandish costumes. Shade brought little relief from the humid swelter. The trees simply cut down the slight breeze and provided a haven for insects.