Keeping their eyes averted from the prince at his sport, the Rajputs conducted a very hasty search of the suite. Then, uttering many apologies, scurried out.
As soon as they were gone, Eon had immediately climbed off Shakuntala. Had made fulsome apologies, stressing the dire necessity which had precipitated his actions. Emphasized the depth of his respect for the imperial personage and dignity of the princess. Reiterated the perilous—
Shakuntala had waved off his apologies. Had responded with a most dignified—indeed, regal—acknowledgment of the sincerity of his regrets. Had uttered the most royal—indeed, imperial—phrases assuring the prince that she recognized both the necessity of his actions and appreciated the quickness of his wits. Had added further assurances that she had no doubt of his own regal propriety, good breeding, and monarchical majesty.
But then—unable to resist—had added demurely:
“Yet I fear, prince, that one of your provinces is in revolt.”
It had been hard to tell. The prince’s skin was even darker than a Dravidian’s. But she thought he had definitely blushed.
Especially after the dawazz added, with that amazing grin:
“Indeed so! Most insolent uprising! Prince do well to beat rebel down!” Then, with a flourish: “Here! Use my spear!”
Remembering, and smiling, Shakuntala’s eyes met those of the prince. A little smile came to his own face. Then, a subtle expression—a wry, apologetic twist of his lips; a little roll of his eyes; a faint shrug—combined with an equally subtle movement of his arm. His left arm, the one which was not encircling Tarabai.
Understanding, Shakuntala eased over and nestled against his shoulder. His left arm encircled her. She turned her face into his muscular neck. A moment later, she felt Jijabai snuggling into her own left shoulder. Trembling with fear at the princess’ departure. Shakuntala cradled the girl and pressed her head into her own neck. She felt Jijabai’s shivering ease.
Inwardly, she sighed. It would be tedious—even, after a time, uncomfortable—spending days and weeks in that position. But she suppressed the thought ruthlessly. They were at war, and war required many tactics. This tactic had worked before. A tried and tested tactic. Should anyone manage to look within the howdah, they would see nothing but the notorious Axumite prince, surrounded as always by his submissive women. Whose faces were rarely seen, of course, so timid had the creatures become in his brutal presence.
Across the prince’s chest, her eyes met those of Tarabai. The Maratha girl smiled shyly.
She was still in awe, Shakuntala realized. The Maratha women had known for some time that the foreigners into whose care they had placed themselves were engaged in some strange activity. (And had sensed, even, that the activity was in some way opposed to the hated Malwa.) But they had not known the exact nature of that activity until that very morning. Just before departing for the caravan, the Maratha women had been ushered into the room, Shakuntala had been introduced to them by Eon and his men, and the plan explained.
Hearing the name, Jijabai had looked up, begun to cry out in startlement. The cry had been choked off by Shakuntala herself, embracing her former maidservant. From that moment until they climbed into the howdah, the girl had not stopped weeping. Shakuntala had stayed by her the entire time. At first, from love and pity. Then, as well, from a realization that the pose was perfect for their purpose.
The other three Maratha women had been too stunned to do more than walk through the exercise in a daze. Which, also, had been perfect, if unplanned.
Tarabai was no longer stunned. Eon’s close presence, Shakuntala realized, had restored the girl’s courage. But she was still in awe. The girl had all the signs of a simple upbringing. Of vaisya or sudra birth, undoubtedly (insofar as Maratha measured such things—but that thought, as ever, was too painful to bear, so Shakuntala banished it). Never in her life had Tarabai imagined she would share a howdah—much less a man’s chest!—with royalty.
Shakuntala now gazed at the two Maratha women whom she did not know. They, too, were staring at her with round eyes. But there was more than simple awe in those eyes, she realized. The two women were almost shivering with terror. Then, seeing the princess’ eyes upon them, the two women dropped their heads. Now, they did begin to shiver.