He paused, taking a deep breath. Shakuntala eyed him suspiciously.
“And what else?”
“The offer—this is not said in so many words, but the meaning is obvious—is conditional upon your marriage to one of his sons.” A wry smile. “His youngest son, needless to say. The King of Tamraparni is willing to risk something, to keep the Malwa at bay. But only so much. Not the heir.”
He stopped, studying the young woman who was Andhra’s Empress. Shakuntala was sitting very erect, her back as stiff as a board. Her face, if possible, was even stiffer.
Holkar tapped the scroll with a finger. “The King makes allusion to the false way in which we bandied his name about, in Muziris. But he does not complain, not formally. It is quite clear that your seizure of Suppara has changed the situation drastically. You are no longer an ‘Empress-in-exile.’ You have reestablished yourself on Andhra soil. With a port, here, and one of Majarashtra’s largest cities—Deogiri—under the control of your forces. That gives you something far beyond formal legitimacy, which you already had. It gives you power.”
He chuckled dryly. “Not much, not much, but some. Enough, at least, that the ruler of Tamraparni is willing to use you to keep Malwa as distant from his island as possible.”
He paused. Shakuntala’s face was still expressionless.
Dadaji suppressed a sigh.
“Empress, we must consider this offer very seriously. A dynastic marriage with one of south India’s most powerful kingdoms would greatly strengthen your position. It might well make the difference between Andhra’s survival and its downfall.”
Still expressionless.
Now, Holkar did sigh. “Girl,” he said softly, “I know that this matter pains you. But you have a duty, and an obligation, to your people.”
The peshwa rose and strode to an open window, overlooking the harbor. From below, the sounds of celebration wafted into the palace. The governor’s palace, once. The Malwa official languished in prison, now. Shakuntala had taken the building for her own.
Watching the festive scene below, Holkar smiled. Suppara was still celebrating, two weeks after its liberation from the Malwa heel. Dadaji knew his countrymen well. The Marathas would have celebrated even if the city were in ruins. As it was, they could also celebrate an almost bloodless victory. Once the cannons which Kungas had seized opened fire, the Malwa warships had been turned into wrecks within an hour. By the time Shakuntala and her cavalrymen disembarked on the docks, the Malwa garrison had fled the city.
Celebrate, celebrate, celebrate.
Malwa is gone. Andhra has returned.
The Empress herself is here.
Shakuntala! Shakuntala! Shakuntala!
Holkar pointed down to the city. “If you fall, girl, those people will fall with you. You brought them to their feet. You cannot betray that trust.”
Behind him, Shakuntala’s face finally broke. Just a bit. Just a flash of pain, a slight lowering of the head. A slow, shuddering breath.
But it was all very quick. Within seconds, she had raised her head. “You are correct, Dadaji. Draft a letter to the King of Tamraparni, telling him that I accept—”
A new voice cut in.
“I think this is quite premature.”
Startled, Holkar turned from the window. “Premature? Why, Kungas?”
The Kushan was seated on his own cushion, to Shakuntala’s right. He had said nothing, thus far, in this meeting of Shakuntala’s closest advisers.
“Because,” he rasped, “I do not think we should jump at the first offer.” He spread his hand. “There will be others. The Cholas, for a certainty, now that Shakuntala has shown she is a force to be reckoned with. And I think their offer will have fewer caveats and qualifications.”
He flipped his hand dismissively, almost contemptuously. “Tamraparni is an island. The Cholas share the mainland with the Malwa beast. They have less room to quibble. Their offer will be more substantial.”
Holkar restrained his temper. “If they offer! I do not share your boundless optimism, Kungas. True, the Malwa press them close. But that is just as likely—more likely, in my opinion—to make them hesitate before offering the Malwa any provocation. Kerala also shares the mainland with Malwa, and we all know how that fact led Shakuntala’s own grandfather to betray—”