Ajatasutra studied Pratap’s angry face. His own expression was relaxed, almost bland.
“Actually, I’m not. My own contact with Belisarius came at a distance. But I am quite well-acquainted with his wife, Antonina. Balban set a trap for her, too, you know—in Constantinople, right at the end.”
The anger faded from Pratap’s features, replaced by curiosity.
“I never heard about that,” he stated.
“Neither did I!” snapped Sanga. The Rajput king glared at the Malwa assassin. “You tried to take revenge on Belisarius by murdering his wife?”
Sanga’s famous temper was surfacing, now. Again, Ajatasutra made the placating gesture with his hands. “Please, Rana Sanga! It was Balban’s doing, not mine. And you can’t even blame him—the orders came directly from Nanda Lal.”
Far from placating Sanga, mention of Nanda Lal brought his outrage to the surface. But at least, Ajatasutra saw, the tall and fearsome Rajput’s fury was no longer directed at him. There was no love lost, he knew, between Rana Sanga and the Malwa Empire’s spymaster.
The assassin spread his hands wide. “I thought it was a bad idea, myself. And I warned Balban that he was underestimating the woman.”
The hot glare in Sanga’s eyes faded, as the implication registered. “The ambush failed,” he stated. “Belisarius’ wife survived.”
Ajatasutra laughed harshly. ” ‘Survived’? That’s one way of putting it. It’d be more accurate to say that she set her own ambush and butchered most of Balban’s thugs.”
By now, all of the Rajputs at the scene were clustering about—Sanga’s own contingent as well as Pratap’s cavalry troop. Like warriors everywhere, they enjoyed a good tale. Ajatasutra, seeing his audience—and the easing fury in Sanga’s face—relaxed. He held out his hand, perhaps five feet above the ground.
“She’s quite small, you know. This tall, no more. Gorgeous woman. Beautiful, voluptuous—” He paused dramatically.
“But—” He grinned. “Her father was a charioteer. He was reputed to have taught her how to use a blade. And I’m quite certain her husband trained her also. Probably had that man of his—that killer Valentinian—polish her skills.”
Ajatasutra paused, to make sure he had his audience’s rapt attention. Then: “When she realized Balban had set a pack of street thugs after her, she forted herself up in the kitchen of a pastry shop. I wasn’t there, myself—I watched from outside—but she apparently poured meat broth over the lot and began hacking them with a cleaver. Killed several herself, before one of Belisarius’ cataphracts came to her rescue. After that—”
He shrugged. “One cataphract—against a handful of street toughs.”
The Rajput cavalrymen surrounding him, veterans all, grunted deep satisfaction. Roman cataphracts were their enemy, of course, but—
Street toughs—against a soldier?
“A woman did all that?” queried one of the Rajputs. The air of satisfaction was absent, now. He seemed almost aggrieved. “A woman?”
Ajatasutra smiled. Nodded. Held out his hand again. “A little bitty woman,” he said cheerfully. “No taller than this.”
The assassin glanced at Rana Sanga. He saw that the anger in the Rajput king’s face had completely faded. Replaced by something which almost seemed sadness, thought Ajatasutra.
Odd.
Abruptly, Sanga turned away and began striding toward his horse. “Let’s go,” he commanded. “There’s nothing more to be done here. I want to make it back to the army by nightfall.”
Once astride his horse, he gave the scene a last quick survey. “The ambush failed,” he announced. “That’s all.”
* * *
That night, standing before his tent in the giant camp of Damodara’s army, Rana Sanga studied the mountains looming to the west. The full moon bathed them in a silvery beauty. But there was something ominous about that pale shimmer. Liquid, almost, those mountains seemed. As difficult to pin down as the man who lurked somewhere within them.
“I wish we had killed you,” whispered Sanga. “It would have made things so much easier for us. And then again—”
He sighed, turned away, pulled back the flap to his tent. He gave a last glance at the moon, high and silvery, before stooping into the darkness. He remembered another night he had done the same, after the massacre of rebel Ranapur. Remembered his thoughts on that night. The same thoughts he had now.