He turned his head, glowering down at the sprawled man at his feet. “The scroll is not signed by the emperor alone, by the way. It also bears Great Lady Sati’s signature.”
Venandakatra’s shock and outrage vanished instantly. His face, already pale, became ashen.
“Yes,” grated Nanda Lal. “Great Lady Sati.”
The spymaster looked to the northwest, through the open flap.
Quietly: “The siege of Deogiri is over, Venandakatra. By tomorrow morning, this army will be on the road to Bharakuccha. That is a given. The only choice you have is whether you will lead it. Or simply your head, stuck on a pike.”
A desire and a decision
“Where do we stand with the new warships?” asked the King of Kings, striding into the room which served Axum as its war center.
Rukaiya looked up from her table in the center of the room. It was a large table, but little of its expanse was visible. Most of it was covered with scrolls and bound sheets of papyrus.
The queen pointed to the sheet in front of her. “I was just finishing a letter to John of Rhodes, thanking him for the last shipment of guns. We have enough now to outfit the first two vessels.”
“Good, good,” grunted Eon, coming up to the table. “I want to get them out to sea at once, so we can start ravaging the supply fleet as soon as it leaves Bharakuccha.”
He leaned over and nuzzled his wife’s hair. Smiling, she reached up and drew his head alongside her own. “There is more good news,” she whispered.
Eon cocked his eyebrow. Rukaiya’s smile widened.
“We’ll call him Wahsi, of course, if it’s a boy. But you really should start thinking about girls’ names, too.”
A question and an answer
Kungas rose from the bed and padded to the window. Planting his hands on the sill, he stared out over Deogiri. The city was dark, except for the lamps glowing in one of the rooms of the nearby palace.
His lips twitched. “It’s a good thing for him that he has an understanding wife.”
Irene levered herself onto an elbow. “What? Is Dadaji working late again?”
Seeing the Kushan’s nod, she chuckled. ” ‘Understanding’ is hardly the word for it, Kungas. She’ll be sitting there herself, you know that. As patient as the moon.”
Kungas said nothing. Irene studied him, for a moment, reading the subtle signs in his face.
“What is it, Kungas?” she asked. “You’ve been preoccupied with something all night.”
Kungas tapped the windowsill with his fingers. Irene stiffened, slightly. That was as close as the Kushan ever came to expressing nervous apprehension.
“What is it?” she demanded. “And don’t tell any fables. You’ve got the jitters, I know you do. Something which involves me.”
Kungas sighed. “There are disadvantages,” he muttered, “to a smart woman.” He turned away from the window and came back to the bed. Then, sitting on the edge, he gave Irene a level stare.
Abruptly: “I spoke to Kanishka and Kujulo today. About Peshawar, and my plans for the future.”
She nodded approvingly. Kanishka and Kujulo were the key officers in the small army of Kushans serving Shakuntala. Irene had been pressing Kungas for weeks to raise the subject with them.
“And?” she asked, cocking her head.
“They have agreed to join me. They said, on balance, that they thought I would make a good king.”
Again, he sighed. “Nonetheless, they were critical. Rather harshly so, in fact. They feel that I have neglected the first requirement of a successful dynasty.”
He looked away. “They are quite correct, of course. So I promised them I would see to the matter immediately. If possible.”
Irene stared at him, for a moment. Then she bolted upright, clutching the sheets to her chest.
“What?” she hissed. “You expect me—me, a Greek noblewoman accustomed to luxury and comfort—to go traipsing off with you into the wilds of Central Asia? Squat in some ruins in the middle of mountains and deserts, surrounded by barbarian hordes and God-knows-what other dangers?” Her eyes were very wide. “Be a queen for a bunch of Kushan mercenaries with delusions of grandeur? Spend the rest of my life in a desperate struggle to forge a kingdom out of nothing?”