Nanda Lal scowled. “Do not push the matter, cousin!” he snapped. “Deogiri was just as strong when you held it.”
Venandakatra flushed. But the color in his flabby cheeks was due more to embarrassment than anger. His eyes fell away from Nanda Lal’s level gaze.
Nanda Lal, as was his way, twisted the blade. “Before you—through your carelessness, Venandakatra—allowed Rao and his rebels to take Deogiri by surprise.” The spymaster sneered. “No doubt you were preoccupied, raping another Maratha hill girl instead of attending to your duty.”
Venandakatra clenched his jaws, but said nothing. His thin-boned, fat-sheathed frame was practically shaking from fury. But, still, he said nothing.
Nanda Lal allowed the silence to linger, for perhaps a minute. Then, with a little shrug, he let the tension ease from his own shoulders. Thick shoulders, those were. Heavy with muscle.
“Good,” he murmured. “At least you have not lost your wits.” Coldly: “Do not let your kin proximity to the emperor blind you to certain realities, Venandakatra. My bloodline is equal to your own, and I am second in power only to Skandagupta himself. Do not forget it.”
Nanda Lal clapped a powerful hand on Venandakatra’s shoulder. Under the fat, the thin bones felt like those of a chicken. The Goptri of the Deccan flinched, as much from the force of that “friendly” gesture as surprise.
“Enough said!” boomed Nanda Lal. With his hand still on Venandakatra’s shoulder, he steered the Goptri toward the pavilion.
As they neared the pavilion’s entrance, their progress was interrupted by another shriek of agony. The first Maratha captive had apparently expired, and the second was being fitted onto a stake.
Venandakatra found the courage to speak. “You should have used shorter stakes,” he grumbled.
Nanda Lal chuckled. “Why bother?” He stopped, in order to examine the execution. The ground surrounding Venandakatra’s pavilion had been packed down. Alongside the road which led north to Bharakuccha, six stakes had been erected. The first Maratha was dead, draped over his stake. The second was still screaming. The remaining four captives were bound and gagged. The gags would not be removed until the last moment, so that the Ye-tai conducting the execution would not be subject to curses.
“Why bother?” he repeated. “The terror campaign is necessary, Venandakatra, but do not put overmuch faith in it. The Great Country is littered with skeletons on stakes. How much good has it done?”
Venandakatra opened his mouth, as if to argue the point. But, again, discretion came to his rescue.
Nanda Lal took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly through his nose. “The emperor and I will tolerate your sadism, Venandakatra,” he murmured softly. “Up to a point. That point ends when your lusts interfere with your duty.”
Throughout, Nanda Lal’s hand had never left Venandakatra’s shoulder. Now, with a shove, he forced the Goptri into the pavilion.
The pavilion’s interior was lavish with furnishings. Thick carpets covered every inch of the floor. The sloping cotton walls were lined with statuary, silk tapestries, and finely crafted side tables bearing an assortment of carvings and jewelry.
With another shove, Nanda Lal pushed Venandakatra toward the great pile of cushions at the center of the pavilion. A third shove sent the Goptri sprawling onto them. Venandakatra was now hissing with outrage but, still, he spoke no words of protest.
Satisfied that he had cowed the man sufficiently, Nanda Lal scanned the interior of the pavilion. His eyes fell on a cluster of Maratha girls in a corner. They ranged in age from ten to thirteen, he estimated. All of them were naked and chained. The current members of Venandakatra’s harem. Judging from their scars and bruises, and the dull fear in their faces, they would not survive any longer than their many predecessors.
That should finish the work, thought Nanda Lal. He turned his head to the Rajput officer standing guard by the pavilion’s entrance.
“Take them out”—he pointed to the girls—”and kill them. Do it now.”
Seeing the rigidity in the Rajput’s face, Nanda Lal snorted. “Behead them, that’s enough.” The Rajput nodded stiffly and advanced on the girls. A moment later, he was leading them out of the pavilion by their chains.