Damodara turned away from the telescope and moved toward the large table located at the very center of the pavilion. Sanga, without being asked, immediately followed.
At the edge of the table, Damodara planted his pudgy hands and leaned over, intently examining the huge vellum map which covered most of it. His gaze, now, was one of satisfaction rather than disgruntlement. Whatever they lacked in optical craftsmanship, no one could fault the skill of Malwa mapmakers. He was especially pleased with the topographical information which his chief cartographer managed to include.
Damodara peered into a corner of the dimly lit pavilion. As always, his cartographer was waiting patiently, seated on a small cushion. Narses was also in the corner, available in case Damodara needed his advice. The eunuch, following Roman custom, sat in a chair.
“It is up to date, Lord Damodara,” said the mapmaker. “Just this morning, I incorporated the latest information brought in by the Pathans.”
Damodara nodded, and turned back to the map. For a time, he was silent, examining the terrain shown thereon. At his side, Rana Sanga did the same. Then, Lord Damodara reached out and placed his finger on a location some fifteen miles to the south.
“There, perhaps?” he asked. “Judging from the map, it seems like an obscure pass. Very narrow, but it might be enough.”
Sanga studied the pass in question for a moment, before shaking his head. The gesture was more one of slow consideration, however, than firm judgement. “I don’t think so, Lord.” He hesitated, tugging at his rich beard. “I am not sure of this, you understand, but it seems to me that Belisarius has been especially keen to thwart us from making any headway to the south. I suspect that he already has scouts watching the approaches to that pass.”
Damodara looked up, his eyes widening. He seemed slightly startled.
“To the south—especially? I hadn’t—” He frowned, thinking; then, chuckled ruefully. “It seemed more to me that he was thwarting us anywhere we went.”
Sanga’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “That is true, Lord. But I still think that he has been quickest of all to prevent us from going south.”
Damodara spread his hands on the table, staring at the map. It was obvious to Sanga, watching the movement of his eyes, that Damodara was retracing every step of the past month’s maneuvers.
“I think you’re right,” he murmured, after a minute or two. Damodara straightened up, staring now at the bare leather of the pavilion wall across from him.
“Why is that, do you think?” he mused thoughtfully. His gaze turned to Sanga. “It doesn’t make any sense. What difference does it make, whether we bypass him to the north or the south? So long as he can keep us from making westward progress, he keeps us out of Mesopotamia. Tied up here, in these miserable mountains.”
Damodara’s eyes returned to the map. “If anything,” he added slowly, “I would think he’d prefer to maneuver us south. That way he can keep us following the Zagros range—all the way to the Gulf.” He pointed to the southern reaches of the mountains shown on the map. “In the end, we might find ourselves emerging into Mesopotamia down at the delta. Near Charax.”
He laughed sarcastically. “Where he already has our main army bottled up! With Emperor Khusrau and his lancers to keep the cork in the bottle.”
Sanga’s beard-tugging grew more vigorous. “There is one possible explanation. Especially dealing with Belisarius.”
Lord Damodara cocked his head, peering up at the tall Rajput next him. “A trap,” he stated. Sanga nodded.
Damodara began pacing back and forth slowly. His hands, in one of the Malwa lord’s characteristic gestures, were clasped in front of him as if he were in prayer. But the short, jabbing, back-and-forth motion of the hands conveyed concentration rather than piety.
“You could be right,” he mused. A sudden bark—half-humorous, half-exasperated. “Subtle bait! But that is the way the man thinks.”
Damodara suddenly stopped his pacing and turned to face Sanga squarely. “What do you advise?” he demanded.
Sanga stopped his beard-tugging, and took a deep breath.
“Go north,” he said firmly. “It may be a trap, Lord Damodara. He may be laying an ambush for us. But traps can be turned against the trapper. A trap designed for a wolf will not necessarily hold a tiger. Our troops are excellent, and our army outnumbers his by two to one.”