The courier stalked over to the barracks door and shouldered his way through without so much as knocking.
“Just what the fuck do you—”
The sword went a quarter-inch into his chest. Not a mortal wound, painful as it was, not even a particularly bloody one. But the courier could feel the steel tip grating against his chestbone. And the hand which held that sword was as steady as a rock.
The courier’s eyes began with that hand, and followed the length of the sword to the place where it disappeared into his chest. Everything else was a blur.
In a frozen daze, the courier heard a voice. He did not make out the words. The sword-tip jabbed against his sternum, pressing him back against the doorframe. He stared down at it, transfixed by the sight.
The words were repeated. Hindi words. Their meaning finally penetrated.
“Are there any more couriers coming after you?”
He understood, but couldn’t speak. Another jab.
“What?” he gasped. Another jab.
“N-no,” he stammered.
The sword went straight through his chest, as if driven by a sledgehammer. The courier slumped to his knees. In the few seconds remaining in his life, his eyes finally focussed on the barracks as a whole.
His first reaction was confusion. Why were his two courier companions still here? And why were they lying on top of a pile of soldiers?
His vision began to fade.
They’re all dead, he realized.
His last sight was the face of the young courier who had accompanied him on the first part of his journey. The sight amused him, vaguely. The vainglorious little snot looked like a frog, what with that open mouth and those bulging eyes.
His vision failed. His last thought, very vague, was the realization that he had never actually seen the man who had killed him. Just his hand. A large, powerful, sinewy hand.
A hundred miles east of Kausambi, near Sarnath, an innkeeper was almost beside himself with joy. He drove his wife, his children, and his servants mercilessly.
“The best food!” he exclaimed again, and, again, cuffed his wife. “The very best! I warn you—if the noble folk complain, I will beat you. They are very rich, and will be generous if they are pleased.”
His wife scurried to obey, head bent. His children and servants did likewise. All of them were terrified of the innkeeper. When times were bad—as they usually were—the innkeeper was a sullen, foul-tempered, brutal tyrant. When times were good, he was even worse. Avarice simply added an edge to his cruelty.
So, for all the members of that household except the innkeeper himself, the next twelve hours passed like a slow-moving nightmare.
At first, they were terrified that the nobleman and his wife would find the food displeasing. But that fear did not materialize. The noblewoman said nothing—quite properly, especially for a wife so much younger than her husband—but the nobleman was most effusive in his praise.
Unfortunately, the nobleman added a bonus for the excellence of the meal. The innkeeper’s greed soared higher. In the kitchen, he buffeted his family and his servants, urging them to make haste. The nobleman and his wife had gone to bed, along with the wife’s ladies, but their large escort of soldiers had to be fed also. Not the best food, of course, but not so bad that they would complain to their master. And plenty of it!
The terror of the household mounted. The soldiers were a vicious looking crew. Some sort of barbarians. There were a great number of them, with only three women camp followers. The innkeeper’s oldest daughter and the two servant girls were petrified at the thought of entering the common rooms where the soldiers were staying the night. Their mother and one of the elderly servants, whose haggard appearance would shield them, tried to bring the food to the soldiers. But the innkeeper slapped his wife, and commanded the young women to do the chore. Anything to please the soldiers, lest they complain of inhospitality to their master.
That terror, too, proved baseless. For all their fearsome appearance, the soldiers did not behave improperly. Indeed, they were rather polite.
So, after the soldiers finished their meal and lay down on their pallets, the innkeeper beat his daughter and the two servant girls. They had obviously been rude to the soldiers, or they would have been importuned.