“The Axumites will need to spend much time, in any event, recuperating from their wounds and repairing damaged ships. As soon as the eastern monsoon begins, Ousanas and I and the Dakuen sarwe will return to Ethiopia. But the rest of the Axumite army could use a long period in which to rest and rebuild their strength.”
There was a little stir in the room. The officers had heard that most of Ethiopia’s forces would stay in India, but this was the first time that rumor had been confirmed by an authoritative voice. They glanced at Ousanas and Ezana, and saw by their stern and solemn faces that Antonina had spoken truly. The stir grew a bit, before it settled. The news, clearly enough, filled all the Marathas with satisfaction.
Majarashtra and Axum combined. Now there might be a force which could even challenge Damodara and the Rajputs in open battle.
“Not yet,” said Antonina firmly, as if gainsaying her earlier skepticism about the possibility of mind reading. “Axum needs time.” More forcefully: “And so do you. If you intend to face Damodara and Rana Sanga in anything other than ambush, you will need to train your army. Marathas are not accustomed to such methods of warfare. You are not ready yet.”
Although there was no expression on Shakuntala’s face beyond respectful attentiveness, it was plain as day that Antonina’s words encapsulated her own opinion. And Antonina, though she herself was not Belisarius, carried the penumbra of his reputation for strategic sagacity.
“Wait,” repeated Antonina. “Train, prepare. Let the Axumites rest, and then begin training with them. Prepare.”
She sat up as straight as Shakuntala. “The time will come, do not doubt it. But when it comes—when the truth has begun emerging from the mists—you will be ready for it.”
Whether or not Rao agreed with her was impossible to tell. The Panther of Majarashtra, when he so desired, could be as impenetrable as any man. But, clearly enough, he was ready to bring the thing to a close. He was facing Shakuntala now, not Antonina.
“This is your desire, Empress?”
“Yes.”
“So be it, then.” Rao bowed his head. There was nothing of the husband in that gesture, simply the servant. “It shall be as you command.”
* * *
Later, as Rao and Shakuntala and Antonina relaxed in the empress’ private chambers, Rao suddenly chuckled and said: “That went quite well, I think. Even my hot-blooded Marathas are satisfied enough to settle for the rigors of training camp.”
Shakuntala gave her husband a skeptical lifted eyebrow.
“Preposterous!” he exclaimed. “I was merely playing a part. Surely you don’t think I—Raghunath Rao himself!—would have been so foolish as to advocate challenging Damodara on the morrow?”
“Tomorrow, no.” Shakuntala sniffed. “The day after tomorrow . . .” The eyebrow lifted and lifted.
“I am wounded to the heart,” groaned Rao, a hand clutching his chest. “My own wife!”
The air of injured innocence went rather poorly with the sly smile. Not to mention Rao’s own cocked eyebrow, aimed at Antonina.
“And you, woman of Rome? Are you still immersed in this role of yours? What did Ousanas call it—someone named Helen?”
Antonina’s sniff matched Shakuntala’s own in imperial dignity. “Nonsense. I’m thinking, that’s all.”
Before Rao could utter a word, she scowled at him and snapped: “Don’t say it! One Ousanas is bad enough.”
Chapter 36
RAJPUTANA
Autumn, 533 a.d.
The Ye-tai guarding Rana Sanga’s family reacted to the attack as well as Malwa imperial troops could be expected to. No sooner had Kujulo and the Kushans charged out of ambush than the Ye-tai had their weapons cleared and were moving their horses out to intercept them. But, as Ajatasutra had foreseen, the anvaya-prapta sachivya commander of the escort had placed himself and all of his men at the front of the little caravan. So, since the Kushans were attacking from the front, within seconds the ornately carved and heavily decorated wagon which carried Rana Sanga’s wife and children was left isolated.
“Now!” cried Ajatasutra. A moment later, pounding out from their own hiding place in a small grove of trees which was now to the caravan’s right rear, the assassin and the two cataphracts raced their horses toward the wagon and the three carts following it.