Still, Holkar hesitated. “There will be much talk, Empress. Vicious talk.”
“And there won’t be, if you become some kind of silly monk?” demanded the empress. “Talk is talk, no more than that.” She waved her hand, as if brushing aside an insect. “Problems can be solved, certainly the problem of gossip. If nothing else, by my executioners.”
An emperor and his executioners
“If it happens again, I will have that man executed,” declared Photius firmly. He sat upright at the head of the enormous imperial bed, doing his best to look imperial while in his nightclothes. “I told him Irene was to have the very first copy.”
Tahmina, lying prone on the bed with her head propped up on her hands, giggled in a manner which did not bode well for the emperor’s dignity. “You’re just angry because you had a bad day with the tutors. Take it out on them, instead of some poor book dealer. Besides, Irene won’t really care if she gets the second copy.”
Photius’ face was as stiff as any boy’s can be, at his age. “Still!” he insisted.
“Oh, stop it. Do something useful. Give me a back rub.”
* * *
Some time later, Tahmina sighed happily. “You’re getting awfully good at this.”
Photius, astraddle his wife, leaned over and kissed the back of her head. The motion was easy, relaxed. “I love touching you,” he whispered. “I’m almost eleven, now.”
“I know,” she sighed, very happily. “Soon.”
A lord and his men
Lord Damodara watched Rana Sanga carefully, as the Rajput king strode back and forth in the chamber which Damodara used for his military headquarters. Sanga was giving his opinion on the progress being made incorporating the garrison of Bharakuccha into the ranks of the regular army.
Damodara was not ignoring Sanga’s words, exactly. But he was far more interested in what he could determine of the Rajput’s mood than he was of the item actually under discussion. Sanga was given to pacing, and his pacing always reminded Damodara of a tiger’s movement. But he was struck by the absence of any sense of fury. He found that absence . . . surprising. And, given what it might imply, more than a little unsettling.
Finished with his report, Sanga came to a halt. As it happened, he stopped his pacing in that corner of the room which held the most peculiar item of furniture in it.
Sanga stared down at the chair, with its gruesome modification. The old bloodstains were still visible. They were brown now, not red, and flies had long since lost any interest in it.
“Why don’t you get rid of this damned thing?” he demanded.
“I find it a helpful reminder,” replied Damodara. The chuckle which accompanied the words held not a trace of humor. “Of the consequences of misjudgement.”
Sanga turned his head and examined his commander. Over the years, he had come to have as good an understanding of the man as Damodara had of him.
“Something is troubling you,” he stated.
Damodara shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I am . . . a bit puzzled that you do not seem as enraged as I would have thought. You were devoted to your family.”
The Rajput looked away, his expression stony. After a brief silence, he said: “I take comfort in philosophy, Lord. In the end, this is all the veil of illusion.”
Damodara swiveled his head toward another corner and brought the other two occupants of the room under his scrutiny. Narses, as usual, was sitting in a chair. Toramana, also as usual, was standing.
“Do you also find comfort in philosophy?” he asked. The question seemed addressed at either or both of them.
“I have precious little faith in any philosophy,” replied Narses, almost snarling. “On the other hand, I believe quite firmly in illusion. More than that, I’m not prepared to express any opinion.”
The Ye-tai crossed his arms over his chest. “When I was a boy, my father and brothers taught me to ride a horse and use weapons. They neglected any instruction in philosophy. I never saw any reason since to make good the lack. It’s as dangerous to think too much as too little.”