“It will hurt, some,” said Gautami. Dadaji Holkar’s wife smiled reassuringly and placed a gentle hand on the empress’ shoulder. “But even as small as you are, your hips are well-shaped. I really don’t think—”
Shakuntala brushed the matter aside. “I’m not worried about that. It’s these ugly stretch marks. Will they go away?”
Abruptly, with a heavy sigh, Shakuntala folded the robe back around herself. Gautami studied her carefully. She did not think the empress was really concerned about the matter of the stretch marks. If nothing else, Shakuntala was too supremely self-confident to worry much over such simple female vanities. And she certainly wasn’t concerned about losing Rao’s affections.
That left—
Shakuntala confirmed the suspicion. “Soon,” she whispered, stroking her belly. “Soon the child will be born, and the dynasty assured. And Rao will demand his release. As I promised.”
Gautami hesitated. Her husband was the peshwa of the empire of Andhra, reborn out of the ashes which Malwa had thought to leave it. As such, Gautami was privy to almost every imperial secret. But, still, she was the same woman who had been born and raised in a humble town in Majarashtra. She did not feel comfortable in these waters.
Shakuntala perhaps sensed her unease. The empress turned her head and smiled. “Nothing you can do, Gautami. Or say. I simply want your companionship, for the moment.” She sighed again. “I will need it, I fear, in the future. There will be no keeping Rao. Not once the child is born.”
Gautami said nothing. Her unease aside, there was nothing to say.
Once the dynasty was assured, the Panther of Majarashtra would slip his leash. As surely as the sun rises, or the moon sets. No more to be stopped than the tide. Or the wind.
Yet, while Gautami understood and sympathized with her empress’ unhappiness, she did not share it herself. When all was said and done, Gautami was of humble birth. One of the great mass of the Maratha poor, who had suffered for so long—and so horribly—under the lash of the Vile One.
Her eyes moved to the great window in the north wall of the empress’ bedchamber. As always, in the hot and dry climate of the Deccan, the window was open to the breeze. From high atop the hill which was the center of Andhra’s new capital city of Deogiri—the permanent capital, so Shakuntala had already decreed; in this, as in her marriage, she had welded Andhra to the Marathas—Gautami could see the rocky stretches of the Great Country.
Beyond that, she could not see. But, in her mind’s eye, Gautami could picture the great seaport of Bharakuccha. She had been there, twice. Once, as a young wife, visiting the fabled metropolis in the company of her educated husband. The second time, as a slave captured in Malwa’s conquest of the Deccan. She could still remember those squalid slave pens; still remember the terrified faces of her young daughters as they were hauled off by the brothel-keeper who had purchased them.
And, too, she could remember the sight of the great palace which loomed above the slave pens. The same palace where, for three years now, Lord Venandakatra had made his residence and headquarters.
“Soon,” she murmured.
* * *
Near the headwaters of the Chambal, Lord Venandakatra’s lieutenant was haranguing Lord Damodara and Rana Sanga. Chandasena, his name was, and he was much impressed by his august status in the Malwa scheme of things.
It was a very short harangue. Though Chandasena was of noble Malwa brahmin stock—a Mahaveda priest, in fact—Lord Damodara was a member of the anvaya-prapta sachivya, as the Malwa called the hereditary caste who dominated their empire. Blood kin to Emperor Skandagupta himself.
Perhaps more to the point, Rana Sanga was Rajputana’s greatest king.
Fortunately, Sanga was no more than moderately annoyed. So the backhanded cuff which sent Chandasena sprawling in the dirt did no worse than split his lip and leave him stunned and confused. When he recovered his wits sufficiently to understand human speech, Lord Damodara furthered his education.
“My army has marched to Mesopotamia and back again, and across half of India in the bargain, and defeated every foe which came against us. Including even Belisarius himself. And Lord Venandakatra—and you—presume to instruct me on the proper pace of a march?”