“You might be surprised. Purity is one thing, the satisfaction of vengeance is another. Even we heathen Hindus are not immune to that. Even a philosopher like him will feel a twitch, as much harm as he knows that will do to his karma.”
Ajatasutra leaned forward in his chair, stretching his arms and arching his back. He seemed to take as much pleasure in the supple movements as a cat. “Secondly, I’ve gotten out of practice.” Half-growling: “Your methods are too damned subtle to keep an assassin’s skills properly honed.”
Again, Narses snorted. “Pimps.”
Ajatasutra’s lips twisted into a wry grin. “Best I could find.” The grin faded. When it was completely gone, his still and expressionless face seemed more like that of a hawk on a limb than a man in a chair.
“And, finally. I felt like it.”
Narses said nothing. He neither snorted nor sneered.
* * *
Weeks later, the package caused immense consternation. It struck the palace at Deogiri like a tornado, leaving a peshwa and his wife weeping tears of joy, an empress confused and uncertain, her advisers divided and torn.
“It’s a trap!” insisted the imperial consort. Raghunath Rao sprang to his feet and practically pounced his way over to the open window in the imperial audience chamber. There, planting his hands on the wide ledge, he glared fiercely to the north. The broken hill country of Majarashtra stretched to the horizon. Beyond, invisible in the distance, lay the Narmada river and the Vindhya mountains. And, beyond that, the great Gangetic plain where the Malwa beast straddled the Indian subcontinent.
“A trap,” he repeated.
Empress Shakuntala moved her uncertain gaze to the commander of her personal bodyguard. Former commander, rather. As of the previous day, Kungas was no longer her mahadandanayaka; no longer her bhatasvapati. Officially, the man once known as “great commandant” and “lord of army and cavalry” had no title at all in the empire of Andhra. He had been relieved of all responsibilities, since he and his own consort were soon to be founding their own empire.
Officially.
Kungas’ shoulders made the little twitch which served him for a shrug. “Probably so.” His gaze moved to the other woman in the room. Shakuntala’s eyes followed.
Irene cleared her throat. “Actually, Your Majesty”—she gave an apologetic glance at the figure in the window—”I find myself in a rare moment of disagreement with Rao.”
Rao barked a laugh. He turned back into the room. ” ‘Rare moment!’ Such a diplomat.”
Irene smiled. “But disagree I must. This maneuver has to be Narses’ work. A simple trap is not his style.”
Everyone in the room eyed her skeptically. Irene’s shrug was as expressive as her future husband’s had been terse. “I’m sorry. I realize that must sound hopelessly vague. Even naive. But—”
Her own frown was simply one of concentration. “But I’m really quite sure that I’m right. I can detect Narses’ mind at work here. He’s up to something, be sure of it. Something—” Her hands groped a bit. “Something complex. Something convoluted.”
She glanced at Kungas and Rao. Her frown was instantly replaced by a wicked smile. “The problem with these two, Your Majesty, is that they think like men. You know—crude. Simple.”
Shakuntala’s laugh filled the large chamber like a bell. She and Irene exchanged a grin. Rao scowled. Kungas’ face, as usual, had no expression at all.
“You must remember, Empress,” continued Irene, “that Narses is a eunuch. He thinks more like a woman than a man. Subtle, tricky. Shrewd.”
Grin. Grin. Scowl. Nothing.
“Not a trap,” she insisted. “Or, at least, not the obvious trap. What would he have to gain, beyond inflicting a minor wound on Belisarius?”
“And a major one on our peshwa,” growled Rao. He jerked his head angrily at the door. “Dadaji should be here, to give us his wisdom in counsel. He is absent simply because he too overcome with—with—”
“Joy?” suggested Irene. “Relief?”
“For the moment. But what of later? If it is a trap, once it is sprung? When he realizes that his daughters are lost forever.”
Kungas spoke. “That’s foolish, Rao. And you know it. Dadaji would not be incapacitated for long. He would do the rites—just as he did months ago when the news of his son’s death in battle came—and continue onward. More fiercely than ever, now that Malwa added a new wound to his soul.”