Fortune's stroke b-4

by Eric Flint

  His features were typically Kushan. Asiatic, steppe features: yellowish complexion, flat nose, eyes which seemed slanted due to the fold in the corners, a tight-lipped mouth. His beard was a wispy goatee, and the mustache adorning his upper lip was no more than a thin line of hair. Most of his scalp was shaved, except for a clot of coarse black hair gathered into a topknot.

  Kungas returned Irene's scrutiny with one of his own. His next words startled her almost as much as the collision.

  "You have beautiful eyes," he announced. "Very intelligent. And so I am puzzled."

  Irene frowned. "Puzzled by what?"

  "Why are you wearing such a stupid costume?" he asked, gesturing to the heavy Roman robes. "In this climate?"

  Kungas' lips seemed to twitch. Irene thought that might be a smile. She wasn't sure.

  "I grant you," he continued, "many of the Indian customs are ridiculous. But the women are quite sensible when it comes to their clothing. You would do much better to wear a sari, and leave your midriff bare."

  Irene grinned. "I'm a diplomat," she explained. "Got to maintain my ambassadorial dignity. Especially since I'm a woman. Everybody looks at these absurd robes instead of me. So all they see is the Roman Empire, rather than the foreign female."

  "Ah." Kungas nodded. "Good thinking."

  "You must be on your way to the audience chamber yourself," said Irene. She cocked her head to the side. "The empress will be delighted to see you. She has missed you, I think. Although she says nothing."

  Now, finally, Kungas did smile. "She never does. Lest people see the uncertain girl, instead of the ruler of Andhra."

  He made a slight bow. "Envoy from Rome, I must give my report to the empress. May I escort you to the audience chamber?"

  Irene bowed in return, and nodded graciously. Side by side, she and Kungas headed toward the great double doors at the end of the corridor.

  From the corner of her eye, Irene studied Kungas. She was a bit fascinated by the way he moved. Silently, and surely-more like a cat than a thick, stocky man. But, mostly, she was fascinated by Kungas himself. Such a thick, hard, rigid statue, he seemed. But she had not missed the warm humor lurking inside the bronze casting, nor the intelligence.

  Then, turning her eyes to the front, she gave her head a little shake.

  You're the envoy from Rome, she reminded herself. For a moment, her fingers plucked at her heavy robes. So just forget it, woman. Besides, the man can't even read.

  "How long does Rao think it will take Venandakatra to bring up the siege guns?" asked Shakuntala. The empress, seated on a plush cushion, leaned forward from her lotus position. Her brow was wrinkled, as if she were a schoolgirl straining to understand a lesson.

  Irene was not fooled by Shakuntala's resemblance to a young student. That is one very worried monarch, she thought, watching from her vantage point against the east wall of the small audience chamber.

  Irene's translator leaned over, whispering, but she stilled him with a gesture. Her Hindi had improved well enough that she was able to follow the discussion. Irene had an aptitude for languages-that skill was a necessity for a spymaster in Rome's polyglot empire-and she had been tutored by Belisarius before leaving Constantinople. In the months since her arrival at Suppara, she had been immersed in Hindi. And Marathi. As was true of most Indian monarchs, Shakuntala used Hindi as the court language, but Irene had begun learning the common tongue of Majarashtra as well.

  "How long?" repeated the empress.

  Seated easily in his own lotus position, Kungas shrugged. "It is difficult to say, Your Majesty. Many factors are involved. The siege guns were at Bharakuccha. Venandakatra has thus been forced to haul them across the Great Country. Very difficult terrain, as you know, through which to move huge war engines. And Rao has been harassing the Malwa column with his mountain fighters."

  "Can he stop them?" demanded Shakuntala. "Before they can bring the guns to Deogiri?"

  Kungas shook his head. As with all the man's gestures, the movement was slight-but emphatic, for all that.

  "Not a chance, Your Majesty. He can slow it down, but he does not have the forces to stop it. Venandakatra has reinforced the column's escort with every spare military unit at his disposal. He cannot reduce Deogiri without those guns-and with them, he cannot fail. Any one of those cannons is big enough to shatter Deogiri's walls, and he has six of them."

  Shakuntala winced. For a moment, Kungas' face seemed to soften. Just a tiny bit.

  "There is this much, Your Majesty," he added. "The Vile One has been forced to end the punitive raids in the countryside. He cannot spare the men. Every cavalry troop he has, beyond the ones investing Deogiri, are assigned to guard the column bringing the cannons."

  Shakuntala rubbed her face. For all her youth, it seemed an old, tired gesture. Venandakatra's atrocities in the Maratha countryside, Irene knew, had preyed heavily on her soul. Even by Malwa standards, Venandakatra was a beast. The man's official title was Goptri of the Deccan-the "Warden of the Marches," assigned by the Malwa emperor to subjugate his most unruly new province. But by Marathas themselves, the man was called nothing but the Vile One.

  Shakuntala's face rubbing ended, within seconds. Her natural energy and assertiveness returned.

  "It is up to us, then," she pronounced. "We must organize a relief column of our own."

  The two Maratha cavalry officers seated next to Kungas stirred, and glanced at each other. The senior of them, a general by the name of Shahji, cleared his throat and spoke.

  "I do not think that is wise, Empress. We have been able to hold Suppara, and the coast, but our forces are still not strong enough to relieve Rao at Deogiri."

  "Unless we took our whole army," qualified Kondev, the other Maratha general. "But that would leave Suppara defenseless."

  Shakuntala's face tightened. Kondev drove home the point:

  "You have a responsibility here also, Your Majesty."

  "I can't simply let Rao be destroyed!" snapped the empress. She glared angrily at the two Maratha cavalry generals.

  Shakuntala's chief adviser, Dadaji Holkar, intervened. As always, the scholarly peshwa-"premier," Irene translated the term-spoke softly and calmly. And, as always, his tone calmed the empress.

  Although, thought Irene, his words did not.

  "There is the other alternative, Your Majesty."

  Holkar's statement seemed to strike Shakuntala like a blow, or a reprimand. The young empress' face grew pinched, and Irene thought she almost recoiled.

  Holkar's lips tightened, for a moment. To Irene, his eyes seemed sad.

  Sad, but determined.

  "If we insist, as a condition to the marriage," he continued, "I am quite certain that the Cholas will send an army. A large enough army to relieve Deogiri, without requiring us to abandon Suppara."

  Holkar glanced quickly at Kungas. "At the time, I thought Kungas was unwise, to urge you to decline the offer of marriage from the Prince of Tamraparni. But his advice proved correct. The Cholas did make a better offer."

  His gaze returned to the empress. Still sad, but still determined.

  "As you know," he stated, gently but emphatically. "I read you the text of their offer last week. You said that you wanted to think about it. I suggest that the time for thinking is over."

  Again, Holkar glanced at Kungas. More of a lingering look, actually. Irene, watching, was puzzled by Holkar's stare. It seemed more one of anger-irritation, perhaps, and apprehensiveness-than admiration and approval. And she noticed that the empress herself was staring at Kungas rather oddly. Almost as if she were beseeching him.

  For his part, Kungas returned their gazes with nothing beyond masklike imperturbability.

  Something's going on here, thought Irene.

  As other advisers began speaking, also urging the marriage on the empress, Irene's quick mind flitted over the situation. She knew of the Chola king's offer of his oldest son in marriage to Shakuntala. Irene had learned about it almost as soon as Shakuntala her
self. The Greek spymaster had begun creating her own network of informants from the moment she arrived in India. But Irene had simply filed the information away for later consideration.

  Irene had realized, weeks ago, that the subject of Shakuntala's possible dynastic marriage was a source of considerable tension in the palace. Such a marriage would produce an immediate improvement in the position of the young empress. Yet, she was obviously unhappy at the prospect, and avoided the subject whenever her advisers raised it.

  At first, Irene had ascribed Shakuntala's hesitation to the natural reluctance of a strong-willed female ruler to give up any portion of her power and independence. (An attitude which Irene, given her own temperament and personality, understood perfectly.) As the weeks passed, however, Irene had decided that more was involved.

  The young empress never discussed the subject, except in political and military terms, but Irene suspected that her feelings on Deogiri were personal as well. Deogiri-and, more specifically, the man who was in command of the rebel forces there.

  Irene had never met Raghunath Rao, no more than she had Kungas. But Belisarius had spoken about him many times, also-and at even greater length than on the subject of Kungas. To her astonishment, Irene had eventually realized that Belisarius was a bit in awe of the man-an attitude which she had never seen the Roman general take toward anyone else in the world.

  Raghunath Rao. She rolled the glamorous, exotic-sounding name over a silent tongue, her mind only half-following the enthusiastic jabberings of the junior advisers. (Every one of whom, she noted, agreed with the peshwa Dadaji Holkar. But Kungas had not spoken yet.)

  The Panther of Majarashtra. The Wind of the Great Country. The national hero of the Marathas, and a legend throughout all of India. The only man who ever fought the Rajput king Rana Sanga to a draw, after an entire day spent in single combat.

  Raghunath Rao. One of India's greatest assassins, among other things. The man who slaughtered-single-handedly, no less-two dozen of her captors in the Vile One's palace in order to rescue Shakuntala from captivity, after Belisarius, through a ruse, saw to the removal of Kungas and her Kushan guards.

  Rao, the supreme Andhra loyalist, did so in order to rescue the legitimate heir of the dynasty. Yes, of course. But he was also rescuing the girl whom he had raised since the age of seven, after her father, the Emperor of Andhra, had placed the child in the Maratha chieftain's care. The mutual devotion between Rao and Shakuntala was something of a legend itself, by now.

  To all outward appearances, it was the attachment of a young woman and her older mentor. But Irene suspected that under the surface lay much more passionate sentiments. Sentiments which were perhaps all the fiercer, for never having been spoken or acted on by either person.

  The junior advisers were still jabbering, so Irene continued her ruminations. Irene had her own opinion regarding the question of Shakuntala's possible dynastic marriage. That opinion was still tentative, but it seemed to her that Shakuntala's advisers were missing-

  Her thoughts broke off. Kungas was finally speaking.

  "I disagree. I think this is all quite premature." His words were all the more forceful for the quiet manner in which he spoke them. Kungas' voice exuded the same sense of iron certainty as his mask of a face. "The Chola offer, as I understand it, is filled with quibbles and reservations."

  Holkar began to interrupt, but Kungas drove on.

  "If the empress breaks the siege of Deogiri," he stated, "and thereby proves that she can hold southern Majarashtra, there will certainly be a better offer. From someone, if not the Cholas."

  Holkar threw up his hands. "If! If!" He lowered his hands and, with an obvious effort, brought himself under control. Irene realized that-unusually, for the mild-mannered peshwa-the man was genuinely angry.

  "If, Kungas," he repeated, through teeth that were almost clenched. "If." Holkar leaned forward, slapping the rug before him emphatically. "But that is precisely the point! We do not have the troops to simultaneously relieve Deogiri and hold Suppara and the coast."

  Holkar sprang to his feet and strode over to a window in the west wall. He stared out at the ocean lying beyond. From her vantage point on the opposite side of the chamber, Irene could not see the ocean itself, but she knew what the peshwa was looking at.

  Malwa warships, dozens of them. Holding position, as they had for weeks, just out of range of the three great cannons protecting Suppara's harbor. Each of those warships had a large contingent of marines, ready to land at a moment's notice.

  The Malwa had made no attempt to storm Suppara for months now. But in the first few weeks after Irene was smuggled through the blockade on an Axumite vessel, she had watched while they made three furious assaults. Each of those attacks had been beaten off, but it had taken the efforts of all of Shakuntala's soldiers-as well as the four hundred Ethiopian sarwen under Ezana's command-to do so.

  Holkar turned away from the window. He gave Kungas a hard, stony look, before turning his eyes to Shakuntala. "Shahji and Kondev are correct, Empress. We cannot relieve the siege of Deogiri without leaving Suppara defenseless. I do not therefore see-"

  "We do not have to relieve Deogiri," interrupted Kungas. "We simply have to destroy the siege guns."

  Holkar froze. Still standing, he frowned down at Kungas.

  The Kushan warrior's shoulders seemed to twitch, just a bit. Irene, learning to interpret Kungas' economical gestures, decided that was a shrug. With just a hint of irony, she thought. Perhaps some amusement.

  What an interesting man. Who would have expected so much subtlety, in such an ugly lump?

  "Explain, Kungas," said Shahji.

  Again, Kungas' shoulders made that tiny twitch.

  "I discussed the situation with Rao. The problem is not the siege itself. Rao is quite certain that he can hold Deogiri from the Vile One's army. You are Maratha, Shahji. You know how strong those walls are. Deogiri is the most impregnable city in the Great Country."

  Shahji nodded. So did Kondev.

  "Water is not a problem," continued Kungas. "Deogiri has its own wells. Nor is Rao concerned about starvation. Venandakatra simply doesn't have enough troops to completely seal off Deogiri. The Panther's men are all Maratha. They know the countryside, and have the support of the people there. Since the beginning of the siege, Rao has been able to smuggle food and provisions through the Vile One's lines. And he long ago smuggled out all of the civilians of the city. He only has to feed his own troops."

  Kungas lifted his right hand from his knee and turned it over. "So, you see, the only problem is the actual guns. We don't have to relieve the siege. We simply have to destroy those guns, or capture them."

  "And how will we do that?" demanded Holkar.

  Before Kungas could respond, Kondev threw in his own objection. "And even if we do, Venandakatra will simply bring in more."

  Irene hesitated. Her most basic instinct as a spymaster-never let anyone know how much you know-was warring with her judgement.

  I'm the envoy from Rome, she reminded her instinct firmly. She leaned forward in her chair-Shakuntala had thoughtfully provided them for the Romans, knowing they were unaccustomed to sitting on cushions-and cleared her throat.

  "He can't," she said firmly. "He's stripped Bharakuccha of every siege gun he has. Those cannons-there are only five of them left, Kungas, by the way; one of them was destroyed recently, falling off a cliff-are the only ones the Malwa have in the Deccan. To get more, they'd have to bring them from the Gangetic plain, across the Vindhya mountains. That would take at least a year. And Emperor Skandagupta just informed Venandakatra, in a recent letter, that the Vile One will have to rely on his own resources for a while. It seems the war in Persia is proving more difficult than the Malwa had anticipated."

  She leaned back, smiling. "He was quite irate, actually. Most of his anger was directed at Belisarius, but some of it is spilling over on Venandakatra. Emperor Skandagupta does not understand, as he puts it, why the `illustrious Goptri' is having
so much difficulty subduing-as he puts it-`a handful of unruly rebels.' "

  Everyone was staring at her, eyes wide open. Except Kungas, she saw. The Kushan was looking at her also, but his gaze seemed less one of surprise than-

  Interest? Irene lowered her own eyes, plucking at her robes. For a moment, looking down, she caught sight of her nose.

  Damn great ugly beak.

  She brushed back her hair and raised her head. Envoy from Rome, she reminded herself firmly.

  The wide-eyed stares were still there.

  "Is your spy network really that good?" asked Holkar, a bit shakily. "Already? You've only been here for-"

  He broke off, as if distracted by another thought.

  Irene coughed. "Well. . Yes, peshwa, it is that good."

  She gave Shakuntala an apologetic little nod. "I was intending to give you this latest information at our next meeting, Your Majesty." The empress acknowledged the apology with a nod of her own.

  Irene turned her gaze back to Kungas.

  "So that objection to the Bhatasvapati's proposal is moot," she said. "But I confess that I have no idea how he intends to destroy the existing guns."

  Kungas began to explain. Irene listened carefully to his plan. She was required to do so, not simply by her position as the envoy of Rome, but by the nature of the plan itself. At one point, in fact, the meeting was suspended while Irene sent for one of the Syrian gunners who had accompanied her to India, in order to clarify a technical problem.

  So, throughout the long session, Irene was attentive to Kungas' proposal. But there was a part of her mind, lurking far back, which focused on the man himself.

  When the session was over, and she was striding back to her rooms, she found it necessary to discipline that wayward part.

  The envoy of Rome! Besides, it's absurd. I'm the world's most incorrigible bookworm, and he's an illiterate. Ugly, to boot.

  Not long after arriving in her quarters, a servant announced the arrival of the peshwa.