Destiny's Shield

Now, Holkar did sigh. "Girl," he said softly, "I know that this matter pains you. But you have a duty, and an obligation, to your people."

The peshwa rose and strode to an open window, overlooking the harbor. From below, the sounds of celebration wafted into the palace. The governor's palace, once. The Malwa official languished in prison, now. Shakuntala had taken the building for her own.

Watching the festive scene below, Holkar smiled. Suppara was still celebrating, two weeks after its liberation from the Malwa heel. Dadaji knew his countrymen well. The Marathas would have celebrated even if the city were in ruins. As it was, they could also celebrate an almost bloodless victory. Once the cannons which Kungas had seized opened fire, the Malwa warships had been turned into wrecks within an hour. By the time Shakuntala and her cavalrymen disembarked on the docks, the Malwa garrison had fled the city.

Celebrate, celebrate, celebrate.

Malwa is gone. Andhra has returned.

The Empress herself is here.

Shakuntala! Shakuntala! Shakuntala!

Holkar pointed down to the city. "If you fall, girl, those people will fall with you. You brought them to their feet. You cannot betray that trust."

Behind him, Shakuntala's face finally broke. Just a bit. Just a flash of pain, a slight lowering of the head. A slow, shuddering breath.

But it was all very quick. Within seconds, she had raised her head. "You are correct, Dadaji. Draft a letter to the King of Tamraparni, telling him that I accept—"

A new voice cut in.

"I think this is quite premature."

Startled, Holkar turned from the window. "Premature? Why, Kungas?"

The Kushan was seated on his own cushion, to Shakuntala's right. He had said nothing, thus far, in this meeting of Shakuntala's closest advisers.

"Because," he rasped, "I do not think we should jump at the first offer." He spread his hand. "There will be others. The Cholas, for a certainty, now that Shakuntala has shown she is a force to be reckoned with. And I think their offer will have fewer caveats and qualifications."

He flipped his hand dismissively, almost contemptuously. "Tamraparni is an island. The Cholas share the mainland with the Malwa beast. They have less room to quibble. Their offer will be more substantial."

Holkar restrained his temper. "If they offer! I do not share your boundless optimism, Kungas. True, the Malwa press them close. But that is just as likely—more likely, in my opinion—to make them hesitate before offering the Malwa any provocation. Kerala also shares the mainland with Malwa, and we all know how that fact led Shakuntala's own grandfather to betray—"

"I agree with Kungas," interrupted Shakuntala forcefully. "We should wait. Not accept this first offer. We should wait. Longer."

Holkar blew out his cheeks. He knew that tone in Shakuntala's voice. Knew it to perfection.

No point in further argument, not now. So, he desisted; even did so graciously. Although he could not help casting an angry glare at Kungas.

No point in that either, of course. As well glare at an iron mask.

* * *

"What are you playing at?" Holkar demanded, after he and Kungas left the Empress' chamber. "You know how critical this question is! You and I have spoken on the matter before—many times."

Kungas stopped abruptly. Dadaji did likewise. The two men stood in the corridor for a moment, staring at each other. The peshwa, angry. The Bhatasvapati—amused, perhaps.

"Not quite, Dadaji," came the mild response. "You have spoken to me on this matter, that is true. Many times. But all I ever said was that I agreed that Shakuntala's marriage—whenever and however it comes—will be a decisive moment for our struggle."

Holkar frowned. "Yes. And so?"

Kungas twitched his shoulders. It might have been called a shrug.

"So—that does not mean I agree that she should marry the youngest son of the King of Tamraparni. I think she can do better."

Holkar, scowling: "With whom? Chola? If, of course, the Cholas even—"

"Who is to say, who is to say?" interrupted Kungas. Again, that little vestige of a shrug. The Bhatasvapati took his friend by the arm. "You should have more confidence in the Empress, Dadaji. When the time comes, she will know what to do. I am sure of it."

Silence followed, as the two men resumed their progress down the corridor. On the part of Kungas, it was an inscrutable sort of silence. On the part of Holkar, an irritable one.

Had the peshwa known the thoughts of the Bhatasvapati, at that moment, he would have been considerably more than irritated.

Dig in your heels, girl, dig in your heels. Stall. Make excuses. Dither. I will help, I will help. When the question of marriage is finally posed, you will know what to do. Then, you will know.