The Dance of Time

Their Great King—another term to cause old chiefs to scowl—was adding to his glory and where were the Pathan warriors?

Were they to hide in their villages?

It would not be long, the five old chiefs knew, before the ultimate insult was spoken aloud.

Old women! Our chiefs—so-called—are nothing but old women!

"We have no mortars," grumbled one of the chiefs. "How are we to fight Malwa armies without mortars?"

"Of course you do," Irene disagreed, in a cheerful tone of voice. "The new mortars of the Pathans have become famous."

That wasn't... exactly true. They were indeed famous, in a way, simply because the Kushans were astonished that illiterate and ignorant Pathans had managed to built mortars at all. But no Kushan soldier in his right mind would trust one enough to fire the thing.

Irene found it rather amazing. When it came to anything else, Pathans were as hostile to innovation as so many cats would be to the suggestion they adopt vegetarianism. But show them a new weapon—one that was effective, anyway—and within a very short time they would be modeling their own after it. Much more effectively than she'd ever imagined such a primitive folk could do.

Before the old chiefs could take further umbrage, she added: "What you lack is ammunition. Which I can supply you."

Boxed again. The glares darkened.

"Oh, yes, lots of ammunition." She pointed her finger out the palace window, toward the new arsenal. "It's made over there. By old women. Many old women."

Boxed again.

* * *

After they stalked out of the palace, Irene summoned her aides. "Send a telegraph message to the station at Margalla Pass. Tell them to send couriers after Kungas."

"Yes, Your Majesty. And the message to be taken to the king?"

By now, Irene had taken off her veil. The smile thus displayed was a gleaming thing. "Tell the king that I have persuaded the Pathans to provide us with troops to help guard the passes. They say ten thousand, but let's figure seven. Two thousand will go to Margalla Pass, the rest to Kohat Pass. If there's any threat, it's more likely to come from the south."

One of the aides frowned. "They won't stay in the passes, Your Majesty. They'll set off to raid the lowlands."

"Of course they will. Better yet. We'll have a screen all over the northern Punjab of thousands of cavalrymen, who'll warn us of any large approaching enemy force. They'll scamper back to the passes when we need them, rather than face Malwa regulars in the open. Pathans are ignorant beyond belief, but they're not actually stupid. Not when it comes to war, anyway."

She leaned back in her chair, basking in self-admiration. Not so much because she'd just relieved her husband of a great worry, but simply because—once again—she'd outfoxed clan chiefs.

"Tell the king he needn't worry about guarding his kingdom. With Pathan reinforcements, I can hold the passes against any Malwa army likely to be sent against us. He's free to do whatever his judgment dictates is the best course."

She detested those old men. Absolutely, completely, thoroughly, utterly detested them.

"Ha!" she barked. "If they'd sent their old women to negotiate, I'd have been lost!"

* * *

Emperor Skandagupta goggled at the telegraph message in his hand.

"Mathura? Mathura? How did an enemy army get to Mathura?"

The senior of the three generals facing him swallowed. His life and those of his two subordinates hung by a thread. As each week had passed since the beginning of Damodara's rebellion, the emperor's fury had become more savage. By now, there were over seven hundred heads or corpses impaled on the palace walls.

Still, he didn't dare lie. "We're not sure, Your Majesty. Some of the reports we've gotten describe them as Rajputs."

Skandagupta crumbled the message and hurled it to the floor. "Why would Rajput rebels be moving north of Mathura? You idiot! If they came from Rajputana, they'd be trying to join up with Damodara."

He pursed his lips and spit on the general. "Who has still not been stopped by my supposedly mighty armies! You don't even know where he is, any longer!"

"Still far south of the Yamuna, surely," said the general, in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "A large army cannot move quickly, as you know. From your own great military experience."

In point of fact, Skandagupta had no military experience at all, beyond sitting in a huge pavilion and watching his armies reduce rebel cities. But he seemed slightly mollified by the compliment.

"True," he grunted. "Still... why have the reports been so spotty?"

The general didn't dare give an honest answer. Because most of the garrisons—and telegraph operators—flee before Damodara arrives at their towns and forts.

Instead, he simply shook his head sagely. "War is very chaotic, Your Majesty. As you know from your own experience. Once the fighting starts, information always becomes spotty."