The Dance of Time

Skandagupta grunted again. Then, pointed to the crumpled message. "Give me that."

One of the slaves attending him hastened to obey. After re-opening the message and studying it for a moment, Skandagupta snarled.

The general and his two subordinates struggled not to sigh with relief. The snarl was familiar. Someone was about to die—but it wouldn't be them.

"Send a telegraph message to the governor at Mathura. The commander of the garrison is to be executed. The sheer incompetence of the man! If not—who knows?—treachery. Why didn't he march out at once in pursuit of the enemy?"

As one man, the generals decided to take that as a rhetorical question. To do otherwise would have been mortal folly. Because you ordered all garrisons to stay at their post no matter what, Your Majesty...

Would not be a wise thing to say to Skandagupta in a rage.

"Whichever officer replaces him in command is ordered to lead an expedition out of Mathura—immediately and with the utmost haste—to deal with this new enemy. Whoever it is."

"How many men from the garrison should he take, Your Majesty?"

Skandagupta slapped the throne's armrest. "Do I need to decide everything? As many as he thinks necessary—but not fewer than thirty thousand! Do you understand? I want this new threat crushed!

That would strip the garrison of three-fourths of its soldiers. More than that, really, since the new commander was sure to take all his best troops with him. His best cavalry and foot soldiers, at least. The experienced artillerymen would remain behind, since there would be no way to haul great guns up the roads by the Yamuna without making the phrase immediately and with the utmost haste a meaningless term. But artillerymen alone could not possibly defend a city as large as Mathura.

None of the generals was about to say that to the emperor, however. As many heads and bodies as there were perched on the palace walls, there were twice as many still-bare stakes waiting. Skandagupta had ordered the walls festooned with the things.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

* * *

Damodara and his army reached the Yamuna forty miles downstream of Mathura. They were met there by a small contingent of Ye-tai deserters from the garrison, who'd decided that the phrase Toramana's Ye-tai were words of wisdom.

"Yes, Lord—ah, Your Majesty," said the captain in command of the contingent. "Lord Shankara—he's the new garrison commander—led most of the troops out of the city three days ago. They're headed north, after another army that's invading—ah, rebelling—ah, rightfully resisting—"

Damodara waved the man's fumbling words aside. "Enough, enough. How many did he leave behind?"

"Not more than eight thousand, Your Majesty."

One of the other Ye-tai, emboldened by Damodara's relaxed demeanor, added: "Most of them are piss-poor troops, Your Majesty. Except the artillerymen."

Damodara turned his head and grinned at Rana Sanga. "See? You doubted me! I told you I'd find siege guns—somewhere—and the troops to man them."

He swiveled his head back, bringing the grin to bear on the Ye-tai. "They'll be co-operative, yes?"

The Ye-tai captain gave one of his men a meaningful glance. That worthy cleared his throat and announced:

"My cousin commands one of the batteries. I'll show you the gate it protects."

"They'll co-operate," growled his captain.

Damodara now bestowed the grin on Toramana. "I think these men will fit nicely in your personal regiment, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," agreed Toramana. "But I'm thinking I'll need to form another, before too long."

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Framed

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Chapter 33

Mayapur

Kungas waited until the lead elements of Great Lady Sati's army had crossed the river and her chaundoli was just reaching the opposite bank of the Ganges. He'd had to struggle mightily with himself not to give the order to open fire when there was still a chance to catch Sati herself.

But that would have been stupid. The river was within reach of the big mortars, but the range was too great for any accuracy. They'd likely have missed Sati's chaundoli altogether—while leaving her close enough to the main body of her army to rejoin it and provide her soldiers with sure and decisive leadership.

"Open fire!"

The whole ridge above Mayapur erupted with mortar fire.

This way, the Malwa army would be almost as effectively decapitated as if they'd killed the bitch herself. She'd be stranded on the opposite bank of the river with her own bodyguard and the advance contingents, while the bulk of her army would be caught on this side.