The tide of victory

Chapter 35

Chowpatty

Autumn, 533A.D.

Antonina stared down at the crowd gathered in the harbor of Chowpatty. The gathering, it might be better to say, crowding onto the narrow stone causeways and spilling dangerously onto the rickety wooden piers. Some of those piers were far worse than "rickety," in truth. In the time since the Ethiopians had departed Chowpatty and then returned, bearing triumph and grief in their ships, the Marathas who had poured into Chowpatty after the destruction of the Malwa garrison had begun rebuilding the city. But the work was only beginning, and had not yet extended to the harbor. Partly, because the harbor was the most ravaged portion of the town; but, for the most part, because the fishermen who would have used it had not returned.

For them, who had once been its center, Chowpatty was and would remain a name of horror. A place of ruin and rapine. They wished no part of it, now or forever more. They would use other ports, other towns, to ply their ancient trade. Not Chowpatty. Never Chowpatty.

But to the hill people who came, Chowpatty was a name of victory and hope. The place where Malwa had been broken yet again-and by the same folk who were now seen as Malwa's closest ally. Closer, even, than great Belisarius and the Romans.

Belisarius was a legend among them, true enough. But, except for that handful who had met him during his time in India, years before, it was a vague and distant legend. The Marathas had heard of Anatha and the Dam; and Charax. And now, Barbaricum added to that list of triumphs. (Soon, too, they would hear of Kulachi.) But none of them knew those places. Few could even say exactly in what direction they were to be found, other than somewhere to the west or, possibly, the north.

Chowpatty, they knew. Bharakuccha, they knew. So the black folk who had taken Chowpatty and shattered Bharakuccha-had done more, had dragged the Vile One himself to his impalement post-were as real as the sunrise. Not a legend, but heroes walking among them.

Oh, yes-dragged him to it they had, even if no African hand had ever touched the monster. For all Marathas knew, from the mouth of their champion himself, that without Axum's assault on Bharakuccha he could not have finally dealt the Great Country's vengeance. In the short time since his return, Rao had said so time and again. And those who heard his words directly passed them on to others, and they to others, and they to others still. For it was now the great tale of Majarashtra, and would be for generations to come.

No wind could have swept that palace clean, except that a greater wind had smote its city. Not even the Panther could have cut his way to the Vile One through the mass of soldiery who normally protected the beast. But the soldiery had been drawn aside, all save a handful, in order to fend off the wrath of Ethiopia. Into that sudden emptiness, the Wind had slipped its way. Softly, quietly, stealthily, before it struck the mighty blow.

The deed was done by the hand of the Great Country, yes-and all Marathas swelled in the knowledge. But only because a black folk had broken Bharakuccha, half breaking themselves in the doing, and lost their king besides.

So the crowd gathered-or the gathering crowded-onto those treacherous piers. Because that was where they could see the people of Africa, and touch them, and speak to them, and bring what little gifts their village or town might have scraped together.

Antonina had been standing on the battlements of the fortress above Chowpatty since the break of day. She had come there, at first, out of some obscure need to see for herself the place where Eon had received his death wound. She had watched the sun rise over that place, gazing hollow-eyed into the fortress for perhaps an hour or so.

But then, finally, the sounds growing behind her had registered. So she had turned away from the fortress, to look down at the harbor it guarded. And, in the hours which followed, had begun to find some warmth returning to her soul. Perhaps.

Perhaps.

Ousanas' harsh voice broke into her thoughts. "Do not presume, woman."

Startled, Antonina jerked her head around. She had never heard Ousanas' steps, coming up to the battlements. Not surprising, really, given his skill as a hunter.

"What?" Her mind groped for the meaning of the words. "Presume what?"

Ousanas crossed his powerful arms over his chest. Then:

"You think you are Ethiopia's curse? The foreign woman-the Medea-who wreaked havoc upon it? Slew two kings-the father, and then the son? Spilled half a nation's blood, and broke half its ships in the bargain?"

Antonina looked away. She tried to find words, but could not.

Ousanas snorted. "Do not presume, woman."

"How many of them will return, Ousanas?" she whispered, almost choking. "How many?" She brought tear-filled eyes back to face him.

"This year? None," he replied forcefully. "Except the Dakuen sarwe, which will escort Eon's regalia home. That half of it, at least, which is still alive and not so badly injured that they can make the trip across the sea."

Her eyes widened. Ousanas snorted again.

"For the sake of God, Antonina-think. Think, for once, instead of wallowing in this stupid misery." He waved an arm toward the harbor. "That is a warrior nation, woman. Traders too, yes, but a nation built on the training ground of the highland regiments."

The next snort was more in the way of a laugh. "I will grant you the beauty of Helen. But it was not because of you that Axum bled. So will you please desist from this idiot imitation of that puerile woman, standing on the walls of Troy."

The image caused Antonina to giggle, and then laugh outright. Ousanas smiled, stepped forward, and placed an arm around her shoulders. Once Antonina had managed to stifle her laughter, he turned her to face the harbor.

"Look at them, Antonina. There is no grief in those faces. Sorrow for a young king they loved and treasured, yes. Sadness for those of their brave comrades who have died or been maimed, yes. But grief? Not a trace."

Watching Axum's sarwen below, as they moved easily among the crowd-jesting, laughing, strutting, preening, basking in the admiration of old men and young girls alike (especially the latter)-Antonina knew he spoke the truth. And that small perhaps in her heart seemed to grow like a shoot in spring.

"They know, Antonina. They know. Now, at last-they truly know. That which Eon promised them, if they would follow him, has truly come to pass. Ethiopia is great, now. Axum has its empire. And that empire spans the seas themselves. No obscure land tucked away in a corner of Africa, but a nation which could reach its strength across the ocean and buckle great Malwa itself."

He drew in a deep breath, gazing across the very ocean of which he spoke. "Who will doubt now? Who will question Axum's rule of the Erythrean Sea now? Not Malwa! Nor, in the future, Rome or Persia, or anyone else. Axum's coinage will be as good as Roman here. And don't think"-he pointed to the crowd below-"that every one of those sarwen isn't thinking about it, in at least one part of his mind."

Another snort. "That part, at least, which is not preoccupied with seduction, and wallowing in the knowledge that no great skill will be needed for that here. Not this night, for a certainty."

Antonina chuckled. Ousanas continued:

"No, they are already starting to think about the future. About the time after the war, when they will return. War heroes one and all, with the holds of their trading ships full to bursting. Bringing wealth back to their towns and villages, to add golden luster to their already glorious names."

He gave her shoulder a little shake. "So it is time-past time-for you to do the same. We do not need your guilt and misery, Antonina. Nor want it. We do need your shrewdness and wisdom. Athena we could use. Helen is nothing but a damned nuisance."

* * *

On the way down from the battlements, Antonina paused. "But why aren't the other regiments returning with the Dakuen?"

Ousanas gave her a stony stare.

"Oh." She giggled. "Of course. Silly of me not to have seen that."

"Praise God," he sighed. "I think the woman's wits may be returning."

After they reached the foot of the battlements, picking their way carefully through the rubble which still lay strewn about, Antonina started giggling again. "That's such a devious tactic, Ousanas."

The aqabe tsentsen shrugged. "Not really. Every regimental commander understands the logic perfectly. And why not? Ezana explained it to them plainly enough."

"You stay here," chuckled Antonina, "too far away to even think of meddling. Win more fame and fortune both for Axum and yourselves. While I, commander of the royal regiment to which Wahsi is sworn, will return and give the newborn negusa nagast the large fist the baby needs. Should it be needed."

She looked at Ousanas through the corner of her eyes. "And they did not balk? Not even a bit?"

"Not a bit. In truth, I think they were all secretly relieved. None of them wants a disruption in the dynasty, Antonina. With your hand to guide the thing, and Ezana to provide the fist, their distance relieves them of any burden at all. They are simply left with a warrior's simple task, far away in a foreign land. Win more fame, more glory, more fortune."

His famous grin made its appearance. "You noticed, I'm sure, that every sarwen in that harbor-wounded or whole-is practically staggering under his load of treasure. So careless of the Malwa, to leave their gold and silver and gems in the fabled vaults of Bharakuccha's harbor."

The grin began to fade. "So. How do you plan to guide the thing?"

Antonina scrutinized him, almost as if he were a sphinx posing a riddle.

"I don't know yet," she said abruptly. "I'm thinking about it."

He scrutinized her in return. Almost as if he were a man studying a riddle. Then grimaced, as a man might do when he cannot find the riddle's answer-and remembers that sphinxes have an unfortunate diet.

"Maybe you should go back up," he muttered.

"Not a chance," she replied, taking him by the arm and leading him away. "For one thing, I would be late for Shakuntala's audience. She's an empress, you know. And for another-" She broke off, studying Ousanas out of the corner of her eyes. "I'm thinking."

"I have wakened a monster." Ousanas rolled his eyes. "I can sense a demon rising."

"Nonsense. I'm just a woman, thinking."

"Same thing," he whined.

* * *

The empress shook her head. "I will not presume to override my commanders, but I think you are misreading the man completely. Rao most of all."

Shakuntala's officers stared at her in confusion. Her husband most of all. They were seated on cushions in a semicircle, facing the empress. She too sat on cushions, and those no higher than their own. Yet, despite her short stature, Shakuntala seemed to loom over them. As always, her posture was so erect that the small young woman seemed much larger than she really was.

Rao stroked his beard. "I will not deny the possibility. Still, Empress, I know something about Rajputs. And that army is entirely Rajput now, in all that matters. The name 'Malwa' applied to Lord Damodara has become a bare fiction. A tattered cloak, covering very different armor. Even the Ye-tai in his army are adopting Rajput ways and customs. The top Ye-tai commander, Toramana, is said to be marrying into the Chauhar clan itself. A half-sister of Rana Sanga's, no less."

"Others are doing the same," added Shakuntala's cavalry commander Shahji, "and not only Ye-tai. Nothing happens in Bharakuccha now that we do not learn almost within the day. We have gotten innumerable reports from Maratha merchants and vendors. Day after day, they tell us, Rajput soldiers are conducting marital negotiations with their Ye-tai and other comrades-even Malwa kshatriya-who seek to weld themselves to Rajputana."

Somehow, Shakuntala seemed to sit even more erect. "Yes, I know. And you think that means Damodara and Sanga will now wage war against us in the Rajput manner? Sally forth, finally, to meet us on a great open field of battle?"

"They will try," murmured Rao. "Whether we accommodate them is another manner." Perhaps sensing the sudden stiffness in the posture of the Maratha officers who sat to either side, he smiled slightly.

"Oh, do be still. It is no dishonor to say that our army is not yet a match in the open field against Damodara and his men. And will not be, for some time to come. Do not forget that army fought Belisarius-and won."

The officer Kondev stirred. "Belisarius was outnumbered at the Pass, by all accounts. Our forces are as great as Damodara's. Greater, if we bring in all the outlying units."

"And so what?" shrugged Rao. "Damodara's army has fought great battles, against Roman and Persian alike. They are experienced, sure, confident. Our forces have fought no such thing as that. A thousand skirmishes and ambushes, yes. A hundred small battles in narrow terrain, yes. Defended and taken a dozen hillforts, yes. It is not the same. In the open field, Damodara would break us like a stick."

An uncomfortable silence fell. From the sour look on their faces, it was plain to see the officers wanted to deny Rao's words. But.

Couldn't. And the fact that Majarashtra's greatest champion had been so willing to say them, calmly and openly, made denial quite impossible. Who were they to tell the Wind of the Great Country that he was mistaken in a matter of war?

Shakuntala, as it happened.

"You are wrong, Rao." She made a small, abbreviated gesture with her left hand. "Not about the correct tactics if Damodara comes out for battle. On that, I can say nothing." Her tone of voice, for just a moment, became demure. As demure, at least, as the empress was capable of. "I would not dream of disagreeing with my husband on such matters."

Rao grinned. But his wife the empress ignored him aloofly. "Where you are wrong is in the politics of the thing. Damodara, I am quite sure, knows that he could break us in battle. But not without suffering great losses himself. And that, I think, lies at the heart of things. He is waiting, and will continue to wait."

Rao frowned. "For what?" His eyes opened a bit. Then, for just one moment, the old Rao returned. The hill chieftain who had once trained an emperor's daughter. Long before he married her, in a time when such a marriage was unthinkable.

"Nonsense, girl! Rajput, I tell you. Even if Damodara himself were willing to seize the Malwa throne-and with his family hostage in Kausambi, what is the chance of that? — his soldiers would not follow him. Were he to press the matter, Rana Sanga himself would cut him down. The Rajputs swore an oath of fealty to the emperor of Malwa. And a Rajput oath-you know this well as I do-is as hard to break as iron."

Shakuntala shook her head. If the empress was displeased by her consort's sudden reversion to old and uncouth ways of addressing her, she gave no sign of it. Indeed, from the hint of a smile on her lips, one might almost think she enjoyed it.

Still, the headshake was vigorous.

"That was not my meaning-although, Rao, I think you are forgetting the lessons in philosophy you once gave an impatient and headstrong girl." Yes, she was smiling. "The business about truth becoming illusion, and illusion truth. The veil of Maya is not so easily penetrated as you might think."

A little chuckle swept the room. The officers seemed to relax a bit. Badinage between the empress and her consort was a familiar thing. Familiar, and immensely relaxing.

Shakuntala continued:

"It is Damodara's nature to wait. People miss that in him, because he is so capable in action when he moves-and moves so often, and so fast when he does. But, mostly, he is a waiting man. That is the core of his soul. He does not know the difference between truth and illusion, and-most important-knows that he doesn't. So. he waits. Allows the thing to unfold itself, until truth begins to emerge."

"What 'truth'?" asked Rao, a bit crossly.

She shrugged. "The same 'truth' we are all pondering. The 'truth' which is unfolding in the Indus, not here. We have no knowledge of what has happened with Belisarius, since he left Barbaricum and led his expedition into the interior of the Sind."

She glanced at Antonina, who, along with Ousanas and Ezana, was sitting on a stool not far to Shakuntala's left. Antonina shook her head slightly. I don't know anything more than you do.

Rao and the officers caught that little exchange, as Shakuntala had so obviously intended them to do. She pressed on.

"What will happen in the Indus? When Belisarius and Malwa clash head on? Who will win, who will lose-and how great will be the winning or the losing?"

She paused, defying anyone to answer. When it was obvious no answer was coming, she made that little hand wave again.

"So Damodara will wait. Wait and wait. Until the truth begins to emerge. And, in the meantime, will do nothing beyond rebuild Bharakuccha's harbor and fortifications. He will send nothing beyond patrols, up the Narmada-large enough to defeat any ambush, but not so large as to risk any great losses to himself."

Kondev stroked his beard. "It is true that all the punitive expeditions have ceased, since Damodara took command after the Vile One's death. But it was known that he had already opposed them, even while the beast was alive. So I am not sure that tells us much of anything regarding his future plans."

Antonina decided it was time for her to speak up. She cleared her throat, to gain everyone's attention. Then, as soon as Shakuntala nodded her permission, began to speak.

"I agree with the empress. Not so much with regard to Damodara's intentions"-she shrugged, waving her hand more broadly than Shakuntala had done-"although I suspect she is right there also. But who can read that man's soul? The key thing, however, is what she proposes. And in that, I am in full agreement with her."

Rao seemed a bit frustrated. "That means we would do nothing."

Antonina shook her head. "That is not what the empress said. She did not propose doing nothing, Rao. She proposes, instead, that we prepare."

She turned her head, looking toward the wide window which looked out over the city. Half-ruined Chowpatty was invisible, for the window was too high. But Antonina could see the ocean beyond, calm now that the monsoon season had ended.

"The Axumites will need to spend much time, in any event, recuperating from their wounds and repairing damaged ships. As soon as the eastern monsoon begins, Ousanas and I and the Dakuen sarwe will return to Ethiopia. But the rest of the Axumite army could use a long period in which to rest and rebuild their strength."

There was a little stir in the room. The officers had heard that most of Ethiopia's forces would stay in India, but this was the first time that rumor had been confirmed by an authoritative voice. They glanced at Ousanas and Ezana, and saw by their stern and solemn faces that Antonina had spoken truly. The stir grew a bit, before it settled. The news, clearly enough, filled all the Marathas with satisfaction.

Majarashtra and Axum combined. Now there might be a force which could even challenge Damodara and the Rajputs in open battle.

"Not yet," said Antonina firmly, as if gainsaying her earlier skepticism about the possibility of mind reading. "Axum needs time." More forcefully: "And so do you. If you intend to face Damodara and Rana Sanga in anything other than ambush, you will need to train your army. Marathas are not accustomed to such methods of warfare. You are not ready yet."

Although there was no expression on Shakuntala's face beyond respectful attentiveness, it was plain as day that Antonina's words encapsulated her own opinion. And Antonina, though she herself was not Belisarius, carried the penumbra of his reputation for strategic sagacity.

"Wait," repeated Antonina. "Train, prepare. Let the Axumites rest, and then begin training with them. Prepare."

She sat up as straight as Shakuntala. "The time will come, do not doubt it. But when it comes-when the truth has begun emerging from the mists-you will be ready for it."

Whether or not Rao agreed with her was impossible to tell. The Panther of Majarashtra, when he so desired, could be as impenetrable as any man. But, clearly enough, he was ready to bring the thing to a close. He was facing Shakuntala now, not Antonina.

"This is your desire, Empress?"

"Yes."

"So be it, then." Rao bowed his head. There was nothing of the husband in that gesture, simply the servant. "It shall be as you command."

* * *

Later, as Rao and Shakuntala and Antonina relaxed in the empress' private chambers, Rao suddenly chuckled and said: "That went quite well, I think. Even my hot-blooded Marathas are satisfied enough to settle for the rigors of training camp."

Shakuntala gave her husband a skeptical lifted eyebrow.

"Preposterous!" he exclaimed. "I was merely playing a part. Surely you don't think I-Raghunath Rao himself! — would have been so foolish as to advocate challenging Damodara on the morrow?"

"Tomorrow, no." Shakuntala sniffed. "The day after tomorrow. " The eyebrow lifted and lifted.

"I am wounded to the heart," groaned Rao, a hand clutching his chest. "My own wife!"

The air of injured innocence went rather poorly with the sly smile. Not to mention Rao's own cocked eyebrow, aimed at Antonina.

"And you, woman of Rome? Are you still immersed in this role of yours? What did Ousanas call it-someone named Helen?"

Antonina's sniff matched Shakuntala's own in imperial dignity. "Nonsense. I'm thinking, that's all."

Before Rao could utter a word, she scowled at him and snapped: "Don't say it! One Ousanas is bad enough."