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Holkar's hand fell from his ear, to rise again, with forefinger pointing rigidly. "Absolutely not! You Christians already have two hospital services! Three is too many! You would take half the palace!"
"Nonsense," Antonina repeated. "The Wife's Service has no religious affiliation at all. True-so far-all of its members are probably Christians. But they've given medical care to Persians and Indians just as readily as they have to Christians."
The accusing forefinger went back to tugging the ear. "Hm. You propose, then, that every religion be given a share of the palace, provided they create a medical service. And then one other-the Wife's Service-which is free of any sectarian affiliation altogether. Yes?"
"Yes."
"Hm." She began to fear for his earlobe. "Interesting. Keep the kings and emperors at arm's length."
"Arm's length, with the hand holding a pole," Ousanas grunted. "Very long pole. Only way it will work. Kings and emperors are greedy by nature. Let them get within smelling distance of gold and jewels… might as well throw bloody meat into a pond full of sharks."
"True," mused Holkar. "Monks and priests will at least resist temptation for a generation or two. Thereafter, of course-"
"Thereafter is thereafter," said Antonina firmly. "There is a plague coming, long before that 'thereafter' will arrive."
By now, the three of them had drifted closely together, to what an unkind observer might have called a conspiratorial distance.
"Major religions only," insisted Ousanas. "No sects, no factions. Or else the doctrinal fanatics in Alexandria alone would insist their eighty-seven sects were entitled to the entire palace and its vaults-and demand that eighty-six more be built."
Holkar chuckled. "Be even worse among Indians. Hindus are not given to heresy-hunts, but they divide over religious matters even more promiscuously than Christians."
"Agreed," said Antonina, nodding. "One for the Christians, one for the Hindus, one for the Buddhists, and one for the Zoroastrians if the Persians want it. And one non-denominational service."
After a moment, she added: "Better offer a share to the Jews, too, I think. Half a share, at least."
"There aren't that many Jews," protested Ousanas.
"And almost none in India," added Holkar.
"True-and beside the point. One-third of the populace of Alexandria is Jewish. And it will be through Alexandria that the plague enters the Mediterranean."
Ousanas and Holkar stared at her. Then, at each other. Then, back at Antonina.
"Agreed," said Ousanas.
"A half-share for the Jews," added Holkar. "But if we're going to do that, we'll need to offer a half-share to the Jains, as well."
Ousanas frowned. "What is this adding up to?"
"Six shares all told," Antonina answered. She'd been keeping track. "One of the shares to be divided evenly between the Jews and the Jains."
Now it was her turn to hold up the rigid forefinger of admonition. "But only if they all agree to form hospitals and medical services! We don't need this palace crawling with useless monks and priests, squabbling over everything."
"Certainly don't," said Ousanas. His eyes swept the great room. "One-sixth of this… and the vaults below…"
He gri
"I do believe they will accept."
Ajatasutra had no difficulty at all getting out of Kausambi. The guards at the gates were carefully checking everyone who sought to leave the city, but they were only looking for someone who might fit the description of "a great lady and her entourage."
Even dressed at his finest, Ajatasutra bore no resemblance to such. Dressed in the utilitarian garb of an imperial courier and riding a very fine but obviously spirited horse, the guards didn't give him more than a glance. Great ladies traveled only in howdahs and palanquins. Those armed peasants didn't know much, but they knew that. Everybody knew that.
Nor did the assassin have any trouble in the first two days of his journey. Until, mid-morning of the third day, he began encountering the first refugees fleeing from Mathura.
Thereafter, the situation became contradictory. On the one hand, the ever-widening flow of refugees greatly impeded his forward progress. On the other hand, he was cheerfully certain that whatever progress he made was indeed forward.
Only two things in the world could cause such an immense flow of refugees: plague, or an invading army. And none of the refugees looked especially sick.
Frightened, yes; desperate, yes; ill, no.
Damodara was somewhere up ahead. And no longer far away at all.
"He's within a hundred miles, you-you-!"
Skandagupta lapsed into gasping silence, unable to come up with a word or phrase that properly encapsulated his sentiments toward the generals standing before him.
No longer standing, of course. They were prostrate, now, hoping he might spare their lives.
Stupid-incompetent-worthless-craven-fumbling-halfwitted-stinking-t reacherous dogs Would have done it. But he was too short of breath to even think of uttering the phrase. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined Damodara would penetrate the huge Malwa empire this far. All the way from the Deccan, he'd come, in less than two months. Now…
Within a hundred miles of Kausambi!
Only a supreme effort of self-control enabled Skandagupta to refrain from ordering the three generals impaled immediately. He desperately wanted to, but there was a siege coming. As surely and certainly as the sunrise. He could not afford to lose his remaining top generals on the eve of a siege.
Could… not… afford… it.
Finally, his breathing slowed. "See to the city's defenses!" he barked. "Leave me, you-you-dogs!"
The generals scuttled from the audience chamber.
Once outside, one of them said to the others: "Perhaps we should we have told him that Damodara will surely be bringing the big guns from Mathura…"
"Don't be a fool," hissed one of the others.
"He'll hear them anyway, once they start firing."
The third general shook his head. "Don't be so sure of that. Within a day he'll be hiding below the palace in the deep bunkers. They say-I've never been down there myself-that you can't hear anything, so deep."
You couldn't, in fact. That evening, Skandagupta went down to the i
Whatever. Reassurance, perhaps. Or simply the deep silence there.
He got none, however. Neither reassurance, nor silence. Just a stern command, in the tones of an eight-year-old girl, to return above and resume his duties.
Now.
He did so. The girl was not yet Link. But someday she would be. And, even today, the special assassins would obey her.
Belisarius studied the sketch that one of the Pathan trackers had made in the dirt. It was a good sketch. Pathans served the Rajput kings as scouts and skirmishers, just as Arabs did for Roman emperors. The man was even less likely to be literate than an Arab, but he had the same keen eye for terrain, the same superb memory for it, and the same ability to translate what he'd seen into symbols drawn in dirt with a knife.
"Two days, then," Belisarius mused. "It would take the monster at least that long to retreat to the Ganges, with such a force."
The Pathan, naturally, had been far less precise in his estimate of the size of Link's army. It could be anywhere between twenty and sixty thousand men, Belisarius figured. Splitting the difference would be as good a guess as any, until he had better reports.