Finally, in the end, a king of Rajputana could not restrain himself. He began laughing like a madman.
"What is it?" asked Jaimal, when Sanga's howling humor abated.
"It's a theorem," he said, weakly. "By some Greek named Pythagoras. It explains how to calculate angles."
The Pathan rose from his examination of the horse's hoof and stalked over.
"Not cut by stone on road. Knife cut. Done by meant-to purpose."
Sanga had already deduced as much.
"Exactly." He smiled, stroking his beard. "He knew we would spot the mark. And that, after weeks of following it, would stop thinking about anything else. So he switched in Ajmer, sent us charging off south while he drives straight across the Thar on camelback."
He glanced at the peddler, still ashen-faced.
"Three camels," he mused. "Enough to carry him-and his food and water-across the desert without stopping."
He rose to his feet. It was a sure, decisive movement.
"We'll never catch him now. By the time we got back to Ajmer and set off in pursuit he'd have at least eight days lead on us. With three camels and full supplies he'll move faster than we possibly could across that wasteland."
His lieutenants glared, but did not argue. They knew he was right. Five hundred expert cavalrymen can eventually outrun a single horseman, even with remounts. But not across the Thar.
That was camel country. There probably weren't five hundred camels available in Ajmer, to begin with. And even if there were-
Rajputs were not expert camel drivers.
"Stinking camels," grumbled Udai.
"Can't stand the fucking things," agreed Pratap.
"Good meat," stated the Pathan. The Rajputs glowered at him. The tracker was oblivious. His mind was elsewhere.
"So we give up, then?" asked Jaimal.
Sanga shook his head.
"No, we don't. But we'll not try chasing after the Roman again. Instead-"
He held up the message.
"We'll take his advice. Angles. Maybe-just maybe-we can make better time by taking two sides of the triangle while he takes one. We'll head for Bharakuccha-as fast as our horses can carry us. At Bharakuccha we'll requisition a ship-several ships-and sail north to Barbaricum. That's where he's headed, I'm sure of it."
He strode for his horse.
"We might be able to meet him there. Let's go!"
That night, by the campfire, the Pathan finally broke the silence he had maintained for hours.
"After adopt, make him clan chief. No. Make him king. First Pathan king ever." He grinned at the Rajputs over the flickering flames. "Then Pathan conquer world entire whole." A gracious nod to Sanga. "You was good master. When you my slave, I be good master too."
Three days later, as the Aravallis rolled by on their right, Jaimal leaned over his saddle and snarled to Sanga:
"If that Pathan keeps telling that same joke, I swear I'm going to kill him."
"Jaimal," the Rajput king replied, coldly. "He is not joking."
Chapter 22
Rao was amused by the reluctance with which his young men obeyed orders. His lieutenant Maloji was not.
"You're too easy on them, Rao," he complained. His words came easily, despite the fact that he and the Panther were racing along the steep slope of a ridge, just below the skyline. On the other side of that ridge, they could hear the roar of battle. The clash of steel was fading, slowly. The angry shouts of Malwa officers were not.
"Here," said Rao. He scrambled up the slope, flinging himself to the ground just before reaching the crest. Maloji followed. On their bellies, the two men crawled to the crest itself, and peered over into the small valley below.
"You see?" hissed Maloji accusingly. He pointed angrily, with a bristling thrust of his beard. "Some of the disobedient dogs are still even using their swords."
"Only two," murmured Rao. He watched while the two young Marathas below finished cutting down a Malwa soldier before they began their own scramble up the slope on the opposite side. On the crest of that ridge, a line of guerillas was firing arrows into the swarming Malwa troops below.
"They are brothers, you know. One of them probably got tangled up and the other came to his rescue."
"Still-"
"Do not fret, Maloji. They will learn discipline soon enough." Grimly: "After they sustain heavy casualties from excessive enthusiasm."
He broke off, gauging the Malwa. The officers were finally bringing order back to their little army. At their command, ranks of soldiers began slogging up the slope. They suffered considerable losses from the arrows raining down on them, but their advance was inexorable. The Malwa had tried to cram too many soldiers down the narrow valley-not much more than a ravine. Those packed ranks made an easy, slow target for ambush, but, once they began their counter-attack, were far too massive to be repelled.
"They should break off now, the dogs!" snarled Maloji. "Your orders were very clear!"
Rao did not argue the point. He had, in fact, ordered his men to fire no more than two volleys after the Malwa began their counter-attack. The guerrillas should already have been retreating. Instead, the young Maratha rebels waited until the Malwa were halfway up the slope before they finally scrambled away.
Rao turned, and edged his way down the slope. Maloji followed, still grumbling.
"You shouldn't have given them those horses. That's why they're so bold. Disrespectful young dogs. They think those horses can outrun anything."
Now well below the skyline, Rao stood up. He grinned at his lieutenant. "Those horses can outrun anything. Anything these sorry Malwa have. The best horses foreign money could buy!"
Maloji rose and brushed himself off. "Fine steeds, I admit," he agreed reluctantly. "They were a wonderful gift."
"I think of it as an exchange," demurred Rao. He looked to the west. He could not see Bharakuccha, of course. The great port was many miles away, hidden behind the Satpura mountains. "They gave us the horses, we gave them the opportunity."
"Will they make their escape, do you think?"
Rao shrugged. "I should imagine. We stopped the couriers, and we've been"-a gesture toward the ridge; a wide grin-"distracting the Malwa."
He turned and began loping toward the dell where their own horses were hidden away. Speaking easily, despite the rigorous pace, he said over his shoulder:
"As I told you before, Maloji, those men are capable."
Capability was unneeded. The escape, at the end, was child's play.
Garmat simply marched across the ramp connecting the Axumite trader with the wharf, and presented himself to the captain. Before he had even reached the man, the captain was goggling.
"Stop looking like a frog, Endubis," he growled.
The captain gaped.
"And close your mouth, fool. Spies may see you."
Endubis' mouth snapped shut. The captain glanced hurriedly at the shore, scanning for danger with an experienced eye.
Like all Ethiopian merchant captains, Endubis was no stranger to combat. Such merchants served as a reserve for the Kingdom of Axum's navy. No seaman could reach the rank of ship captain, even in the merchant fleet, without the negusa nagast's approval. For all their relaxed customs in other areas of life, the Axumites were never casual about their naval power.
"Trouble?" asked Endubis.
Garmat smiled, thinly. "You might say so. The entire Malwa Empire is baying for our blood."
Endubis winced. "The Prince?"
"He is well." Garmat made a little gesture with his head. "In that warehouse. With his dawazz and the sarwen. Some others."
The adviser examined the ship briefly. "Thirteen men, in all. It will be crowded, but-"