Which was not much, in truth. The gunner was a very capable man, and Anna had kept him well supplied. Most of the skiffs now drifting near the barge had bodies draped over their sides and sprawled lifelessly within. At that close range, the Puckle gun had been murderous.
"Enough, ma'am," said the gunner. "It's over."
Anna finished reloading the cylinder in her hands. Then, when the meaning of the words finally registered, she set the thing down on the floor of the turret. Perhaps oddly, the relief of finally not having to handle hot metal only made the pain in her hands-and legs, too, she noticed finally-all the worse.
She stared down at the fabric of her gown. There were little stains all over it, where cartridges had rested before she brushed them onto the floor. There was a time, she could vaguely remember, when the destruction of an expensive garment would have been a cause of great concern. But it seemed a very long time ago.
"How is Illus?" she asked softly. "And the others? The boys?"
The gunner sighed. "One of the boys got killed, ma'am. Just bad luck-Illus kept the youngsters back, but that one grenade. ."
Vaguely, Anna remembered hearing an explosion. She began to ask which boy it was, whose death she had caused, of the five urchins she had found on the docks of Barbaricum and conscripted into her Service. But she could not bear that pain yet.
"Illus?"
"He's fine. So's Abdul. Cottomenes got cut pretty bad."
Something to do again. The thought came as a relief. Within seconds, she was clambering awkwardly over the side of the turret again-and, again, silently cursing the impractical garment she wore.
* * *
Cottomenes was badly gashed, true enough. But the leg wound was not even close to the great femoral artery, and by now Anna had learned to sew other things than cloth. Besides, the Victrix's boiler was an excellent mechanism for boiling water.
The ship's engineer was a bit outraged, of course. But, wisely, he kept his mouth shut.
The Iron Triangle
The telegraph started chattering. Everyone in the command bunker froze for a moment. Then, understanding the meaning of the dot-dashes faster than anyone-even the operator jotting down the message-Calopodius slumped in his chair with relief. The message was unusually long, with two short pauses in the middle, and by the time it was completed Calopodius was even smiling.
Belisarius, unlike Calopodius, could not quite follow the message until it was translated. When he took the message from the hand of the operator and scanned it quickly, he understood the smile on the face of the blind young officer. He grinned himself.
"Well, I'd say she's in good form," he announced to the small crowd in the bunker. Then, quoting:
"ALL FINE EXCEPT COTTOMENES INJURED AND RAFFI DEAD. RAFFI ONLY TWELVE YEARS OLD. FEEL HORRIBLE ABOUT IT. MENTION HIM IN DISPATCHES. PLEASE. ALSO MENTION PUCKLE GUNNER LEO CONSTANTES. SPLENDID MAN. ALSO INSTRUCT GENERAL BELISARIUS MAKE MORE PUCKLE GUNS. SPLENDID THINGS. ALSO-"
"Here's where the pause was," explained the general. His grin widened. "It goes on:
"OPERATOR SAYS MESSAGE TOO LONG. OPERATOR REFUSES GIVE HIS NAME. MENTION NAMELESS OPERATOR IN DISPATCHES. STUPID OFFICIOUS ASININE OBNOXIOUS WORTHLESS FELLOW."
"Why do I think someone in that telegraph station has a sword at his throat?" mused Maurice idly. "Her bodyguards are Isaurians, right? Stupid idiot." He was grinning also.
"MENANDER SAYS WILL ARRIVE SOON. WILL NEED NEW CLOTHES."
Belisarius' grin didn't fade, exactly, but it became less purely jovial. His last words were spoken softly, and addressed to Calopodius rather than to the room at large.
"Here was the second pause. The last part of the message reads:
"AM EAGER TO SEE YOU AGAIN. MY HUSBAND."
Chapter 18
The Narmada river
The Malwa army drawn up on the open plain just south of the Narmada was terrifying. Looking over them from a distance, perched in her howdah with the baby, Shakuntala finally understood-really understood-why her husband had been so cautious in his tactics from the very beginning.
It might be better to say, cautious in his strategy. When the Panther did strike, he struck hard and fast. But he'd carefully avoided getting anywhere near the Malwa lion's jaws and talons.
"Impressive, aren't they?" Rao called up to her. He was riding a horse alongside the elephant that bore her and Namadev.
Until that morning, two maidservants had been in the howdah with them. But Shakuntala had insisted they remain behind, when the Maratha army moved out at dawn to meet Damodara and his forces. The empress still suspected treachery. For that reason, she had one of the best horses in India following behind, in case she and Namadev had to flee precipitously into the badlands of the Great Country. On that horse, she was confident she could elude even Rajput cavalry. On an elephant, hopeless to do so.
She stared down at her husband. Amazingly, to all appearances, he was in as sunny a mood as she'd ever seen him.
Rao raised himself a little in his stirrups-by now, the Roman innovations were ubiquitous-to get a better view of the enemy. "The best army the Malwa have, for a certainty." He pointed with his finger, and then slowly swept it across the front lines of the enemy. They were still a thousand yards away.
"See how Damodara has his artillery units scattered among the infantry? You won't see that in any other Malwa army. No lolling about in the comfort of the rear for his kshatriya."
The finger jabbed; here, there, there.
"Notice, also, the way he has the Ye-tai units positioned with respect to the main force of Rajput cavalry. In the center, most of them, forming his spearhead while the Rajputs are concentrated on the flanks. His Ye-tai will lead the charge, here, not stay behind to drive forward badly trained and ill-motivated peasant foot soldiers."
The finger lowered. "Of which," he concluded cheerily, "Damodara doesn't have that many in any event. They're back guarding the supply wagons, I imagine. Along with the mahaveda priests, of course, who control the munitions supply. That last feature is about the only way in which Damodara's army still resembles a Malwa force."
"Rao. ." Shakuntala said hesitantly.
"Oh, yes, my dearest. You're quite right." Still standing in the stirrups, Rao swiveled his upper body back and forth, studying his own army.
The Maratha army was barely half the size of the enemy force across the field. And didn't bear so much as a fourth the weight of fine armor, fine swords and lances-and not a tenth the weight of firearms and gunpowder.
"Oh, yes," he repeated, his voice still as sunny-toned as ever, "if I were idiotic enough to meet them on this field, they'd hammer us flat. Be lucky if a third of my army survived at all."
"Rao. ."
"Be still, dearest. This is not a field where two armies will meet. Simply two souls. Three, actually, counting Damodara. Perhaps four, if we count Narses as well. Which I think we must."
She took a deep, slow breath. "Your soul is as great as any I have ever known. But it is not great enough to do this."
He laughed. "Of course not! It's not my soul I'm counting on, however."
He reached up and extended his hand. "Touch me, dearest. Not for the last time! Simply-a gift."
She did so, briefly clutching the strong fingers. Strong and large. Rao had the hands of a man half again his size.
Then, he was gone, trotting his horse onto the open field between the armies.
* * *
Sitting on his own mount at the very front and center of the Malwa army, Rana Sanga watched him come.