"In short," he concluded coldly, "the Empress has a considerably larger force than the Keralan garrison residing in the city." Very coldly: "And a much better force, as well."
Ganapati ogled the peshwa. "Are you threatening us?" he cried. "You would dare?"
Holkar rose to his own feet. It was not an angry, lunging gesture; simply the firm stance of a serious man who has reached the limit of his patience. "That's enough," he said, quietly but firmly. He placed a hand on Shakuntala's shoulder, restraining her anger.
"There is no point in pursuing this further," he continued. "The situation is clear. The King of Kerala has abandoned his duty to his own kin, and acquiesces in the Malwa subjugation of Andhra. So be it. In the meantime, refugees from the Malwa tyranny have poured into Kerala. Most of these refugees have concentrated in Muziris. Among them are thousands of superb Maratha cavalry loyal to Empress Shakuntala. All of which means that, at the moment, she constitutes the real power in the city."
Ganapati and the viceroy were staring wide-eyed at Holkar. The peshwa was speaking the simple, unadorned truth—which was the last thing they had been expecting.
Holkar spread his hands in a sharp, forceful gesture. "As you say, Ganapati, the situation is intolerable. For us as much as for you."
"You threaten us?" gobbled the Matisachiva. "You would dare? You would—"
"Be silent!" commanded Shakuntala.
Ganapati's gobbling ceased instantly. Holkar fought down a grin. The Keralan dignitary had never encountered Shakuntala in full imperial fury. When she threw herself into it, Shakuntala could be quite overpowering, for all her tender years.
"We do not intend to occupy Muziris," she stated, coldly—almost contemptuously. "Since my grandfather has demonstrated for all the world his unmanliness and disrespect for kin, I cast him from my sight. I will leave Kerala—and take all my people with me."
She glared at the two Keralan officials. "All of them. Not just the cavalrymen, but all of the other refugees, as well."
The viceroy shook his head, frowning. "There are at least forty thousand of them," he muttered. "Where will—"
"We will go to Tamraparni. The ruler of that great island has offered one of his sons in marriage to me. He has also said he would welcome Andhra's refugees and will assist me in my struggle to regain my rightful place. In light of my grandfather's treachery, I have decided to accept the offer."
She fell silent. After a moment, Ganapati and the viceroy exchanged stares.
At first, their expressions registered astonishment. Then, delight. Then, once the obvious obstacle occured to them, puzzlement.
Gauging the moment, Shakuntala spoke again. "Yes. I will require a fleet of transport ships. At least a hundred and fifty. Preferably two hundred. You will provide them for me, along with the funds needed to carry through this great migration."
Again, the squawks of official outrage filled the room. But Holkar, watching, sensed the victory. When it came, even sooner than he had expected, he was gratified but not surprised. Following his sovereign through the corridors of the viceregal palace, back to their waiting escort, he took the time to admire the small figure of the girl striding before him.
She is listening to me. Finally.
As they rode back toward the refugee camps, Shakuntala leaned over her saddle and smiled at Holkar.
"That went quite well."
"I told you it would work."
"Yes, yes," she murmured. "I see now that I really must listen more closely to my adviser."
Holkar did not miss the sly smile.
"Impudent child," he grumbled.
"Impudent?" she demanded. "This—coming from you? Wait till the ruler of Tamraparni discovers that he has promised to aid me in my war against Malwa! And his son's hand in marriage!"
"He has a son," replied Holkar, with dignity. "Several of them, in fact. And I have no doubt that he would have made the offer, if he listened carefully to his advisers."
Shakuntala laughed. "You are an incorrigible schemer, Dadaji!"
"Me? You are no slouch yourself, Your Majesty."
Holkar gave her a wry smile. "Although there are times you petrify me with your boldness. I thought you were mad, to order Rao—"
"I told you Rome would enter the Persian war immediately," the Empress stated. The satisfaction on the girl's face was obvious. It was not often that the nineteen-year-old Empress had been proven right in a disagreement with her canny, middle-aged peshwa. "And I told you Belisarius would be leading their army."
"Yes, you did," agreed Holkar. "That was why you overrode my protest at the insane idea of having Rao seize Deogiri immediately. I had thought to wait, until we were certain that Belisarius and the Romans had entered the war."
The humor left Shakuntala's face. "I had no choice, Dadaji," she whispered. "You were there when Rao's courier told us of Venandakatra's atrocities in the Majarashtra countryside. The beast was murdering ten villagers for every one of his soldiers lost to Rao's raiders."
Holkar's own face was drawn. "He will butcher even more, in retaliation for Deogiri."
The Empress shook her head.
"I think you are wrong, Dadaji. With southern Majarashtra's largest city in our hands, Venandakatra will have no choice. His own status with the Malwa Emperor will depend on retaking Deogiri. He does not have so great an army that he can besiege Deogiri—you know how strong it is; the place is a fortress—and still send his cavalry on punitive rampages throughout the Deccan. Nor can he call for assistance from Emperor Skandagupta. You know as well as I do that the Malwa have been pressing him to release troops for the Persian campaign. With Rome—and Belisarius—now in the war, they will most certainly not send him reinforcements."
Again, she shook her head. "No, I am right here also—I am sure of it. The pressure on the Maratha country folk will ease, while the Vile One concentrates on Deogiri."
"And what if he takes Deogiri?" demanded Holkar. "What then? And what if the Malwa defeat the Persians and Romans quickly?"
Shakuntala laughed. "Quickly? With Belisarius leading the Romans?"
Holkar smiled. "I admit, the likelihood is not great." He cocked an eye at her. "You're counting on that, aren't you?"
She nodded—firmly, seriously. "I never would have ordered Rao to take Deogiri, otherwise."
The look she now gave her adviser was not that of an impetuous child. It was almost ancient in its cold calculation.
"He is using us, you know—Belisarius, I mean. That was why he freed me from captivity, and gave me most of the treasure he stole from the Malwa. To start a rebellion in their rear, draining forces which would otherwise be sent against him."
Dadaji nodded. "It is his way of thinking." He studied her face. "You do not seem indignant about the matter," he commented.
The Empress shrugged. "Why should I be? Belisarius was never dishonest about it. He told me what he was doing. And he also promised me that he would do what was in his power to aid us. Which"—she chuckled—"he is certainly doing."
She urged her horse into a faster pace. "You know the man well, Dadaji—better than I do, when it comes down to it. He is the most cunning man in the world, yes—unpredictable, in his tactics. But there is one thing about Belisarius which is as predictacle as the sunrise."
"His honor."
She nodded. "He promised me. And he has not failed to keep that promise. He will batter the Malwa beasts in Persia, while we bleed them in the Deccan."
She urged her mount into a trot. There was no reason for that, really, other than her irrepressible energy.
"I was right to order Rao to seize Deogiri," she pronounced. "Now, we must see to it that he can keep the city."