For the first few minutes, their talk was idle. The usual meaningless chitchat. Meaningless, at least, in its content. The real purpose of these promenades was simply to allow a groom and his future bride to become at least somewhat acquainted with each other. As stiff as they were, even Rajputs understood that the necessary function of a wedding night was simplified and made easier if the spouses didn't have to grope at each other's voices as well as bodies.
After a time, Toramana cleared his throat. "Can you read?"
Indira's eyes widened. Toramana had expected that. He was pleased to see, however, that they didn't widen very much, and the face beneath remained quite composed. To anyone watching, she might have been mildly surprised by a comment he made concerning an unusual insect.
His hopes for this wife, already high, rose a bit further. She would be a splendid asset.
"No," she replied. "It is not the custom."
Toramana nodded. "I can read, myself. But not well. That must change. And I will want you to become literate also. I will hire tutors for us."
She gazed at a nearby vine. The slight widening of the girl's eyes was gone, now.
"There will be some talk. My brother's wife can read, however, even if somewhat poorly. So probably not all that much talk."
"Talk does not concern me," Toramana said stiffly. "The future concerns me. I do not think great families with illiterate women will do so well, in that future."
The smile that spread across her face was a slow, cool thing. The very proper smile of a young Rajput princess hearing her betrothed make a pleasant comment regarding a pretty vine.
"I agree," she said. "Though most others would not."
"I am not concerned about 'most others.' Most others will obey or they will break."
The smile spread just a bit further. "A few others will not break so easily."
"Easily, no. Still, they will break."
The smile now faded quickly, soon replaced by the solemn countenance with which she'd begun the promenade. As was proper. A princess should smile at the remarks of her betrothed, to be sure, but not too widely and not for too long. They were not married yet, after all.
"I am looking forward to our wedding," Indira said softly. Too softly for the wizened little horde behind them to overhear. "To the marriage, even more."
"I pleased to hear it."
"It is not the custom," she repeated.
"Customs change. Or they break."
Before nightfall, the promenade was over and Toramana returned to his own quarters.
No sooner had the Ye-tai general entered his private sleeping chamber than the one sure and simple sign he'd expected made its appearance.
Like a ghost, emerging from the wall. Toramana had no idea where the assassin had hidden himself.
"I'm afraid I'll need to sleep here," Ajatasutra said. "Nanda Lal has spies almost everywhere."
Toramana's lip curled, just a bit. "He had no spies here."
"No, not here."
"When?"
"Four days. Though nothing will be needed from you immediately. It will take at least two days for Damodara to return."
Toramana nodded. "And then?"
The assassin shrugged. "Whatever is necessary. The future is hard to predict. It looks good, though. I do not foresee any great difficulty."
Toramana began removing his armor. It was not extensive, simply the half-armor he wore on garrison duty. "No. There should be no great difficulty."
There was a thin, mocking smile on Ajatasutra's face, as there often was. On another man's face, that smile would have irritated Toramana, perhaps even angered him. But the Ye-tai general was accustomed to it, by now.
So, he responded with a thin, mocking smile of his own.
"What amuses you?" Ajatasutra asked.
"A difficulty I had not foreseen, which I just now remembered. Nanda Lal once promised me that he would attend my wedding. And I told him I would hold him to it."
"Ah." The assassin nodded. "Yes, that is a difficulty. A matter of honor is involved."
The armor finally removed and placed on a nearby stand, Toramana scratched his ribs. Even half-armor was sweaty, in garam.
"Not that difficult," he said.
"Oh, certainly not."
He and Ajatasutra exchanged the smile, now. They got along very well together. Why not? They were much alike.
Agathius was on the dock at Charax to greet Antonina and Photius and Ousanas when the Axumite fleet arrived.
So much, Antonina had expected. What she had not expected was the sight of Agathius' young Persian wife and the small mountain of luggage next to her.
"We're going with you," Agathius announced gruffly, as soon as the gangplank was lowered and he hobbled across.
He looked at Ousanas. "I hear you have a new title. No longer the keeper of the fly whisks."
"Indeed, not! My new title is far more august. 'Angabo,' no less. That signifies-"
"The keeper of the crutches. Splendid, you can hold mine for a moment." Agathius leaned his weight against the rail and handed his crutches to Ousanas. Then, started digging in his tunic. "I've got the orders here."
By the time Antonina stopped giggling at the startled expression on Ousanas' face, Agathius was handing her a sheaf of official-looking documents.
"Right there," he said, tapping a finger on the name at the bottom. "It's not a signature, of course. Not in these modern times, with telegraph."
He seemed to be avoiding her eyes. Antonina didn't bother looking at the documents. Instead, she looked at Agathius' wife, who was still on the dock and peering at her suspiciously.
"I'll bet my husband's orders don't say anything about Sudaba."
Agathius seemed to shrink a little. "Well, no. But if you want to argue the matter with her, you do it."
"Oh, I wouldn't think of doing so." Honey dripped from the words. "The children?"
"They'll stay here. Sudaba's family will take them in, until we get back." The burly Roman general's shoulders swelled again. "I insisted. Made it stick, too."
Antonina was trying very hard not to laugh. Sudaba had become something of a legend in the Roman army. What saved Agathius from being ridiculed behind his back was that the soldiery was too envious. Sudaba never henpecked Agathius about anything else-and precious few of them had a young and very good-looking wife who insisted on accompanying her husband everywhere he went. The fact that Agathius had lost his legs in battle and had to hobble around on crutches and wooden legs only augmented that amatory prestige.
Ousanas grinned and handed back the crutches. "'Angabo' does not mean keeper of the crutches. It also doesn't mean 'nursemaid,' so don't ask me to take in your brats when you return. They'll be spoiled rotten."
In a cheerier mood, now that he knew Antonina wouldn't object to Sudaba's presence, Agathius took back the crutches. "True. So what? They're already spoiled rotten. And we'll see how long that grin lasts. The Persians insist on a huge festival to honor your arrival. Well-Photius' arrival, formally speaking. But you'll have to attend also."
The grin vanished.
There had never been a grin on the face of the Malwa assassination commander, or any of his men. Not even a smile, since they'd arrived at Charax.