In the Heart of Darkness(80)

In truth, the rocket posed little danger to them. But there was something frightening about that inexorable, arching flight. This rocket—quite unlike its erratic fellows—seemed bound and determined to strike the camp head-on. Its trajectory was as straight and true as an arrow's.



The mob of soldiers began edging back. Then, almost as one, turned and began pushing their way southward. Away from the coming rocket.



Finally, the Malwa saw the cataphracts. Finally, stumbling over the littered bodies, they caught sight of their murdered comrades.



"It's about time, you stupid bastards!" cried Valentinian. He drew an arrow and slaughtered a Malwa in the first rank. Another. Another. Anastasius and Menander added their own share to the killing.



Valentinian saw a Ye-tai charge to the fore. He was about to kill him, until—he transferred his aim, slew a soldier nearby.



"It Romans!" he heard the Ye-tai cry, in crude, broken Hindi. "That Belisarius he-self! After they! Get they!"



The Ye-tai sprang over the palisade, waving his sword in a gesture of command.



"After they!" he commanded. Valentinian saw three other Ye-tai push their way through the Malwa mob, beating the common infantrymen with the flat of their blades and shouting the same simple command.



"After they! After they!"



Valentinian reined his horse around and galloped off. Anastasius and Menander followed. Seconds later, with a roar, the entire mob of Malwa soldiers was pounding in pursuit.



On his way, the cataphract sent a silent thought back. You are one brave man, Kujulo. You crazy son-of-a-bitch! I might have killed you.





Brave, Kujulo was. Crazy, he was not. As soon as he was satisfied that the momentum of the Malwa soldiers was irreversible, he began edging his way to the side of the charging mob. His three comrades followed his lead. A minute later, passing a small grove, Kujulo darted aside into its shelter.



Under the branches, it was almost pitch black. Kujulo had to whisper encouragement in order to guide the other Kushans to his side.



"What now?" he was asked.



Kujulo shrugged. "Now? Now we try to make our own escape."



Another complained: "This plan is too damned tricky."



Kujulo grinned. He, too, thought the plan was half-baked fancy. But he had long since made his own assessment of Ousanas.



"Fuck the plan," he said cheerfully. "I'm counting on the hunter."



Then: "Let's go."



A minute later, the four Kushans exited the grove on the opposite side and began running west. They ran with a loping, ground-eating stride which they could maintain for hours.



They would need that stride. They had a rendezvous to keep. They were hunting a hunter.





The noble lady charged into the stables through the western gate, shouting angrily.



"The city has gone mad! We were attacked by dacoits!"



Startled, her husband and the stablekeeper turned away from the north gate, where they had been watching the explosions. The explosions were dying down, now. If nothing else, the pouring rain was smothering what was left of the holocaust. But there were still occasional rockets to be seen, firing off into the night sky.



The nobleman's wife stalked forward. Her fury was obvious from her stride alone. The stablekeeper was thankful that he couldn't see her face, due to the veil.



Shocked as he was by her sudden appearance, the stablekeeper still had the presence of mind to notice two things.



The man noticed the comely youthful form revealed under the sari, which rain had plastered to her body.



The low-caste man noticed the bloodstains spattering the tunics of her fierce-looking escort of soldiers.



The man disappeared, submerged by the reality of his caste. Like all humble men of India, outside Majarashtra and Rajputana, the last thing he wanted to see in his own domicile was heavily-armed, vicious-looking soldiers. He had been unhappy enough with the fifteen soldiers the nobleman had brought with him. Now, there were ten more of the creatures—and these, with the stains of murder still fresh on their armor and weapons.



The stablekeeper began to edge back. To the side, his wife was quietly but frenziedly driving the other members of his family into the modest house attached to the stables.



The nobleman restrained him with a hand. "Have no fear, stablekeeper," he murmured. "These are my personal retainers. Disciplined men."



He stepped forward to meet his wife. She was still spluttering her outrage.



"Be still, woman!" he commanded. "Are you injured?"



The wife fell instantly silent. The stablekeeper was impressed. Envious. He himself enjoyed no such obedience from his own spouse.