"Not these-these purebredlapdogs. "
Accusing fingers curled into a fist. She held the fist out before her.
"Then-!Then, Shakuntala, you will hold power in your hand. True power, real power-not its illusion. Steel, not brittle wood."
She dropped her fist, flicking dismissive fingers. The gesture carried a millennium's contempt.
"Marry the Roman way, girl," she said. Gently, but with the assurance of Rome's millenium. "Wed Majarashtra. Find the best man of that rough nation, and place your hand in his. Letthat man dance your wedding dance. Open the womb of India's noblest and most ancient dynasty to the raw, fresh seed of the Great Country. Let the sons born of that union carry Andhra's fortune into the future. If you do so, that fortune will be measured in centuries. If you do otherwise, it will be measured in years.
"As for the rest…" She shrugged. "As for what people might say, or think…" She laughed, now. There was no humor at all in the sound. It carried nothing beyond unyielding, pitiless condemnation. Salt, sown into soil.
"Let them babble, Shakuntala. Let them cluck and complain. Let them whimper of purity and pollution. Let them sneer, if they will. What do you care? While their thrones totter, yours will stand unshaken. And they will come to you soon enough-trust me-like beggars in a dusty street. Pleading that you might let the uncouth husband sitting by your side, and lying in your bed, lead their own armies into battle."
Finally-finally-everyone in the room understood. The envoys were gaping at her like so many blowfish. Dadaji's face, she could not see. The peshwa's head was bowed, as if in thought. Or, perhaps, in prayer.
She turned back to Shakuntala. The empress, though she was not gaping, seemed in a pure state of shock. She sat the throne, no longer like the statue of a goddess, but simply like a young child. A schoolgirl, paralyzed by a question she had never dreamed anyone would ever ask.
The Roman teacher smiled. "Remember, Shakuntala. Only the soul matters, in the end. All else is dross. That is as true of an empire as it is of a man."
Quietly, then, but quickly, Irene took her seat. In the long silence which followed, while envoys gasped for breath and a peshwa bowed his head-and a schoolgirl groped for an answer she already knew, but could not remember-Irene simply waited. Her hands folded in her lap, breathing easily, she simply waited.
Prejudice would erupt, naturally. Soon, the room would be filled with outrage and protest. She did not care. Not in the least.
She had done her job. Quite well, she thought. Holding the tongs in firm hands, she had positioned the blade to be forged. Prejudice would sputter up, of course, just as hot iron spatters. But the hammer, held in barbarous thick hands, would strike surely. And quench the protest of purity in the greater purity of tempering oil.
Kungas did not wait for the protest to emerge. Kushans were a folk of the steppes, and swift horses.
"Finally!"
He was standing in the center of the room, before anyone saw him rise.
"Finally."
He let the word settle, ringing, as that word does. Then, crossing muscle-thick arms over barrel chest, he turned his head to the empress.
"Do as she says, girl. It is obvious.Obvious. "
The first mutters began to arise from the crowd of notables. Kungas swung his head toward them, like a swiveling cannon.
"Be silent." The command, though spoken softly, brought instant obedience. The mask was pitiless, now. As pitiless, and as uncaring, as steppe winter.
"I do not wish to hear fromyou." The mask twisted, just slightly. But Satan, with his goat lips, would have been awed by that sneer.
"You?You woulddare?"The snort which followed matched the sneer. Pure, unalloyed contempt.
Kungas swiveled his head back to Shakuntala. "I will tell you something, girl. Listen to me, and listen well. I was your captor, once, before I was your guardian. I knew the truth, then, just as surely as I know it now. The thing is obvious-obvious-to any but fools blinded by custom."
Again, he snorted. Contempt remained, augmented by cold humor.
"All those months in the Vile One's palace, while I held you captive. Do you remember? Do you remember how carefully I set the guards? How strictly I maintained discipline? You had eyes to see, girl, and a mind which was trained for combat. Did you see?"
He stared at the empress. After a moment, Shakuntala nodded. Nodded, not imperiously, but like a schoolgirl nods, when she is beginning to follow the lesson.
Kungas jerked his head at the notables.
"Against whom was I setting that iron guard, girl?Them? "
He barked a laugh so savage it was almost frightening.
"Them? Those purebred pets?"
The laugh came again, baying like a wolf.
"I did not fearthem, girl. I did not watch so carefully because I was worried aboutChola. Or Tamraparni, or Kerala, or-"
He broke off, waving a thick hand.
