The sky was aswirl with shifting colours, reflecting the great fires that burned below. Blue nights had given way to orange dawns as the yellows and reds of common flame replaced the sapphires of blazebane in their war against mortar and stone in the Third District. The embers that had drifted through the night air like swarms of blue fireflies were gone, replaced now by sooty fingers that rose towards the heavens like thin, wispy giants on the horizon. The air itself tasted of ashes.

So far it was going according to plan. The Greeks were frustrated with the alley turns and cul de sacs littered across the Third District, that did not allow their catapults to move to a position close to the Second Sister. So, for now, they could not throw blazebane and fire at or over it. This had given Krishna sufficient time to drape the Second Sister with alchemical blankets. Jambavan had been preparing them ever since Krishna had learned that Kalyavan had joined hands with the Emperor. So, while here and there, some Greek soldiers managed to throw blazebane molotovs at the Wall, the blankets absorbed them as if they were no more than lighted matches flicked at it by the soldiers.

While the catapults and blazebane turned to be of little help to the Greeks, ladder after ladder was propped up against the Second Sister as the Red Cloaks tried to climb up in strength. But Mathura had resisted every infiltration attempt by the Greeks so far, though one would not have thought so by looking upon the grim faces of the War Council in the Keep. Lord Akrur clutched his goblet like a drowning man clutching a floating branch. Balram frowned, wondering what advice of his had been ignored by the Senate so that he could justifiably sentence them all to death. Satyabhama, cold-eyed, sat with fists clenched. Old Ugrasen paced in the chamber with harsh determination.

‘How fares Mathura, Lord Commander?’ Ugrasen asked.

‘Mathura is in chaos, My Lord,’ Balram answered. ‘Blazebane has been stopped. Curfews are in place. But some miscreants have seized this opportunity to riot, rape and rob since the City Guard has been called in to supplement the Republican Army. We also caught three soldiers and a farmer trying to sneak out of a postern.’

The opportunists have already begun their own sacking, Krishna thought. In a city under siege, there were always those who abandoned any pretence to civilisation to profit from the crisis or settle old scores. Rape the wife of the landlord who evicted you. Rob the mistress’ jewel which you always coveted. Escape over to the enemy with news in the hope you will get to share the spoils of war.

‘And how are we dealing with these jackals?’ Ugrasen asked.

‘Spikes. Swords. Stones.’

‘Good,’ said Satyabhama. ‘They are the first, but certainly not the last. Siege is perfect weather for treasons to bloom.’