‘Must you?’ The Matarchis gave a small smile. ‘The Archon is resting. He will not rise till dawn. And do remember the hierarchy, Pox.’

It was all Praxis could do not to slap him.

The Matarchis rose lazily and stepped out of the tent. ‘Alright, gather up!’ Whatever his inadequacies, he knew how to issue commands. ‘It seems some folks don’t know when they are beaten,’ he sighed. He looked at Praxis. ‘Let’s teach these cow-fuckers some manners.’

Men slapped down visors, strapped on helmets and shook their shields. The soldiers were excited. There had been little to plunder, and this had angered the far-from-home Greeks. They had been promised rich pickings. But they found most of the houses stripped and abandoned. There had been even fewer Mathurans to kill. It was as if Mathura was a ghost-city.

This will give them a channel for their pent-up fury, Praxis thought grimly. It will be good for their morale.

‘Pox,’ the Matarchis turned to him. ‘Since you brought this important news to me on time, it is only fitting I reward you. Why don’t you lead the charge? Take three airavats. I will give the other two to Helios.’

Praxis gave a kind of stuttering wheeze, suddenly too scared to speak. He was a commanding officer, not a lowly pleb to go into the frontlines. But Praxis would die before giving the Matarchis the satisfaction of seeing his fear. Moreover, there were three airavats with his division. Yes, he would use this opportunity to inspire awe and loyalty amongst his men. None would call him Pox again.

‘Honoured to, Sir.’

SHISHUPAL tried not to panic when he heard the distant trumpeting of the airavats. The Silver Wolves had done exceptionally well. In fact, they were actually winning! He jogged behind the Wolves through the narrow alleys, avoiding the trail of bloodied bodies they left in their wake. The Wolves may have been few, but blood lust was always a good substitute for numbers. The Market Square was so close now. Just two alleys away. He just had to trust his chances that they would not run into an airavat.

Chances that disappeared when the cobbles beneath Shishupal’s boots began to tremble. The Wolves huddled in alleyways leading from a roundabout. Soon, the first of the Greeks arrived, wearing leather armour and plumed helmets, wielding spears, swords, and their round shields. The Greeks were better armed and more numerous, but the narrow alleyways reduced their advantage.

Not that it would matter in a while. Three giant-tusked leviathans marched ahead of the Greeks, shaking their huge heads left and right, brick walls on either side falling apart like stacks of cards.

‘Archers, ready!’ Rain called. ‘Aim for the eye when I give the order!’

‘Should’ve brought some pigs with us,’ Storm quipped.

‘Shut up, Storm. Here they come.’

The airavats entered the alley where Shishupal was being slowly pushed back by the fearful soldiers ahead. ‘We are going to die,’ he whispered.