Last night, they had tried storming the walls, but the Iron Curfew was too high. Their catapults, re-assembled again, did manage to throw blazebane-rocks, but the ones that did smash against the lower stone walls, just bounced off, doing some damage but nothing meaningful, part thanks to Jambavan’s carpets, and part thanks to the stone of its build. Only the ones that actually hit the ramparts would have had any significant effect, as the rampart was built of wood, easy to catch fire, and only supported from below, therefore susceptible to shatter. But without their siege towers, the Greeks could not achieve the height they needed to inflict real harm.

The Mathurans did not fail to entertain their guests with their hospitality either. They conducted sharp sorties outside the Curfew to inflict losses and lower Greek morale. Twice, they managed to burn the catapults the Greeks had re-built. Krishna spotted Satyabhama returning from one such raid. Even bloodied and dirty, she looks bewitching, he thought. Satya barked a command to her squad to go freshen up. Krishna surveyed her. Her armour was unclasped. Her long dagger had snapped a finger’s length from the tip, but her sword seemed intact, though rimmed scarlet and brown.

Satyabhama saw his eyes upon her and called, ‘Like what you see, My Lord?’

We must leave. Satya will not stop going to the frontlines, and I cannot risk her life. The Iron Curfew still held strong but the week had been full of surprises. ‘I need to buy you Assyrian steel, Satya. You always manage to make a mess of your sword,’ he said, walking up to her.

‘If it ain’t messy, you aren’t doing it right.’

‘I see that philosophy has now extended from bed to other aspects of your life. What happened there?’ he asked, seeing that her trouser had been ripped from under her greaves, revealing a generous amount of leg.

‘The Greeks, you know. Quite handsy.’

A flash of rage sparked through Krishna but he held himself in control. He thought of asking her to head the evacuation party through the tunnels. But asking Satyabhama to walk away from danger was like convincing a stag to try meat.

‘I need my soldiers focussed, Satya,’ Krishna joked. ‘Change into something more conservative, would you?’

‘Aye, husband.’

‘Feels like Pragjyotisha all over again, does it not?’

‘The weather was better there.’

He would have kissed her deep for all Mathura to see, but a clout on the head from his wife in front of his soldiers would not have helped his image as a leader.

‘How are things inside the Walls?’ she asked.

‘Bad. Balram had to sentence an entire family to death for spying for the Greeks. Likely they had been promised safe passage if they opened the gates.’

‘Or they were hungry. Food is growing scarce.’

‘How did the people take it?’