He issued terse commands to the leaders of the platoons, and they relayed these to their contingents. Grim nods followed as Mathura began to prepare. Meanwhile, Krishna climbed to the ramparts to take measure of the Greek Army beyond. The Greeks had left only a motley squad in front of the Curfew. If their lanterns were any indication, most of the Red Cloaks seemed scattered in the Second District. The Greeks might have taken a break from battle, but the sacking of his city continued. Clearly, Kalyavan seemed confident about having won the battle already. Krishna could not wait to cure him of the notion.

He turned back to look at the preparations below. On what had turned into a killing field, soldiers were collecting armour and weapons from the bodies of the fallen. Krishna watched with impassive eyes as a City Guard pick up a severed hand and extracted the cutlass by prying open the fingers before throwing the limb away like yesterday’s trash. Krishna nodded, as if in approval. They needed all the weapons they could get. For the only way to save Mathura was for the surviving soldiers to charge their way past thousands of Greeks to the second tunnel. This would divert their attention and buy the citizens enough time to escape through the first tunnel. It was a suicide charge. But as long as Greeks died, Krishna had no complaints.

‘You’ve a plan, I assume?’ Rain walked up to join him on the battlements. ‘That is, besides fleeing.’

‘Just buy me time.’ Krishna saw how her eyes had turned into a graveyard of unshed tears. The Silver Wolves had been Satyabhama’s girls, and like her, they were infamous for their practice of brutal pragmatism. ‘Satyabhama will be avenged.’

‘That is all we need to hear.’

They heard the urgent sound of boots. They turned towards the hulking mass of Balram, hobbling towards them, assisted by Storm, of all people. Not that Balram had ever been a pretty sight to behold, but the deep gash on either side of his mouth gave him the look of a ghoul.

‘I know what you intenth to do, you sly basthard,’ he said, his speech garbled due to the wound. ‘We will make a sorthie through the assembled Greeks outhside, keep them away from the Curfew, while thrying to run for the outher walls when Krithavarman floods Mathura. I doubth we will survive, though. The thwisting alleys will be our undoing. Buth I’m glad you do noth mean tho leth Kalyavan win, even if ith means drowning your own men.’

A grave look passed between Rain and Krishna, before they burst out laughing. A hollow laugh but a laugh nonetheless. Balram fumed. ‘Noth funny.’

And they laughed again.

Storm left them to approach Rain. ‘So, a suicide charge I hear.’

Rain nodded, still grinning. ‘The only way we can make it to that tunnel in the Market Square.’