Vandiyathevan spurred his horse onward. He was making his way toward Pazhayarai, using it as his guiding mark. Since he still remembered, at least vaguely, the path he had taken from Pazhayarai, he did not bother to ask anyone for directions; instead, he simply followed his sense of direction. At first, he traveled a short distance along a forest path. He realized that his horse was suffering greatly because of this. Vallavarayan himself was also quite exhausted. It had been many days since he had been able to rest and sleep soundly, even for a short while. Except for occasionally nodding off and falling asleep in the saddle, he had not had the comfort of lying down and sleeping in peace anywhere. Once he reached Pazhayarai and delivered his message to the princess, his responsibility would be over; then he could sleep peacefully. He could sleep for a long time—indeed, he planned to make up for all the lost days and sleep for days on end.

He imagined the joy he would feel when he stood before Princess Kundavai and said, “I have accomplished the task you entrusted to me.” He thought of how the goddess’s face would blossom and glow upon hearing those words. That thought sent a thrill through his body.

Another thought came to him. Since leaving Kanchipuram, how many lies and half-truths had he spoken? He had done so only out of necessity. Yet, when he thought about it all, his heart and body felt weighed down. After spending some time with Prince Arulmozhi Varman, his very outlook had changed. He had once believed that those involved in royal affairs must be well-versed in the stratagems of Chanakya. He had even harbored the hope that, through such royal intrigues, he might one day reclaim the kingdom his ancestors had lost. But now, all those thoughts had changed. After witnessing the prince’s integrity and steadfastness, he had developed a distaste for lies and deception. He recalled the lie he had told the magician last night, claiming he intended to protect the prince. What if something untoward happened because of that? The thought made his heart tremble. What if someone else had overheard? What if someone went and told Princess Kundavai? Surely, the young princess would not believe it! Still, how great a danger it could be! From now on, I must abandon the habit of inventing and embellishing stories that never happened. I must speak the truth; if hardship comes because of it, I must face it. Let those like that valiant Vaishnavite and those like Ravidasan do the work of spies. Why should I burden myself with such troubles? Let victory come to me by the strength of my sword alone. That is enough; even if I lose my life for it, so be it. It is time to cast aside all these tricks and stratagems.

Immersed in such thoughts, Vandiyathevan did not notice for a while that his horse’s pace had slowed. In fact, as he rode on, lost in contemplation, he had even dozed off a little. When the horse suddenly stumbled and bent down at one spot, he started awake. He realized that the horse was struggling, unable to set one of its forelegs firmly on the ground. He immediately dismounted, patted the horse reassuringly, and lifted the injured foreleg to examine it. He found that a small, sharp stone had become lodged in the underside of the hoof. With deft fingers, he removed and flung it away. Fortunately, there was no serious wound. Once again, he patted and encouraged the horse, then mounted its back with renewed vigor.

He recalled the conversation he had overheard among the Arabs on the ship: “The Tamils are cruel people; they lack intelligence! They make their horses run barefoot, without fitting iron shoes to their hooves. How long can such horses survive?”

Thinking of this, Vandiyathevan spurred his horse onward. When warriors go to battle, they wear armor on their chests. Fitting iron shoes to a horse’s hooves is indeed a remarkable thing. Yet, he had heard that in some foreign lands, such things were done. He resolved that, at the very first smithy he encountered, he must inquire about this. If possible, he would have iron shoes fitted to his horse’s hooves. Otherwise, it would be difficult for this horse to reach Pazhaiyarai. If it collapsed on the way, he would have to procure another horse. But how? He would have to steal one from someone! Fie! The very thought made Vandiyathevan blush with shame.

Leaving the forest path, Vandiyathevan guided his horse in what he guessed was the right direction, and soon reached the royal highway. Let come what may; from now on, he must travel along the main road. No one who knew him would be in this area. The retinue of the Pazhuvettaraiyars would be coming behind him. The sorcerer too would be following. Therefore, there was no danger. Moreover, if he stayed on the royal road, he was sure to find a smithy somewhere. There, he could see if iron shoes could be fitted to his horse’s hooves.

Vandiyathevan’s expectations were not in vain. After traveling a short distance, a village appeared before him. It seemed as though some sort of commotion had arisen in the village. On one side, the streets and houses were adorned with festoons and decorations. Perhaps, having heard that Periya Pazhuvettarayar was to pass this way, the villagers had thus embellished their town. It was certain that, before Pazhuvettarayar and his retinue arrived, he himself would be far away.

On the other side, the villagers—women, men, elders, boys, and girls—stood here and there in groups, conversing anxiously among themselves. Vandiyathevan could not guess what the matter might be. Some among them, noticing the horseman approaching, came near as if intending to stop him. But Vandiyathevan, unwilling to become entangled in needless quarrels, spurred his horse and rode on without giving them a chance.

Once he had