"I will," said Tulsi, and went to get the strings of onions from the wagon.
"So," said Djerat, glowering in Sanat Ji Mani's direction. "You fancy her."
"I admire her, certainly; I admire you," he said as he completed his work on the fifth mule and moved on to the sixth.
"Because you like this pelt?" she scoffed. "No; I can see you are taken with her. I warn you she will not have congress with you. She is a tumbler and her living depends on her abilities. She will not risk starvation or death for a length of hot flesh in her woman's portal."
"I would not ask it of her," said Sanat Ji Mani, brushing the chest of the sixth mule.
Djerat laughed unpleasantly. "All men pledge that, and all of them lie."
"Tulsi is coming," Sanat Ji Mani warned, and fell silent as Djerat busied herself putting rice and water into the pot.
"Here are the onions," said Tulsi, glancing from Djerat to Sanat Ji Mani and back again as if sensing something in the air between them; she said nothing but as she handed the onions to Djerat, the older woman seized her arm. "What is it?"
"You trust too readily. You must remember what happened to your parents, child," Djerat implored her.
Tulsi went pale and took a step back, pulling herself free of Djerat's grip. "I never forget that. Never."
Sanat Ji Mani watched this exchange with curiosity mixed with concern as he busied himself grooming the sixth mule: whatever message Djerat sought to give, he doubted it was to his benefit; he would have to proceed with care in all he did, for he was certain he would be under intense scrutiny from now until he left Timur-i Lenkh's army.
* * *
Text of a letter from Rogerian to Sanat Ji Mani, written in the Latin of Imperial Rome, sent from Alexandria to the Red Sea and carried on the
Sea Maiden
to Chaul; never delivered.
* * *
To my master, known as Sanat Ji Mani, residing at Delhi in the Delhi Sultanate in the Street of Brass Lanterns, the greetings of Rogerian from Alexandria in the Mameluke Empire of Egypt
.
I have claimed your house in this city, and have paid such fees as have been assessed against it to the authorities of the Mamelukes. I will remain in this place for five years, and if you have not reached here by the end of that time, I will go on to Rome, to the estate of Atta Olivia Clemens where I shall remain for another five years. Do not ask me to wait longer than that: if Saxony and Spain taught me nothing else, they showed me the folly of delaying a search for you too many years.
The house is in need of repairs which I have authorized, and which should be completed within the year. In the meantime, I have paid the laborers as you would want them to be paid, and I will provide bonuses for early completion of their work. When you arrive here, the house will be to your liking. I have also commissioned masons to build an athanor for your use— the old one has fallen to ruin and would not be safe to use. I have taken the three jars of gold from the hiding place in the garden well, and if I must, I will take another three to continue to support this household and pay the authorities the various taxes they impose. I have taken care to conceal my explorations of the well, going into it only late at night; I am sure I have not roused the curiosity of anyone in this part of the city in doing this, just as you would require were you here to make such decisions yourself.
Rustam Iniattir has made a place for himself and his household in the city of Fustat, a place convenient for merchants and where his faith is not as condemned as it might be in other cities. He is working at setting up more caravans, and I am providing him with funds in your name, with the assurance that you will continue your ventures with him when you arrive here. He is considering sending one of his sons here to Alexandria, but that will require more money than he can spare, and he will not permit me to pay for such an establishment, for he fears becoming too indebted to you. He may change his mind in a year or so, and I have informed him that the offer for such support will not be withdrawn.
As regards Avasa Dani, I have much to report: shortly after we arrived here in Alexandria she was taken with a fever that, in a matter of ten days, killed her. As you must be aware, she woke to your life two nights later, and I have endeavored to help her to meet the demands of what has happened to her. She has informed me that she
will not remain in this house now that she is a vampire, and she is seeking some means of making her way in the world that will not endanger her or you. I have tried to persuade her that you would prefer she stay here until you come, but she will have none of it. She is a married woman and her first loyalty must always be to her husband, although she will never see him again in this life, even though he may again come to Delhi. For that reason alone she is unwilling to accept your hospitality now that she has changed. She is aware of your blood-bond, and has said that she seeks no stronger connection than what you have already. I have not been able to find a convincing argument to put before her in this regard, and therefore I have offered her such money as she may need to establish herself as she wishes You would want her to have what she seeks, I know, and to that end,I will strive to accommodate whatever demands she may have in days to come.
I have not yet informed Rustam Iniattir of Avasa Dani's death, in case he should visit here and find her apparently living. I do not know when I will tell him, or what, precisely, I shall say, but for the time being, it is just as well that he continue to believe that she is alive. It will be less awkward to maintain the fiction than to explain her presence if he has been informed of her death.
There is fear in the Mameluke Empire that Timur-i will once again come westward and strike at the city of Damascus and perhaps make another attempt on Jerusalem. If he should succeed in these places, everyone is afraid that all the Nile will be open to his army. According to what we hear in Alexandria, Timur-i turned westward after sacking Lahore; I hope that is true, and that he did not, in the end, try to reach Delhi, or, that if he did, you have found some way to leave the city before he arrived. If that is the case, this letter may never reach you, but it may be just as well, for it would mean you are safe
Do not worry for your holdings here: I will look after them, and after Villa Ragoczy outside of Rome as well if I must journey there. I will prepare a copy of this letter and place it in the secured niche behind the ovens in the kitchen where you will know to look for it, and copies of any others I may write to you from time to time. I trust
you will look to your safety while you are still in Delhi, and will travel here as swiftly as ship and caravan will bring you
.
Rogerian
On the 29th day of January in the Christian year 1399 at Alexandria
2
"At Kabul we will turn north through the mountains toward Samarkand; after the long journey through the mountains, we will once again see the city of blue and gold that Timur-i has built," Djerat said over her shoulder to Sanat Ji Mani as they waited in the line of wagons to be ferried across the River Sutlej, a fast-running tributary of the Indus. It was a blustery day, and although the sun was warm, the wind, coming from the north, was cold from its passage over distant mountain snows. "There we will have rewards for our work, and we will join in the feasting."
The soldiers had rigged a pair of huge pulleys from two enormous tree-trunks set into the banks opposite one another; the pulleys were strung with ropes as thick as a man's forearm which the soldiers used to tug the wide barge across the swift-running river. The ferry-line ran through the barge and kept it rigorously on course in the treacherous current; fully loaded, the barge could carry three wagons and up to a dozen horsemen at a time, and it had been in continual use for more than two days.
"It is a long way to Samarkand," said Tulsi, sitting on the edge of the driving-seat next to Djerat, her expression more thoughtful than the older woman's.
"We have made the journey before, and will again— without the foreigner for company, I hope." She intended that Sanat Ji Mani hear this; she raised her voice enough for it to carry into the tent on the wagon. "You cannot want to be with the jugglers and tumblers and fools, can you, foreigner?"
"No doubt Timur-i will arrange something before you travel again," said Sanat Ji Mani with every appearance of good humor.
"Once we are there, in Samarkand, we will see what becomes of you; Timur-i will have had time to test your value and your abilities," Djerat continued. "If you have not proved your worth, Timur-i will be done with you: you will be killed and your bones given to kites."
Sanat Ji Mani thought of those birds with an inward shudder, but he maintained his aplomb. "We cannot know what Timur-i will do."
Djerart laughed. "He will make short work of you— of that I have no doubt. Unless you fulfill your promise, he will be rid of you."
"And that would make you happy," said Sanat Ji Mani, rising to the challenge at last.
Djerat sloughed around on the driving-seat and looked directly at him through the tent-lap, her eyes like shards of obsidian in her hairy face. "Yes. It would make me happy." Then she turned back to face her team, showing no interest in anything he might say in response.
It was Tulsi who was shocked. "You cannot mean that," she protested.
"Yes, I can," said Djerat.
At the same instant, Sanat Ji Mani said, "Yes, she does."
Tulsi held up her hands, appalled at this. "You are both disgusting," she said in a low voice, as if her quiet would lessen their reaction.
"He is the one who is disgusting," said Djerat. "You are blinded to his faults because you think he is smitten with you. He is no different than any other man, who seeks only to have his pleasure and has no thought beyond the end of his member."
Sanat Ji Mani said nothing, sitting back in the wagon in the shelter of the tent; he looked down at his small, well-shaped hands, noticing that they were almost free of burns now, but that the skin still had that stretched, tender look about it. Another two weeks and he should be fully recovered. He did not want to argue with Djerat, not because of her accusations, but because of the dismay they caused Tulsi; Djerat was right: he was attracted to the young tumbler.
A sudden cry erupted from the front of the line, and immediately shouts and howls went up as consternation spread through those waiting to cross the river.
Djerat stood up, her hand shading her eyes as she squinted down at the excitement below. "A man is caught in the pulley-cable," she said at last. "The ropes are cutting him in half. They may have to kill him to get him free."
This brought Sanat Ji Mani to full attention. "How badly is he hurt? Can you see?" He reached for his bag of supplies and went to the rear of the tent, climbing out of it with difficulty as his stapled foot compelled him to limp. As he reached the ground he called out, "Stop the cable. Stop the cable!"
Watching him try to hurry, Djerat laughed. "Save him if you can, foreigner. See if they will let you."
The people in other wagons made way for him as he stumbled down the bank to the tree-trunk supporting the pulley and cable. A few of them jeered as he passed, but most stared at him with the horrified fascination of developing tragedy.
An officer stood at the foot of the tree-trunk, staring up at the huge pulley overhead; the ropes were taut and quivering, and other soldiers milled on the bank, staring toward the barge now halted at midstream, with the injured man flailing against the side of the craft; below him the river carried a smear of red.
"He is dead anyway," said the officer when Sanat Ji Mani asked him to stop the cable. "We will kill him quickly, and that will be the end of it."
"Can no one swim out to him?" Sanat Ji Mani asked. "He needn't be made to suffer any more hurt if someone will swim out to him."
"He is caught in the rope. It will have his arm off, and then he will be cut through the chest. Why risk another man to save one who is already dead?" The officer shook his head.
"He may be, but not yet," said Sanat Ji Mani. "So he may also be saved."
The officer stared at Sanat Ji Mani, then recognition came into his face. "You are the foreign healer, are you not?"
"I am," said Sanat Ji Mani; the sun was already leaching the strength from him; he could feel his face redden and his body begin to shiver.
"If you wish to try to save him, I will stop the cable, but the rest is up to you." He favored Sanat Ji Mani with an ironic nod, then
bawled out orders to stop the cable. "There. Do as you must."
Sanat Ji Mani glanced at the swirling waters of the river, feeling already the first twinges of vertigo running water always evoked in him. He steeled himself against the ordeal that was to come; he handed his bag to the officer. "Keep this for me, if you would."
The officer took it. "If you like. I would rather give it back to the tumbler." There was an amused glint in his eyes as he watched Sanat Ji Mani start toward the river. "That stirrup makes for poor swimming," he remarked.
