"No spiders, no snakes," she reminded him.
"I see none," he assured her.
"Then I will come in," she said, climbing the steps to join him. "You are pale."
"I am tired," he admitted, dropping down onto the stone floor, his sack beside him. "I am sorry about the guard. If you would rather not perform this afternoon, then tell me and we will leave as soon as the market begins again."
"Do we not need the money I could earn?" she asked.
"How pragmatic you are," he said. "Yes, it would be useful, but it would not be necessary."
"Then I will perform and you will stay a little nearer, so the guard will not forget that you and I are together and he may not do what he wishes to do." She took a bite of the flavorful goat-meat, chewing heartily. "This is very good. A pity you cannot taste for yourself."
He paid no heed to her last remarks. "There is enough room for you to lie down," said Sanat Ji Mani. "The stones are hard, but you can rest on them."
"And you?" She sank down, her legs crossed. "This is very pleasant. There are not many places in the town that are cooler, I would guess."
He wondered how she intended her observation. "It should be a proper bed, and with curtains to draw around it."
"Is that what you want for yourself?" She continued to eat, licking her fingers from time to time.
"My bed is narrow and it lies atop a chest filled with my native earth. Most would find it hard, but to me, it is better than cushions of silk." He thought, as he said that, of his houses in various parts of the world, each still containing beds for his use. It would be wonderful, he told himself, to be able to reach any one of them.
"Why do you like such a bed? You could have any you wanted; why choose something so austere?" She was half-finished with the first
skewer and almost a third done with the bread; she concentrated on the meat.
"I like it because it restores me," he said, leaning back against the stone wall. "All those of my blood are restored by our native earth."
"Um," she said through a full mouth. When she had swallowed, she said, "You have told me you need your native earth to restore you, yet you and I have managed without it, and with only the blood of animals to nurture you."
"And I am less than I could be," he said, once again choosing his words carefully. "Not just because of weakness and burning."
She stared down at the steps. "I will soon be ready and you need not—"
He held up his hand. "No. This is not meant to persuade you."
She sighed and took another bite of goat. "You cannot tell me you do not think of it," she said between chews.
"Of course I think of it, but not for hunger alone. There is that in you that draws me to you, your courage, your—"
"I know," she said, waving him to silence. "You have told me before and I believe you mean what you say." She ate more, not looking up from her food. "You do not suppose I would refuse you, do you?"
"If that is what you want, then it is right you refuse me," he said, bending forward to look at his right foot.
"As I will do, but not forever," she said.
"It may be forever, if that is what you decide to do." He opened his shoe and poked at the cloth wrapped around his foot; it was a bit bloody, but the stain was fairly dry.
"I will be ready in a while, perhaps a few days, perhaps a month," she said. "I am almost prepared." She pulled off a strip of the bread and wrapped it around two chunks of goat-meat.
"That does not trouble me, Tulsi," he said, closing his shoe again.
"Does it not?" She stuffed a large bite into her cheek.
"No." He gazed at her, saying nothing for a time. "We will be able to travel a fair distance tonight, and still have time to rest."
"Are we still going south?" The question was a neutral one; she already knew the answer.
"Yes. We will go south for many leagues, until we may safely turn west." He stretched. "We will know to turn west when we find mer
chants coming from that direction; we have not done that yet."
"And we will continue south until we do?" she asked, trying to imagine how long they might wander.
"Or until we learn that it is safe to go westward," he said, and did not explain how that would happen, uncertain of it himself.
Tulsi pondered their situation. "How much longer will we have money for traveling?"
"That will depend to some degree on what we have to pay for, and how much we have to pay," he answered.
"But you do not have much left— money, that is?" She thought of the coins she had earned and smiled a bit.
"I have a few gold coins, a few silver ones, and a handful of copper ones. I am running low on medicaments— you know that." He shook his head.
"Then we will become beggars," she said steadily.
"Not quite that," he responded. "Nothing so dire."
She cocked her head. "But we will have to earn our food, or steal it."
"As we have been doing," he pointed out gently.
"Yes; but now it is prudent, not necessary. Soon it will be essential." She licked her fingers clean and lay back. "I will finish the rest of it when I waken."
Sanat Ji Mani laid his hand on her cheek. "Do not fear. We are not destitute yet."
"No, not yet," she said, turning onto her side and closing her eyes, her head resting on her extended arm.
Watching her drift into sleep, Sanat Ji Mani felt fatigue possess him as immediate as a fever. He leaned back again and longed for slumber, but knew it would elude him. He would have to make the most of the rest he could achieve by half-measures; the lack of his native earth was wearing on him. Not since he had washed ashore in Saxony, more than four centuries ago, had he felt so depleted as he did now. He did his best to clear his mind of intruding recollections but could not shut them out completely: Tishtry guided her quadriga around the Circus Maximus, Nicoris built up fires along the low battlements, Gynethe Mehaut lay before the altar in Karl-lo-Magne's city, Ranegonda on the beach at Leosan Fortress… He lapsed into a dazed languor
that only ended when he heard a loud cry from the market-square.
Tulsi woke abruptly, a bit disoriented. "What was that?"
"Someone yelled," Sanat Ji Mani said, getting to his feet.
"Why?" Tulsi wondered aloud.
"I do not know," said Sanat Ji Mani, and listened intently as the shout was repeated. "A person of rank is coming, it appears."
"What person is that?" Tulsi was more aware of her surroundings now, and she peered out of the niche with curiosity.
"I have no idea. They are saying
the lord
," he explained, and listened to the sudden bustle. "The guards are demanding the vendors to return to their stalls."
"Because the lord is coming?" Tulsi lifted her hands impatiently. "What should we do, you and I?"
"Do you want to perform for this lord?" he asked her.
"No. No, I do not," she said, shivering in spite of the heat. "I… I do not want to do anything for this lord."
Sanat Ji Mani nodded. "Then perhaps we should slip away while everyone is preparing to receive the lord," he suggested. "There should be a gate in the wall behind the temple; there usually is." He took up his sack and pointed to the last of her food. "You may want to take this with you."
"I do," she agreed as she shouldered her pack. "These lords are always hard to please. I have the sense that he might be more arbitrary than most."
Sanat Ji Mani was already moving down the alley, away from the market-square. "You do not need to justify your wishes to me, Tulsi," he said, his voice filled with kindness. "You do not want to remain: we shall not."
She flashed him an uncertain smile. "You are good to me."
They continued down the alley to the rear of the temple and found a number of rough huts clustered near the wall, ragged children and thin women watching them silently from the doors and windows of the ramshackle buildings. One of the women pointed away from the temple, then held out her hand; Sanat Ji Mani gave her a copper coin and motioned to Tulsi to stay close to him.
"Who are these people?" she whispered as she closed the gap between them.
"Prostitutes, either for the priests or for the temple," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"How can you be sure?" She shuddered as a naked little boy threw a pebble at her.
"There are no men here," Sanat Ji Mani observed. "And no sign of men."
Tulsi reached for his hand. "Poor creatures."
"That they are," Sanat Ji Mani said, and continued in the direction the woman had pointed.
Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi were almost to the wall when there was a commotion behind them, and two of the guards appeared at the other end of the clump of huts; a shout went up, and the men started forward only to be set upon by half-a-dozen women. The guards tried to shove them away only to find others in their place; Tulsi glanced back once, then kept her face turned toward the wall and the tumble of stones where a section of it had fallen in.
"They are after us," she said to Sanat Ji Mani.
"That they are," said Sanat Ji Mani again, steeling himself for the ordeal of climbing the broken wall; the sun was overhead and his foot was starting to ooze blood.
"Why are the women doing this?" She tested the first stone and climbed onto it, holding her hand down to him. "Come."
He took her hand, grateful for her help. "I do not know," he said. "Perhaps the guards seek them out, perhaps the women want to help us do what they cannot do."
"Climb this wall?" Tulsi asked in amazement as she continued upward.
"Leave this place," Sanat Ji Mani replied, feeling his skin begin to tighten with burning.
Tulsi clambered upward, saying, "Hold on to my leg. We'll go faster if I do not have to turn back every few steps."
Sanat Ji Mani did as she ordered, his jaw set with determination. He could hear the shouts behind them getting louder; the sound spurred him on. As they reached the top of the toppled stones, he paused long enough to look back for an instant: he saw four guards coming toward them with grim expressions on their faces; one of the men was yelling something about Timur-i.
"Hurry," said Tulsi, already half-way down the other side. "We can run for the trees."
"Perhaps you can; I will do my best," he said, trying to make light of their situation.
"You will run if I have to carry you," said Tulsi, now on the ground and waiting for him to reach her; he said nothing more as he put his whole concentration on getting off the wall. As his foot touched the ground, Tulsi came up to him and wedged her shoulder under his arm. "Come on. I will support you." Before he could say anything she had her arm around his back and was half-dragging him away from the heap of stones they had just crossed. She headed directly for the line of trees and ducked into them, the leaves whipping across them as they hurried on. Only when they could not see the walls of the town did Tulsi slow down to a walk. "There," she said, letting go of Sanat Ji Mani.
He struggled to say upright; pain sizzled up his leg and through his body, his skin had already cracked on his face and hands, and he felt weak as a newborn calf. "I will be all right," he said.
"If we get clear of this town, you will," she said. "We must keep moving. They will search for us."
"And they must not find us," he agreed, preparing himself to continue on through the sun-spangled trees.
"What did they want? Why were they chasing us?" Tulsi asked, setting her pace to his.
"I have no idea," he admitted. "But I do not want to find out."
"Why did they yell about Timur-i?" she persisted. "Is he searching for us?"
Sanat Ji Mani shook his head and put his mind on walking.
* * *
Text of a report to the Emperor of China from his personal intelligence gatherer, written in code and carried by special courier.
* * *
In the Fortnight of the Dragon Boat Races, this most insignificant person takes it upon himself to fulfill his duty to the August Wielder of the Vermillion Brush with this, his second report since the Emperor of the Middle of the World was gracious enough to bestow so important a mission on this unworthy person.
This unimportant person begs to tell you that he is continuing his
travels through the lands of the Hindu and Buddha. In that regard, this person is pleased to report that his foot has completely healed and that he has only a little limp from the injury. This humble person is most deeply grateful to the foreigner Sanat Ji Mani for all he did to aid me during the time this person was in Delhi pursuing your most revered purpose. It is the hope of this insignificant person that the Buddha will spare him suffering in this life for his goodness to me, and his most excellent care. It is also this person's sincere hope that this foreigner was not among the thousands killed by Timur-i at Delhi.
