"When I cannot meet my obligations, I will sell my house and depart for whatever destination you may deem proper," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Until that time, you will have to admit that I have much to offer a merchant like Rustam Iniattir."
"Who is a Parsi and a Zarathustran," said Firuz Ihbal condemningly. "And has many caravans on the roads of the world."
"Who is willing to undertake the ventures as no Muslim would do," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out. "I mean no disrespect, Firuz Ihbal: you and I both know that there are sites where the followers of the Prophet are not encouraged to go. The first caravan Rustam Iniattir sponsored with me is bound for no such places, and half the men on the trek are of your faith. But going to the east, the faithful of Islam are not as welcome as they are to the west, and it is suitable for Zarathustrans and Buddhists to lead and man the journey. The chance of trading advantageously and returning with profits and goods is far greater for the enterprise Rustam Iniattir and I are proposing than would be the case for many of your—"
Firuz Ihbal waved him to silence. He sat still, disapproval in every line of his body. Finally, he made a fussy gesture. "Your point is taken, foreigner."
"Then you will consider it?" Sanat Ji Mani asked.
"I may," said Firuz Ihbal, one brow lifting as if in invitation.
"If I were to make a show of my gratitude for your permission?" Sanat Ji Mani suggested.
"Then I will probably consent. But I will not give you an answer for a month at the least; there is much I must consider in regard to your request. When my answer is ready, I will expect you to provide funds to arm another hundred soldiers as a sign of your earnest devotion to this city and the Sultan. Then you will have my answer." He clapped his hands and three slaves appeared and abased themselves. "Escort this man out of the palace."
The three slaves answered in chorus, "We serve you, Firuz Ihbal."
Sanat Ji Mani turned away without saying anything more, for nothing was expected or wanted from him now that Firuz Ihbal had laid down his terms. He was almost to the door when a word from the dais stopped him. "Yes, Deputy of the Sultan?"
"The jewels you brought me last time were nice, but the garnets and tourmalines you provided me today are the best yet. I was not as pleased with the diamonds." Firuz Ihbal paused, continuing in an insinuating tone, "I do not know how you come by these treasures, but I am pleased to receive them— in the Sultan's name."
"Of course, in the Sultan's name. And if you are satisfied, what can I be but honored," said Sanat Ji Mani, ducking his head in a show of submission to the Sultan's will.
"I will expect word from you soon concerning the arming of soldiers," Firuz Ihbal added as if it had slipped his mind until now.
"It will be my pleasure to do so. What manner of soldiers did you want armed? Guards? Horsemen? Foot-soldiers? Archers?"
Firuz Ihbal gave the question due consideration. "Archers, I believe. Bows, arrows, and armor. Two bows and fifty arrows per man, I should think."
"As you command, Firuz Ihbal, so it must be," said Sanat Ji Mani, knowing the request was outrageous and aware that protest was fool
ish; he prepared to leave the room. "I take my leave, and thank you for your time."
But Firuz Ihbal was not finished quite yet. "Remember, Sanat Ji Mani, that I particularly admire garnets. And pearls— big, freshwater pearls."
"I shall do so," said Sanat Ji Mani, bowing as the slaves surrounded him and removed him from the audience chamber. He allowed the slaves to escort him to the Foreigners' Gate, where soldiers let him out into the street where his manservant was waiting, holding Sanat Ji Mani's grey horse's reins from the saddle of his own bay.
"You were not very long," said Rojire in the Latin of Imperial Rome, aware that the direct glare of afternoon sunlight was causing Sanat Ji Mani some discomfort.
"No. Firuz Ihbal made his wants known most succinctly, and made sure I left the palace under ward." He swung into the saddle, squinting against the light.
"There is shelter in the street," Rojire said, pointing to a narrow lane shaded with high awnings stretched between the tops of the buildings lining it. "I should have refilled the earth in your soles, my master. I am sorry I did not."
"You need not apologize," said Sanat Ji Mani as he started his horse walking toward the shadowed lane; there were a fair number of people about for this time of day, but most of them were not hurried, and they willingly moved aside for the two mounted foreigners. "The full moon is just past, and there should still be some potency in the earth. The sun is so overwhelming here that this discomfort does not surprise me." He glanced back, his dark eyes fixed on the Foreigners' Gate, then he looked ahead once more. "I think we are being followed."
Rojire knew better than to look for himself. "Why do you say so?"
A train of mules clattering past made it difficult for any answer to be heard. "There is a skinny fellow who was loitering by the gate as I left— he was inside the walls of the palace and now he is outside." Sanat Ji Mani remarked in a tone that suggested he was making minor observations. He lowered his voice as the mules went their way and the noise dropped to a more bearable level. "It may be coincidence, but—"
"But you have reason to doubt it," said Rojire, and laughed as if this remark was amusing.
"I am reminded of Sorra Celinde, who went everywhere because she was a nun and unsuspect because of her vocation, and what mischief she caused." He smiled at this dire memory, now almost six centuries old. "She could account for her presence readily enough, and everyone accepted the coincidences, because what harm could a nun do?"
"Very well: I will be attentive to anyone paying over-much attention to us," said Rojire, and pulled his horse behind Sanat Ji Mani's as they entered the covered street. "Will you be allowed to send out the second caravan, do you think?"
"When Firuz Ihbal has settled on a large enough bribe, I should think so," said Sanat Ji Mani, raising his voice to be heard in the echoing street; it was as well they were speaking Latin, he decided as he saw faces lean over them from above.
"Will the Sultan ask for a bribe as well?" Rojire inquired.
"If he is in Delhi, no doubt he will. But if he is away, his relatives will ask it in his name," Sanat Ji Mani replied, ironically amused by his own observation.
"No doubt you are right," said Rojire with a tight smile. "How do you propose to deal with their demands?"
"I suppose I should make more jewels, and gold." Sanat Ji Mani was silent for a moment. "I do not know what they may demand, but I want to give them no excuse to express their discontent; some of the deputies would be delighted to imprison me and then ask for a ransom that would take everything I own, and still not be sufficient to their needs. Better to deal with their rapacity as I have done before than create opportunities for them that would end in being catastrophic for all of us."
"You and I, and Avasa Dani?" Rojire suggested.
"And Rustam Iniattir," added Sanat Ji Mani. "Where wealth is concerned, the Sultan casts a wide net." They were nearing the end of the narrow street and were about to cross one of the small market-squares that were set up throughout the city. "When we cross, you take the Street of the Lions, and I will take the Street of the Old
Temple. That way we may be able to cause our follower to betray himself."
"As you wish, my master," said Rojire, a note of doubt in his voice.
"You may stop and purchase something for the kitchen," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Some lentils and cheese for the staff and meat for yourself. If anything else strikes your fancy, add it to your selections. If the spy comes after me, you will have a fine opportunity to observe him."
"Very well," Rojire agreed. "But why will you take the Street of the Old Temple?"
"Why, to offer incense to the gods," said Sanat Ji Mani, as if this were obvious. "Since I do not bow to Allah, I must show some regard for an established religion."
"Probably," said Rojire, unwilling to concede the necessity. "But why to those gods? Why not to the Buddha?"
"Because most of the people of Delhi worship those old gods," said Sanat Ji Mani. "No one will question me for making such an offering; many foreigners do it. The Sultan's deputies would be displeased to know that I honor the Buddha, or the Parsi's God of Light, for they see those single gods as rivals to Allah. So I must respect all the gods, but I cannot make my preferences known without bringing disfavor upon me, and upon my household."
They had reached the market-square; Rojire drew rein and called out in the language of the people, "I will not be long, my master."
"Tend to your duties," Sanat Ji Mani responded. "I will see you at my house." He let his horse pick his way through the crowd; he was careful not to look for the scrawny man he had noticed earlier, but contented himself with going toward the Street of the Old Temple, diagonally across the square. He entered this street without incident, making his way through the moderate press of people, and went along to the Old Temple that gave the street its name: it was a large, pillared building of great age, with elaborate friezes showing the exploits of Shiva, to whom the temple was primarily dedicated. Sanat Ji Mani dismounted and looked about for someone to hold his horse.
"I will do it, exalted sir," said a boy of about nine. He held out his hand for the reins and a coin for his service.
Sanat Ji Mani gave him both. "I will not be long. See that nothing happens to him."
The boy looked at the small, gold coin shining in his hand. "I shall protect him with my life," he promised.
"I trust that will not be necessary," said Sanat Ji Mani, and went up the few, worn, broad steps and into the temple. Entering its shadow, he had an uneasy memory of Tamasrajasi in her temple, almost two centuries ago, and all that had happened there, the blood and the river that swept through; he shook off the recollection and gave his attention to the three large statues of Shiva that dominated the interior of the temple, flanked by Durga and Sarasvati, with niches dedicated to dozens of other gods.
He paused before the figure of Shiva, caught in the act of dancing, haloed by flames, his serene smile remote from the world. "Lord of the Dance," said Sanat Ji Mani in the language of Ashoka's time. He took two wedges of frankincense from the wallet hung on his belt and put them in the large pot of blackened brass where such offerings were made. Using one of the rushlights that hung before the statue, he lit the incense and bowed to Shiva as the first tendrils of smoke rose from his offering; he was aware that a few of the priests in the temple were watching him, their curiosity roused by his presence. As he rose, he glanced toward one of the priests, saying, "Shiva has great meaning for me, even though I am a stranger." He did not elaborate what that meaning was.
"So have all the gods," said the priest. "In life, a man will encounter all of them in one manifestation or another."
"Yes, he will," said Sanat Ji Mani with a smile as enigmatic as the one carved on the face of the God of Death and Transcendence.
The priest nodded toward the rising smoke. "A fine gift."
"To show my respect," said Sanat Ji Mani, touching his palms together and bowing to the priest. "Another time I will leave an offering to other gods."
"You will be welcome, foreigner," said the priest, managing to infuse a degree of cordiality into his voice that he rarely extended to such visitors as this one, a stranger alone.
"Thank you." Sanat Ji Mani dropped a half-dozen gold coins into the plate set out for donations; he knew this was generous beyond what most worshipers could afford; he made no attempt to draw the
priest's attention to it, but bowed again, turned, and left the temple, squinting into the sunlight as it struck him full in the face.
The boy holding his grey grinned at him. "No one has touched him, exalted sir," the lad exclaimed.
"You have done well," said Sanat Ji Mani, giving him another coin before he vaulted into the saddle; crowing with delight, the boy ran off into an alley, shouting to a companion that they would feast that night.
By the time Sanat Ji Mani reached his house, he was stunned by the torpid heat; he left his horse with one of the grooms, and, contrary to his habit, he did not groom and feed the animal himself, but sought out his shadowy bath, where he spent the greater part of the afternoon in the cool water, attempting to relieve himself of the weight of the sun. By the time he emerged, the sun was low in the western sky and preparations for night occupied the residents of Delhi.
"You were followed," Rojire said without any mitigating remarks when Sanat Ji Mani found him at the top of the house. "That stringy fellow was behind you."
"I thought so," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I wonder to whom he reports?"
"Someone in the Sultan's palace, no doubt," said Rojire bluntly.
"No doubt," Sanat Ji Mani agreed. "But which of so many uses him?"
