"We will use that pass," said Hasin Dahele, pointing to a gap in the peaks ahead of them. "The road is supposed to be good, and the weather is holding." He was beginning to look tired after ten days' travel; his dark-bay was fretful, pulling at the bit and fussing as the Rajput held him on short reins. The Rajput himself wore silks dulled by the constant dust of the road, making him appear less impressive than he had intended. Sweat left tracks in his face and under the arms of his pyjamas, his woven breastplate already chafing at the silk, fraying it at the neck and shoulder.
Beside the Rajput, Sanat Ji Mani did his best to keep in the shade of the umbrella held over him. Though he, too, was dusty, there was no indication of sweat on him or his dull-purple silk clothing. "It is a long distance to that pass, let alone through it. You will not accomplish the journey today, and possibly not tomorrow."
"Why do you say so?" Hasin Dahele asked imperiously. "My archers could be through the pass by tomorrow night."
"Possibly," Sanat Ji Mani allowed. "But your supply wagons and your elephants would not keep up with the archers, and that would divide your forces. If you take such a risk, you could be handily defeated by a smaller army."
"Timur-i divided his forces," said the Rajput in a critical tone. "His troops could cover vast distances quickly."
"That they could," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But not through mountain passes."
Hasin Dahele glowered at him. "His archers still moved swiftly."
"Timur-i had more than four times the number of horses you do, and could remount his soldiers frequently," Sanat Ji Mani reminded the Rajput. "This road is a hard climb, for all it is in good repair, and the horses will need to rest before and after they pass over the crest, unless you want to exhaust them so that they cannot be used in a fight."
"You think badly of my archers," said Hasin Dahele.
"No; I think any soldier fights better on a rested horse than on a tired one," said Sanat Ji Mani. "To say nothing of your elephants. Crossing the pass will be harder on them than the horses. You know that."
"They are sturdy beasts," said the Rajput mulishly.
"And sure-footed, but they do not often traverse mountain ridges, nor do they fight well on steep slopes," said Sanat Ji Mani. "They will need time to negotiate the pass, wide or narrow, or you will run the risk of injury to elephants and riders, as well as any unfortunate enough to be in their paths."
Hasin Dahele puffed out his cheeks. "As you say, they do not usually cross mountain ridges, and on flat land, their charge is generally unstoppable. You are right about the terrain." This concession annoyed him. "Very well. We will make camp at the base of the pass tonight and take all of tomorrow to get the army through; we should be able to accomplish that much. At least it is a broad pass, and not one like a goat-track, as some of the passes are."
"All the more reason to rest before going through," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You will have the opportunity to gather information from travelers from the west, and you can keep travelers from the east from going ahead of you."
"There may be advantages in that," Hasin Dahele mused. "I will consider this while we continue on toward the pass; how best to patrol the road and watch for any who might be spies. My scouts will bring me word of what is ahead at sunset." He coughed, swatting at the dusty air with his hand. "In the meantime, perhaps you should go to your woman's wagon and rest out of the sun. There are more red patches on your skin."
"I am aware of them," said Sanat Ji Mani evenly. "Thank you, Rajput. I will do that."
With a slow shake of his head, Hasin Dahele remarked, "I do not know how you led your army as you did with the sun burning you so badly."
"I have told you I did not lead an army," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out as he turned his dun mare and started back along the line of the army to the rear, his umbrella-bearer hurrying to keep up while his feisty roan mare fought to remain at the front of the march.
Tulsi Kil's wagon was in the middle of the ranks of vehicles, a small wooden carriage with high sides and a partial roof that was augmented with a double layer of heavy cotton cloth that covered the top and sides; Tulsi sat on the driving-box, handling the two mules pulling it with reasonable skill. She waved as she saw Sanat Ji Mani approach. "We have come far this morning," she called. "The Rajput is eager."
"That he is," said Sanat Ji Mani as he came abreast of the wagon. "I am going to get into the back and turn my horse over to this officer"-he gestured toward the umbrella-bearer-"who can bring the mare back to me at sunset." For the sake of the young officer, Sanat Ji Mani repeated this in the Devapur dialect.
The umbrella-bearer looked relieved. "I will do that."
"Good. I am going to climb up beside my companion now, and you may take the mare." Sanat Ji Mani kicked his aching right foot out of the stirrup and swung his leg over in front, just brushing the mare's mane as he did. "Keep her walking at the same pace," he told the officer as he rose on his left foot and straddled the air between horse and wagon; a moment later and he had pushed away from the dun mare and onto the driving-box, facing backward but safe. He signaled to the umbrella-bearer. "She is yours until this evening. See she has plenty of water."
The young officer caught the reins and pulled the horse away from the line of carts, wagons, and larger vehicles-two water-wagons were drawn by teams of eight mutes-and spurred toward the front of the army; the wagons kept on steadily and behind them shuffled the elephants.
"I thought you would be here earlier," said Tulsi, her gaze fixed on the blistered places on his hands and face. She had wrapped a length of cotton around her head and over part of her face as well as all of her neck. "Perhaps you should cover yourself more completely."
"I thought I would be here earlier, too, and the wagon-cover will shield me," Sanat Ji Mani admitted as he slipped behind her into the bed of the wagon. "This is much better."
"You are very white where you are not red," she told him as she leaned back on the driving-box in order to hear his response. "Does that mean you are weak?"
"I am tired," he said. "This heat is taking a toll on me."
"As it is on all of us," said Tulsi. "I never thought I would miss the desert, but after this, I do." She gave her attention to the mules for a short while, then said, "I suppose we will travel through the heat of the day?" It was more usual to rest, but Hasin Dahele had been determined to press on.
"I believe so," said Sanat Ji Mani, already beginning to drift into that torpid state that was his slumber. "He wants to cover as much ground as he can."
Tulsi laughed. "He will wear out his army before his first battle," she said with certainty. "His troops are not used to this pace."
"Nor should they be," said Sanat Ji Mani, and lapsed into semi-consciousness.
Tulsi, unaware that he could not hear her, went on. "These are not Timur-i's troops and they cannot move as his can." She waited for him to comment. "Sanat Ji Mani?" she called softly, and then smiled as she realized he was asleep. Holding firmly to the reins, she whistled to the mules to pick up their pace, and was intensely pleased when they minded her.
It was a long day, traveling at a rapid walk, dust rising in a vast cloud that marked the army's progress to anyone watching for a considerable distance. Twice there were short stops to water the animals, when riders and drivers could have water and lentil-cakes, but the Rajput was determined to reach the foot of the pass by nightfall and did not allow much respite from the grueling march. By the time the sun dropped to the edge of the mountains ahead of them, Tulsi was glad to have Sanat Ji Mani waken and take her place on the driving-box.
"Are you rested?" she asked as he gathered the reins into his hands.
"Enough to be hungry," he answered and added quickly, "I will find sustenance tonight, not from you. There are animals who can provide what I need."
She shook her head. "I wish I could be ready, but I am not. Your life is still too ... too strange for me."
'"Then you are right not to risk coming to it," he said with a swift, sympathetic smile. "It is difficult enough for those who seek it."
"I may yet regret my decision," she said.
"You have time to consider it still," he told her gently. "More immediately, I may have a plan that will get us away from this tomorrow."
She turned toward him, her eyes alight. "Tomorrow? Are we not supposed to go through the pass tomorrow? That is what the couriers were saying at our second water-stop."
"Yes, we are," said Sanat Ji Mani, "and that may provide us the opportunity we have been seeking."
"Tell me," she pleaded, wanting to hold on to his arm and knowing it would be improper to do so in this place.
Although no one around could hear them, or spoke the language they used, Sanat Ji Mani still lowered his voice. "There are two high valleys that comprise the pass ahead, that is, if the maps the Rajput is using are correct. If this wagon should lose a wheel on the climb to the pass, it would have to leave the road and then it would be forced to bring up the rear, behind the elephants. If we went slowly enough, we could drop far behind the army, and then we can ride the mules and take the other pass, the one south of us. It is narrower and steeper, but it is much nearer Chaul. From there we can find a ship and be on our way to Alexandria."
"Timur-i would kill those in wagons rather than leave them behind to fall into the hands of his enemies," said Tulsi, her expression dubious.
"Timur-i might, but Hasin Dahele would not," said Sanat Ji Mani. "He does not fear what is behind him, only what is ahead."
"And you think we could manage it?" she asked, trying to be convinced of his plan.
"I think we could, especially if more than one wagon lost a wheel, so that our predicament would not seem unique." There was a glint of intent in his dark eyes that caught her attention.
"Are you planning something more than a single accident?" She leaned forward to listen to him.
"I will not sleep tonight, so I may be able to go about the camp and work the wheels on a few other wagons and carriages; not too many, just enough so that one more will not be remarkable," he said. "We may also be able to delay our trouble until the others have occurred, and then we will have a better chance of success."
"How do you reckon that?" She rubbed her hands together and felt the grit that had accumulated there.
"If I can volunteer to help remount the lost wheel of another wagon, I can promise to attend to ours on my own," he said. "The soldiers will know I am able to do this, and we will drop farther back in the line by helping."
Tulsi nodded slowly. "It may work," she said. "It may be enough to get us away."
"So I hope," he said, and winced as a small gap in the mountains let through a brilliant shaft of sunlight. He tried to turn from it, but did not manage in time, and was left with a large patch of red on his forehead.
"That will be black by morning," said Tulsi. "Are you sure you should ride here before dark?"
"Oh, yes; I think I should be ready for my escort to appear," he said. "I wish I could have that umbrella right now." As quickly as the light had struck, it was gone. "Better," he said, doing his best to ignore the tenderness of his skin.
"Are all vampires so hampered by sunlight?" She sounded alarmed.
"When the soles of my shoes are lined with my native earth, or the floor of the wagon is, I am as sensitive as other men; sunlight would burn me eventually, as it does others, but it would be nothing like this. Without my native earth-well, you see." He lifted his hands; the red patches were almost black now and would begin to peel in a day or so.
"Where is your native earth? Have you none you can reach?" She was apprehensive, and it sharpened her questions.
"I had chests of it back in Delhi, but no doubt they are gone; everything else is. I should have two chests in a warehouse in Chaul, that will enable me to cross water without suffering too much discomfort. Without it, I would be incapacitated, with it I am only wretched." He managed an ironic smile.
"I saw you in the river," she said. "I thought you would drown."
"Alas, no," he said. "That would be too easy." He thought of his escape from the forest fire in Spain, when he had been bruised and battered for hours only to wash up on a jagged boulder far away from the flames.
Tulsi listened carefully, saying only, "Can you not resist it: what the water does?"
He nodded. "With my native earth, I can." Hearing his name shouted, he looked about and saw the young officer with the umbrella leading the dun mare. "I will have to go," he said to Tulsi. "I will find you after we have made camp tonight."
She held out her hands for the reins. "I will look for you."
"No; stay where you are. If both of us start searching, we may never find one another." He swiftly brushed a kiss on her lips, then rose on the driving-box, holding on to the frame to steady himself, and after steadying himself, dropped down into the saddle on the dun mare. "I will find you!" he shouted to Tulsi as he and the officer cantered off toward the front of the line.
Tulsi watched him go, distress showing in her features. She managed to wave but did not know if he saw it or not. Giving her full attention to the mules, she did her best to banish the worry that was growing in her. "There is nothing you can do about it now, in any case," she told herself aloud, in the hope that a stem delivery would bolster her mood, but she could not shake off the foreboding completely.
As Sanat Ji Mani approached the head of the line, he felt his right foot slip out of the stirrup. This did not make his riding much more difficult, for he had over three millennia of horsemanship behind him and could manage with far less. But the stirrup, a heavy, truncated triangle of thick metal, kept banging into his half-healed foot, and by the time he could pull the dun into a walk near Hasin Dahele, the wound through his foot was open again, and bleeding. He tried to conceal this as he bent in the saddle, caught the stirrup, and set his foot in place. Straightening up, he saw the Rajput was watching him critically.
"You are bleeding," said Hasin Dahele.
"It is nothing to bother about," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"Bleeding is always something to worry about, for it allows all manner of impure things to enter the body, as well as robbing it of strength," Hasin Dahele corrected him. "You have taken quite a chance with that injury." He raised his brows to add significance to his remark. "It is your weak foot."
"It is nothing," Sanat Ji Mani repeated. "I will put new wraps on it tonight."
"It will fester," said Hasin Dahele.
Sanat Ji Mani gave no response to the warning. "How much longer until you make camp?"
"You will be unable to travel," said the Rajput, unwilling to be put off.
"I doubt it," Sanat Ji Mani told him. "Now, about camp."
"It will have to be soon; the light is fading." He glanced up at the sky, already showing a scattering of stars against the evanescing sunset. "The scouts say there are wide meadows ahead. It will not be long."
"You will have to issue torches to your men if you wait much longer," said Sanat Ji Mani. "It is dangerous to cross unknown ground in the dark." He did not add that he saw almost as well by night as he did by day.
"I agree," said Hasin Dahele. "I was hoping we could move right to the foot of the pass, but I see it will not be possible." He signaled to the officer accompanying Sanat Ji Mani to close his umbrella. "I do not think you will need that until dawn."
"No. It is dark enough," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I will help to organize the camps, if you need such help."
"I would rather you tend to your foot. I do not want to run the risk of losing you to putrid blood. Care for the injury and rest yourself tonight, for tomorrow will make demands of us all." He motioned Sanat Ji Mani away, and went toward the white ass upon which Vayu Ede rode.
Watching him go, Sanat Ji Mani wondered why he had been summoned to the front of the line only to be dismissed. He rode to the side of the army, watching the companies ride by, some of the men lurching in their saddles, attacked by hunger and fatigue. He took advantage of this moment to assess the readiness of the soldiers and realized that most of them, although tired, were fit enough. He would have to try his ploy the next day. There would be no more opportunities to get away. As the columns began to turn and fan out to make camp, Sanat Ji Mani waited for the wagons to catch up, so that he might select the others to be disabled by the climb through the pass. At last he picked out the smallest of the water-wagons, a carriage filled with trunks and boxes containing clothing and armor, and a donkeypulled cart bearing cooking pots and utensils for one of the cooks, who trudged along beside it rather than try to steer the donkey with reins. Those three, and Tulsi's wagon, would have wheel trouble on the next day. Satisfied that he knew what to do, he rode toward Tulsi's wagon and its pair of weary mules.
"I thought you would not come until later," she said as she saw him ride up; in the dwindling light, he seemed to be a bit of night arriving ahead of the dark.
"I have an injury; the Rajput has ordered me to tend to it." He rode to the back of the wagon, secured the dun's reins to the back support, then scrambled into the rear. Making his way to the front of the wagon, he called out to her, "We go over the pass tomorrow, as I expected. The Rajput is determined on it."
"And we will have an accident?" she called back, keeping her voice as low as she could.
"Yes. I will take care of that later, after midnight," he said as he emerged at her side. "Watch closely. We will be guided to a place to set up for the night."
"That I will," she said, and made a point of sitting up straighter to show how alert she was.
He lifted his right foot and looked down at the bloody leather of his boot. "Ah. I can see what bothered the Rajput," he said as he pulled off the boot with care and inspected the old injury; the wound through his foot had opened, not all the way, but enough to delay his healing by several months. He cursed in his native tongue, then noticed that Tulsi was staring at him in horror. "It looks dreadful, I know. But it is not dangerous, only inconvenient."
"It seems hideous," she said. "I thought you were improving. You said you were." There was an accusation in this last.
"I was. I am. It is much better than when I got the staple out," he reminded her.
"It made me sick to watch," she said quietly. "I do not like to think about it."
"Nor do I," he said. "I will have to wrap it tightly for a week or so, to keep it from opening any more."
"Do you think that will be sufficient?" She had to fight down the anxiety that was regaining a hold on her. "Can we manage our escape tomorrow?" The wagon lurched as she swung the mules off the main track to follow the other wagons to the place they would be assigned for the night.
"My foot should not stop that," he said. "The sun will be harder to manage than this injury." He was holding onto the seat as if the bumpy ride did not bother him. "In fact, we may be able to use the foot as a reason not to fix the wagon too quickly."
"You are a very wily man," she said, keeping her tone light. "No wonder the Rajput wants your advice."
"He wants it, but does not often take it. If he truly believes that I am Timur-i, he is behaving oddly." He noticed one of the officers directing them to turn aside and halt. "I think we have reached the halt."
"The mules will be pleased," she said, and pulled their reins to get them into position, then wrapped the reins around the splash-board and climbed down, reaching for their halters as she did. "Can you help me with the grooming?" she called up to Sanat Ji Mani.
"Of course," he said rather brusquely. "I will bring the brushes," he told her, reaching under the driving-box for the grooming supplies; with these in hand, he struggled to the ground, walking awkwardly, favoring his bleeding foot as he went to help unharness the mules.
By the time they were done and the mules were eating the handfuls of grain given to them before they were put on a grazing line for the night, the first wonderful odors of cooking were filling the air, reminding Tulsi that she was famished. She stowed her grooming supplies back under the driving-box, got out their cups and bowls from inside the wagon, and turned to Sanat Ji Mani, who was sitting on the ground, trying to tend to his foot. "I am going to get some food. Shall I bring some for you?" It would be expected of her and she had done it every night since the army had set off.
"Yes, if you would," he said, knowing she would eat it. "Not too much."
"As you wish," she said, but hesitated. "Do you have cloth to wrap that?"
"I do. Go along and get our meals," he said, glancing up at her with a generous smile. "I will have this taken care of by the time you return."
"Very well," she said, and set off toward the nearest of the newly blazing fires, prepared to wait in line for the shares of food being cooked. She wanted to stretch out her tired muscles, to do some of her tumbling tricks just to limber up, but did not: in the morning there would be a little time to exercise before beginning their day with the army-their last day with the army, she reminded herself, and did her best to feel encouraged. By the time she got back to the wagon, Sanat Ji Mani had his boot on once again and was practicing walking, trying to minimize his limp. "How does it feel?"
"A bit raw," he admitted. "But not impossibly so."
"Do you think you can make everything ready for tomorrow?" she asked as she sank down next to the wagon and began to eat the broiled lamb with the chickpea bread that had been the evening fare offered, along with hot, dark tea. "It may be difficult to accomplish."
"I must do it," he said. "When are we going to have another opportunity like the one we will have tomorrow?"
"I do not want to guess," said Tulsi, taking a long sip of the cardamom-spiced tea. "You may not have another opportunity before there is a battle, and then, anything might happen."
"So it might," Sanat Ji Mani said.
"Given what the Rajput thinks of you, he may well order you to the front of the army, to be beside him." There was bitterness in her voice, and an attitude of distress. "What can we do, if that is what the Rajput wants?"
"And probably will insist upon; Hasin Dahele will have his way," said Sanat Ji Mani, continuing to pace the small area between Tulsi's wagon and the next vehicle.
"Are you certain we will escape?" Tulsi's question came without apology.
"I hope we will," Sanat Ji Mani admitted.
"Hope," she echoed. "So you must tell me, what will we do if our plan does not work? Do you have another in mind?" Tulsi blinked her nervousness. "Is this our only chance?"
"There can be others, but they may require more planning, and more luck," he said.
"Then you have been thinking about alternatives?" She took a large bite of lamb and chewed with determination.
Sanat Ji Mani considered her question. "If it comes to that, we can always die," he said, so blandly that she stared. "You know, make it appear we are dead. It can be done. It is risky, but so is getting away on the mules."
She nodded. "I suppose you are right," she said, and was about to say more when the sound of approaching hoofbeats caught her attention; she saw that Sanat Ji Mani was standing still, his attention directed toward five approaching horsemen.
"Sanat Ji Mani," the Rajput called out. "I have been mulling over your injury, and I have decided to provide you an escort, in case you should need any additional help. These are Challa Bahlin, Sambarin Kheb, Garanai Kheb, and Kantu Asar. They will bear you company for as long as you may need them." He indicated the men behind him as he spoke their names. "I cannot rid myself of the notion that your foot will fester, and you will need to have men to do your bidding."
Sanat Ji Mani looked up at the Rajput. "Such attention is too much, Rajput. I have no need of the protection you offer."
"It is like you to say such things, to carry on in the face of injury," said Hasin Dahele. "But I cannot be as unconcerned as you, for I rely upon you for instruction. I will not neglect you; that would compromise my mission."
"You have your troops to think of first," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You will need to provide for them before you care for me, or any other advisors you may have." He kept his stance upright and his demeanor respectful, but watching him, Tulsi could see he was vexed.
Hasin Dahele laughed. "Two will be with you by night, and two by day," he said as if he had not heard what Sanat Ji Mani had told him.
"It is unnecessary," Sanat Ji Mani said with more force.
"It is my Will," said Hasin Dahele in a tone that ended the matter; he turned his horse abruptly, and rode away, two of the men following him, two remaining.
Sanat Ji Mani considered the men. "Will you remain far enough from us that my woman and I may be alone?"
For an answer, the two men repositioned themselves a short distance from the wagon, one by the grazing-line of the mules, the other beyond the rear of the wagon; they dismounted and took up their posts without saying a word.
Tulsi began to eat again, and managed to mutter to him, "I understood most of that: it seems we will have to die."
"Yes," Sanat Ji Mani agreed. "So it does."
Text of a letter from Rogerian in Alexandria to Atta Olivia Clemens in Rome; written in Imperial Latin.
To the oldest friend of my master, the greetings of Rogerian, with what little news as I have to impart.
Again, there is nothing to report from the lands of Hind, but that another small war may be underway in the western mountains of the central region, or so Rustam Iniattir's nephew Zal Iniattir has sent him word from the fortress-town of Asirgarh. If Sanct' Germain has been in that region, he may well be occupied with avoiding the conflict that seems about to erupt among the various people who live in those uplands. This is all conjecture, I grant you, and it is not unlikely that when he finally arrives here, or in Rome, it will turn out that he has been in China or Russia or some other place, making his way westward or eastward as the circumstances demand. But so long as Rustam Iniattir has heard this, I think it behooves me to pass it on to you, if for no other reason than to provide some notion of the difficulties that have arisen in that part of the world, and the consequent dangers such events can represent.
The business here continues to do well. I have entered into a formal trading agreement with Rustam Iniattir which I am convinced will be advantageous to my master when he finally returns. Rustam Iniattir is a prudent merchant with a clever eye to the market-places he can seek. I share his belief that there are goods from Europe that would be valuable in the East, and goods from the East that will be treasures in Europe. Whatever the case, if nothing else, this adds to the access Sanct' Germain has to the spice trade. His profits from pepper alone could be vast beyond reckoning, so long as the House of Iniattir maintains its position among merchants. I have agreed to carry his goods in Sanct' Germain's ships from Alexandria throughout the Mediterranean and Atlantic ports of call, and to allow him to purchase partnerships in three vessels, over time, so that his incentive to continue the association remains high.
Your admonition in regard to Avasa Dani was well-considered. She has her own establishment, at the edge of the Foreigners' Quarter, where she stands to be most successful with the least difficulties. I have paid handsome bribes to ensure her business will be undisrupted, and that she will not have to rely on the whims of patrons to gain the protection she requires in her chosen endeavor. She has employed fourteen women and plans eventually to have twenty in her household. She has set aside dowries for all the women and promised to find them suitable husbands when their days of employment in her house are at an end; for those who do not wish to be married, she has said she will provide all the trappings of widowhood and help the women to have their own households in another place, where no whiff of their former occupation can work against them. She is satisfied with her situation, and is content to remain as she is for the time being.
I have dispatched notice to all the captains aboard Sanct' Germain's ships and all the warehouse supervisors, to be alert for Sanct' Germain; I have provided two ways for them to be sure the man they have is the authentic Sanct' Germain, and have promised a reward to any of them who are able to assist him in coming to Alexandria or Rome. It may be an empty gesture, but I must do something, for sitting here waiting is taking its toll on me, and I would far rather attempt too much than do too little. He is not in Tunis or Spain now, but he might as well be. I am determined to aid him however I can. If you have suggestions of what more I can do, I ask that you send me word of them, and at once.
This, by my own hand on the 29th day of May in the year of the Roman Church 1400,
Rogerian