"Yes. He told me earlier he would," Sanat Ji Mani agreed in the same language.
"While the rains are in full pelter," Rojire went on.
"He is determined to go," Sanat Ji Mani said. "He does not want to be seduced from his religious vocation."
"He never said so," Rojire exclaimed in disbelief.
"Not precisely, no; but something very like," Sanat Ji Mani responded.
Rojire shook his head. "And you— you had nothing to say about this absurd scheme?"
"My old friend, what could I say?" Sanat Ji Mani paused for an answer; when none was forthcoming, he went on, "Lum is a grown man, and he has chosen a purpose in his life to which he adheres with tenacity. That you or I might not agree with his decision has nothing to do with what he is committed to doing. If you are certain you have the right to do so, you may try to dissuade him if you wish. For my part, I will make up a box with ointments and tinctures for him to take with him; I will instruct him in their use, and I will hope, for his own sake, that he has no occasion to use them on himself."
"You are not going to try to change his mind, are you," said Rojire.
"No," Sanat Ji Mani said. "I am not."
There was a silence between them as the rain beat its tattoo on the parchment screens. Then Rojire shrugged. "I will have a water-skin made ready for him, and have lentil-bread prepared."
"He may not accept it," Sanat Ji Mani warned.
"He may not," said Rojire. "But it will be offered in any case. He may share it with beggars or feed it to goats."
"He may," Sanat Ji Mani said, a trace of amusement in his dark eyes.
"You could insist," Rojire went on. "You've saved his life: he would have to listen to you."
At this Sanat Ji Mani chuckled. "Given his opinion of me, I doubt it." He took a pot of fox-glove and moved it to another part of the courtyard. "Let him do as he must, Rojire."
"He could die. He is not as strong as he thinks he is," Rojire declared.
"Then he will discover it for himself, and he will decide what to do." Sanat Ji Mani paused in his activities. "What is it about Lum that makes you so protective of him? You have seen many others who have endured as much, or worse, than he, and you did not try to keep them from harm as you have Lum."
"I cannot say what it is," Rojire admitted. "He rouses my sympathy. It may be that he has undertaken so thankless a pilgrimage, or that he has given up his family."
"You have not been impressed by other pilgrims we have known," Sanat Ji Mani reminded him.
"Not generally, no," said Rojire. "But most of them were Muslim or Christian."
"Do you feel sympathy for Avasa Dani's husband?" Sanat Ji Mani asked.
"Hardly," Rojire said with a single snort of laughter. "I think he has behaved… shabbily."
"Yet you admire Lum, who has done the same thing," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out.
"He has not left a wife behind in precarious circumstances," Rojire said.
"Are you certain of that? He has said nothing of the conditions of his life before he became a pilgrim: in fact, he has conspicuously avoided giving any information about himself. Perhaps even now there is a family in Kua-chou that is begging or sold into slavery because of Lum." Sanat Ji Mani watched while Rojire considered this. "He could be using his pilgrimage as an excuse for desertion."
"He may, but I will not believe it: he is no Frater Paulinus," said Rojire at last. "I will grant you that there is some secret in his past that weighs on him, but I will not account him a coward because of it."
"You are always a staunch ally," Sanat Ji Mani said with genuine feeling.
At last Rojire shrugged. "Well, no matter what accounts for it, I am concerned for Lum's welfare, and I cannot be at ease with his departure."
Sanat Ji Mani nodded. "Tell him, if you think it will make a difference."
Rojire shook his head. "No. It would seem a slight to his faith, wouldn't it?"
"Very likely," said Sanat Ji Mani. Picking up without effort a tub containing a young willow, he added, "You will do as you think best."
"If I can determine what that is," said Rojire; he glanced up at the screens. "It will be dark soon. Do you want lamps brought out to you?"
"It would probably be wiser than not," Sanat Ji Mani decided aloud. "Have Garuda do it. He has been trying to show his reliability since
Hirsuma left, to make up for his lapse in dealing with Hirsuma."
"All right." Rojire paused. "Have you learned anything about him?"
"Hirsuma? only that his family refused to take him in when he came to them. I have been told he applied to the Sultan's household for work, but was not given any."
"He is not a reliable man," said Rojire, as if that settled the matter.
"On the contrary: he is most reliable. He will always strive to do that which will bring him influence over others." Sanat Ji Mani left off his labor and motioned to Rojire to come nearer. "I have noticed that the scrawny man Hirsuma spoke to is still watching this house from time to time."
"As have I," said Rojire. "And I have once sent him about his business."
"That might not be entirely advisable," Sanat Ji Mani said. "But it's done."
"Why is it not advisable?" Rojire asked.
Before Sanat Ji Mani could answer the clapper sounded outside the courtyard door. "I am not expecting anyone."
"Shall I admit him?" Rojire knew that only men would present themselves at the door in this fashion.
"Yes, if you would," said Sanat Ji Mani in the Delhi dialect. "Then ask Garuda to bring lamps out here."
"As you wish, my master," said Rojire in the same tongue; the call to sunset prayers came from the mosques of Delhi. He opened the gate, bowed a welcome, and went to issue the order for lamps.
Standing in the doorway was Rustam Iniattir, his garments wet, his boots muddy, his stance dejected. "I have been visited by the Sultan's Minister for Taxes, Rents, and Revenues," he said miserably, not bothering with a greeting.
"Murmar bin Tughluq," said Sanat Ji Mani. "What did that camel-thief want?" He did not hesitate in using such an epithet for Murmar bin Tughluq, who, in his youth, had been branded a thief for stealing asses and camels.
"Money, of course. The excuse is Timur-i. They say he could well attack this place, and that they must improve the fortifications and improve the army. As a foreigner, I am expected to contribute more than the Muslims or the followers of the Brahmin gods. If I do not
give what he asks for, he will call me a spy and confiscate everything my family has." He stepped inside and closed the gate behind him, but not before Sanat Ji Mani caught sight of the furtive, gaunt figure he had seen so often before.
"Then I would reckon he will pay me a visit for the same purpose," Sanat Ji Mani said with unruffled calm.
"Does it not outrage you?" Rustam Iniattir asked, more downcast than indignant.
"If I dwell upon it, it probably will," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But I have long ago accepted that the world is full of injustice, and there is little I do to change it."
"We will have to pay most of our profits from our caravan in taxes," said Rustam Iniattir. "It had such promise, and now this."
"The caravan will not return until next spring," Sanat Ji Mani reminded him. "By then, the tax may have been suspended."
"I have never known a tax, once levied against foreigners, to be lifted," Rustam Iniattir said wearily. "If the Sultan is going to take so much of my money, I will have no choice but to go elsewhere, so that I might profit from my efforts and keep enough of the profit to live in reasonable comfort." He stared at the screens in the last gloom of day. "Ingenious. Where did you learn such a trick?"
"In a place called Gaul," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Many years ago." It had been when he had accompanied Gaius Julius Caesar on campaign and seen the Roman troops use such screens to shelter in their earthworks; he smiled a little. "There the rain was cold."
"As it is in the mountains to the west of here," said Rustam Iniattir. He paced the courtyard, his countenance drawn with worry. "Ever since the Sultan's officers came, my thoughts have been in turmoil and I cannot decide what is best to do. I have no wish to leave, but if I remain, I must pay the Sultan's taxes, by which I will be ruined and my family will suffer greatly."
"You have factors in other cities, do you not? You do not have to remain here, do you?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, although he knew the answer.
"I have factors in six cities, and all of them are my relatives." Under happier conditions this would have been a boast; now it was only a forlorn admission.
Sanat Ji Mani spoke slowly but with increasing persuasion, "Then consider changing your abode to a place less demanding upon you. Why not appoint one of your nephews to be your factor here and take your family to another place until the danger of Timur-i is past and there is another Sultan in Delhi? You will still have to pay taxes, but you will only have to support your nephew and his family, not your wife and her children, and your concubines and their children."
"But travel just now is not safe," Rustam Iniattir said with uncharacteristic timorousness.
"It is rarely safe," Sanat Ji Mani reminded him. "You are a merchant, and you know that better than most."
Rustam Iniattir sat down on the little bench. "I do not want my family to suffer. If we travel and find worse than what we have left, I will have failed them."
"It is an honorable concern you have," Sanat Ji Mani assured him. "But if you find a safer haven, will you not rejoice that you had the foresight to leave when you could? I am not advising you lightly, nor do I want you to go for my own welfare; you are no longer secure here, and that will impinge on all you do, to your detriment." He approached his Parsi friend. "Delhi has been your home, and the home of your father, and his father, for generations. It is hard to leave a place when it has become as much home to you as your own country was."
"You may say so," said Rustam Iniattir with a slight shake of his head. "But your situation is not like mine. You came here only a few years ago, you have no wife or concubine or children to protect, so you may gad about the world without care, and have no worry beyond the soundness of your horses."
"It may seem so," Sanat Ji Mani allowed. "And yet, do you know, I would not recommend this course of action to you if I believe it would not benefit you, no matter how inconvenient it may be. Live in another city until you are sure you may return here without losing all you have labored so long to acquire." He stood still. "Rojire," he called out. "Where is Garuda with the lamps? It is getting quite dark." This very ordinary request broke the tension building between the Parsi and the foreigner.
"You are being sensible," Rustam Iniattir said. "I know it; I almost agree with it."
"Ah," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Almost."
"I have seventeen people dependent upon me. What am I to do? Even if I put my nephew Zal in charge of our affairs here, where are we to go?" He began to wring the water from his sleeves. "There are members of our family scattered throughout the world, but none are beyond the reach of Timur-i, if his sights are set upon them. Where may we be protected against him?"
Sanat Ji Mani considered briefly. "You have a factor in the Mameluke Empire, have you not? At the end of the Red Sea?"
"Yes. My cousin Rozdin is there, with his family." Rustam Iniattir coughed as if trying to loosen his chest. "I have thought of them. But how can I reach them? To get there we would have to cross through Timur-i's lands, and who knows what misfortune would befall us?"
"You would not have such trouble if you went by sea," said Sanat Ji Mani gently. "You could travel away from the Jagatai clan. I have ships that ply the waters of the Arabian Sea. If you are willing to travel south to Cambay in Gujerat at the mouth of the Sabarmati River, I could arrange for a ship to be at your disposal." As he spoke, he became more certain that this was the most provident thing to do. "You have little to fear once you are aboard my ship. Timur-i cannot ride his cavalry after you."
Rustam Iniattir gave another short, tight cough and began to knead his left shoulder with his right hand. "There are pirates." He looked up at Sanat Ji Mani, who noticed that the color had drained from his face. "There are storms. This is the season of rain and wind."
"Yes," Sanat Ji Mani allowed, a slight frown forming between his fine brows. "And so you must go on one of my largest and strongest ships."
"Why have you said nothing of your ships before?" Rustam Iniattir demanded suddenly, and interrupted himself with a series of sharp, barking coughs.
"Rojire!" Sanat Ji Mani called out as he went to examine Rustam Iniattir. "Go to my room in the top of the house and bring me the chalcedony flask. Quickly." He laid his hand on Rustam Iniattir's forehead. "You are clammy."
