He could not disagree with her. "All right." He turned to face her directly, his compelling gaze fixed on her. "What I would want of you is touching, the closeness and fulfillment that brings you joy."
"What kind of joy?" Suspicion made her abrupt with him.
"The kind that comes from the release of the body, the gratification of flesh and spirit." He was very still.
"You mean you want to become my lover?" She took a step back.
"In my fashion, yes, if you desire I be that." He watched her intently, sensing her ambivalence. "If you do not desire it, then I will not pursue it."
"I… I do not know what I desire," she said, her hands shaking.
"Then I will wait until you do." He pointed to the hollow. "Come. Let us get you settled."
"And you will stay with me?" she asked, hating the fear she heard in her voice. "Just tonight? There is something about this place that makes me… edgy."
"If you want me to stay with you, I will." He would miss the requisite blood he sought, but a single night without it would not be too enervating; if he had his native earth with him, the lack would be little more than an inconvenience, without it, his needs would be keener but not truly unendurable.
"Yes: I want you to stay. If you leave, I fear something dreadful will happen." She lowered her eyes, abashed.
"Very well," he said, thrusting the length of root ahead of him to make enough of a disturbance to chase away any creatures lurking in the hollow. "If you have such misgiving, there is no more to be said. I will remain with you all night."
"Thank you," she said, a bit embarrassed now that he had agreed.
"It is not so cold that we would need a fire for warmth, at least not until much later," he went on; they were almost to the hollow and he proceeded with care. "We may light one for protection, but it would also alert others to our presence, which you may not want to do. Shall I make a fire or not?"
"You ask me?" She was startled by his question.
"Yes. You have an intuition of peril: you will know better than I whether or not a fire will benefit us." He thumped the root on the ground; a small flock of startled birds took to the air, the flapping of their wings as loud as loosed arrows. Then a large snake wriggled away through the underbrush. "There. The place is empty."
Tulsi smiled nervously. "I did not mean to make such a fuss."
"A sensible precaution is hardly a fuss," Sanat Ji Mani told her as he took the last half-dozen steps up to the hollow and ducked inside it. "We should be safe enough now."
She came after him, thinking herself in a leafy cave; she stretched out her arms and turned around slowly. "It is larger than I thought."
He swatted cobwebs out of the way and motioned to her to come farther into the hollow. "If you keep toward the back, no one can see you unless he is standing in the opening."
"That is comforting," she said, and wondered why. What was it that niggled at her so? She picked her way to his side. "You could put a horse in here."
"Close quarters for a horse," he said.
"You know what I mean," she reprimanded him playfully. "It is sheltered and a good hiding place."
"By the smell of it, there have been nilgai sleeping here." He pictured two or three of these large, big-shouldered antelope lying close together in the hollow.
"Will they return?" Tulsi asked, glad to have a question that was safe.
"Not while we are here; for all their size nilgai are timorous creatures," he answered. "I should think most of the animals will give us a wide berth, if they can." He crouched down and patted the mat of leaves. "I'll get a few leaved branches from outside to make this a bit softer for you." He handed her the length of root. "Keep this, in case you need it."
Before he could step outside, she touched his arm again. "Do not go far."
"I am only walking around the thicket," he assured her. "I will not need much time. You can decide about the fire while I am working."
She sighed. "I will try."
"That is all I ask." He went out into the night, going a dozen steps away from the hollow so as not to make any broken branches too obvious an indication of their presence. He pulled down four branches, good-sized ones with large leaves, and dragged them back to the hollow; his foot was aching and he suspected he should change the wrapping again, to remove the grit that had worked its way into the wound.
"Is that you?" Tulsi whispered as he came back to the hollow with his branches dragging behind him.
"Yes. If you will stand aside, I will put these down for you."
She moved quickly, wanting the protection of the hollow as much as his presence. "I have heard nothing distressing," she said, her nervousness flaring once more.
"Neither have I," he said, putting down the branches to form a springy pallet. "And the branches have obliterated our tracks, in case anyone should attempt to follow us."
Her smile was quick but genuine. "That was clever."
He sat down on the edge of the branches. "More pragmatic than clever," he told her. "We will contrive to protect ourselves."
This time her smile lasted longer. "You have been very good to me, accommodating me as you have. No one has done so much for me before."
"No one has led you into such jeopardy as I have, either," he said, a note of self-condemnation in his voice.
"I have traveled with Timur-i's army. I have long known danger." She sank down behind him. "I prefer this to battle."
"You should not have to deal with either," he said. "By all the forgotten gods, I hope I can bring you at last to the life you want for yourself."
"That you would like to do it is enough," she said, lying back on the branches and looking past him into the limpid night.
"No, it is not," he said. "For now it is all I can do." He swung around to look at her, an apology forming on his lips.
Tulsi put her arms around his waist and hung on as if she were afraid of falling. "Do not talk about it," she said. "Please."
"Very well," he said, stroking her fine brown hair.
"It is too hard, hearing these things from you," she said, her forehead pressed against his side. "I know you would change the world if you could. Let that suffice."
"If you like," he said, so kindly that she began to weep; he continued to stroke her hair, saying nothing while she cried herself out. Gradually she stopped. "You have been through too much, Tulsi Kil."
"I was born to it, you were not. You have suffered more than I, and you did not shed a single tear," she said, pulling away from him.
"Because I cannot; those of my blood have no tears to shed." He looked at her in the darkness, seeing her face more clearly than she knew. "It is our nature."
"You never cry? Never?" She stared at him incredulously.
"Alas, no." He took a deep breath. "You are more fortunate than you realize."
She considered him while she wiped the last of the wetness from her face with her fingers. "Why do you say this?"
He did not answer her directly. "Without tears to release it, grief lasts a very long time. Those of us who live long have much to grieve." For an instant, Csimenae's angry features rose in his mind, and then vanished as Heugenet took her place; he shook his head to banish both memories.
"Why do you have so much to weep for?" Tulsi asked, truly curious.
Sanat Ji Mani regarded her steadily. "Most of the men and women I have known are dead— that is the price of longevity."
"And exile," she added, and moved closer to him once more; he said nothing for a short while, then he lifted her hands and kissed them. "Why did you do that?"
"It is a sign of respect in the West," he said. "Men kiss the hands of Kings, of high-ranking priests, and the women they love, to show devotion."
She pulled her hands away. "No. You do not mean that."
"Why do you say that? Why would I not?" He made no move to touch her.
"Because I want it too much," she whispered.
"Ah," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"I have not wanted anything so much, not even my troupe of acrobats and tumblers." She could not bring herself to look at him. "I do not know what to say. I should not have spoken."
"Then shall we share our chagrin, or shall we seek other remedies?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, his desolation of spirit beginning to lift. "You may choose whatever course you wish."
"But it might be ruined," Tulsi exclaimed in an undervoice.
"Because you spoke, or because of how you feel?" Her answer was crucial; he waited for it attentively.
"Because now you know," she answered.
* * *
Text of a report sent to Azizi Iniattir in Sirpur from Zal Iniattir in Asirgarh.
* * *
To my most esteemed and dedicated kinsman, Azizi Iniattir, the greeting of Zal Iniattir from the city of Asirgarh where our House is now established and ready to continue our business as before, and where
we may hope to flourish as we have done in the past.
Askari Daitya has arrived here with almost half his caravan, which is better than we had hoped, for we all feared he had perished in the fighting that broke out after Timur-i sacked Delhi. He himself is well and most of his men who were not killed or taken to be slaves are healthy, a blessing that is doubly sweet to our House, for it means we have salvaged some of what we believed we had lost, and we have kept our most accomplished caravan leader. I have informed him that you are still in place in Sirpur, which was welcome news to him.
To add to our happiness, Manah Spentas has come here from Gujerat, his goods in fine condition. He says that the conditions in Gujerat are improving and that it will soon have a Sultan of its own, free from the battles and bickering among the Tughluqs and Timur-i's puppet
This news encourages me to hope that in a few years we might be able once again to use the port of Cambay for shipping, for once the turmoil is over in Gujerat, the Sultan will want all the revenues he can garner, and payment of customs duties is a fine source of gold and favors. Manah Spentas intends to return to Gujerat after the rains. They will not begin for some weeks yet, but Manah Spentas has made enough money to be able to afford time to himself, to arrange for another wife and to establish a house for her here.
I have twice sponsored a banquet for the high-ranking officials of the city, and have gained favor through this demonstration of goodwill. It is most promising to be received as a person of respect in Asirgarh, and it bodes well for our future. It is my plan to hold another banquet in a month to ensure our place in the city, after which I shall write to you again to inform you of any benefits that may accrue to us.
We have once again heard rumors that Timur-i has been deposed by his own men, and has been abandoned to wander the roads of the world, lame and half-blind. This has been suggested before, and so I am disinclined to believe it. Still, it is persistently told and many believe it is true. Who knows— this time it may be the truth. If you learn anything that confirms or contradicts this report, I ask you to send me word at once. If the trade routes are free of his soldiers, it will be good news for us and all merchants.
The news from Delhi, such as it is, is more discouraging. I have been informed that the men supporting the Sultan Nasiruddin Mohammed bin Tughluq have been fighting with those advancing the claims of Timur-i's man, and as a result, the ruins have become a battleground for those who seek to establish power in the city; it is not unlike vultures fighting over the bones of a water buffalo. So long as the dispute continues, Delhi will continue to be a place of death and want.
You have informed me that you have heard from Rustam Iniattir in Fustat, and that he has secured permission for sending out caravans and trading in the goods they bring, which is welcome news to all of us. To have access to the Mameluke Empire and all that lies beyond is as useful in its way as being able to reach the principalities of Russia or the rich markets of Lithuania. I am planning to avail myself of his market-places, and I advise you to do the same. Let us pray that this arrangement will continue for many generations, and expand the success our House has worked so hard to achieve.
My second wife has given birth to twin boys, which I take to be a propitious omen. I have named the older Rustam and the younger Zal, to remind us all how we are joined together in our endeavors. If they live through childhood, I will know myself to be a most fortunate man. I am sorry my second wife did not survive their birth, but my first wife has taken them to her bosom as if she had borne them herself, and so I have no fear for their well-being.
Write to me soon with as much news as you can. I will pay for a messenger if you are not yet able to afford such an expenditure. You and your family are in my prayers, as are all of the House of Iniattir; I trust I am in yours as well.
