Path of the Eclipse (46 page)

“Do you think he’ll be able to get you the glass you need?” Rogerio had resumed making measurements, and was kneeling now, setting the knotted cord against the foot of the wall.

“Probably not, but if he will supply me the sands I’ve required, I will be able to blow my own utensils. I’d have to do that for the athanor vessels in any case.” Then he added inconsequently, “I doubt if Chol can get white brass. I must be prepared to make that, as well.”

Rogerio got to his feet. “I have taken two sacks of your earth and put them behind the others in this cabinet.” He spoke in Latin, and very quickly, in the atrocious accent of the Ostia wharves that had not been heard in more than eight hundred years. “Of the rest, half is under your mattress, the other half in the false back of your Roman chest. I’m planning to move one of the sacks to the stables after you are given permission to have horses.”

“Excellent,” Saint-Germain said. “I have disposed of the portion I had in ways I think I had better not describe. You will be able to plead ignorance, if you must.”

They had been through too much together for Rogerio to question the wisdom of this. He went back to his measuring, and stopped only when Bhatin entered the room.

The eunuch bowed to Saint-Germain, ignoring Rogerio entirely. “Esteemed guest of my most-favored mistress,” he said in educated and poetic accents, “it is my privilege and honor to bring you a summons from Padmiri, sister of the Rajah Dantinusha, she who is known as Manas Sattva for her great devotion to learning and truth. It is the wish of this most-favored lady that you come to her reception room with me at this time so that it is possible for you to discuss the matters that are of interest to you both. It is the will of this most-favored lady that you be prepared to enlarge upon the earlier message that you sent through me, and which, in humble duty to this most-favored lady, I reported wholly and without alteration. Therefore, be good enough to ready yourself at once so that Padmiri, daughter of the Rajah Kare Dharmasval, sister of the Rajah Kare Dantinusha, may not be insulted by unseemly delay.”

Saint-Germain was not familiar with the proper form of ritual courtesy, but he knew that his acknowledgment of Bhatin’s address should be elegantly expressed. “Good eunuch, be assured that your summons on behalf of your mistress, the most-favored lady Padmiri, crowns my day with honor. Let me give my servant brief instruction so that he will not be idle while I avail myself of this unhoped-for opportunity.” He turned to Rogerio, speaking now in Greek. “As you probably guessed, Padmiri wants to see me. If she grants my request for horses and a boat, we may yet find our way downriver, and from there, board a ship for Egypt or the port of Safwan.”

Rogerio bowed deeply. “May it be so, and before the rains begin in the spring,” he responded in Greek.

“There,” Saint-Germain said to Bhatin, once again speaking in the high-caste manner he had learned long ago. “My servant has his instructions. I await only your guidance on how best to comport myself in the presence of your most-favored lady.”

“It is fitting that you inquire, foreigner,” Bhatin said unctuously. “It is not uncommon for strangers to be unbearably insulting to great ladies.” He led the way to the door and started down the neglected hall, not looking to see whether or not Saint-Germain followed him.

As he fell into step behind the eunuch, Saint-Germain pondered the outcome of the interview ahead.

Text of a letter from the commander of the Rajah’s guard, Sudra Guristar, to the village elder Damilha.

To Damilha, village elder, who will be delegate to the periyanadu of Natha Suryarathas forthcoming, the commander of the Rajah Dantinusha’s guard is pleased to send his greetings and wishes for safe and swift travel.

Let me assure that all preparations for the great periyanadu are well in hand, and the occasion will certainly be a most fortuitous one for all of the country. I am filled with delight that a meeting of this nature should be held now, for I am confident that it will reveal once again how great the strength of our people can be and how puny the men from Delhi compared to our own. There are many who rely on you, Damilha, and those like you, to demonstrate that our might does not come from the whim of the Sultan Shams-ud-din Iletmish, but from our people, our gods and our blood.

It is with sorrow that I have observed, as have many others, the changing ways of some of those of high rank. They seek to placate the Sultan in the south and emulate his decadent ways, forgetting the land and the gods that are the glory of Natha Suryarathas. Such men, though often acting from goodwill, are, nonetheless, seduced by the promises and luxuries of the Sultanate, and they forget that it was not very many years ago that the land they tread now was ours, and the men they profess to despise ruled for ages in the place where they have spent so little time. Doubtless you will see evidence of this and it may pain you to realize that there are those who feel that this is the course of wisdom, and counsel delay, tolerance, and subservience rather than encouraging all those here to rise against the foreigners who oppress us.

When you speak at the periyanadu, it may be that you will mention your concerns, and it may be that others will discuss this with you when the gatherings are less official. At either time, in either place, it is well to remember that there are those who seek to curry favor with the men of the Sultan and will provoke you to speak rashly. Let me urge you to be circumspect in all things, for it would be most awkward for your Rajah to be faced with unpleasantness while the men of the Sultanate are his guests. Rather watch and evaluate for yourself. Then later, if it should seem to you that there is truly reason for concern, it might be wise to bring the whole question up at your local meetings, so that a true consensus may be achieved before any action or recommendations are undertaken.

How you must contemplate with joy the opportunity to bow before the gods and offer them the splendors of this great celebration which will follow the periyanadu. If there is a way to offer the gods recompense for the insults they have endured from the men of the Sultan, this must be the way. The Rajah has shown great perspicacity in this, for it is wholly appropriate that he should invoke the gods at such a time, and yet he has chosen to do it in such a way that the ambassador may not say to those in Delhi that Rajah Dantinusha has forgotten himself and offered us a challenge that will lead to war. Other, more hotheaded men might decide to attack the party of the ambassador, and it would not be badly thought of in many quarters. Yet Dantinusha sees beyond this, and for that reason it is well that we appear complacent, no matter how bitterly our hearts bum within us.

To you, and the men who will gather for the periyanadu, the gods smile upon your journey, and may your sacrifices be received with full acceptance and favor. The festival will be a tribute that any man may be proud to take part in, and may afterward boast that he participated in a most auspicious gathering.

Sudra Guristar,

Commander of the guard

of Rajah Kare Dantinusha,

the nineteenth year of his reign,

third year since the defeat of the uprising,

the forty-fourth year of his life

2

As Ab-she-lam Eidan approached the elevated dais where Rajah Kare Dantinusha sat in state, he and his party made low salaams to him, calling down the blessings of Allah upon him, though he was a Hindu infidel. The ambassador placed his foot on the bottom step, then knelt and bent in the full courtesy one Hindu Prince might give another. “From the Sultan Shams-ud-din Iletmish at Delhi, whom Allah protect and guide, to you, Great Lord, the most respectful and profound greetings.”

Rajah Dantinusha had shaded his eyes against the sun, for the great open tent of striped silk faced the west and offered no protection now that it was midafternoon. “Rise, rise, Ab-she-lam Eidan, and come nearer so that a true greeting may be exchanged.” He did not rise, as he might have for the Sultan himself, but waited until the ambassador had reached the top step. They kissed each other’s cheeks and lips, and spat into the shade to ensure protection against the manipulations of demons.

“A glorious beginning to your festivities, Great Lord,” Ab-she-lam Eidan assured the Rajah. “Surely my master, the Sultan, must count himself unfortunate to have missed this fine display.”

“Surely so great a ruler as the Sultan has seen festivals of greater splendor and magnitude than this one, for the expanse of his kingdom is great, as my distant fathers knew, and the riches of the plains far exceed what we have here in the mountains. The entertainment we offer is poor in comparison to the magnificence of the Sultan, but it is given to delight the gods and bring favor upon us as well as to express the satisfaction in the completion of the periyanadu which has brought such pride to the country.”

This was the signal for the Muslim ambassador to step down from the dais and rejoin his party, who clustered around the platform’s base. He salaamed again, and made his way down the steps backward, going cautiously, and wishing that Rajah Dantinusha would grant him the favor of walking down the stairs facing to the front. As he reached the bottom step, the whole party bowed deeply, and turned away.

A great crashing of cymbals and beating of tuned drums got the attention of the crowd who had gathered for the festivities. The thumping and clashing effectively silenced all conversations, and the people on the small field faced toward the tall open tent of striped silk, their faces expectant.

Dantinusha had risen, holding his gem-inlaid silver elephant goad high. This symbol of his authority was recognized throughout Natha Suryarathas, and was regarded with awe by Dantinusha’s subjects. At a gesture from the Rajah, Rialkot, his herald, came to stand beside him. Dantinusha turned to the burly man, saying quietly, “Commend them all for being here.”

Rialkot placed his hand over his heart to indicate he would obey, and then his enormous voice boomed out over the field. “It is the wish of the Rajah Kare Dantinusha that each of you take deep and abiding satisfaction from your presence at these festivities. You may all know that you have been commended for attending, and for this reason, you are most favored by the Rajah and the gods.” As he finished, the drums and gongs and cymbals set up a dreadful racket.

“Tell them that on this occasion I am going to present them with my heir, so that they will all know who it is, and will uphold the claim.” He remembered the uprising as he said this, and knew that it was necessary to ensure there would not be another such insurrection.

“The Rajah Dantinusha,” the herald announced, “wishes all here to share in his pleasure at the choice of his heir. The gods have given him forty-four years of life, and have been allies in his battles, and it is fitting that he show you, the world and the gods, his choice of succession. You are to have a distinguished favor today. Rajah Kare Dantinusha will present you his heir for your acclamation.”

There was a mixed reaction to this revelation, and many of the elders who had attended the periyanadu looked toward the Muslims with open hostility even while they gave voice to their approval of this presentation.

“Remind them that I have no living sons,” Dantinusha murmured to the herald.

“It has pleased the gods to send no long-living son to the Rajah. Surely this is the price they have exacted for their aid in dangerous times. Worthy is the Rajah who is willing to give up his sons in order to protect the country.”

This was met with all sorts of hoots, cheers and cacophony from the drums and gongs.

“Remind them that I do have a grown daughter.” Dantinusha was rubbing his lower lip, quite concerned now, for this was the greatest test he faced. The periyanadu had been minor in comparison. If the people, particularly the elders, were willing to support his heir, there would be no convenient civil war, no ruling gap that the Islamic generals might construe as an open invitation to seize power in Natha Suryarathas.

“The Rajah is fully mindful of the favors the gods have done him, and all here have seen evidence that he is much favored. Therefore he has taken great pride in as much of his family as are left to him after the predations of rebellious conflicts. He has a daughter, full in flower and of great reputed wit and beauty.” The herald had to raise his huge voice even more toward the end to be heard over the buzz of sound that swarmed through the gathering.

“Remind them that I have not given her in marriage,” the Rajah said quietly, watching the sudden movement in the various groups of people below him. It was an effort not to scowl. In other times, he thought, there would have been many sons and nephews to the Maharajahs of the kingdom, but those days had fled. Had this been such a time, he would not have hesitated to scowl, or to order Sibu, the executioner, to dispose of those who appeared to be talking disapproval.

“The Rajah, treasuring his daughter as a jewel beyond price, and knowing how fragile the chain of rule may be, has kept her near him rather than made her the wife of any of the Princes or sons of Princes in the lands bordering Natha Suryarathas. So fair and beloved is this daughter of Dantinusha that she is placed first in his heart and it is not possible for him to coerce her into taking a more subservient role than the one she has here.” Rialkot, the herald, stopped to clear his throat.

“Tell them that it is my will that she be my heir until such time as she bear a son, who will then be Rajah.” He folded his arms, wishing that the sun were not in his eyes. His head throbbed from it.

“Fully mindful of the obligations to his family and his country, it is the will of the Rajah that his daughter be recognized as his heir, to rule after him, until such time as she bring forth a son of her own to be your Rajah.” He waited while the roar from the gathered festival-keepers began to subside, saying quietly to Dantinusha, “What more should I tell them, Great Lord?”