Path of the Eclipse (48 page)

Ab-she-lam Eidan frowned at Jalal-im-al. “This is nothing to play with, young man. If our mission is handled skillfully, this principality will be under the rule of the Sultan before Tamasrajasi’s first son is circumcised.”

“Why not offer her one of the Sultan’s—whom Allah grant many blessings—sons? It seems the simplest way.” He looked again at the girl on the dais, and for an instant he was chilled. As a true Muslim, he told himself sternly, he had put away all superstition and placed his trust in the Will of Allah. But at that moment, whether it was the alcohol fumes in his head or something more, he trembled inwardly on this warm, bronze afternoon.

“That is too obvious. An infant, an idiot, would see through such a ploy. There is no way that the Sultan could more quickly alienate all the favor of the Rajah. It must be done otherwise. There are sons of Princes who lean toward Delhi for guidance now. Let one of them make Tamasrajasi his first wife and then you will see how things will change.” Ab-she-lam Eidan directed his attention to the dancers on the field, who were reenacting the coupling of Parvati and Shiva when they caused mountains to move with the violence of their lovemaking. “Wanton people,” he muttered.

“I’ve been told that those living in the east are far more lascivious.” He was not able to show the severe disapproval that his superior demanded, and for that reason he added, “It is said that such women, schooled as they are in pleasure, make superb concubines, for they are raised with men, not kept in isolation as virtuous women are.”

Ab-she-lam nodded toward the dais. “You need not look to the east to find wantons. Tamasrajasi is one such, or I have learned nothing in my life.” He started to walk away, but added a last instruction to the younger man. “Those at Delhi who sent you here have said that they wish that you, with your scholarship, find a way to talk with the sister of the Rajah, and win her favorable opinion. She is known for her learning, as you know.”

“Her favorable opinion? She lives half a day from the palace. How will I reach her?” Jalal-im-al protested, starting after Ab-she-lam.

“That is not my concern. This is your task and you must do as you think wisest.” He stopped. “That foreigner who was sent to her—he may be one path to the woman. You must ingratiate yourself with her, so that when Rajah Dantinusha is dead, she will speak on our behalf and the continuation of the truce.”

Jalal-im-al felt a tremor of alarm through his giddiness. “Ingratiate myself? The woman is fifty-two years old. How am I to ingratiate myself with such a creature?”

This time there was no response from Ab-she-lam, who quickly vanished into the crowd. Jalal-im-al tried at first to follow the ambassador, then glared petulantly toward the dancers on the field, who were now beginning the portion of the performance that described the powers of destruction and Shiva on the Burning Ground.

A message from a spy in the household of Padmiri to Tamasrajasi, daughter of Rajah Dantinusha.

Revered mistress and favored child of the gods, humbly I seek to fulfill the task that you have set for me, so that the great time will hasten when the yoke of the unbelieving men of Delhi will be taken from us and the former glory of this country will be restored in greater splendor than before.

The sister of your father has continued in the same course she has taken for three years. She lives retired from the world, as you have been told many times before. She has received a few scholars and two traveling musicians since the rains have ceased. There was nothing remarkable about any of them, and the time she spent with them was much the same as she has given to others who were similar. She has shown no interest in the teachings of Islam, though she has three times in the past spoken with scholars of that erroneous creed. No person of military caste has visited her except for the Commander of the guard, Sudra Guristar, who comes regularly to see her servants here, inspect their weapons and be sure that Padmiri is properly guarded.

Your concern about the foreigner whom your father ordered here would seem to have little foundation. For the most part the man stays in his quarters and lives quietly, spending the greatest part of his time in the room he has filled with his alchemical apparatus. No one has anything to say about him, except that his servant knows so little of the language that it is difficult to get him to understand the most basic instructions. The master, as you know, has our tongue and several others, which greatly pleases Padmiri. She has said that she would like to learn more of the languages of the West, but no arrangements have been made. As you may perceive, a woman of your aunt’s age is no longer prey to the demons of the flesh, and her way of life does not lend itself to the conduct that you feared. Be at ease, great lady—you stand in no danger here.

The guards are, as always, capable men, careful of their reputations and devoted to the Rajah and the preservation of Natha Suryarathas, and none of them have behaved in any manner that would make me or any other doubt this.

What devotions to the gods Padmiri undertakes are performed, for the most part, in private. She makes formal sacrifices at the various feasts, and insists that those in her household who are not slaves do the same, which is what one would expect of the Rajah’s older sister. She keeps a shrine to Ganesh, which is to be expected of a scholar, of course, and there are those to numerous minor gods and goddesses, but she is not single-minded in her devotions. She has shown no particular favor to any of the deities you were curious about. Other than that, I have noticed that her reading material is not limited to one sect or period of writing. What she may read in private is impossible to determine, at least for one in my position, and I fear I will arouse undue suspicion if I ask too many questions regarding her reading. Be assured that should I learn anything of interest I will inform you at once through the kind offices of the grain merchant who brings this to you now.

As you see, it is much as it has been for the last three years. Padmiri does not wish to see any more of her family harmed, and she, herself, does not wish to stand in harm’s way. You have nothing to fear from this woman, even from her womb, as she has passed the time when she might bear children who could challenge you or your heirs for the right to rule here.

Ever in your service and the service of the gods who will bring to an end this humiliation we have all endured too long.

Your friend

3

After sunset the air became cool and the breeze over the fields was not oppressive. Padmiri stood on the terrace beyond her reception room and looked up at the sky as dusk deepened around her. The silken robe she wore was perhaps a little too thin, for she shivered once as she glanced back toward the extensive bulk of her home. She could see the slaves working in the reception room, lighting the oil lamps and setting out low tables and cushions.

She was not being entirely wise, she told herself for the ninth or tenth time. Again she offered this sop to her doubts: you are too old to bear children, and there is no question of a permanent liaison, should the man be interested in you at all. That was the most daunting prospect of the coming evening—that he might not wish to do more than enjoy the friendly conversation she had proposed to him. It was strange that after so many years she would feel herself responding like an inexperienced girl, and to a man who was a complete enigma to her. She drew her shawl around her shoulders, delaying as long as possible the moment when she would return to her reception room and take her place on the cushions. She put one hand to her face, and felt the lines under her fingers. Lacking vanity, she knew that now, at fifty-two, she was a more attractive woman than she had been at twenty. Then her strong features had seemed too overwhelming for her youth, too emphatic. With age, she had grown into them, and now there was a majesty to her face that was not a question of caste or rank. There were wraiths of white in her heavy black hair, and lines beside her mouth, underscoring her eyes, tracing the width of her forehead. She dropped her hand to her side, thinking that it had been a mistake not to wear her jewels.

“Padmiri?” He had come into the reception room and she had not noticed, so lost in thought had she been. Now he stood in the door to the terrace, a sturdy figure in a strange garment of black.

“Saint-Germain?” She felt a quiver run through her and she chided herself for being silly. “I wanted to let the slaves work in peace so I stepped out here.”

“They’ve finished,” he said, not moving from the door. “Would you prefer to stay on the terrace?”

“No,” she said quickly, trying to master her confusion. “It isn’t … appropriate.” She came toward the door, feeling as if she were moving through water. It was difficult to look at him. He stood aside for her, and she hesitated, unfamiliar with this courtesy he had learned in Rome, more than a thousand years before. “Please,” he said, with a gesture to indicate she should precede him. He did not remind her to cross the threshold on the right foot as he would have done for a Roman; that superstition did not exist here.

Padmiri smiled tentatively, going slowly through the door as if she was entering a room she had never seen. All of it seemed new—the lamps, the rosewood-and-alabaster inlay on the walls, the carpet which showed its brilliant colors here and there, but for the most part was muted by the night.

“The cushions there were set out for you,” she said, pointing out the smaller of the two piles. A number of oil lamps hung around it, their little snouts of pale yellow flame like minute shards of sunlight. More lamps were hung behind the ornamented, filigreed screen and cast patterned shadows through the room. She wished the reception chamber were brighter so that she might see his face more clearly, but oil lamps were a luxury, and those that were lit now were almost twice the number she usually burned in the evening.

Saint-Germain took his place, reclining on the cushions with practiced ease. He had noted the lamps and the enticing scent of sandalwood when he had come into the room, and his fine brows had lifted in surprise. He had been aware that Padmiri had intended this to be a formal occasion and he had assumed that there would be others joining them. For that reason, if no other, he had dressed with care in garments he had not put on since he had left Lo-Yang. It was ironic, he thought, that these should be the only truly elegant clothes he had left. He wore his black Byzantine dalmatica over a knee-length red sheng go. Black silken trousers of Persian cut were tucked into his only remaining pair of high Chinese boots. Though he did not have his silver belt any longer, he had put his silver pectoral on the heavy silver chain around his neck and knew that his appearance was acceptable for this evening, and for similar evenings from Normandy to Pei-King.

“You refused my invitation to take a meal with me,” Padmiri said as she arranged the cushions under her for her greater comfort. “I am curious why.”

“It was not intended to slight you, Padmiri.” He admired her directness as much as he respected her independence, and he knew that for those two qualities she had had more than the usual difficulties in her life.

“I thought that perhaps it was not permitted for women and men to dine together among your people. I have heard that such restrictions are not unknown in Islamic countries.”

“I am not a follower of Islam,” he reminded her without rancor.

“Yet you may have similar traditions.” She had not intended to be diffident, but she had no arts to conceal her intent.

He looked at her sharply. “Not precisely.”

She made no argument, though she wanted very much to ask him to explain himself. In time she might learn what he had meant, she thought. For the moment, she was more pleased than she had thought possible to learn that he had not meant he was offended when he had refused her invitation. “You have been quite willing to live with our customs. I’ve noticed that.”

“How do you know that they are not my own?” He stretched his legs out before him and crossed them above the ankles.

“My servants have told me that you make inquiries through your man, Rogerio. He claims to be inexpert in our language, but from what you do, I assume that he is more fluent than those in the servants’ quarters know.” There was a tray of sweetmeats beside her on the table but she did not touch them.

“You are most astute,” Saint-Germain said dryly. “I hope that you will not give Rogerio away. His feigned ignorance has aided both of us a great deal.”

Padmiri stifled her burst of pride. “I did not intend to gossip with my servants.”

To her amazement, Saint-Germain laughed softly. “Of course you gossip with your servants. Any sensible person does. You doubtless have another name for it, but you are intelligent enough to know that servants know more than all the wise men in the land.”

Her expression softened. How good it was to entertain someone who did not insist on all the petty deceptions of the upper castes. This man, foreigner that he was, understood far better than most men she had met how necessary it was to listen to servants. “Yes, I do have another name for it. And it is true that I ask for specific information from my servants,” she went on in a rush of candor, trusting that she would not overstep the bounds of what was proper to her guest.

He said no more, and for a little time their silence was not uncomfortable. Gradually, however, Padmiri began to feel the strength of his presence and stiffened under his remote scrutiny.

“It is not usual for women to have men as their guests,” she remarked, finding it suddenly very difficult to explain herself to her companion. “Yet it is not impossible or wholly inappropriate. Here, living retired as I do, I often take my meals with those who have honored me with their company.” But not, she added to herself, alone at night, in a room smelling of sandalwood. “You may think that this is remarkable, but I assure you there are few who would be affronted to see you and me as we are at this moment.”

“Are you certain?” He knew otherwise, but offered her no more challenge than this.