SILK AND SECRETS (18 page)

While Ross managed the camels, Juliet unloaded the nearly empty waterskins and began refilling them. The water was silty, but most of the grit would settle out.

Besides, in the desert, thirst rendered such shortcomings unimportant.

There was no one near enough to overhear if they kept their voices low, and Juliet took advantage of that fact to say, “That was an appalling risk you took, Ross. I’m a good swimmer, but I would never have dared such a flood.”

“This is one of those cases where sheer size and strength count,” he said mildly. “I would not have made the attempt if I thought it suicidal.”

“Perhaps not, but to me it looked as if you misjudged the risk, and very nearly died as a result.” Realizing that she was railing like a fishwife, Juliet clamped her mouth shut, but she still trembled from the sheer terror she had felt when Ross had disappeared under the surface for so long. She had wanted to scream to the heavens that he could not die, that there was still unsettled business between them. Part of the horror lay in knowing that unfinished business would not make a damned bit of difference to whether he lived or died.

Using all of his weight, Ross reined back a camel that showed signs of wanting to savage one of its fellows. “Would you have had me leave Muhammad Kasem to die?”

She hesitated a moment, then said reluctantly, “I suppose not, particularly since the outcome in this case was fortunate. But I would not have you throw your life away, either. Especially not for a stranger.”

His brows arched upward in amusement. “It’s foolish for you to worry about me dying in a flood when there is an excellent chance that I will die much more unpleasantly in Bokhara.”

Exasperated at his levity, she said, “I would rather you didn’t die in either place.”

“Look at the silver lining. If that happens, at least you’ll be a free woman again.”

“I’m already a free woman,” she snapped. “I don’t need your death to prove it. When I saw him drag you under the water…” She bit her lip, grateful that the veil hid her expression.

“I’m sorry—I suspect that that was harder to watch than to experience. And worse lies ahead.” His face sobered. “I wish to God that you had stayed at Serevan.”

He was quite right; the risks would be greater in Bokhara, and Juliet would have to be more in control of herself than she was now. Strange; over the years her life had been in danger more than once, and she had always reacted with a calm that awed her men. She took a long, slow breath before saying, “You couldn’t have stopped me from coming.”

“I know. That’s the only reason you’re here.” He lifted one of the heavy filled waterskins and heaved it onto a pack camel. “I want you to promise me something, Juliet.”

She had been about to secure the waterskin, but she stopped and regarded Ross warily. He stood only a foot away, and his closeness sparked a swift, unnerving memory of how he had looked when he emerged from the flood, his wet tunic and trousers outlining every muscle in his hard body. She swallowed hard, trying to dismiss the distracting image. “Promise what?”

As he loaded another waterskin, he said with resignation, “I should have known you wouldn’t agree to anything without first finding out what it is.”

“Of course not. Knowing what you’re signing is the first law of contracts.” She began tying the waterskins in place.

“I’m not talking about a contract.” He reached out and covered her hand, stilling her fingers on the packsaddle rope. “Juliet, look at me.”

She did so reluctantly. Most of her face might be covered, but he could see her eyes, and she feared that they might show too much.

Deadly serious, he said, “If things go badly, I will never leave Bokhara alive, but as a Muslim servant there is a good chance that you will be able to escape my fate. Promise me that you will do what you must to survive. If it will save your life, I want you to abandon me, even denounce me to the amir’s men if necessary. And for God’s sake, don’t try any wild, hopeless schemes in a vain attempt to rescue me. I don’t want you to die because of stubbornness or bravado or guilt.”

When she said nothing, his hand tightened on hers. “Promise me, Juliet. Please.”

Hating the conversation, incapable of matching his ruthless practicality, she said, “Isn’t it my life to lose as I choose?”

“Perhaps, but that isn’t the point.” He sighed and released her hand. “Will it make a difference if I say that I would die a little happier if I knew that you were safe?”

The lump in her throat was so large that she feared it would suffocate her, as the floodwaters had almost drowned Ross. “It makes a difference,” she said brusquely. “Very well. I promise that if they condemn you and overlook me, I will accept the situation quietly and not do anything foolish.”

His long tanned fingers touched the back of her hand very lightly. “Thank you.”

Silently she turned and secured the waterskins. She had made the promise—but she was not sure that she would be able to keep it, any more than Ross had been able to restrain himself from daring the flood. It would be easier to risk her own life in a doomed attempt to help than it would be to stand by and do nothing when someone she cared for was in danger.

Say it, Juliet, admit it, if only to yourself. No matter what the dangers, it will be impossible to stand by and not try to prevent the death of the man you love.

During the flash flood, Juliet had had to endure watching her husband risk his life. Ross’s turn to stand helplessly by and see Juliet’s life in jeopardy came a week later.

The caravan was a day’s travel from Merv, the largest town between Sarakhs and Bokhara. They had settled for the night by a small well of scant, bitter water, and the travelers were pitching tents and building fires when a band of Turkomans galloped into the camp.

Everyone stopped what he was doing and stared as the riders went by. Compared to the merchants, the Turkomans were wolf-lean and dangerous.

Murad was making desert bread, which was a flour-and-water dough placed in a sand hole, then covered with more sand and hot coals for cooking. Sitting back on his heels, he said uneasily, “Surely bandits would not ride openly into our camp.”

“No,” Saleh agreed. “Probably they are in the service of Khiva or Bokhara and are here to tax the caravan. A form of robbery, perhaps, but a mild one.”

Being the most innocuous-looking of the party, Saleh went to the center of the camp to learn what was happening. After a half-hour or so he returned and reported his findings. “The leader is called Khosrow Khan and he is a yuzbashi, the ”commander of a hundred.“ He is an officer of the Amir of Khiva and is here to levy a tax of one in forty.” Squatting on his heels, Saleh accepted a cup of tea from Murad. “Each group must make a list of goods. The yuzbashi will visit each fire to check the records and collect the tax.”

Ross nodded, unsurprised. “I imagine that some of the merchants are disappointed. With fighting going on between the khanates, the caravan might have been lucky enough to avoid Khivan taxation altogether.”

Saleh smiled. “Aye, there is some disappointment. There will be another tax collected in Charjui, when we enter the kingdom of Bokhara, and still another will have to be paid at the customhouse of the city itself. Still, paying the taxes protects the caravan from most of the plunderers.” He sipped the tea, his face becoming troubled. “Abdul Wahab told me that this Khosrow Khan is known to hate ferengis. It will be best if you do not attract his attention, Khilburn.”

“I’ll be unobtrusive,” Ross promised.

During the next hour Abdul Wahab escorted the yuzbashi and his men around the camp. The travelers carried on with the usual camp routines, though all were aware of the movements of the Khivans. Juliet and Ross tended the camels while Murad made an onion gravy to go with the bread and Saleh wrote out an inventory of their goods.

Though the Turkomans were not opening baggage, their threatening appearance encouraged rigorous honesty. Palpable tension gripped the camp. No one wanted to anger the yuzbashi for fear that he would forget that he was a Khivan official and revert to the behavior of his wild Turkoman cousins, who would take not one part in forty, but everything.

Juliet kept a watchful eye on her husband, who seemed unconcerned by the presence of the Turkomans. If there was a book of instruction on how to achieve British coolness, he must have written it. No, not British coolness— English. As a Scot, she was also British, and not cool at all.

When the bread was done, Murad dug the flat loaf from the cookhole and knocked chunks of sand from the crust, then called the others to dine. Served hot with the onion gravy, the bread was delicious, although not the easiest food to eat when veiled.

They were just finishing the meal when Juliet glanced up and saw that Habib, the hostile camel driver, was taking one of the Khivans aside for a private word. Visibly surprised, the Turkoman glanced in their direction, then hastened forward and spoke to his officer. Juliet frowned, but before she could warn the others of what she had seen, the yuzbashi and his entourage turned and came directly to their campfire.

The yuzbashi was a squat, powerfully built man with the slitted eyes common among Turkomans. After scanning the members of the party, he said brusquely, “Give me your list of goods.”

Silently Saleh complied. As the yuzbashi studied it, Juliet saw Habib standing a short distance away, a gloating expression on his face. A number of other travelers were also gathering, as if expecting some kind of drama, but most looked concerned rather than eager.

The yuzbashi glanced at Juliet and, apart from showing mild interest in her tagelmoust, obviously dismissed her as a poor servant of no interest. Sure that she would not be missed, she rose and drifted into the crowd, circling until she located Hussayn, the son of Muhammad Kasem.

In terse, heavily accented Persian she explained that she thought Habib was trying to make trouble for Khilburn, and perhaps Jalal and Hussayn should watch to see that no injustice was done. Eyes watchful, Hussayn followed Juliet, and together they took a position a little behind Habib.

While they were gone, the yuzbashi had collected the tax from Saleh. Ross was still sitting quietly by the fire, sipping tea and looking composed, as if he had no reason to be concerned.

However, instead of moving on to the next campfire, the yuzbashi walked over to Ross and stared down at him, suspicion in his narrow eyes. “They say you are a European. Is this so?”

Unhurriedly Ross looked up at the Khivan officer. Only someone who knew him as well as Juliet would recognize the rigorously concealed tension behind his mild expression.

Ross opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Abdul Wahab said, “Khilburn is an Armenian and a
mirza,
a scribe.”

Muhammad Kasem chimed in from where he stood with the onlookers, “Aye, Khilburn is an Armenian. A Christian, of course, but a God-fearing man. Anyone who says otherwise is a lying mischief maker.”

The yuzbashi gave Ross an intimidating scowl. “Is it true you are Armenian?”

In a voice of limpid sincerity Ross said, “It is.”

“Do you worship the one God?”

“Aye, in the ancient manner of my people.”

“What say your people about the Prophet and his teachings?”

“We honor the Prophet, on whom be peace, for the law he gave the faithful is at its heart the same as the laws our prophet, Jesus, gave to us,” Ross said, his voice steady. “And truly, it could be no other way, for God’s laws are eternal and universal.”

Apparently satisfied, the yuzbashi nodded. “The tax on Christians is one in twenty, not one in forty, so you must double your payment. How much gold do you carry?”

“I have twenty gold tillahs. One moment and I shall give you the tax.” Ross produced a small purse from inside his coat and handed over a coin. Juliet knew that he had more money concealed in his baggage, but the yuzbashi accepted the payment without question, probably because of Ross’s modest attire.

Glancing around the loose group of onlookers, the yuzbashi said, “Who claimed this man was a ferengi? Anyone who wishes to bear witness against him should come forth and speak now.”

Juliet held her breath as she scanned the faces of the other members of the caravan. Young and old, Uzbek and Kurd, Persian and Afghan—all regarded the yuzbashi in silence, though every one of them knew Ross was European. With his nationality common knowledge, Ross had been more outgoing during the last week and had made many friends among his fellow travelers. No one wanted to betray him—except Habib, who smiled with vicious satisfaction and opened his mouth to speak.

Juliet darted forward to stop him, but Hussayn was closer and got there first. There was the brief flash of a knife, then the Uzbek merchant drove the tip of the blade through fabric to rest against the camel driver’s spine. “The honorable Khilburn is Armenian,” Hussayn murmured. “Do you not remember, dog’s turd?”

Habib stopped dead in his tracks, a sheen of sweat appearing on his face. “Why do you lie for an unbeliever?” he hissed.

“Why do you persecute a man who has done you no wrong?” Hussayn countered. “Does not the Prophet counsel tolerance, especially to people of the book?”

Habib spat on the ground but dared not say more.

After another minute passed in silence, the yuzbashi decided that the charge that Khilburn was a ferengi must have been no more than idle malice, so he continued to the next campfire. When the Turkomans were out of earshot, Hussayn sheathed his knife. “Come, Habib, and join me at our fire. I will not share bread and salt with one such as you, but I wish to keep you in sight until the Khivans are gone.”

His expression furious, Habib obeyed, but before walking away, he gave Juliet a malevolent glance, rightly blaming her for Hussayn’s intervention. She guessed that he would not dare retaliate against Hussayn, who was rich and powerful, but that he might well try to take out his fury on her later.

Shrugging, she returned to her fire. If he did, so be it.

Retribution arrived later that evening, when half the caravan had already retired for the night. The well they were camped around was feeble and had been rapidly depleted when they arrived. Since the past few hours had given the well time to replenish itself, Juliet went to draw water for use the next day.