“Six,” the Rajah repeated slowly. “Who did you say this person was? A foreigner?”
“Yes,” Nandalas said fervently. “He brought them to me as the sun was setting. I thought at first that he was counting on poor light to disguise bad stones, but that was not the case. He encouraged me to look closely at the jewels, to hold them to the light so that I might see how fine they were.” He felt tears in his eyes as he remembered the way light had seemed to be caught and magnified deep in the ruby.
“And the man, what of him?” Dantinusha asked with a greater show of impatience than he had permitted himself yet.
“A foreigner, as I have told you, Great Lord. He was from the West. He was dressed in black and wore a heavy silver chain about his neck, with a black emblem on it. I could not see it clearly, but I had the impression of raised wings. He speaks with an educated and very high-caste accent, but it is clear that he has learned the tongue from another. His pronunciations and phrases are old-fashioned.”
“His teacher may have been one of the various exile families that have gone to the West,” the Rajah suggested. He knew that as the Delhi Sultanate expanded, there were many who fled the followers of Islam, though the Sultans had shown themselves to be fairly tolerant of the Hindu teachings, though they had disliked the Buddhist pacifistic doctrines. There were many families in the various principalities and kingdoms on the borders of the Islamic territory who had come from those conquered cities and towns. It was a difficult business, the Rajah knew, for he did not wish to risk antagonizing the Sultan, but at the same time, he could not turn away high-ranking Hindus. He sighed, and saw at once that the old jeweler misunderstood.
“Truly, Great Lord,” Nandalas said hurriedly, “there was little I could have learned from the man. It is fair to say that I was more concerned with the gems he showed me than I was with him, but I did not intentionally ignore him. I would certainly recognize him again. If I saw him in the dress of our people, I would still know him, as he is distinguished in appearance, even for a westerner.”
Rajah Dantinusha assumed an interest that he did not entirely feel. “Describe this man to me, so that my guards may be told of him.”
Nandalas pressed his eyes closed, and the wrinkles of his face stood out. He had not paid enough attention to the man, he knew he had not, and now he strove to recall as much as he could. “He is about the same height as you are, Great Lord, though not as ample of body. That is not to say that he is a stick of a man, for I noticed that his chest is deep.” He made a greater effort to recall the stranger who had brought the jewels. “His hands are beautifully shaped—the fingers are comparatively long, though his hands are not at all large. His hair is dark, and curls somewhat. His eyes…” As he spoke, he remembered the impact they had made on him. “His eyes are quite extraordinary.”
“How do you mean?” Dantinusha demanded. “Are they of unusual color or…”
“They are dark, but I did not see their color. No, it’s not that. His eyes are arresting. I have never seen such eyes.” He abased himself again, fearing he might have offended the Rajah.
Rajah Dantinusha looked down at Nandalas, and was saddened. The old man was behaving as if Dantinusha were a powerful ruler, and the Rajah knew it was not so. It had been more than four generations since his family were reduced to ruling a principality instead of having the august title of Maharajah, with the lands and the wealth and the power that were the justifications of that title. It was unfortunate that he ruled now on the sufferance of Delhi, but he supposed he was more fortunate than many of his uncles and ancestors had been, for he was alive with a sliver of a country to call his own. He was careful of his safety, and had so far been lucky. His one source of despair was that he had had no son who lived past his ninth year, and it seemed that this scrap of an ancient kingdom must pass to his daughter, who would surely be forced to surrender it to the Sultan at Delhi. He realized with a start that Nandalas was frightened by his long silence, so he said, “Most unusual. I doubt I have ever seen that man—not as you describe him.”
The old man could have wept with relief. “I have never seen one such, Great Lord.”
“Then you will, as you have said, know him when you see him again.”
“I will. He said he would come to my shop again tomorrow. That is why I approached you,” he reminded the Rajah timorously. “If I could make a reasonable offer on even one of the jewels … It must be a reasonable offer. He knows what the stones are worth. He showed that in his attitude as well as his words.”
“If you had to make a guess at the true worth of the stones, what would it be?” Dantinusha was rubbing at his lower lip, a gesture that was well-known to those who knew him—the Rajah was weighing alternatives.
“Perhaps four or five grain-measures of gold.” He said it softly, for it was an enormous figure, but a reasonable one as well.
“Four or five grain-measures of gold,” Dantinusha echoed. “They must be amazing stones.” He folded his arms “Four or five grain-measures of gold…” He fixed his eyes on the far wall. “Tomorrow, when this foreigner returns to your shop, if he returns to your shop, then you will tell him that because of the great worth of the stones you have seen, you have told me of his treasure. You will then instruct him to visit me at once. Tell him that though my invitation is cordial, I do not wish to be disappointed. I shall expect him to call upon me at once, and should he not do so, I will assume that he is not here as my friend or the friend to my country, and will act accordingly. Do this, Nandalas, and there will be both recognition and reward for you. Also, it is my wish that you tell this foreigner that I am willing to pay him the reasonable sum he demands, should his jewels be, in truth, what you have reported.” He made a languid gesture with his hand as a sign of dismissal.
Nandalas scrambled to his feet and backed out of the Rajah’s presence, feeling light-headed with awe and curiosity. He was met at once by the chamberlain, who indicated that he would escort the old jeweler from the palace.
“What do you think?” Rajah Dantinusha said, apparently to the air, when the old man had gone.
There was an answer from behind the screen. “I confess to a certain curiosity,” was the answer, and in a moment the Commander of the palace guards strolled around the end of one of the elaborate wall panels. His uniform was much grander than those his men wore. “A foreigner with such jewels.”
“That’s not impossible,” Dantinusha said, trying to pour more of the juice and finding, to his disappointment, that none was left. He put his cup aside. “But it may be a very clever trap, or so it seems to me.”
“Ah. It seemed so to me as well.” The commander sat on one of the cushions near the foot of the low dais. “A man, sent by the Sultan, might be able to bring a few inferior or counterfeit jewels, excellently made, and by defrauding our merchants, lessen the monies in the treasury, so that an invasion would not be too much resisted.” He hooked his thumbs in his sash. “Such strategy has been successful elsewhere.”
Rajah Dantinusha gave this careful consideration. “And if the jewels are genuine, and of the quality the old man describes, then it might be beneficial to have them. Guarding the borders is expensive, as you often point out to me.” Again he rubbed his lower lip.
“There would be no advantage in paying him,” the commander said with a cold smile.
“A man with such wealth may have more gems to offer, and we may have need of them in the future. I will barter with him…” He was already considering the various honors and pleasures he could offer the unknown stranger.
“A few hours with Sibu would gain as much, and for nothing but a little sweat.” It was apparent that the commander preferred this solution.
“No.” The Rajah spoke sharply. “No abuse, no torture. If the man is wealthy, he is probably powerful, and we may need his goodwill. I allowed you to use such methods with the Egyptian who came here, and I remind you that we never found the treasure he had. He lied to us because we had done our worst and
nothing would have saved his life.” Dantinusha felt a touch of shame at this memory. “I will not tolerate a similar mistake.”
The commander smiled again, and with the same amount of sincerity he had shown before. “If that is your wish, then it is how it will be. I trust that you will not have cause to regret your leniency.” He got to his feet. “I have given orders that the jeweler should be followed. If the foreigner returns and is not anxious to answer your summons…”
“Yes, very well,” the Rajah said testily. “But do not harm him, Guristar. It will not redound to your credit if the foreigner is treated badly.” He joined his hands over his fashionable paunch and fixed the guard commander with a reprimanding eye. “We must deal in good faith.”
“As you wish,” Guristar said, annoyed, as he turned to leave the room.
“I will not believe convenient tales of the man disappearing, either,” Rajah Dantinusha added as Guristar reached the door. “And I have those who will tell me anything you hope to keep private.”
Guristar glared at the Rajah for a moment. “I had never considered lying to you, Great Lord.” Though both men knew this, too, was a lie, the Commander left his Prince without being challenged. Now truly alone, Dantinusha stared at the door and wished he knew a way to deal with Guristar. Foreigners, restive people, the soldiers of the Sultan at Delhi—those he could deal with easily. The Commander of his guard was quite another matter.
A letter from Mei Hsu-Mo to Nai Yung-Ya and the Nestorian Christian Church of Lan-Chow. Never delivered: the messenger bringing this and over two hundred other letters from Lo-Yang was one of five thousand persons killed by Mongol raiders at the town of Sai-T’u.
On the Festival of the Hungry Goats, the Year of the Tiger, the Fifteenth Year of the Sixty-fifth Cycle, the one thousand two hundred eighteenth year of Our Lord, to the Pope Nai Yung-Ya and the faithful congregation of Lan-Chow.
Doubtless you are curious why it is I instead of my brother who sends this message to you. It is my sad duty to inform you that Mei Sa-Fong died of a tenacious and wasting fever rather more than a month ago. I have postponed informing you of this tragic event while that dreadful man Chung La decided what he wished to do. He has left now, in the company of men from Delhi, and has sworn that he will renounce his faith and take up the banner of Islam as his own. While my brother lay suffering, this man made many advances to me, saying that so long as we were far from those of our faith and our families, it was proper that I should assuage his loneliness with the embraces he desired. This man left four wives in Lan-Chow, and until this terrile thing occurred, he had behaved most properly. On one occasion, he became so adamant that I was only able to discourage him by breaking a crockery jug over his head. In the next room, my beloved brother moaned and babbled in his sleep. It was shortly after this night that Chung La began to take up with the men of Islam who have a small temple in this city.
Perhaps I should tell you that we have reached the place called Tum-Kur and had intended to take the road to Pu-Na as soon as the weather permitted safe travel again. It is still my intention to travel, but I have not yet found one willing to be my guide. I will pray for guidance, and for the patience and wisdom that come of waiting. Your prayers will be of great solace to me, and I hope that you will remember me when the drums call you to worship.
Before his body succumbed to the ravages of fever, my brother spent much time trying to find others of our faith here. He did not entirely succeed, though he was told that there are those who worship Christ in the city of Pu-Na, and for that reason, he determined that we should next go there. So far there have been many who have heard of Christian worship, but few who have seen churches and even fewer who have met those practicing the faith. It may be as we fear, and I will have to journey into the west to seek out those of our faith.
It may not be entirely becoming of me to continue this search, but now that my feet are on the Path, as those who follow the Buddha say, it is not for me to turn aside. I only hope that you will not cast me out of your hearts for this act, which may appear rash, but which, I must assure you, comes from my soul. Surely the work that my brother began must be finished, and it is appropriate for me to do so, as there is no other to continue. I will endeavor to keep you informed of my travels and my discoveries, but there may be long periods when it will be difficult or impossible for me to send you word, such as when I am aboard a ship, if it becomes necessary for me to travel by water again.
There has been other, disquieting news that I must tell: the Mongols are rumored to have come to the lands west of here. One man we met shortly before my brother fell ill said that he had heard that much of the land he called Persia was even at that moment under assault from these inhuman warriors. He said that all of the country of Persia goes in terror by day and night, and that they all expect to be slaughtered by these men. Persia is apparently the country we have known as Bu-Sa-Yin. The man claimed to come from the city of Sie-La-Shi, which he called Shiraz. Though he has not been in his native city for several years, he told us that he had had word from his brother a few months before and his brother had said that even then the city was in danger and would not be able to resist much longer.
We were distraught to hear of this, and though I have made inquiries, there seems to be no doubt that his report was honest, and the Mongols have indeed come to Persia, intent on conquest. We have heard, also, that these Mongols have brought disaster to much of the Golden Empire, but this does not seem possible. Though I am aware you will not be able to send me word until I have reached the end of my journey, still I trust that your news will be reassuring. Certainly the Imperial army is more than a match for these scruffy men on ponies. Surely God and Christ will champion those who strive for knowledge and peace and will turn away from those who make war.
With my prayers and my love to all of you, and the hope that your blessing will bring comfort to my brother’s soul, I commend this to the merchant from Braddur and the Will of God, at whose behest all things are done.
Mei Hsu-Mo
sister to Mei Sa-Fong
on the road to Pu-Na
10
When the soldiers reached the throne room, they stood aside in a respectful manner and let Saint-Germain enter alone.
“Ah,” Rajah Dantinusha said slowly as Saint-Germain approached him. “The jeweler told the truth.”
“I would assume so,” Saint-Germain answered with a sangfroid he was far from feeling. He dropped to one knee in the European fashion, then rose, regarding the man on the throne. “If you desired to speak with me, you needed only to send a message.” He was taking a chance making this gentle rebuke, but if he had any intention of keeping his independence, he knew that he must assume he had it from the first.
Dantinusha hesitated, his eyes flicking over the stranger, noting the heavy silver chain and the quality of the black silk robe he wore. Then he turned to the four men who flanked his throne. Nearest was the commander of his guards, Guristar. Beside him the Brahmin holy man Rachura, who regarded Saint-Germain with contemptuous curiosity. On the other side of the throne was Jaminya, the greatest scholar and poet in Rajah Dantinusha’s small kingdom. The fourth man was quite old and dressed in the clothes of a traveling merchant. Dantinusha selected this last man, saying, “Well, Qanghozan, what do you think?”
The merchant was startled to be the first to speak, and he began awkwardly. “Great Lord, certainly there is … there can be no doubt that this man is from the West.… The eyes, the skin … most assuredly, he is not…” He stared at Saint-Germain.
“Yet you do not know how far west,” Saint-Germain said ironically in Persian, repeating his observation in classic Arabic and Greek, and was rewarded by the amazed expression the merchant showed him.
Qanghozan mastered his astonishment, and spoke in Arabic. “Do you follow the Prophet? Are you of Islam?”
“No, that is not my faith,” Saint-Germain said, continuing in the elaborate courtesies he had learned from earlier followers of
Islam. “It is a great misfortune that one such as I must give offense to you, and I pray that you will realize that it was not my intent. Surely those who have put themselves in the hands of Allah need fear nothing from the doubts of those less learned and blessed.”
The merchant nodded, saying carefully, “I have not, myself, taken up the way of the Prophet, though three of my brothers have. It is well that you honor his word, for Delhi is close and there are those who hear what is said in this place.”
Rajah Dantinusha interrupted the merchant. “You will speak in our tongues or not at all.”
“I had not meant to be discourteous,” Saint-Germain said at once. “It is my custom to speak to men in their own languages, if I know them. Hindi is acceptable to me. I have some Kashmiri and Tamal, but my command is faulty.” He looked back at Qanghozan, but continued to speak in Hindi. “You were good to tell me of these things.”
Apparently the poet Jaminya had understood the Arabic, for he could not hide his slight smile. He regarded Saint-Germain with awakening interest. “We were informed that you have traveled far. Where is your homeland, then?”
“In the West,” Saint-Germain answered promptly. “In what is now the Kingdom of Hungary. I have not been there in some time, and it was my hope to return there within a year. If, however, the Mongols are indeed spreading through the cities of Persia, then it may be some time before I can undertake the journey.” He paused, considering. “I could cross the Arabian Sea and land in Egypt or Africa and from there make my way to the Mediterranean and embark on a Venetian ship bound for Trieste or Constantinople, but that presents a great many problems, particularly since I am a very poor sailor.”
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