CHAPTER FIFTEEN Diribani
DIRIBANI opened the tent flap and turned her face to the morning light. Briskly, she rubbed her arms, bare under the iris-banded dress wrap. The cool season had stolen upon them, or perhaps it was the increasing elevation. Over the last few days, they'd climbed out of desert scrub and wound their way upward to this high plateau. The fort of Fanjandibad waited at the far edge, where, Nissa had told her, the landscape changed again. Soon she would see it. Surely then she would know why Naghali-ji had sent her so far from home.
"Your slippers, my lady."
"Thank you, Nissa. I keep forgetting." Shoes looked odd under a traditional dress wrap, especially one as splendid as this. Diribani missed the reassurance of earth under her feet, but in the thorny countryside she had been persuaded to adopt the custom.
"And your scarf."
Diribani shook her head. "Oh, I think I'll be warm enough inside the howdah."
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Still, Nissa held out the length of fine white cotton. "Your head scarf, my lady."
"My what?" Two narcissus flowers and a large emerald bounced off the tent flap. Standing just outside the opening, the guard Zeen reached out and caught the stone.
"For our arrival in Fanjandibad," Nissa said. "The riding animals are stabled inside the first gate, so we have to dismount and walk through the fort grounds to the palace. Four hundred steps, from the outer wall to the ladies' court! It always seems like the longest part of the journey. I can show you how to wrap the scarf now; or, later, perhaps one of the other ladies..." Nissa's voice trailed away as she read Diribani's expression.
"I'd rather not cover my face with that scarf," Diribani said distinctly. "Thank you."
Nissa looked at Zeen, as if for support.
The guard's impassive face didn't change. She bent and picked up three small bloodstones, entered them in her ledger, and handed them to her partner, Mahan, who carried the locked box.
"But, my lady," Nissa persisted, "we all veil in Fanjandibad when we're outside the ladies' court. It's the custom."
"Not my people's custom," Diribani said. A spray of jasmine added its perfume to the chilly air.
Nissa held her ground. "Her Highness said you should have it."
"Then I had better discuss it with her." Gingerly, as if it were a venomous snake, Diribani took the length of white cloth. Tana had worn the Believer coat and trousers, which made sense for riding. But this! Surely her sister would be as disgusted as Diribani by the suggestion that she cover her face. And she'd not hesitate to make that clear to her host, princess or no.
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Diribani shouldered her way outside the tent, past Zeen and Mahan. The guards fell into step behind her. Nissa followed them. Marching the short distance to the royal tent, Diribani might have felt ridiculous about her entourage. Anger didn't leave much room for embarrassment.
As was usual in the morning, the red cloth door panels still hung undisturbed to the ground. Diribani hesitated, then sat a polite distance from the entry. The guards stood to one side. Nissa hovered, wringing her hands.
The camp bustled with the usual routine of meals and washing and exercise, the shouts of soldiers drilling, the smell of millet porridge and horse, the clang of pots, and the bellowing of hungry oxen. Today the familiar sounds seemed infused with a fresh energy. If all went well, this time tomorrow they'd be waking up in Fanjandibad. First Camp might be there already.
The prince's caravan traveled in grand style. There were actually two of everything: royal tents, cook tents, wash tents, teams of draft oxen and pack elephants, cooks and soldiers and laborers. The royal party traveled short days so the camps could leapfrog each other. While one packed up behind them, the other prepared for their arrival. This was Second Camp. First Camp would have hurried past them in the night, to alert the fort's resident staff that the prince was on his way.
As the sun climbed, Diribani attracted her share of curious glances and amused comments. Ruqayya's manner, though never less than regally courteous, tended to crispness in the morning hours. People with questions or requests usually waited until later in the day to address her. Meanwhile, the princess's maids came and went, slipping inside the red tent with basins of water and steaming
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cups of tea. One of them must have told her mistress about the petitioner outside.
"Come," an imperious voice called.
Diribani's stiff knees popped audibly as she got up, but she waved away Nissa's offered arm.
Ladli, returning from the direction of the latrine pits, beat an imaginary drum on her thigh. "Pa-pum, pa-pum." She lowered her head scarf to grin at Diribani. "Braving the lioness in her den? Remember, mindfulness is all."
Diribani returned a rueful smile, hearing her own instructions quoted back at her. In the dancing the previous night, Ladli had bested her three times, and Ruqayya once. These white-coat girls were so quick, they had risen to the limit of Diribani's ability to teach. Ladli's teasing reminder was useful, though. Matching wits--or wills--with Ruqayya was like facing a steel blade, not the usual wooden practice ones. Diribani stepped into the tent and waited for her eyes to adjust to the rosy light inside.
Ruqayya sat on a bolster while a maid arranged her curly hair into a braid for riding. A white brocade coat hung over her shoulders; the long rope of pearls had reappeared, looped several times around her neck. She held a clay cup between her palms. Chin lowered, she breathed in the fragrant steam. "Yes?"
"Peace to you, Your Highness." Diribani folded her hands. "I've come about the head scarf."
"What about it?" Ruqayya said. "Assuming your head's the usual size, the scarf I gave Nissa should fit."
Diribani squared her shoulders. She set the scarf on a cushion. "Thank you, but it won't be necessary."
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"Necessary?" The princess gulped her tea and shoved the cup at a maid. "What about respectful? What about prudent?"
When Diribani didn't answer, Ruqayya twitched loose from the woman braiding her hair to prowl up and down the carpet. "Fanjandibad is a small island of Believers in a sea of your folk. Within its walls, our people take religion very seriously. Outside her home, an unveiled woman risks public shaming. Do you want to be called names? Spat upon?"
"No." Diribani looked the princess in the eye. "But I will endure it before I'll cover my face." Chunks of turquoise thumped onto the roses and irises scattered across the carpet.
"Why so stubborn, flower girl?" Ruqayya chided. "We don't force you to renounce your idols or eat our meat. Humor me in this one thing. Bend a little for the sake of harmony, as you're so fond of telling us."
Again, Diribani's own words taunted her. How could she make the princess understand? "When your brother invited me to Fanjandibad, he promised my stepmother I would live in comfort and honor. As to comfort"--Diribani gestured at the luxurious tent, the plates of food on Ruqayya's table, her own silk dress wrap-- "you couldn't have been more generous. And honor? All these weeks, not a single person in your party has accosted me for a jewel. But even to repay your kindness, I cannot dishonor the twelve."
"Can't or won't?" Ruqayya snapped.
Diribani answered gently, but firmly: "Won't."
"Must I spell it out for you?" the princess growled. "You're our guest. Anyone insulting you will be punished."
"I'm not asking," Diribani began, but Ruqayya overrode her.
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"How will your conscience balance that? Will you come crying to me when your tender ears are assaulted with the screams of men being whipped? They would be guilty of upholding their own beliefs by chastising an immodest woman, and yet Zahid will put them to the post."
Diribani stared at the carpet. The thought of covering her face-- like a corpse---made her ill. But which would the gods count as the greater sin? Adopting the white-coats' unpleasant custom, or causing others to be injured when she could prevent it? She tried to think what Tana would do.
"Good morning, ladies." Prince Zahid's voice surprise
d Diribani into looking up. He'd come into the tent with a cup of tea in each hand. He held them out to his sister and her guest. Diribani accepted, but Ruqayya shook her head.
"I can't drink and pace." The princess's lips twitched in a smile. "Tell me you've come to talk sense into your hardheaded holy woman. She won't wear a head scarf."
"I'm not a holy woman," Diribani insisted.
Ruqayya flicked her fingers. "Fine."
"Since we've settled that issue to everyone's satisfaction," the prince said, "tell me, Mina Diribani, is it the practice of modesty or the scarf itself that you object to?"
Diribani sipped her tea. As usual, the prince's presence distracted her. It was as if the force of his personality swept across her like an actual current. Her skin tingled; the blood pumped more energetically through her veins. She found it hard to concentrate on the question.
Ruqayya paced. Zahid swirled his cup. He watched the steam rise up as if he had all the time in the world to settle this dispute.
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"We, too, value modesty, but define it differently," Diribani said, feeling her way through the tumult in her body to an answer. Peonies, ashoka blossoms, and a spray of orange lilies punctuated her words. "For us, modesty doesn't mean covering the skin with cloth to avoid inspiring envy or desire in others. If I wrapped my face in that fabric, it would suggest I was ashamed of the features Father Ghodan and Mother Gaari had given me."
"So, if there were a way to convey respect for our beliefs without wearing a head scarf specifically, you'd do it?"
"I think so," Diribani said cautiously.
"Let's try this." The prince handed his cup to a maid and approached Diribani. "A most ingenious garment," he said in conversational tones. "If, for example, you take the end that falls over your shoulder--may I?"
Diribani's breath caught. She nodded.
Zahid lifted the strip of yellow silk. He draped it over her hair and forehead, then passed the free end loosely across her chin and back over her shoulder, like a shawl.
Intensely aware of his hand brushing her ear, Diribani held tight to her empty cup. As a talisman, it didn't work very well. Her mouth was dry, her skin fluttery where he had touched it.
The prince stepped back. "What do you think?" he asked his sister, but looked at Diribani.
She glanced away. The improvised scarf wasn't confining, but with only her eyes visible, she felt they were too transparent, as if to make up for the expression concealed by a fall of yellow silk. She didn't want Zahid reading a message she wasn't ready to share with him. If she even understood it. A person couldn't fall in love with so little encouragement--a few words, a speaking glance. Could she?
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Attraction, that was all she felt, and perfectly natural, Tana would say, that the foreign prince intrigued her. He had saved their lives. He had treated them with respect. And his lightning intelligence made the young traders Diribani knew seem impossibly dull and provincial. Perhaps, she thought wildly, she should have wrapped the scarf around her head altogether and let Nissa lead her from the tent like a blind woman before Zahid could touch her.
Unveiled, Ruqayya's face held the same concentrated stillness it had held the night she had warned of distraction. The first night Diribani had danced for them, when the prince's appearance had surprised Diribani into carelessness. Trouble, the princess's expression said. Her voice, however, was cool and assured. "Unorthodox, but not objectionable. Mina Diribani?"
"I will wear it this way, if it pleases you."
"Thank you," the prince said. His breath touched Diribani's cheek.
He smelled like spicy tea, and horse, and man. A dangerous combination for an unsophisticated Gurath girl. Even as she told herself she shouldn't, she breathed deeply.
"Then perhaps I may continue with my interrupted meal?" The princess flicked her fingers. "Out, the pair of you. And do have your maid clean up my floor before the petals are ground into the carpet, Mina Diribani."
"Yes, my lady."
"We hear and obey," the prince said. He smiled at Diribani. She bowed her head, and escaped from the pair of them.
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***
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Tana
BIRDS weren't the only creatures sharing the well-pavilion roof with Tana. As the evening advanced, a family of tree mice woke in their nest in the corner. For a while, they chittered grumpily. One sniffed around Tana, but found nothing to interest it. The rest left her alone. Intent on the night's foraging, they climbed up and down the vines. Tana tied her drying cloth around her head to shut out their noise. Even so, she slept badly, plagued by dreams she couldn't remember when she woke. Bats fluttered above her, squeaking as they chased moths and insects. By ones and twos, the tree mice returned, leaves rustling around them.
Tana half woke at the racket, then burrowed deeper under the leaves. When the muffled sounds of trouble reached her not long after, she thought it was the tree mice stirring again. Then a shrill cry of fear penetrated her sleepiness. Dogs barked, an angry chorus.
Tana slid the cloth from her ears and into the bag she was using for a pillow. Without moving, she listened. The sky was dark, though
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a gray tinge in the east smudged the stars. A horse bugled alarm. Tana crawled to the edge of the roof and parted the curtain of vines with her fingers.
In the direction of the village, torches flared. Their ruddy light illuminated figures moving against the mud-brick walls. Steel helmets reflected the torchlight; long blades glinted like metal splinters. Soldiers, going from house to house. At this distance, Tana only got confused glimpses, but what she saw frightened her. Men and women holding children were being driven from their homes, herded like animals into the central grove. Then their livestock, too, followed: oxen and water buffalo mostly, with a flash of white that might have been Jasmine. Or a light-colored cow. Tana couldn't see what was happening under the trees, but she could hear the wailing. And her name, shouted in unfamiliar voices.
The soldiers were looking for her.
When they didn't find her in the headman's house, they set his roof on fire. Mud bricks didn't burn, but thatched palm fronds ignited in a fountain of hissing sparks. Orange flames tongued the darkness. A new note of despair issued from the villagers' throats.
Shaking with dread and helpless anger, Tana put her head down. She considered showing herself so the soldiers would spare the rest of the houses. But if it were proved, not just suspected, that the headman had sheltered her, his punishment might be worse than damage to his home. So she remained where she was, wondering whether cowardice or common sense kept her hidden.
She had the chance to speak. Torches approached the well; she smelled burning resin and saw the light flicker through the concealing vines. A couple of the soldiers went inside, to judge by the sound of clay pots being smashed below her. Attracted to the torch
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light, moths gathered. Wings brushed Tana's hair. Then the entire bat colony converged on the moth banquet. Tana heard their leathery wings flapping, the high-pitched squeaks, the men's cursing and tramping feet. The torches retreated. She stayed hidden.
From the village, more shouting, more wailing. A dog's yelp stopped abruptly. With a loud crackling, another roof caught fire, and then another. Closer, whips snapped and oxcarts creaked. Shouted orders cut through the babble of voices, followed by a strange clanking noise. The sky was getting lighter. She might be discovered, but she had to know. Tana pushed up on her elbows and peeked through the vines. What she saw made her bite hard on her fingers to keep from crying out.
The adult villagers had been chained in lines, five or ten together, and attached to the oxcarts. Lanterns fixed to the carts' wooden sides shed a feeble light over the nightmare scene. Children rode on their parents' shoulders or ran alongside, clutching at their clothes. Tana glimpsed the headman's stocky form, but she couldn't tell whether Kalyan was among them. Soldiers rode ahead and behind the oxcarts. Some drove the farm animals.
One led a riderless horse, briefly silhouetted against a lantern.
Horror choked her. Hadn't the soldiers done enough? Rousting people from their beds, breaking their things like the clay pots at the well, setting fire to the houses...after they'd looted them, probably. Why did they have to take the people away?
So they won't tell.
The answer came to her, as cold as a stone lodged in her throat. The soldiers weren't returning to Gurath; the sad procession was headed the other way. If Tana guessed rightly, these poor people would be marched to one of the white-coats' country estates. Alwar
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didn't want word to get out that his men were chasing Tana in spite of the prince's order to leave her alone. Tana breathed a quiet prayer of gratitude to the twelve that Diribani was safe with the royal party.
The governor must have known when Tana was at the temple. She had moved freely around the compound, where multitudes attended to pray or dance or study. Ma Hiral brought Diribani's letters. Pilgrims stayed at the lodging court; children attended lessons. Even white-coats brought sick and injured animals for the priests to treat. Strictly speaking, Prince Zahid had told Tana to leave Gurath. He had also said that the emperor would frown on the civil authorities' interfering in a local religious matter. Sending soldiers to one of Gurath's temples couldn't be hushed up. But a night raid on an artisan village far outside the city gates? Who would know it wasn't bandits attacking Piplia for the gems the workers cut and polished?
Shame coiled in Tana's belly. She had underestimated Alwar's hatred for Naghali-ji's gift of snakes. He must have stationed someone to watch for Tana by the temple gate. She hadn't worried about pursuit, foolishly congratulating herself on the disguise of a shaved head and pilgrim's orange robe. But hidden among the travelers on the road, a spy could have seen her go to the village with her begging bowl and hurried back to alert the soldiers.
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