by John Speed
Pathan placed himself directly between Lucinda and the bandit. The sun glistened on the sweat of his shoulders; Lucinda could see each twist and ripple of his muscles as he swung his sword in slow circles. His long hair fell and hid his face. Lucinda wished that she might see his face just once more, just once, but he did not turn around.
She thought that the bandit would cry out before he attacked, but he spurred his mount without a word. Pathan raised his sword, but the bandit clubbed the blade with the branch. Pathan's curved sword whirled from his hand and clattered down the embankment. When Pathan spun around, Lucinda saw the terror in his eyes and covered her mouth to keep from screaming. She crawled to the chasm's edge, and saw the blade glittering far below.
The bandit wheeled on the narrow road and drove back for another attack. This time, Pathan ducked the branch as it swung at him. He leaped up, and grabbed the bandit's shirt, nearly toppling him. But the bandit hung on; and Pathan hung on behind him, half-dragged as the pony galloped madly on. The bandit swung at him with awkward blows until Pathan tumbled against the stones.
Pathan staggered to his feet while the bandit watched. The braid had loosened on his stump, and blood now seeped from it with every heartbeat. His eyes had the brutal stare of a dying tiger.
The bandit spurred his pony. It had reached a full gallop when the bandit's club smacked Pathan's side. Pathan arced through the air with the force of the blow, sliding on his belly when he fell. He struggled to lift his head.
Again thunder rumbled, and shadow filled the sky. A raindrop so large it felt like a splattering egg struck Lucinda's face. The bandit wheeled around once more. Blood from his stump had stained his pants now. Rain began to pelt the road, each drop spraying into the air as it struck the stones.
Too desperate to heed his danger, Pathan pushed up to his feet. The rain pummeled him; his long hair hung in wet streaks across his shoulders. He tried to walk, but staggered, barely keeping his feet. He could not focus his eyes but stared half-blind into the distance. Twenty yards away, the bandit faced him.
Lucinda watched in horror as the bandit spurred to a gallop. Pathan did not move; he seemed unaware of the danger. Get down, get down, she whispered in Portuguese. How could he even be standing after the blows he had taken?
The bandit came on, swinging his club. Pathan staggered blindly. Then the club struck his head, so hard Pathan's feet left the ground. He slammed to the road, flopping onto his back landing so close to the road edge that one of his arms hung in the chasm air. Pathan's body shuddered and grew still.
"Pathan!" Lucinda shrieked. Her cry was lost in the bandit's scream of triumph. "I have won! I have killed him!" The bandit's face was deathly pale, the wild eyes rimmed yellow. Another man might have collapsed from losing so much blood, but the hate that coursed through the bandit's veins kept him alive.
He dropped the branch club and ran toward Lucinda. Come on, she thought as she hobbled to her feet, fists clenched. I'll hurt you before I die.
But she hadn't counted on the bandit's spirit, which seemed on fire despite his injuries. As he passed he grabbed her arm, and by some trick twisted her so she ended up sprawled across his pony once more.
"You are mine!" he crowed. Lucinda bounced against the beast's hot flanks. He pressed her down so that she could not move. She smelled the bandit's blood, and saw Pathan's body, and she wept.
"Get ready," Da Gama said. "Use the mare for cover." He propped his pistola on the horse's rump. Maya swallowed hard and followed his example, sighting down the barrel toward the sound of the hoofbeats.
"Shoot! Shoot! Why don't you shoot!" Slipper screamed.
"There's nothing to shoot at, eunuch."
At that moment the rain abruptly stopped. Where there had been before a cascading tumult there was now sudden silence. The air fell still, and the approaching hoofbeats echoed from stone to glistening stone.
"Shoot!" Slipper whispered. The bandit's pony swung into view. "Shoot!" he screamed.
"No!" Da Gama shouted. "Hold your fire! He has Lucy!"
"Shoot him, whore!" Slipper bawled into Maya's ear.
"Didn't you hear Deoga?" she answered. But Slipper's face was livid, and he grabbed for her pistola.
"Give it! Give it! I'll show you cowards how to shoot!" In an instant he wrenched the pistol from Maya's grasp and raised it toward the road.
"No!" screamed Deoga. He grabbed the eunuch's arm just as Slipper pulled the trigger. Da Gama fell backward beside him.
"I'm hit! I'm bleeding!" Slipper screamed. Clutching his fat cheeks, he stumbled back toward the bushes and fell to his knees. His face was covered with blood.
But not his own. His shot had pierced the eye of Da Gama's tethered mare. A stillness fell over the animal. It sagged on its hooves, and canted slowly sideways, as if made from moist clay. Da Gama dropped his pistola and pushed against it. His posture reminded Maya of the way a heartbroken man leans against a wall and sobs. Slowly she realized that the beast was collapsing, and Da Gama was trying to keep it from crushing them both. She leaped away, but at that moment the horse toppled over, trapping Da Gama's legs.
Da Gama howled as the horse toppled on him. Maya hurried over and leaned her back against the carcass, but Da Gama could not free his legs. "I don't think they're broken, but I can't get out," he whispered through clenched teeth. Maya didn't need to ask if it hurt. Da Gama's eyes, however, had now swept down the road back to the approaching pony.
"Look! Look at this!" The bandit's voice was a dull rasp. "This is justice, this is! Look!" He slid from the pony and grabbed Lucinda around the neck. "This is pretty justice. All day you've been killing my brothers, but now there will be justice. I will kill your daughter, bastard, and then I'll kill you." He shoved Lucinda forward, using her body as a shield. Somewhere he'd found a knife.
"I paid, you son of a bitch!" Da Gama shouted. "The chauth! The baksheesh. Goddamnit, is there no honor anymore?"
"It is I who paid, all day, but you'll pay now, that's certain. You'll pay, she'll pay. Everyone will pay."
"Can't you shoot him, Deoga?" Maya whispered. "Let me get you a pistola. "
Flinching and gritting his teeth, Da Gama checked the range. "Not from here. I'd as likely hit Lucinda."
The bandit shoved Lucinda forward. Da Gama watched in agony, fearing the bandit would cut her. She lifted her hands to him. Da Gama's face grew hot.
"So, papa: Can you kill me before I kill her?" The bandit's face was pale, and his eyelids and lips drooped. "Throw me your sword."
Da Gama couldn't do it, not by himself. Maya helped him unbuckle his belt, and tossed the sword, scabbard, and all. "Do you want more money? Is that what you want? Can't we work a deal?"
"I'll have all your money soon enough." Staggering, the bandit pulled Lucinda to some rocks. From there he had a comfortable view of Da Gama struggling under the dead horse, and Maya beside him. He yanked Lucinda to her knees: she whimpered with the pain. He was fading, but was still strong enough to hurt her.
"Throw away your guns."
"I can't move, you bastard. Let her go!"
"You do it," the bandit said, glaring at Maya. Da Gama gave a grimacing nod. Maya crawled behind him, picked up the leather bag of pistolas that were just beyond his reach. "Throw them here," the bandit called.
"They might go off!" Da Gama said. The bandit twisted Lucinda's hair for answer. When he heard her whimper, Da Gama's face grew hard. He nodded, and Maya from a crouch threw over the guns. But she kept one hidden behind her back.
"That's a good papa. Now-unfinished business." Saliva mixed with the dried blood on his cheek as he sneered at Da Gama. "Business before pleasure. I lost a hand over this bitch. I hope she's worth it."
There was little left of him but hate, but his hate was strong and Lucinda was exhausted. The bandit twisted her arm until she could do no more than fall. Her nightmare of the river began again. Worse this time. Wet this time, dirtier this time. Worst of all, Pathan dead this time.
Stained by his own blood, half-dead, the bandit showed no imagination. He placed a knee on each of Lucinda's shoulders to hold her down and gripped his knife between his teeth. He began once more to tug at his pants.
"Stop It!" Da Gama cried. He sounded in agony.
"Oh, papa. Just enjoy the show," the bandit said. He meant to shout, but his voice was no more than a whimper. His belly was streaked with blood, and he could barely find his shrunken lingam. Finally his hand was working at it, and at his own touch his head fell back in a long, growling grunt. "That's good. That's good."
"Wait," Maya said, rising from Da Gama's side. "Let me show you what a nautch girl can do."
The bandit's eyes flickered from Lucinda to Maya and back. "What's your game?"
"Am I not pleasing? Let her go, and I'll give you pleasure."
"You're crazy." He blinked at Maya. His eyes were having trouble focusing.
"After I've pleased you, take me with you."
"What about him?" the bandit nodded to Da Gama.
"Kill him if you like. He's nothing to me."
"You really a nautch girl?"
"Oh, yes," Maya sighed. Her arm ached, and her ear rang, and as she walked her vision spun, but she forced her face to an elegant serenity, and she moved as graceful as flowing water. "I won't fight. Why should I? How often does a slave get to have a real man? A man like you ... a bandit prince? I'll be your slave. I'll do anything you ask." Maya had covered half the distance. "You could make me beg. A man like you could make me beg." By now the bandit was lost in her eyes. "Let her go. Take me."
The bandit leaned back on his heels, freeing Lucinda's shoulders. Sliding across the wet road, Lucinda crawled away. Tatters of her skirts tugged under the bandit's heels, but only for a moment, and then she was free.
But the bandit never stirred-he seemed too tired to rise. His lips had turned blue, and a thread of saliva hung on his chin. "It's getting cold," he said. His mouth hung limp as he stared at Maya. Blood seeped from his wrist stump in viscid drops.
Maya waited until Lucinda had crept away. "I know you," the bandit whispered through chattering teeth.
Then Maya walked calmly until she stood over the shivering bandit. From the folds of her sari where she'd hidden it, Maya lifted a pistola and raised it level with his eyes. Then she fired.
The bandit's head imploded and his body shuddered.
As the shot's echo faded, Slipper came crashing through the bushes where he'd hidden. "Murderer! Murderer!" he screamed. He fell to his knees and sobbed.
Maya dropped the pistola like an empty husk. Taking Lucinda's arm Maya helped her walk to Da Gama. Lucinda threw herself on his shoulder and sobbed. Da Gama grimaced.
Once more they heard horses-louder this time, lots of horses. They looked up. Dreadful silence fell as the sound thundered closer. "We'll never fight so many," Maya whispered.
Around the bend came a dozen glossy bedouins, and on their backs a dozen soldiers carrying bright lances with green pennants flying. The horses' livery sparkled. Behind them came Geraldo on his pony, standing in his stirrups, grinning and waving, leading one of the pack ponies. Da Gama waved back, despite the pain.
Their leader of the new horsemen, a solid-looking fellow of about Da Gama's age, raised his hand, and the horseman drew around him in a crescent, facing the three travelers and the dead horse. The leader took a long, slow look around the scene before he spoke. "I am Shahji, general commander to the Sultana, queen of Bijapur," he said. His soft voice echoed through the silence.
Behind one of the soldiers rode a tall man with a bare chest, and long black hair still wet with rain, for he had wrapped his turban around his hand.
"Pathan," Lucinda whispered. Ignoring her pain, she stumbled to him.
Part Three
Lake Palace
Part Seven
Golzak Falls
She found herself in a grove of trees, in bright sunlight. Nearby a fountain of milk flowed into a gently lapping pool. But as she looked, the pool of milk became enormous. Its shores melted away, and it stretched before her larger even than the ocean. Miles away, she saw an enormous, cone-shaped mountain rising from the foaming waves of milk.
As she watched, a great blue lotus flower floated toward her across the surface of the milk, like a living boat. When it reached her, its petals unfolded. Seated in the center of the flower was her own guru, Gungama.
My dear guru! Maya cried. Gungama was tiny as ever, as wrinkled as ever, but radiant, her skin lustrous, her sari like hammered gold. Maya wept to see her; her mouth fell open and to her surprise she began to sing. The stars danced. Gungama lifted her hands, and water poured from her palms. A tiny blue flame flickered between her eyebrows.
When the song was done, Gungama smiled. She spread out her arm, and it was as though she had unfurled a sheet of black gauze into the wind. It fluttered like a great shadow onto the ground at Maya's feet, and in the shadow, as if from a great height, Maya saw the Belgaum palace. In the courtyard of the palace was a line of horsemen, and in the line was Da Gama, dressed in jama robes like a Hindi.
"Give him what is yours," Gungama said, pointing to Da Gama.
And at that moment, Maya woke.
She did not hesitate, no, not even to dress. In her shoulder bag she found the small, unfinished wooden box and took from it the plain cloth pouch it held. Pulling a coverlet from the bed over her shoulders, she ran barefoot from the room. The coverlet spread out behind her like a cape, and her black hair went flying. She was in the courtyard in an instant. The padding of her feet echoed softly from the silent walls.
It was just as she had seen in the dream: there in the courtyard were Shahji's men in a line, preparing to leave. Da Gama was indeed dressed in jamas, but he still wore his heavy farang boots, which gave him a clownish air. He was leaning from his saddle to shake Geraldo's outstretched hand. The sky glowed, a cloudless gray, pink at the horizon. Roosters crowed. She raced across the white marble tiles.
"Ho, ho, what's this!" Da Gama laughed as she approached. Some of the riders snickered, until a fierce glance from Shahji stopped them.
Breathless, Maya reached up her pouch. "Take it, take it, uncle, take it," she gasped.
"But what is it?" Geraldo demanded. He seemed ready to take the pouch from Da Gama's hand.
Maya snatched it back and clutched it to her chest. She'd forgotten the young farang. "It is for him alone." She raised her face to Da Gama. "Just take it, uncle."
Da Gama frowned. He reached for the pouch, and his big, leathery hand brushed her slender fingers. "What is it?"
"A secret, uncle."
Da Gama glanced at Geraldo, who shrugged and shook his head. Da Gama hefted the small bag testing its weight. "What secret does a nautch girl keep?" He began to open the pouch, but Maya placed her small hand on his to stop him.
"What you hold is as dear to me as life." Da Gama frowned at her. She leaned up to him and whispered desperately, "Keep it for me. Do me this favor. I have no money to offer, but I can give you pleasure, uncle. If that's what you want."
Da Gama's face grew serious, his eyes smoldering. "Don't tempt me, child. I'll keep it for you. Don't make stupid offers. I might take you up on them, and then where would we be?"
Maya grabbed Da Gama's stirrup and pressed her forehead to the toe of his boot. "How then shall I thank you, uncle?"
Da Gama's cheeks grew hot. "Stand up for one thing. Just pray for me. God knows I need it."
She raised her hands. "Be blessed in your journey."
At that moment, Shahji gave a piercing whistle, and the guards rode through the green gate of the courtyard, and along the narrow causeway that led across the lake. Da Gama turned and waved many times.
Geraldo came up to stand just inches from Maya's side, watching them depart. In the cold morning air she could sense the heat of his body. "What was in the pouch?"
"It is his now. You must ask him." As she watched Da Gama ride away, Maya's thoughts raced. From the fire t
o the pot, from the pot to the firewhat difference does it make? I may never see it again, or him.
At least they won't have it, the filthy hijras. But what will they do to that poor farang if they find him with it?
I'll pray for us both, uncle, she whispered. When Da Gama passed into the mists, she walked off and did not look back.
One of the servant women, seated at the edge of the courtyard, nodded to her and offered Maya some of the simple breakfast she was cooking. Maya realized she was famished. She ate a paratha and another.
As Maya wiped her fingers, she saw an open palki come on the road across the lake. As the bearers came closer she saw who they carried.
Slipper.
Was he ashamed at the fuss he had made, he who had never been injured? Why bother to ask?
Maya turned to walk off. Slipper called to her from the palki, again and again. The servant woman tugged her hand and nodded toward the palki until Maya sighed and turned to face him.
The bearers set him down, and Slipper lifted a pudgy languid hand so the palkiwallah could help him up. He came straight for Maya, chattering with his high-pitched voice.
The doctor, he told Maya, was a true master who had brought Slipper back from the brink of death, but now he was fine. Then the doctor had recognized that Slipper was worthy of honor, and had begged the eunuch to ride to the palace in his palki.
About Pathan, of course, Slipper had nothing to say. Nor did he ask for news about anyone else. He was a hijra, only a hijra, and he squawked like an ugly old bird. It took little time before he was squawking at her.
"You are hiding it! I saw it fall from your bag at the pass. Where is it, where is it?" Soon he was screaming "Tell me, tell me!" Maya did not even look up.
