Tell your foreigner that I hope he will accept my hospitality. Until your message came I did not realize how eager I am for a little novelty in my life. My stipulations will not, I trust, prove too demanding. A man who has seen as much of the world as you claim this foreigner has will have more to talk about than treachery in a remote principality on the northern border of the Delhi Sultanate. It is for that and for your request that I will be pleased to have him here.
May the gods protect you now as they have before, and may your reign continue free from strife. Of all our family you and your daughter are the only ones left to me, and though I see you rarely, my affection and loyalty remain true and unchanging. I am pleased to be able to comply with your instructions, and will always be pleased to do so, as much as I am capable of doing.
Your sister,
Padmiri
PART III
Tamasrajasi daughter of Rajah Kare Dantinusha of Natha Suryarathas
A letter from the merchant Loramidi Chol to Saint-Germain.
Revered and honored guest of Rajah Dantinusha, and esteemed traveler, my most humble and respectful greetings.
It is with profound regret that I inform you I have not been able to learn of any ships that will take you down the river to the sea. Too many of those who trade on the river fear that the warriors of Jenghiz Khan who are harrying their way through Persia will next turn their mounts toward the Delhi Sultanate. For that reason, few will make the journey at all, and those that will, have no intention of going as far as the sea. Were it possible to do so much, yet no captain would accept a foreigner onto his vessel at this time. You must realize that they all believe every foreigner to be capable of spying for the Mongols, and my sources tell me that this rumor is more prevalent in the Islamic territories than it is here, farther upriver.
Let me assure you that I will continue to search out river captains to learn if any of them will take you. After the rains have stopped there may well be more traders on the river, even this far up the Chenab. At that time I may discover that there are trustworthy men who will take you with them on their return voyage. They will doubtless not wish to leave until very near the spring rains, as this may be the last opportunity they will have to trade here for some time. If it is true that the Mongols are planning to attack the lands of Shams-ud-din Iletmish, there is much sense in what they do. Merchants, as you must know, are cautious men in their way, and because they gamble with their fortunes are reluctant to gamble with their lives. As I have told you, this is not a thing that can be arranged quickly. It is my opinion that you will not be able to depart for at least two seasons.
In the other matters, however, there has been more achieved. The substances you have requested will be provided. Powder of cinnabar is not easily available, and it will be a while before I can deliver it to you. My agents in Delhi have found the azoth, fine carbon, and salts you have requested. They will be in your hands by the time the periyanadu convenes. It will take a bit longer for the woods you asked for to be brought, but I have been assured that they can be had. The question of Hungarian earth is another matter. A magus in Kanpur is reputed to have some, and word has been sent to him that it is required. You specified that the earth must come from the mountains of the Transylvanian region. It is not known if the Hungarian earth he has is from that region, but if it is, the offer you have authorized will be made. I am aware that you stressed alacrity in this instance, and I assure you that I am proceeding as quickly as I am able, but with the rains and these uncertain times, it is not always possible for me or my agents to procure all the materials desired by those who come to me, and to the rest of the travelling merchants.
I have in hand the gold you promised, and let me praise the high quality of the metal. Nothing has debased it, nothing has lightened it. How rare such gold is in these times.
In the hope that I may continue to be of service to you, now and in the future, and may the gods look with favor on all your endeavors,
Loramidi Chol
merchant
by the hand of the scribe Indukar
1
In the northern corner of the room the athanor was almost complete. Casks, sacks and boxes made islands and obstacles all over the floor as Rogerio busied himself with labeling, cataloging and storing all the supplies that had been delivered. He was inspecting one of the smaller boxes when he observed to Saint-Germain, “This box of salts is of very poor quality. Chol said it was the finest he could buy. What must the worst be like?”
“Can we purify it?” Saint-Germain inquired. He was busy with the Roman chest which had been stood by the wall farthest from the windows.
“Probably, but it is a nuisance.” Rogerio marked the box and made a notation on the scroll he carried. “Do you think Chol will be able to supply you the earth you need?”
“I hope so,” Saint-Germain said with feeling. “It’s not just a question of the earth. What I have will last me for a while, and if there were a way to reach Shiraz, I would not be concerned. However, I think it will be wisest to hold two of the sacks in reserve. If we do get transportation downriver, I will need the earth.” He finished making his adjustments in the chest, then tugged at the lock to be certain it was still firm.
“And for the other? Will you purchase a concubine?” Rogerio had set the scroll aside and was stacking the boxes he had cataloged.
Saint-Germain sighed. “I suppose I must, but I would rather not. When pleasure is bought, it is a superficial … nourishment.” He fell silent, staring out the window at the enormous purple clouds that would soon empty rain over the mountains as fieldwomen emptied the great loads of grain from their aprons at the end of the day. The air was already thickening with damp. “I could lie quiescent on what little earth I have left. I would prefer not to.”
Rogerio opened the largest of the sacks. “Carbon dust. This is superior.”
“As it comes from Delhi, this isn’t remarkable. The Muslims have practiced the Great Art for several hundred years, particularly the processes with metals. Their carbon dust ought to be superior.”
“There are three vessels of azoth,” Rogerio remarked.
“Good. I’ll concentrate on jewels instead of gold. The results will be more reliable, I think.” He picked his way across the room to the athanor. “This will be finished soon. Then I will see how it turns out rubies. If they do well enough, I’ll make diamonds.”
Rogerio was only half-listening. “Diamonds?”
Saint-Germain smiled wryly. “Diamonds. You have seen them before, I think. Most often they are clear, but a few have a tint to them.” He laid one hand on the brics of the incomplete athanor. “It will be good to practice the Great Art again. It’s been too long.”
“You had an athanor at the lamasery,” Rogerio reminded him as he made another notation on his scroll.
“That was a paltry thing. Hardly worthy of the name. This is better. It will be able to be heated hot enough for the jewels.” He spoke with a curious affection. “Music and alchemy,” he said quietly, as if talking to the athanor. “Those two have sustained me.” Then he gave a crack of unhappy laughter. “That is not entirely correct. I require other things for sustenance. Perhaps, philosophically, there is truth in it, but that is all.”
The first drops of rain spattered into the room, and Saint-Germain moved quickly to close the shutters. Once the rain began to fall, it increased steadily, making a sound not unlike the sea.
“The rains are almost over, they say,” Rogerio said, after looking up toward the ceiling once.
“If the weather holds true to pattern, that’s correct.” Suddenly he recalled another time, long ago, when he and Rogerio had been in Asia during the rains. “That temple on the Irrawaddy…”
Rogerio looked up, then grinned, which was rare in him. “Yes. There was almost no way to tell where the river ended and the land began. All the offerings were bobbing about in the eddies and the priests were on the shoulders of the idols shouting at the clouds.”
“My master,” Rogerio said as he straightened up, “not even you can live without mourning. Perhaps you mourn more than others do. You left horror behind you in China, and now you find that it is waiting ahead for you in Persia. While the others hear rumors of what the Mongol warriors do, you, and I, have seen it. And we may have to look upon their slaughter again.”
“And it is different for you, old friend?” Saint-Germain asked lightly.
“I am not the same as you. My losses are not your losses.”
“No,” Saint-Germain agreed.
The silence between them was not awkward; they had known each other too long for that, but Rogerio could feel his master’s self-imposed isolation become stronger. “What do you suppose a magus in Kanpur wants with earth from Hungary?” It was a safe-enough question, and one to which he truly wanted an answer.
“It’s probably going to be used for spells to help the Muslims conquer Europe.” He ran one small hand over the wall nearest him. The room had not been occupied in some time, and there were fine strands of spiderwebs holding dust under his fingers.
“Earth for spells?” Rogerio asked, rolling up his scroll for the moment.
“I’m guessing. He may require it for other reasons.” He pulled his hand away and rubbed his fingertips and thumb together, testing the gritty residue from the walls. “The walls had best be scrubbed with vinegar water. Otherwise, who knows how much contamination we’ll have to filter out of everything we do?”
“Why would earth aid spells?” Rogerio persisted, bending to move a number of the sacks he had cataloged into a tighter pile.
“I doubt the earth does aid it, but if the magus believes it does, it will be essential to him. You remember that sorcerer in Britain? He was a man about fifty, a fair healer and good with herbs.” He saw Rogerio nod. “He had earth from all over the island, and before every campaign, he would perform certain rites that used the earth so that his leader would triumph. It may have helped. As I recall, they held that beleaguered kingdom together for more than fifteen years.” Saint-Germain folded his arms. “Perhaps it’s because I’m so far from home, and may not get back to it, that I spend so much time remembering.”
Whatever Rogerio was about to reply was interrupted by the arrival of Bhatin, the eunuch who was the chief steward of the household. He was somewhat taller than Saint-Germain, with a clever face. His hair was clubbed at the back of his neck and he wore a sleeved linen tunic that almost reached his ankles. He favored Saint-Germain with a polite gesture of greeting.
“It is my honor to tell you that my mistress has come to see you.” There was no indication, either from the inflection or the words he used, how he viewed this.
Saint-Germain had spoken to Padmiri, but had not yet seen her. As was proper, she had received him in a chamber divided by an ornamental screen. This departure from custom puzzled Saint-Germain.
“I have no screen here, and the room is as dark now as I may make it,” he said to Bhatin, and noticed there was a subtle alteration in his attitude.
“She wishes to see you,” the eunuch said in his high, clear voice. “Your servant and I will remain here.” This was an order, and Rogerio bowed his acceptance.
There was a light, firm tread in the hall, and then Padmiri, sister of the Rajah Dantinusha, came into the room. Her eyes, clear as dark amber, found Saint-Germain at once, and she bent her head to him, as if she were meeting a distinguished teacher or scholar.
Saint-Germain returned her greeting. “Rani—” he began.
“No,” she corrected him in a musical, low-pitched voice. “I have renounced all claim on that title. It has brought me little but sorrow.” She met his eyes frankly. “So you are the foreigner I have admitted to my home. Welcome, foreigner.”
“You are most gracious. Your introduction the other evening was more than I had expected or hoped for.” She had told him then that he would be permitted to set up his workroom as he saw fit, that he could hire servants or purchase slaves and that so long as he paid for their maintenance, she would place no restrictions on him.
Her laughter was the sort that came only at the end of long suffering. There was a freedom in it; her laughter was for its own sake. “We are both aware of how remote this house is, and how little diversion I am able to offer you. When my brother informed me that you had much knowledge, learning and skills, it was too tempting to refuse him. You must think of this as a part of your home.” From the fleeting pain in his face, she knew she had erred. “Perhaps not your home.”
“Forgive me, Ra…” He stopped. “What shall I call you?”
“Padmiri.” She ignored the admonitory hiss Bhatin gave her. “And you? What do I call you?”
“Saint-Germain will do.” He turned toward the various piles and stacks littering the floor. “I would show you what I can produce here, but as you can see, I am not ready to begin.”
“But you will permit me to come here, on occasion?” Her handsome face brightened as she asked.
“Naturally. It is your house.” He had not intended to offend her, but he saw that he had.
“It is not my wish to be tolerated, Saint-Germain,” she said stiffly. “If you would rather I do not come here, I will respect your wishes.”
Saint-Germain made an impatient sound in his throat. “No, that was not my intention. You have the right to come here at any time and you have my invitation to do so. It was your kindness that has made it possible for me to be able to work.” His formality reassured Bhatin but puzzled his mistress.
“Tell me, Saint-Germain, why would my brother make this request of me for you?” The iridescent silk of her gold-embroidered skirt was the color of carnelian, and the short, loose jacket she wore was a deep red-brown.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he said after a moment, “but I think that the jewels he has bought from me had something to do with it.”
“Jewels?” From the way she said it, she felt that her brother had been bribed.
Saint-Germain was quick to explain. “I believe he wants more of them. He hinted as much when he sent me here.”
“And you have more jewels?” She seemed disappointed now, and raised her hand to signal Bhatin.
“I will have,” he said without amusement.
She stared at him. “You will have? How?”
“Why, with this,” he said, looking around the cluttered room. “I am an alchemist, Padmiri. There is more to alchemy than making gold for greedy Kings and better steel for warlike ones.” He saw that he had recaptured her interest. “There is a secret to jewels. I am not speaking of counterfeit gems, but real ones. It’s a tedious process, and most of those who practice the Great Art would rather make gold. There are more rewards in it. But there are many other achievements. There is a most effective remedy that begins with nothing more than moldy bread, which can be made relatively simply. There are pigments of rare luminosity that can be blended with certain powdered shells. The jewels are another such achievement.”
Padmiri heard him out, tension in her face. “Does my brother know this?”
“He suspects it.” He knew that his answers had disturbed her and wished to make amends. “I hadn’t intended to send him reports, Padmiri.”
“He will know of it, though. The household spies will tell him when you have made more jewels. Then he will seek you out again and will try to coerce you into doing more for him.” She shook her head and stared blindly at the window shutters. “If he does not, one of the others will and it will all begin again!”
Rogerio cast Saint-Germain a worried look, but Saint-Germain motioned him to be still, and approached Padmiri gravely. “Would you rather I leave? I have no wish to repay your generosity with trouble.”
She did not respond at once. “You don’t know what it was like when our brothers and cousins rebelled. The streets were so filled with blood that sheep and cattle could not be driven across them. I think of my uncle, who was a kindly man, and had done nothing more than take his oldest son into his house during the rebellion. He was dragged out and put on a wheel and his hands and feet sheared away. Then he was sawn apart with ropes. This man was old! He was not part of the rebellion, except that his son participated. He insisted that he was loyal to my brother and supported the truce with Delhi. It was after that that I left the court. Never have I been so grateful that I had no husband or children. Doubtless they, and I, would have been taken to the execution ground as well.” Her face was wet and there was a tremor in her voice, but she sighed and went on. “For one who insisted that you not discuss court life in any way, I have a poor opinion of my own strictures.”
Saint-Germain came near her, his dark eyes—dark in a way hers were not—full on her face. He read old anguish there, and resignation that preferred this lonely life to further hurt. “Padmiri, this is not my country, but I know what it is to lose those of my blood. You may speak to me or not as you choose, of this or any other matter. Perhaps, because I am a stranger, you will find it easier to talk.”
Path of the Eclipse Page 35
