Path of the Eclipse

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Padmiri wiped her face. “I don’t know if I will do so, but I know that your offer is given in kindness.”

  “As was your offer to me,” he said at once, touched by her candor and her dignity.

  She said nothing, turning toward the door and motioning for Bhatin to follow her. When she was at the door, she turned back. “Saint-Germain, though my brother did not ask this of me, I would have been pleased to have you here. I trust you will not regret your decision to stay here; I am glad that you have come.” With a polite lowering of her head, she was gone, and her eunuch closed the door behind them.

  “An interesting woman,” Rogerio said into the silence.

  “Yes,” Saint-Germain responded in a very neutral tone, and did not mention Padmiri again until two days later while he was setting the last of the bricks into place on the athanor. The storm had not passed, and there were one or two damp patches showing on the shutters as well as moisture on the floor. “Padmiri,” Saint-Germain said as he tested the shutters with a long, thin knife for rot, “told me that these shutters are three years old. She’s offered to replace them if they should require it.”

  “She’s a generous hostess,” Rogerio remarked. He was putting the last of the sacks and boxes into their places on the new shelving which he had installed the day before.

  “The floor is all right,” Saint-Germain went on. “I tested it yesterday. Though I think I might make up some of that sealant and apply it to the floor and walls: it will protect against stains as well as wet.”

  They both continued to work; when Rogerio finished his work, he drew up one of the two rough stools in the room, and, as he sat, said, “I gather from what the grooms were saying earlier today that there were messengers from the Rajah here last night.”

  “That’s hardly surprising,” Saint-Germain said as he painstakingly fitted one of the last three bricks into place. He spoke rather distantly, his concentration on his hands, not his words.

  “Actually, from what they said, it is surprising. There is little communication between Dantinusha and his sister, apparently. That’s been her choice. The servants know that regular reports are exchanged, but this was unusual.” He bent over to tug the soft shoes he wore into a better fit. “Most of the servants attribute this to your presence.”

  “They may be right,” Saint-Germain said, not truly listening.

  A gust of wind rattled the shutters, making the wood shiver in the frames. Rogerio looked up sharply.

  “I don’t know how these people get used to these storms,” he complained, but more with irritation than ill-usage. “Last night I thought the wind would lift off the roof.”

  “It did damage one of the walls of the slaves’ quarters,” Saint-Germain said, standing upright and looking away from the athanor.

  “When was that?”

  “Late last night, apparently. Two of the slaves were badly hurt when a beam fell. One of them died.” He spoke quietly, icily. “From what Bhatin said this morning, he views the whole incident as inconvenient. Slaves are necessary to a household this size, and having two die unexpectedly upsets the order of the house.”

  “Did Bhatin wish your aid?” Rogerio straightened up.

  “No. He is of the belief that if he aided these slaves, he would have karma with them in a later life, and he cannot bear the thought of having to deal with Untouchables. When he came to my room this morning, it was to deliver a message from Padmiri.”

  “Why does she send a message to you? Why not carry it herself or ask that you come to her?” Rogerio found many of the ways of Hindus difficult to understand, and despite two journeys through Hindu countries, had never learned to deal with the formalities or the customs.

  “Apparently it is not fitting that she come to me, and requesting that I come to her is little better. She lives alone and has never married, and there are many restrictions on such women.” He gave his manservant a tight smile. “Do they know that you understand them, the servants?”

  Rogerio shrugged. “They know that I understand a little, but they think that if they speak quickly, I will not be able to follow what they say.”

  “That’s a useful ruse,” Saint-Germain approved. “Don’t let them learn otherwise. We may have need of servants’ gossip before we leave here.”

  One of the shutters banged open on a fierce gust of wind. Rain streamed into the room, spattering and darkening the floor. Rogerio moved quickly to secure it as Saint-Germain threw rough sacking onto the spreading pool. When the water had been mopped up and the shutter protected with a double twist of wire, Saint-Germain pulled the other stool away from the wall and straddled it.

  “Padmiri is curious about what we do here, but I doubt she will intrude. I will invite her to visit here regularly, which will lessen the suspicions of the household a little.” He stared, unseeing, at the opposite wall. “I wish I knew which of the servants were spies, and for whom.”

  “Is there any way to discover that?” Rogerio did not think that there was, but hoped that Saint-Germain might know a method to obtain that information.

  “It might be done by accident. Spies are natural to a court, and it isn’t impossible to find out who supplies information, at least trivial information. In a household such as this one, I don’t know what must be done to unearth the spies. You’re more apt to stumble on spies than I am, as the servants may be bolder around you.” He put his hand to his forehead. “It’s … disquieting to be here. This is a prison without bars. Very pleasant, certainly, but still a prison.”

  “Is that why the Rajah sent you here?” Rogerio got up from the stool and began to make measurements on the wall, using a length of knotted cord.

  “I think so, in part. Though what his sister makes of this, I can’t say. If she were younger than he is, he might be able to command her at will, but since she is older…”

  “When will you speak with her again?” Rogerio began making notes on a narrow paper scroll. The numerals he used were Roman, though Saint-Germain had often pointed out that the Arabic system was faster, more adaptable and useful; Rogerio had learned his figures the Roman way and he preferred to continue to use them.

  “Later today, I hope. It’s awkward, because of our irregular position in society. From what Bhatin said this morning, no one is quite sure how you and I are to be treated. Bhatin delivered her message and I asked him to tell her that I could not reply as I would wish to the question, and told him that I hoped she would be willing to receive me so that we might discuss the matter. Bhatin is not convinced that I have any right to make that request, or that Padmiri should grant it, but I’m fairly sure he’ll repeat what I said.” He looked around the room. “I think we’ll be able to do serious work fairly soon. If the weather changes, it will go more easily. It will take at least two days after the rains stop for the road to be passable to wagons. Once we get the next consignment from Chol, we will do well.” His face lightened at the prospect of working again. He had missed the excitement of alchemy, the discipline and the discovery which had fascinated him for more years than he cared to count. His work and his music had sustained him—he had been without both for too long.

  “Do you think he’ll be able to get you the glass you need?” Rogerio had resumed making measurements, and was kneeling now, setting the knotted cord against the foot of the wall.

  “Probably not, but if he will supply me the sands I’ve required, I will be able to blow my own utensils. I’d have to do that for the athanor vessels in any case.” Then he added inconsequently, “I doubt if Chol can get white brass. I must be prepared to make that, as well.”

  Rogerio got to his feet. “I have taken two sacks of your earth and put them behind the others in this cabinet.” He spoke in Latin, and very quickly, in the atrocious accent of the Ostia wharves that had not been heard in more than eight hundred years. “Of the rest, half is under your mattress, the other half in the false back of your Roman chest. I’m planning to move one of the sacks to the stables after you are give
n permission to have horses.”

  “Excellent,” Saint-Germain said. “I have disposed of the portion I had in ways I think I had better not describe. You will be able to plead ignorance, if you must.”

  They had been through too much together for Rogerio to question the wisdom of this. He went back to his measuring, and stopped only when Bhatin entered the room.

  The eunuch bowed to Saint-Germain, ignoring Rogerio entirely. “Esteemed guest of my most-favored mistress,” he said in educated and poetic accents, “it is my privilege and honor to bring you a summons from Padmiri, sister of the Rajah Dantinusha, she who is known as Manas Sattva for her great devotion to learning and truth. It is the wish of this most-favored lady that you come to her reception room with me at this time so that it is possible for you to discuss the matters that are of interest to you both. It is the will of this most-favored lady that you be prepared to enlarge upon the earlier message that you sent through me, and which, in humble duty to this most-favored lady, I reported wholly and without alteration. Therefore, be good enough to ready yourself at once so that Padmiri, daughter of the Rajah Kare Dharmasval, sister of the Rajah Kare Dantinusha, may not be insulted by unseemly delay.”

  Saint-Germain was not familiar with the proper form of ritual courtesy, but he knew that his acknowledgment of Bhatin’s address should be elegantly expressed. “Good eunuch, be assured that your summons on behalf of your mistress, the most-favored lady Padmiri, crowns my day with honor. Let me give my servant brief instruction so that he will not be idle while I avail myself of this unhoped-for opportunity.” He turned to Rogerio, speaking now in Greek. “As you probably guessed, Padmiri wants to see me. If she grants my request for horses and a boat, we may yet find our way downriver, and from there, board a ship for Egypt or the port of Safwan.”

  Rogerio bowed deeply. “May it be so, and before the rains begin in the spring,” he responded in Greek.

  “There,” Saint-Germain said to Bhatin, once again speaking in the high-caste manner he had learned long ago. “My servant has his instructions. I await only your guidance on how best to comport myself in the presence of your most-favored lady.”

  “It is fitting that you inquire, foreigner,” Bhatin said unctuously. “It is not uncommon for strangers to be unbearably insulting to great ladies.” He led the way to the door and started down the neglected hall, not looking to see whether or not Saint-Germain followed him.

  As he fell into step behind the eunuch, Saint-Germain pondered the outcome of the interview ahead.

  Text of a letter from the commander of the Rajah’s guard, Sudra Guristar, to the village elder Damilha.

  To Damilha, village elder, who will be delegate to the periyanadu of Natha Suryarathas forthcoming, the commander of the Rajah Dantinusha’s guard is pleased to send his greetings and wishes for safe and swift travel.

  Let me assure that all preparations for the great periyanadu are well in hand, and the occasion will certainly be a most fortuitous one for all of the country. I am filled with delight that a meeting of this nature should be held now, for I am confident that it will reveal once again how great the strength of our people can be and how puny the men from Delhi compared to our own. There are many who rely on you, Damilha, and those like you, to demonstrate that our might does not come from the whim of the Sultan Shams-ud-din Iletmish, but from our people, our gods and our blood.

  It is with sorrow that I have observed, as have many others, the changing ways of some of those of high rank. They seek to placate the Sultan in the south and emulate his decadent ways, forgetting the land and the gods that are the glory of Natha Suryarathas. Such men, though often acting from goodwill, are, nonetheless, seduced by the promises and luxuries of the Sultanate, and they forget that it was not very many years ago that the land they tread now was ours, and the men they profess to despise ruled for ages in the place where they have spent so little time. Doubtless you will see evidence of this and it may pain you to realize that there are those who feel that this is the course of wisdom, and counsel delay, tolerance, and subservience rather than encouraging all those here to rise against the foreigners who oppress us.

  When you speak at the periyanadu, it may be that you will mention your concerns, and it may be that others will discuss this with you when the gatherings are less official. At either time, in either place, it is well to remember that there are those who seek to curry favor with the men of the Sultan and will provoke you to speak rashly. Let me urge you to be circumspect in all things, for it would be most awkward for your Rajah to be faced with unpleasantness while the men of the Sultanate are his guests. Rather watch and evaluate for yourself. Then later, if it should seem to you that there is truly reason for concern, it might be wise to bring the whole question up at your local meetings, so that a true consensus may be achieved before any action or recommendations are undertaken.

  How you must contemplate with joy the opportunity to bow before the gods and offer them the splendors of this great celebration which will follow the periyanadu. If there is a way to offer the gods recompense for the insults they have endured from the men of the Sultan, this must be the way. The Rajah has shown great perspicacity in this, for it is wholly appropriate that he should invoke the gods at such a time, and yet he has chosen to do it in such a way that the ambassador may not say to those in Delhi that Rajah Dantinusha has forgotten himself and offered us a challenge that will lead to war. Other, more hotheaded men might decide to attack the party of the ambassador, and it would not be badly thought of in many quarters. Yet Dantinusha sees beyond this, and for that reason it is well that we appear complacent, no matter how bitterly our hearts bum within us.

  To you, and the men who will gather for the periyanadu, the gods smile upon your journey, and may your sacrifices be received with full acceptance and favor. The festival will be a tribute that any man may be proud to take part in, and may afterward boast that he participated in a most auspicious gathering.

  Sudra Guristar,

  Commander of the guard

  of Rajah Kare Dantinusha,

  the nineteenth year of his reign,

  third year since the defeat of the uprising,

  the forty-fourth year of his life

  2

  As Ab-she-lam Eidan approached the elevated dais where Rajah Kare Dantinusha sat in state, he and his party made low salaams to him, calling down the blessings of Allah upon him, though he was a Hindu infidel. The ambassador placed his foot on the bottom step, then knelt and bent in the full courtesy one Hindu Prince might give another. “From the Sultan Shams-ud-din Iletmish at Delhi, whom Allah protect and guide, to you, Great Lord, the most respectful and profound greetings.”

  Rajah Dantinusha had shaded his eyes against the sun, for the great open tent of striped silk faced the west and offered no protection now that it was midafternoon. “Rise, rise, Ab-she-lam Eidan, and come nearer so that a true greeting may be exchanged.” He did not rise, as he might have for the Sultan himself, but waited until the ambassador had reached the top step. They kissed each other’s cheeks and lips, and spat into the shade to ensure protection against the manipulations of demons.

  “A glorious beginning to your festivities, Great Lord,” Ab-she-lam Eidan assured the Rajah. “Surely my master, the Sultan, must count himself unfortunate to have missed this fine display.”

  “Surely so great a ruler as the Sultan has seen festivals of greater splendor and magnitude than this one, for the expanse of his kingdom is great, as my distant fathers knew, and the riches of the plains far exceed what we have here in the mountains. The entertainment we offer is poor in comparison to the magnificence of the Sultan, but it is given to delight the gods and bring favor upon us as well as to express the satisfaction in the completion of the periyanadu which has brought such pride to the country.”

  This was the signal for the Muslim ambassador to step down from the dais and rejoin his party, who clustered around the platform’s base. He salaamed again, and made his way do
wn the steps backward, going cautiously, and wishing that Rajah Dantinusha would grant him the favor of walking down the stairs facing to the front. As he reached the bottom step, the whole party bowed deeply, and turned away.

  A great crashing of cymbals and beating of tuned drums got the attention of the crowd who had gathered for the festivities. The thumping and clashing effectively silenced all conversations, and the people on the small field faced toward the tall open tent of striped silk, their faces expectant.

  Dantinusha had risen, holding his gem-inlaid silver elephant goad high. This symbol of his authority was recognized throughout Natha Suryarathas, and was regarded with awe by Dantinusha’s subjects. At a gesture from the Rajah, Rialkot, his herald, came to stand beside him. Dantinusha turned to the burly man, saying quietly, “Commend them all for being here.”

  Rialkot placed his hand over his heart to indicate he would obey, and then his enormous voice boomed out over the field. “It is the wish of the Rajah Kare Dantinusha that each of you take deep and abiding satisfaction from your presence at these festivities. You may all know that you have been commended for attending, and for this reason, you are most favored by the Rajah and the gods.” As he finished, the drums and gongs and cymbals set up a dreadful racket.

  “Tell them that on this occasion I am going to present them with my heir, so that they will all know who it is, and will uphold the claim.” He remembered the uprising as he said this, and knew that it was necessary to ensure there would not be another such insurrection.

  “The Rajah Dantinusha,” the herald announced, “wishes all here to share in his pleasure at the choice of his heir. The gods have given him forty-four years of life, and have been allies in his battles, and it is fitting that he show you, the world and the gods, his choice of succession. You are to have a distinguished favor today. Rajah Kare Dantinusha will present you his heir for your acclamation.”