Path of the Eclipse

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I’ve been told that those living in the east are far more lascivious.” He was not able to show the severe disapproval that his superior demanded, and for that reason he added, “It is said that such women, schooled as they are in pleasure, make superb concubines, for they are raised with men, not kept in isolation as virtuous women are.”

  Ab-she-lam nodded toward the dais. “You need not look to the east to find wantons. Tamasrajasi is one such, or I have learned nothing in my life.” He started to walk away, but added a last instruction to the younger man. “Those at Delhi who sent you here have said that they wish that you, with your scholarship, find a way to talk with the sister of the Rajah, and win her favorable opinion. She is known for her learning, as you know.”

  “Her favorable opinion? She lives half a day from the palace. How will I reach her?” Jalal-im-al protested, starting after Ab-she-lam.

  “That is not my concern. This is your task and you must do as you think wisest.” He stopped. “That foreigner who was sent to her—he may be one path to the woman. You must ingratiate yourself with her, so that when Rajah Dantinusha is dead, she will speak on our behalf and the continuation of the truce.”

  Jalal-im-al felt a tremor of alarm through his giddiness. “Ingratiate myself? The woman is fifty-two years old. How am I to ingratiate myself with such a creature?”

  This time there was no response from Ab-she-lam, who quickly vanished into the crowd. Jalal-im-al tried at first to follow the ambassador, then glared petulantly toward the dancers on the field, who were now beginning the portion of the performance that described the powers of destruction and Shiva on the Burning Ground.

  A message from a spy in the household of Padmiri to Tamasrajasi, daughter of Rajah Dantinusha.

  Revered mistress and favored child of the gods, humbly I seek to fulfill the task that you have set for me, so that the great time will hasten when the yoke of the unbelieving men of Delhi will be taken from us and the former glory of this country will be restored in greater splendor than before.

  The sister of your father has continued in the same course she has taken for three years. She lives retired from the world, as you have been told many times before. She has received a few scholars and two traveling musicians since the rains have ceased. There was nothing remarkable about any of them, and the time she spent with them was much the same as she has given to others who were similar. She has shown no interest in the teachings of Islam, though she has three times in the past spoken with scholars of that erroneous creed. No person of military caste has visited her except for the Commander of the guard, Sudra Guristar, who comes regularly to see her servants here, inspect their weapons and be sure that Padmiri is properly guarded.

  Your concern about the foreigner whom your father ordered here would seem to have little foundation. For the most part the man stays in his quarters and lives quietly, spending the greatest part of his time in the room he has filled with his alchemical apparatus. No one has anything to say about him, except that his servant knows so little of the language that it is difficult to get him to understand the most basic instructions. The master, as you know, has our tongue and several others, which greatly pleases Padmiri. She has said that she would like to learn more of the languages of the West, but no arrangements have been made. As you may perceive, a woman of your aunt’s age is no longer prey to the demons of the flesh, and her way of life does not lend itself to the conduct that you feared. Be at ease, great lady—you stand in no danger here.

  The guards are, as always, capable men, careful of their reputations and devoted to the Rajah and the preservation of Natha Suryarathas, and none of them have behaved in any manner that would make me or any other doubt this.

  What devotions to the gods Padmiri undertakes are performed, for the most part, in private. She makes formal sacrifices at the various feasts, and insists that those in her household who are not slaves do the same, which is what one would expect of the Rajah’s older sister. She keeps a shrine to Ganesh, which is to be expected of a scholar, of course, and there are those to numerous minor gods and goddesses, but she is not single-minded in her devotions. She has shown no particular favor to any of the deities you were curious about. Other than that, I have noticed that her reading material is not limited to one sect or period of writing. What she may read in private is impossible to determine, at least for one in my position, and I fear I will arouse undue suspicion if I ask too many questions regarding her reading. Be assured that should I learn anything of interest I will inform you at once through the kind offices of the grain merchant who brings this to you now.

  As you see, it is much as it has been for the last three years. Padmiri does not wish to see any more of her family harmed, and she, herself, does not wish to stand in harm’s way. You have nothing to fear from this woman, even from her womb, as she has passed the time when she might bear children who could challenge you or your heirs for the right to rule here.

  Ever in your service and the service of the gods who will bring to an end this humiliation we have all endured too long.

  Your friend

  3

  After sunset the air became cool and the breeze over the fields was not oppressive. Padmiri stood on the terrace beyond her reception room and looked up at the sky as dusk deepened around her. The silken robe she wore was perhaps a little too thin, for she shivered once as she glanced back toward the extensive bulk of her home. She could see the slaves working in the reception room, lighting the oil lamps and setting out low tables and cushions.

  She was not being entirely wise, she told herself for the ninth or tenth time. Again she offered this sop to her doubts: you are too old to bear children, and there is no question of a permanent liaison, should the man be interested in you at all. That was the most daunting prospect of the coming evening—that he might not wish to do more than enjoy the friendly conversation she had proposed to him. It was strange that after so many years she would feel herself responding like an inexperienced girl, and to a man who was a complete enigma to her. She drew her shawl around her shoulders, delaying as long as possible the moment when she would return to her reception room and take her place on the cushions. She put one hand to her face, and felt the lines under her fingers. Lacking vanity, she knew that now, at fifty-two, she was a more attractive woman than she had been at twenty. Then her strong features had seemed too overwhelming for her youth, too emphatic. With age, she had grown into them, and now there was a majesty to her face that was not a question of caste or rank. There were wraiths of white in her heavy black hair, and lines beside her mouth, underscoring her eyes, tracing the width of her forehead. She dropped her hand to her side, thinking that it had been a mistake not to wear her jewels.

  “Padmiri?” He had come into the reception room and she had not noticed, so lost in thought had she been. Now he stood in the door to the terrace, a sturdy figure in a strange garment of black.

  “Saint-Germain?” She felt a quiver run through her and she chided herself for being silly. “I wanted to let the slaves work in peace so I stepped out here.”

  “They’ve finished,” he said, not moving from the door. “Would you prefer to stay on the terrace?”

  “No,” she said quickly, trying to master her confusion. “It isn’t … appropriate.” She came toward the door, feeling as if she were moving through water. It was difficult to look at him. He stood aside for her, and she hesitated, unfamiliar with this courtesy he had learned in Rome, more than a thousand years before. “Please,” he said, with a gesture to indicate she should precede him. He did not remind her to cross the threshold on the right foot as he would have done for a Roman; that superstition did not exist here.

  Padmiri smiled tentatively, going slowly through the door as if she was entering a room she had never seen. All of it seemed new—the lamps, the rosewood-and-alabaster inlay on the walls, the carpet which showed its brilliant colors here and there, but for the most part was muted by the night.

  “The cus
hions there were set out for you,” she said, pointing out the smaller of the two piles. A number of oil lamps hung around it, their little snouts of pale yellow flame like minute shards of sunlight. More lamps were hung behind the ornamented, filigreed screen and cast patterned shadows through the room. She wished the reception chamber were brighter so that she might see his face more clearly, but oil lamps were a luxury, and those that were lit now were almost twice the number she usually burned in the evening.

  Saint-Germain took his place, reclining on the cushions with practiced ease. He had noted the lamps and the enticing scent of sandalwood when he had come into the room, and his fine brows had lifted in surprise. He had been aware that Padmiri had intended this to be a formal occasion and he had assumed that there would be others joining them. For that reason, if no other, he had dressed with care in garments he had not put on since he had left Lo-Yang. It was ironic, he thought, that these should be the only truly elegant clothes he had left. He wore his black Byzantine dalmatica over a knee-length red sheng go. Black silken trousers of Persian cut were tucked into his only remaining pair of high Chinese boots. Though he did not have his silver belt any longer, he had put his silver pectoral on the heavy silver chain around his neck and knew that his appearance was acceptable for this evening, and for similar evenings from Normandy to Pei-King.

  “You refused my invitation to take a meal with me,” Padmiri said as she arranged the cushions under her for her greater comfort. “I am curious why.”

  “It was not intended to slight you, Padmiri.” He admired her directness as much as he respected her independence, and he knew that for those two qualities she had had more than the usual difficulties in her life.

  “I thought that perhaps it was not permitted for women and men to dine together among your people. I have heard that such restrictions are not unknown in Islamic countries.”

  “I am not a follower of Islam,” he reminded her without rancor.

  “Yet you may have similar traditions.” She had not intended to be diffident, but she had no arts to conceal her intent.

  He looked at her sharply. “Not precisely.”

  She made no argument, though she wanted very much to ask him to explain himself. In time she might learn what he had meant, she thought. For the moment, she was more pleased than she had thought possible to learn that he had not meant he was offended when he had refused her invitation. “You have been quite willing to live with our customs. I’ve noticed that.”

  “How do you know that they are not my own?” He stretched his legs out before him and crossed them above the ankles.

  “My servants have told me that you make inquiries through your man, Rogerio. He claims to be inexpert in our language, but from what you do, I assume that he is more fluent than those in the servants’ quarters know.” There was a tray of sweetmeats beside her on the table but she did not touch them.

  “You are most astute,” Saint-Germain said dryly. “I hope that you will not give Rogerio away. His feigned ignorance has aided both of us a great deal.”

  Padmiri stifled her burst of pride. “I did not intend to gossip with my servants.”

  To her amazement, Saint-Germain laughed softly. “Of course you gossip with your servants. Any sensible person does. You doubtless have another name for it, but you are intelligent enough to know that servants know more than all the wise men in the land.”

  Her expression softened. How good it was to entertain someone who did not insist on all the petty deceptions of the upper castes. This man, foreigner that he was, understood far better than most men she had met how necessary it was to listen to servants. “Yes, I do have another name for it. And it is true that I ask for specific information from my servants,” she went on in a rush of candor, trusting that she would not overstep the bounds of what was proper to her guest.

  He said no more, and for a little time their silence was not uncomfortable. Gradually, however, Padmiri began to feel the strength of his presence and stiffened under his remote scrutiny.

  “It is not usual for women to have men as their guests,” she remarked, finding it suddenly very difficult to explain herself to her companion. “Yet it is not impossible or wholly inappropriate. Here, living retired as I do, I often take my meals with those who have honored me with their company.” But not, she added to herself, alone at night, in a room smelling of sandalwood. “You may think that this is remarkable, but I assure you there are few who would be affronted to see you and me as we are at this moment.”

  “Are you certain?” He knew otherwise, but offered her no more challenge than this.

  “Naturally,” she said, evading his question, “if you and I were of less mature years, it would not be wise, but given the circumstances, there can be no objection.”

  Saint-Germain said nothing, but his compelling eyes never left hers.

  “You have been here more than a month, and I have been most remiss in my duties toward you. I have felt you might be insulted.” She had a moment’s desire to send him away from her and end this useless talk, but she plunged on, heedless of the caution that had risen in her mind. “This house is not like my brother’s court; I am not constrained as he is to observe strict rituals. Protocol has no importance here.”

  “I have not felt insulted, Padmiri.” His voice was low and filled with compassion. “You have been a haven to me.”

  She was so startled by this that she could not think of any reasonable remark. She saw her hands close in her lap and watched them as if they were wholly unknown objects she had never before encountered. “I am most pleased to hear of it,” she said finally, finding that traditional response wholly inadequate.

  “I hope you will feel that way when I leave here,” he said, and the sadness in his tone made her throat close with pity.

  “Why should I think otherwise?” She did not want him to leave, no matter how awkward she might feel. No one she had known before had treated her in this way, without subservience or superiority.

  “That is rather difficult to explain,” Saint-Germain said lightly, sardonically. He hoped that she would not insist because he did not want to leave this house, not only because it was a welcome and necessary respite from his travels, but because he genuinely liked Padmiri.

  “I hope that someday you will,” she responded, matching her attitude to his. She knew it was her right to order him to tell her anything she wished to know, but she could not bring herself to do this. She smoothed one silken sleeve. “Saint-Germain, who are you?”

  “How do you mean?” He was very much on guard now, though his demeanor did not change.

  “I mean what I ask. You are a Westerner, an alchemist, obviously educated, obviously traveled. Even here in Natha Suryarathas we hear rumors now and again. Kings are deposed and imprisoned, countries rise and fall, borders change. It is much the same here. Has your country fallen to an enemy? Or a friend?” She could recall the rebellion here three years before and hoped that this man had not lost so much.

  “My country has fallen,” he said truthfully, “but that is not why I travel.” He knew that he could give her a few convenient lies and she would accept them; he could be very convincing. But he did not want to deceive this woman who had provided him with safety.

  “Very well, Saint-Germain. I will not prod you.” The nervousness she had felt earlier was fading as they spoke. She no longer felt that she ought to bring their conversation to an end.

  “Do you know, Padmiri,” he said with a rueful smile, “I don’t wish to be provoking. In all candor, I will say that when your brother suggested I come here, I was not very pleased, but I knew it was wisest to do as he ordered. You’ve been generous to the point of indulgence and I am grateful. That’s not why I accepted your invitation this evening.”

  Padmiri had learned to put little trust in gratitude and so she said, “This was curiosity, or amusement?”

  “No.”

  Her honey-colored skin grew rosy and she felt both absurd and excited. It h
ad been years since anyone had stirred her this way and she was relieved that there was so much life left in her. “What was it, then?”

  “Affection.” He looked through the light and shadows to her eyes again. “If I wished to express gratitude, I would give you a jewel or a book and that would be the end of it. Your company, however is another matter.”

  “I’ve had four lovers in my life,” she said as if she were discussing a question of literary style or an obscure line of poetry. “It’s one of the few advantages of being unmarried and of my rank. My brother has not disapproved as long as I have selected those lovers from among musicians and poets. Those who aspire to military and political power he will not tolerate. There was one such man, and they say he was killed by Thuggi, though I doubt it.”

  “I am no poet, but I know music and love it,” he said quietly. “I give you my word that I have no interest in attaining political or military power.” He had had both in the past and found that there was more risk in them than advantage.

  Though she had wanted him to say something of this nature to her, she was so startled that she blurted out, “I am not a young woman.”

  “I am not a young man,” Saint-Germain responded calmly, thinking that after all the years he had walked the earth, young and old were trivial words to him: with thirty centuries behind him, the difference between age fifteen and fifty was hardly significant.

  “No, but I think you are younger than I am.” This was disastrous, she told herself. He would become disgusted with her if she said more.

  The desolation in his face surprised her. “I am … somewhat older than I appear.” His next question was asked with gentle sincerity. “Are you curious about my age, Padmiri? Or is there something else you want of me?”