Rustam Iniattir and his family have been much troubled by second thoughts, and one of his children cries every day, wanting to return to Delhi. I cannot blame him for his doubts, but I believe what he saw in Gujerat unnerved him enough to convince him that he has made the right decision in leaving Delhi; until he saw that unrest, I believe he was afraid he had made a mistake in leaving Delhi, after all. Now he is saying that if Timur-i does not attack the city, there may still be rebellion in the streets, and should that happen, foreigners will suffer the most, especially if the Sultan does nothing to protect them, and he is preparing a letter to his nephew even as I write this to you. You, of course, need no such warning for your protection, do you?
I have decided that we will journey to your house in Alexandria, and there Avasa Dani may devote herself to the study she so enjoys. There are not many of her countrymen there, and she will have to abide by the laws of Islam, but still, I believe it will be safer in Alexandria than in Tyre or other cities in the eastern arm of the Mameluke Empire: Timur-i has sacked Baghdad and could still strike toward Egypt. If we reside at Alexandria, we will be more protected and,
should Timur-i come this way, we will have the sea by which to escape. If it comes to that, we will go to your old villa outside Roma. It may be a ruin, but we can manage there for a while, and you can find us without difficulty. I have been offered the opportunity to stay with the ship when it leaves the Red Sea and continues down the east coast of Africa, but I have turned down the kind offer— a man with light skin, sandy hair, and blue eyes may not stand out over-much in Alexandria, but in the south of Africa, I would be set apart at once, and no one would consider me anything but foreign; under such circumstances, I could do little to guard Avasa Dani, or to hide myself if it were necessary.
All of your goods that we carry with us have survived the voyage, including your red-lacquer Roman chest, although there is a new scrape on its side. The four chests of your native earth are in fine condition, and the container of jewels is still intact. You have no reason to fret about any of these things, for I can think of no reason why they should not reach Alexandria as intact as they are now— the pirates who have prowled these coasts like wolves are raiding farther south along the coast of Africa, for they do not want to be captured by those dispensing Timur-i's justice; the sailors all assure me that we can continue the voyage without fear of attack, although they carry weapons against such a possibility.
We will leave in two days, but I wished to send this to you while I have the opportunity to give this to one of your ships' captains. I hope he will be diligent in having this placed in your hands before spring.
As I am writing in Latin, I will sign myself by my name as it was when I lived
Rogerian
On October 24th, 1398, according to the Coptic priest who keeps an old chapel here
9
Garuda held up his head defiantly. "I am sorry it has come to this," he said. "But it would be unwise for me to remain here. I have spoken with my brothers and they agree that I must go."
Sanat Ji Mani inclined his head slightly. "I have no wish to compel you to serve me if you desire to leave my employ," he said in a neutral tone. "I will pay you your full wages and prepare a letter for your next employer." It was a courtesy expected of foreigners, as Sanat Ji Mani knew.
Looking abashed, Garuda shook his head. "No. I want no such letter. There are too many who would take it amiss."
"As you like," said Sanat Ji Mani. His study was filled with morning light, sufficient to be enervating to him; he longed for his austere bed-chamber and the restoration of his native earth. That would not be possible today, he knew, and he put it out of his thoughts.
"I am grateful that you… accommodate me thus," said Garuda, staring around the room. "I will depart after sundown, taking my things with me."
"As you wish," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You need not hurry on my account."
Garuda missed the ironic note in Sanat Ji Mani's tone. "You have been good to me, my master, and I am sorry to have to deal you such a blow as this. I would have stayed had there not been so much trouble. The Sultan's return, and his swift departure has put everything into disarray. Everyone knows the omens are dire."
"Yes: they did not need the Sultan to tell them that," said Sanat Ji Mani with an edge of impatience in his tone. "It were better he did not come here if he did not intend to remain. Ten days at the palace, throwing everything into confusion, and now he has gone again. Thanks to the Sultan, there is panic throughout the city." He looked toward the window, saying distantly, "I am a foreigner, and just now foreigners are not welcome in Delhi: and yes, I understand your bur
den. In your place I might well do the same thing." He went to his chest beneath the shuttered window and used his key to unlock it. "I will give you full wages until the next full moon, and then I will add a month's wages for good service, for you have given me excellent service." He began to count out the coins, taking his time so that Garuda could see he was giving the full amount.
"Thank you, my master," said Garuda awkwardly.
"You have no reason to thank me; it is I who ought to thank you. You have done the work you were hired to do, and I am obliged to recompense your service, which I am glad to do," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I would prefer both of us to be satisfied with the conclusion of our work together than either of us harbor suspicions and resentments."
"But many another would dismiss me without paying the balance of my wages, and not even the magistrates would reprimand him," said Garuda.
"Perhaps not, if they were natives of this city," Sanat Ji Mani said. "It matters little, in any case, for I would not want to deny you what you have earned."
"Well, you do not need so many servants now, in any case," said Garuda, feeling vaguely as if he owed a more comprehensive explanation to Sanat Ji Mani. "You can manage well enough with a smaller staff. You have not entertained, nor brought the injured into the house, nor taken on the guardianship of another man's wife for many days, and will probably not do so again, so you will not lack for service with a smaller staff."
Sanat Ji Mani gave a quick, ironic smile. "Very true. My household can be reduced without compromise of duties." He handed the money to Garuda. "There you are. Count it now, and satisfy yourself it is the whole amount."
Garuda began to be embarrassed. "I have no reason to question you, my master. You have never been ungenerous."
"But you might decide, at some later time, that I had not given as much as I assured you I would," Sanat Ji Mani said firmly. "This way we will both be certain you are adequately paid."
With a shrug, Garuda began to count, and finally said, "It is more than sufficient, my master. You did not need to pay me so much."
"You may not think so in a month," said Sanat Ji Mani. "This way, we understand one another, which avoids later unpleasantness." He locked his chest again. "How many other servants are considering leaving?"
"I… I do not know…" Garuda stared down at his feet, afraid to go on.
"Does that mean they have said nothing to you, or that you do not know the specific number who wish to go?" He asked the question kindly, but Garuda still winced.
"It means that some have said one thing one day and something else the next," said Garuda. "It is a most troubling situation."
"I agree," said Sanat Ji Mani. He stood still for a long moment, then said, "You will do me a service, Garuda, if you will tell the others that I will not hold it against them if they, too, wish to leave. Let them have a day to decide. I will speak to them at the evening meal, and they may tell me what they wish to do."
"I do not think I—" He stopped, his face darkening a couple of shades.
"I will hold it as a favor if you would do this; they will accept the offer more readily if it comes from you instead of me, and it would be easier to deal with a single departure of many servants rather than a straggling trickle of the same number over weeks," Sanat Ji Mani said, feeling a fatalistic certainty that he would not keep most of his staff once this opportunity was presented to them; too many of his servants were demoralized by the worsening crisis in the city and were eager to follow the Sultan's example and flee. "If you would add to the good care already given, do this for me, and with my thanks."
"If you like," said Garuda, sounding miserable. "You may lose a considerable number of your servants if you make such an offer."
"Then I lose them," said Sanat Ji Mani. "It does me no good to have men around me who do not wish to be there." He thought back to the years of his life he had been a slave, and how the subservience of his position had worked on him: even the centuries in Egypt had taken their toll. "I would make no such imposition on anyone."
"Is that why you have no concubines?" Garuda dared to ask.
"In part," said Sanat Ji Mani, surprised that Garuda would speak of such things. "That, and foreigners are under scrutiny that might
bring misfortune to a concubine." He did not elaborate, but memories of Cyprus came back with a sudden intensity.
"Females are not to be trusted," said Garuda. "You are a wise man."
It was useless to protest this was not what he meant— it was also reckless: Sanat Ji Mani lowered his eyes. "You may go to the others, Garuda."
Knowing this dismissal for an order, Garuda bowed his head. "I hear and obey," he said, his hands pressed together as he bowed over them before withdrawing from Sanat Ji Mani's presence.
Left alone, Sanat Ji Mani began to calculate what he owed his servants in wages and to prepare to pay them. He had no worry about the amounts that would be required, for he had more than enough to cover any sum— in his laboratory he had prepared over three measures of gold, and would now augment the gold with a quantity of silver— enough to buy ten war elephants, if only Firuz Ihbal knew of it— which, fortunately, he did not. He took a sheet of vellum from his writing-table drawer and, choosing a trimmed pen, he began to write down the sums he owed his staff. It did not take long, and when he was done, he felt strangely at loose ends, not knowing to what he should next give his attention. He paced around the room, then went out of it abruptly, stifling the urge to call for Rojire. The stairs to his laboratory were lit with hanging lamps, still burning from their nighttime use, though they did little to increase the brightness; the sunlight was strong enough to penetrate into the stairwell, its intensity giving Sanat Ji Mani a mild degree of discomfort.
The athanor stood open, ready for the next crucible, and the equipment set out on the two trestle-tables was clean in preparation for the new wonders Sanat Ji Mani would perform. He walked quickly to the cabinet that contained his supplies and took out four earthenware jars sealed with wax. He stripped the wax from the jars with a practiced pass with a little knife, then began to measure out the various elements into a retort of Egyptian glass; he had done this often in the last two thousand years and could almost judge the amounts by weight as by measure. Satisfied, he added acid from a special glass vial, and sealed it again at once, using a glass stopper and wax before continuing on with his task. He placed the retort in the athanor, then gathered up the special fuel that gave the little oven its uncanny power, set it to
heat, and busied himself adjusting the shutters to mute the impact of the sun.
By the time the sun was directly overhead, Sanat Ji Mani was removing silver nuggets from the retort, preparing to melt them and pour them into coin-molds of Byzantine design. He did his best to ignore the fatigue that slowed his body and his thoughts; that would be gone when the sun was past its zenith, and it no longer vitiated him; even with the year winding down to its close, the sun in this region was enough to be a burden while he worked at his self-appointed task. These coins would be used to pay the servants who wished to leave his employ: he was convinced there would be a good number of them, for now that Garuda was leaving, the others would take it as a sign that this household was no longer safe.
Mid-afternoon saw the first of the coins ready, the silversmithing equipment and coin-molds set out on the longer table for easy reach. It was demanding work, but not arduous, and Sanat Ji Mani was grateful to have something to occupy his attention as the day passed. The wealth these coins represented would have shocked many of the servants, who knew their master had money, but no notion of how much. Sanat Ji Mani continued to work, making more coins as quickly as he could until he had enough to fill a lentil-basket twice over. Satisfied, he put the rest of the nuggets away, cleaned and stored his equipment, then went down to the servants' dining room just as the Muslim call to sunset prayers faded from the air.
Garuda was at the head of the table, waiting for the cook to bring out their evening fare; he had clearly told all the servants about their master's offer, for all of them had an apprehensive expression on their eyes as they turned toward him. "My master," said Garuda, starting to rise.
"No longer," Sanat Ji Mani said with a hospitable smile. "I am pleased that you have stayed until now before leaving. I will miss your presence in my house."
