"Oh, all right," said Djerat, and handed a halter to Tulsi, holding two for herself. "We'll bring the mules, and head for that tree."
Tulsi said nothing more as she caught one of the jack-mules and led him back to the front of the wagon. "There is nothing for them to eat," she called out to Sanat Ji Mani.
"I will find something before morning, when the land is most still. In the meantime, you are right to bring water." He gave the wagon another gentle push, and this time it rolled more easily, being away from the uneven ground carved by the river. He was keenly aware that he would have to find food for the mules and for himself before dawn, for once the sun rose, his strength would be gone.
"Where will we go? Timur-i is bound for Lahore and Kabul, and we cannot catch up with him," Djerat complained as she haltered the two remaining mules. "We cannot stay here on the edge of this dry plain. We will die of thirst or starve."
"Do you want to stay with Timur-i?" Sanat Ji Mani asked, doing his best to keep the incredulity from his voice.
"Why not?" Djerat countered; she led the mules up to the wagon and took her place on the other side of the wagon-tongue from Tulsi and prepared to pull. The slanting rays of sunset cast long shadows across the hard-packed earth, showing they were moving north by north-west.
"He is a capricious ruler, and he has had men executed for laughing," Tulsi said. "You know he is not safe." She grabbed the hitch-ring on the wagon-tongue and began to pull as well; the wagon trundled along at a steady pace. "This works," she said in some astonishment.
"So long as the ground is flat," said Djerat. "And there is not too much scrub."
"By the time we reach hills or mountains, the mules will be ready to pull again," Tulsi said, trying to be encouraging; they were a third of the way to the tree.
From some distance away a first roar sounded the end of day; the mules danced on their leads, suddenly alert and nervous. Other animals set up howls and cries as if in answer to the lion.
"Save your breath for work," Sanat Ji Mani recommended as he shoved harder on the rear panel of the wagon; he was growing light-headed as he pushed, and he knew he would not be able to keep up his efforts for much longer. The mule he led minced along, ears moving to catch every sound, aware that creatures were gathering, anticipating dusk.
Both women were willing to abide by his order, husbanding their strength and making for the tree. By the time they reached it, the sky was much darker in the east, and the brilliance in the west was giving way; a few night-flying birds were headed into the sky, and occasionally a bat fluttered by.
"What do we do now?" Djerat asked as she dropped the wagon-tongue. "We are at the tree and it is almost dark."
Sanat Ji Mani led the mule forward and set down an armload of dried scrub and dung he had picked up as they went from the riverbank to the tree. "First I build a fire. Once we have that, we will be protected." He had felt in his wallet for flint-and-steel and had been glad to find them still in place. "Then we can consider what is next to be done." He did not wait for any response, but began to lay a fire not far from the wagon. "You will want to tie the mules where they will be in the light."
"I suppose you think this solves everything," said Djerat. "You have only to light the fire and we will have nothing to fear."
"No," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I believe we all have good reason to fear."
As if to punctuate his words, a second roar blared in the night as the afterglow continued to fade from the sky. Tulsi pulled the mules nearer to the wagon while Sanat Ji Mani made a pile of twigs and strove for a spark from flint-and-steel.
"Then you are planning to use our gratitude to compel us to obey your wishes." Djerat cocked her head. "You do not assume I am unaware of your intentions."
Sanat Ji Mani continued his work. "No, I do not think that, as well you would know if you took a moment to reflect." He heard her shocked intake of air; he went on, "You and Tulsi may decide on a course I cannot agree to, and if that is the case, I will not try to persuade you against your will to accept what I plan." A bit of flame had started; he fed it with kindling and blew on it gently to set it burning.
"You are a dangerous man," said Djerat.
"But I have made us a fire, so, for the night, accept that I have my uses," he said with an ironic smile as he stood up, shuffling a little to accommodate the stirrup. "I will keep watch while you sleep," he went on. "In the morning, I will rest." He would need to get out of the sun, for his new burn was already painful and a second day of exposure would be excruciating.
"Indeed you shall," said Tulsi before Djerat could speak. "I, for one, will be happy to have a night to rest."
"And in the morning, when he is gone and the mules with him, what will you say then?" Djerat asked spitefully.
"I will say it is a poor sport who does not leave two mules to pull the wagon for us," Tulsi answered sharply.
Sanat Ji Mani stared into the fire, his ears attuned to the sounds in the night; back at the riverbank a fight had begun, possibly for the dead mules, and on the broad plains many creatures were moving. One of them, he was certain, would feed him before sunrise, and provide a meal for the two women; it would get them all through the following night and for the moment, he hoped that would be enough to maintain their antipathetic alliance long enough for them to find a haven.
* * *
Transcription of an oral report made by Ariq Sati, company commander, to Timur-i Lenkh.
* * *
Most Esteemed Lord, favored by Allah and beloved of the Prophet, I come to you to fulfill my duty as your company commander of
mounted archers called the Bronzes, to report on an incident that occurred during the crossing of the Sutlej two days since.
While the various wagons were being ferried— most of the troops having already crossed— a man of my company, attempting to keep a crate of food from overbalancing into the river, was instead himself thrown off the barge. He was wedged between the barge and the pull-cable, which was giving him severe injuries— later inspection showed he had been cut to the bone on his shoulder and upper arm— and causing the barge to be stalled at mid-stream.
The order was given to cut the man out of the pull-cable so that the barge could continue to move when the foreigner Sanat Ji Mani volunteered to release the man— one Jahan Baidu, a distant member of your clan, most exalted Lord— and attempt to save his life. He was allowed to do this only because the trapped man was a relative of yours and therefore deserved the chance to live. It seemed an impossible task for anyone, but it was best to try to save Jahan Baidu, and so the foreigner went into the river in spite of your stirrup on his right foot. The current was strong and swift, which hampered the rescue, but in spite of everything, Sanat Ji Mani was able to free your relative, who made it to the shore, Sanat Ji Mani behind him. I, myself saw both men on the northern shore immediately after the rescue, so I have no doubt that it was entirely successful.
The ferry continued its work, but the stay-line had been damaged, and at the next laden crossing, it broke, leaving the barge at the mercy of the river. All three wagons on it washed away, as did the eleven men and four women making the crossing; most watching were afraid of the swiftness of the river and would do nothing but go to the bank and thrust poles out for the unfortunates to grab. As you are aware, there is a bend through rocks just below the ferry-crossing, so the opportunity to pull those flung into it out of the river was brief. Only two were brought safely to shore; the rest were swept downstream and I dispatched two riders to search for any survivors. The barge itself suffered damage when it careened into the rocks a short distance downstream. It took most of the afternoon and evening to repair the barge and replace the ferry-line before we could continue with the crossing. The riders I had sent out returned with two bodies and a third man who was badly injured but still alive; he was put in the
care of the farriers to set his bones and then into the hands of the herbalist. I do not know if he will live, but there is some hope for him.
The crossing of the remainder of the wagons and men was almost complete when I came away to make this report, and it has proceeded without any other disruption. All but five wagons had been taken over the river by the time I rode out, and by now all must be across.
All in all, we lost very few persons, animals, wagons, and supplies as a result of this mishap. I can state that no significant amount of food was washed away, and that only two horses were. There were upward of twelve asses and mules lost, and three wagons swept away, which is unfortunate, but at least it was only jugglers, fools, and tumblers who died. The jugglers who toss flaming arrows were in one of the missing wagons, and the woman covered in hair and the tumbler with grey eyes were in the other; they are not so great a loss as would be the men from the Inland Sea with the four trained tigers, or the jugglers who perform while standing on galloping horses. I will not go so far as to say we were lucky, but I am convinced it could have been much worse. In a situation such as this, I must point out that we might have endured much less tolerable expirations.
Most puzzling of all is that the foreigner, Sanat Ji Mani, cannot be found. I have done my best to discover what has become of him. Two men report that he went into the river a second time, when the barge overturned, in an attempt to save those who were on it. It may be that he did. I did not see this myself, so I cannot say for sure he did it, but given what he did before, I cannot think it would be unlike him to make such an attempt. If he did go into the river, it carried him away, and it is likely he has drowned or been killed against the rocks. I know he did not try to escape, for we searched the country for some distance around, and a man with a stirrup on his foot could not go far, or fast. I must conclude that my two men have given a good account of the foreigner, and that he did indeed do his utmost to pull the unfortunates from the river. It is likely his body may wash up far downstream where it cannot be recovered. I am satisfied that he is gone, and unless you order a search made for him, I am going to count him among the casualties of the ferry-crossing.
As regards your relative, Jahan Baidu, I wish I could report that all that was done to save him was sufficient, but I fear it was not:
Jahan Baidu had bled a great deal, which took the heat from his body. He soon became cold, and his skin went pale. By nightfall, he was shaking as if lying in mountain snows. My own physician did his best to treat him, but it was in vain. The rope had sawn too far into his flesh and his bleeding could not be stopped. Any movement brought about a welling of blood, and eventually, he fell into a swoon, and passed from that into death before the night was half-spent. Prayers for him were offered with sunrise prayers, and he was put into a grave with a marker showing his lineage.
That is as much as I can tell you. You may question me further or question my men and you will be told the same thing. I regret that any misfortune should come to one of your family while under my command and I beseech you not to hold this against me when you decide what is to be done, for the sake of my father and brothers, who serve you with devotion as I do; no one knows better than you, Exalted Lord, the hazards of campaigning, and as regrettable as these losses are, they must be counted among the misfortunes of marching an army, and not the lapse of anyone under your banner and command.
Copied by the scribe Yesun Toq and signed by
Ariq Sati
Commander
Bronze Company
3
Djerat stood at the ford, arms akimbo, her expression clearly visible through the curling hair on her face. "I will not turn away from Lahore. If you believe you must go back across the river, you will go without my wagon, or me." It was early in the day and the sky was brassy with high, thin clouds that gave the expanse around them a henna-like color promising stifling heat by mid-morning.
Tulsi shook her head. "I have no wish to leave you," she said, her head lowered and her voice deliberately soft. "I do not think—"
"No. You do not. You listen to that foreigner, and you take leave of everything you have learned. Do you suppose I cannot see it? You are infatuated with him. You have invested him with all your wishes and dreams, so that if he says 'turn east and south' you say 'yes; we must do that' all the while forgetting that you have been kept by the army of Timur-i, which is the most powerful army in the world." Djerat pointed to her wagon, standing a short distance away from the riverbank; Sanat Ji Mani was occupied trimming the mules' hooves. "He is useful, I grant you that, but he is foolish."
"Because he does not wish to follow Timur-i?" Tulsi asked. "Why is this a foolish thing? You have seen what his army has done to cities from Damascus to Delhi: why should you want to view more destruction?"
"Because Timur-i is rich, and powerful beyond reckoning. All the kings of the world bow down to him, except the Emperor of China, who is his kinsman," said Djerat flatly. "He is generous with those who please him. He gave me a pearl once for taking off my clothes to show I am hairy all over; I brushed myself from head to toe for him. Where else could I hope for such largesse? You may be able to perform in any market-square and eke out a living, but I cannot share your gamble: too many are inclined to call me a wolf-woman or bear-woman and hunt me as if I were a beast. I will put myself in such danger for no one— no one." She strolled a few steps farther away from the wagon, putting them well out of hearing.
