"When the ferry overturned, we were swept away with the others. Apparently Sanat Ji Mani jumped into the river with the intention of saving us, but he is not a strong swimmer and so was more hindrance than help to us. We rode the current a considerable distance. Two of my mules drowned, and the rest were battered about by rocks; they were tangled in the harness and eventually the harness had to be cut away, or all of us would have been pulled under. As it was, we clung to the wagon and hoped to find a place to come ashore. From time to time, we saw bodies of those from the ferry who were less fortunate than we; they fell away, trapped by eddies and the boulders, and eventually, only we were left in the swift river, and we were at the mercy of the river's caprice. We came out of the hills to the opening of a vast, dry plain, and it was there we were finally able to reach the banks without coming to harm." She looked at Keiglu. "I do not know how far we went, but it was a great distance. We spent our first night under a single tree, a fire our only protection against lions and jackals. Half the night we made new harness out of ropes, and then Tulsi Kil and
I slept while Sanat Ji Mani tended the fire and cared for the four mules left to me. When we rose in the morning, we saw that the land before us was parched, and empty of villages we could see. So we began to retrace the river and eventually we reached a cattle-ford that led to a small farming village. By then there was a rise in the land, and the village had farms; we were going away from the arid wastes, which we all knew was wise."
"You were planning to come back to Timur-i's army?" Josha Dar asked when she faltered.
"Yes. From the first I had no other intention." She pursed her lips indignantly. "But Sanat Ji Mani had other plans. He quickly used his wiles to inveigle Tulsi Kil to take his part and to plan to go another way; he spent time with her, poisoning her thoughts against me and against life with Timur-i's army: there was nothing I could do to convince her of his perfidy. You know how young women are when a personable man shows them a little notice— they lose all sense and bend their will to the man's whim, and so it was with Tulsi Kil. Everything Sanat Ji Mani said she drank as if it were the waters of life itself, and to me— her friend from the death of her parents to that very hour— she paid no heed, preferring the foreigner and his ridiculous promises to her duty and the love of a comrade."
Keiglu shook his head. "What despicable behavior. She is a girl without honor."
"Oh, no," said Djerat quickly. "She is only caught in the clouds by a man with persuasive ways; you must not blame her for what he did. She has never met anyone like him; he fascinated her, and she fell under his spell as surely as if he were a magician and not a healer." She did her best to sound disappointed rather than angry. "It is not her fault that Sanat Ji Mani is the kind of man who uses women to his own ends. Let no one here think that she lost all her character; say, rather, that her qualities were subverted by a villain."
Josha Dar studied Djerat for a short while, then said, "I would not have thought Sanat Ji Mani would so abuse anyone. He did nothing of the sort in Delhi; there he behaved with utmost propriety."
"Perhaps in Delhi he was not tested, or he was able to hide his activities…" She realized that last had been a mistake.
"He could not hide from me," said Josha Dar caustically.
"No. No, of course not." Djerat stared at Keiglu, hoping he would help her out of the morass she had made for herself.
He did. "How did it all come to a head? You said you had crossed the river to a village?"
Almost giddy with relief, Djerat resumed her story, gathering confidence as she went along. "At the village where, I told you, we wanted to get food, he demanded that Tulsi Kil remain with him, and cursed me for wanting to return to you. He did not listen to anything I said, nor did he let Tulsi Kil question him in regard to his decision; using bluster and menace to coerce her into taking his part, then offering her flattery and blandishments for acquiescence. You would have been troubled, had you seen him: he was most immoderate in his demeanor— he bullied the poor girl, threatening her and plying her with sweet words by turn. He ignored me, saying I had no part in her decision, and dismissing my protests as those without merit." She folded her arms. "He compelled her to perform for the villagers to pay for our food, and then he disdained what she had provided."
"You mean he would not permit her to eat?" Keiglu asked irascibly; he was dissatisfied with what he heard and would have said more, but Josha Dar motioned him to silence.
"No. He would not touch it himself," said Djerat. "It was not fine enough for him: she had done all she could to get it, and yet it was beneath him to take any of it. He did not care if she had any of it."
"And did you eat it?" Josha Dar inquired with a smile.
"Yes. I was hungry and I would never look down on food got by honest endeavor, no matter how simple it might be." She tossed her head. "You may think this is making too much of a minor thing, but it is not. I traveled with this man in my wagon, and I know more of him than any of you." She looked away from Josha Dar. "This man expressed contempt for everything Tulsi Kil did for him; he made no apology for his behavior and he would not allow for her feelings except those that added to his own high opinion of himself."
Josha Dar coughed delicately. "That may be your opinion: I observed the foreigner for the greater part of a year and I never saw him evince such things as you describe." He shrugged. "But as you
say, the conditions on the road were not the conditions at Delhi."
"True enough," said Djerat, uneasiness making her sullen. "I cannot assume that he wanted anything more than to be served and gratified. While I was coming back to this army, I decided that he was pleased by being able to bend Tulsi to his will as much as he wanted her subservience. It was a sport to him, a way to show his prowess." She swung around to face Keiglu. "You have seen such men before, as have I."
"That I have," said Keiglu. "There are many who keep entertainers around them to add to their consequence, not to provide them amusement, but to show others that they can keep men and women for nothing more than their diversion. So long as we can regale them with our feats to their order, they treat us well." He coughed and added hastily. "Of course, Timur-i is not such a man: he keeps us for the delight of his soldiers, for the relief of the tedium of campaigning, and for those who come to him to negotiate their capitulations."
"It is as well that you know this," said Josha Dar, and stared at Djerat again. "You say you left Sanat Ji Mani and the tumbler Tulsi Kil at the village at the cattle-ford?"
She realized Josha Dar was not about to let the matter go. "Because he insisted, yes. He declared they would be able to walk far enough away that they could not be found. He called the wrath of his gods down on Timur-i's head—"
"As do so many who have tested his will," Josha Dar interjected.
Djerat scowled. "Timur-i showed Sanat Ji Mani mercy, and the foreigner has rewarded him with treachery."
"So you say," Josha Dar responded.
"What else would you call it?" Djerat exclaimed. "You cannot tell me that refusing to come back to the army is an act of loyalty."
"It may be, but not loyalty to Timur-i," said Josha Dar. "Did he say nothing of where he intended to go, or why?"
"He spoke of going east," Djerat said, a sour note in her voice.
"Which means south or west," said Josha Dar, certain that Sanat Ji Mani would not be so reckless as to reveal his plans to Djerat. "Probably south. Had he wished to go north, he would have crossed the river with you. He would have to cross the river again to go west, as
well. So it is south." He paused, considering the possibilities. "Or he and Tulsi Kil may have gone along the Sutlej and crossed at another point. That would be the most useful thing to do, for he would know that if ever we received report of him, we would look for him in the wrong places." He pointed at Djerat. "You tell us he is persuasive, but you were not caught up in his devices; Tulsi Kil was. How did that come about?"
Djerat was getting angry but struggled to disguise it. "He chose to work on her; I drove the wagon— she rode with him, providing him an opportunity to engage her. If you have heard him speak, you know how interesting his discourse can be. Tulsi Kil listened to his tales as if they were the adventures of heros." Under the thick hair on her face she could feel her skin darkening with emotion. "Had he ridden beside me on the driving-seat, he might have used his wiles on me."
"Possibly," said Josha Dar. "And yet I am uncertain." He pulled at his lower lip. "I think you should tell all this to Timur-i, for he wishes to know what has become of Sanat Ji Mani; he has said so."
Had going before Timur-i been her idea, Djerat would have been delighted by the prospect; as it was, she balked. "You cannot do this; I have not eaten, my team is weary, I am unprepared. Why should Timur-i want to know the fates of a foreigner and a tumbler?"
"That is not for you to know, or for me." Josha Dar reached out and took her by the elbow. "Keiglu will attend to your wagon and see your mules are fed and watered. You must come with me."
Djerat struggled against him, even though it was unwise. "Let me go. I will walk beside you. I am no thief, to be hauled along by the likes of you."
Josha Dar chuckled but released his hold. "It is all one to me how you come, so long as you do come."
"You behave as if I have offended Timur-i in some way," she went on, trying to regain the advantage.
"If you lie— Timur-i hates liars beyond all things— you will offend Timur-i, and you will pay for it," Josha Dar said.
"You do not think I am lying," Djerat protested. "You cannot think I would lie after all I have done to return here. I was alone on the roads for many days, and I could think of nothing more than the joy
of coming once again to the army. If I intended to lie, I might have found a number of more convincing tales to tell than that Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi refused to accompany me."
"I do not think you are lying," said Josha Dar as they passed beyond the ranks of wagons and tents to the massed companies of fighting men, all in their company colors with their weapons in place as they made ready for Timur-i's inspection.
"Then why do you accuse me?" Djerat asked, almost too confused to be angry.
"I do not think you are telling the truth," said Josha Dar.
"But—" Djerat began, and floundered.
"Lying and not telling the truth are not the same things," Josha Dar said. "As a spy, I know that better than anyone." He stopped walking as a mounted company of archers in green clattered past in double-file. "Those who do not tell the truth without lying are the most dangerous of all deceivers, for they often deceive themselves."
"I do not have to endure this," said Djerat.
"If you wish to remain with the army, you do," said Josha Dar. "Do not think that because I am from Delhi I do not have Timur-i's ear, for I do. I proved my worth to him when he conquered my city. I knew then that I must serve him or lose my life, and so I have pledged my devotion to him. I know the penalty if I traduce him."
"Which you hope to avert by calumny against others," she finished for him; they were approaching the front line of the inspection and Djerat was becoming agitated.
"No; I will do what I pledged to do, as I am doing now," he said, and stepped up to the edge of the lines of mounted soldiers. "There he is." He pointed down the front of the Red Company; at the far end, the company leader had dismounted and was leading Timur-i's mouse-colored horse by the bridle along the front of his soldiers. "As soon as he reaches us, I will present you to him, to give your account."
"In front of all these?" She flung her hand out, indicating the army.
"It will suit Timur-i very well," said Josha Dar.
"And you as well, I think," said Djerat, watching as Timur-i came nearer.
Josha Dar said nothing; he dropped to his knees and bowed his face to the ground, and after a moment, Djerat did the same.
It was a while before Timur-i came abreast of them; he signaled to the Red Company leader to halt. "The Delhi spy is here," he said, with no hint of emotion. "And the hairy woman. She was gone for a time. Why do you stop me here?"
"I hasten to obey your commands, Exalted Lord: you asked to be told if any report was made concerning those lost in the capsizing ferry," said Josha Dar, daring to speak. "She has just returned to the camp and has information to impart to you."
"Ah." Timur-i motioned to the Red Company leader to leave him. "You brought her to me for that?"
"It was your wish to learn what became of her, and the foreign healer who rode in her wagon," Josha Dar reminded Timur-i.
"So it was. I could have used the foreigner's skills after the skirmish yesterday; we had many wounded. But my Arab physicians managed well enough." He made a gesture with his horse-hair fly-whisk. "You have done well to bring her to me, Delhi spy. I will reward you later. Tell me what happened, hairy woman."
