"Why?" She used the corner of the drying-sheet to wipe her eyes.
"Because it might give me some notion of who was doing it," said Sanat Ji Mani, a thoughtful frown deepening in a vertical line between his brows.
She lay back, trying not to cough. "Hurts," she said.
"The hurt will stop," said Sanat Ji Mani, wishing he still had syrup of poppies to give her to ease her.
"I know," she whispered. From her place on the bed she studied him, aware that he was shielding her from the worst of his suspicions; it both pleased and aggravated her that he was so protective of her. "What will you do… if you find… who did this?"
"I do not know; yet," he answered, coming back to her side and bending over her. "At least you are not hot, that is something."
"Would heat be bad?" She took hold of his hand and tightened her grip.
"Yes," he said. "It would."
"It might mean… I would die?" She asked this calmly, though her fingers held his like a vice. "Tell me."
"It is possible," he said.
She nodded, accepting this. "Will it matter… that I am still… alive?"
"To me, most certainly," he said. "But for the poisoner, who knows? It may be that you were not supposed to die, only to be frightened." Or, he added to himself, that I was the one the poisoner wanted to kill.
"Or the poison… might have been… for you." She seemed to know his thoughts. "They do not know… you do not eat."
"The thought had crossed my mind," he said drily. "But whether the intended victim was you or me, it still means that we have at least one enemy in this place, and very likely more." He glanced around the room. "What bothers me is that I cannot tell why."
"It may be… jealousy," Tulsi suggested.
"It may. Or there may be another reason entirely."
"What reason?" She coughed a little, averting her face as if embarrassed.
"I think we are being held for ransom," he said, more bluntly than he had intended. "I think the Rajput is planning to barter with Timur-i, trading influence for us."
"But why should he… do that? Timur-i has no… use for us," she whispered.
"I have not yet learned enough to know," said Sanat Ji Mani gently. "But it seems that Vayu Ede believes I avoid daylight because I am afraid of being seen. What else would cause him to think that, than that you and I have someone to fear? And I have admitted being with Timur-i's army." He was annoyed with himself for revealing so much to the poet.
"I know," said Tulsi.
"Vayu Ede and Hasin Dahele must have plans for us. They are keeping us isolated, and the Rajput is arming his country for war." Sanat Ji Mani frowned. "I should have seen it before now."
"Why?" she asked.
"I have been about the world enough to know that ambition leaves its mark on men." Sanat Ji Mani stroked her hand. "I should have seen it in the Rajput, but—"
"Timur-i is… in Samarkand," said Tulsi, and cleared her throat.
"I doubt the Rajput knows that." He paused thoughtfully. "Considering what happened at Delhi, I cannot blame him for his apprehension."
"Is that… all of it?" She stared up at him, her grey-green eyes pleading with him for reassurance.
"I cannot tell. Not yet." He looked toward the window. "I fear I have been foolish. I must do what I can to remedy that."
Tulsi lifted her hand to touch his face. "You found us protection… and safety. That… is not foolish."
"It may prove not," he said. "If I can find out what is happening. If we are hostages, we will have to be especially careful."
"How will you know… if we are?" Her voice was growing more hushed, but she persevered. "What will you do… to find out?"
"I have not decided." There was a keenness in his eyes that held her attention.
"When you do… will you… tell me?"
"Yes, Tulsi, I will tell you," he said in a tone that brooked no doubts.
She pulled his hand to her. "And I… will help you."
"We shall see," he said, aware that she would need time to recover and that during that time she would be vulnerable.
"I… will help you," she repeated, determination lending sound to her words.
"You have done more than anyone could ask already. If you would please me, help me by recovering." He wanted to remove her from all danger, but knew that was impossible.
"I will… help you… to help myself," she said.
He could not argue with her. "Very well; but do not tax yourself. The poison was powerful and you will need time to regain your strength," he said. "You cannot hurry healing."
"As your… foot shows," she said, doing her best to sound relieved.
"It is not the same thing," he told her, his voice sharper. "I know I will heal in time; you do not yet know how badly you have been injured; I implore you to let your body restore itself at its own rate."
"If I were like you… if you made me… like you… would I die?" She stared at him, her eyes unreadable.
"Yes, but you would not remain dead." He tried not to remember his hasty decision to save Csimenae by bringing her to his life, and what had followed that well-meaning but reckless decision. "It is for you to decide."
"With so… many enemies, I confess… I would be… less worried if… I knew I… was safe from harm," she whispered.
He made a gesture of frustration. "We are fighting shadows."
"Worse than shadows," said Tulsi.
Sanat Ji Mani nodded. "Yes; worse than shadows."
"Is there… nothing we can do? Now?" She twisted his hand with the force of her emotion.
He bore it, knowing she had to release her feelings somehow. "Perhaps. We must be careful and clever. And we must not be frightened: frightened people make terrible mistakes and we can afford none."
"I am not… frightened; I… am angry," she said, and ended in a cough as the full strength of her rage shook her; it shocked her to be so taken by wrath.
"Yes," said Sanat Ji Mani, taking her hand and bending to kiss her palm. "But anger can make you rash, and that may lead to more trouble than you are prepared to endure. You have had too much to deal with already."
"But I… am angry," she said, almost choking.
"Well and good," he said, "Let the anger work for you, not against you."
She regarded him skeptically. "Against me?"
He nodded. "You could be spurred by it to take chances in the hope of returning hurt for hurt and only make it easier to be hurt again. Fury, like grief, can suspend your good sense, which you need, especially now, for our enemy has shown his hand, and that means he is becoming desperate. Desperate men are as foolish as frightened ones." He had seen that demonstrated so many times in his centuries of life that he had come to expect it. "School your mind as you school your body and you will prevail."
Tulsi contemplated his face. "Will you… be angry for me?"
"I am," he said with purpose. "I will."
She managed to smile. "Then I will… be content."
* * *
Text of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens in Rome to Rogerian in Alexandria; written in the Latin of Imperial Rome.
* * *
To that most excellent and long-suffering manservant Rogerian, the respectful greetings of Atta Olivia Clemens from within the city of Rome.
It truly is vexing to have Sanct' Germain gone for so long— it reminds me unpleasantly of Spain and all the efforts you made to find him after he escaped the Emir's son. It is possible, of course, that he has sent you messages that have not reached you: it has happened often enough before. Still, since neither you nor I have had anything from him, I cannot help but believe that he is at some disadvantage and must be unable to get a letter out to us. However, I do not yet think it advisable for you to go looking for him; one of the two of you missing is sufficient, and as I know he has not died the True Death, it is probably wisest to remain where he can find you than to go chasing back to that foreign place in the hope of locating him.
In your letter you tell me that Avasa Dani has found a house that will suit her enterprise and you ask me if you should make the arrangements she requests. Consider her situation: she is a woman, alone, in a country that has little use for women beyond their bodies. What else is she to do? I cannot see how you can deny her, for although it is not what I would choose, it is what she wishes to do, and Sanct' Germain has said he will provide her a living. He has, has he
not? And you are honor-bound to see that his pledge is carried out. You may not see the advantage in her plans, but, given what you have told me about her, I am certain that there is merit in her scheme. She is not a woman who knows how to live apart from men, nor does she want to learn to. Her plan to establish a house of assignation is a reasonable one, at least in Alexandria, where such houses are customary and have been for two thousand years. There would have been a time when you would not have hesitated, when the Romans ruled there and the laws of Rome prevailed everywhere. That was the Rome of my living youth. This is not the Rome I knew when I was a child, when the women of the lupanar had their own fortunes and the high regard of the city, but even today, a woman, well-placed and discreet, can make a life for herself. And since this Avasa Dani does not intend to whore herself, but to manage the house, she will undoubtedly become as powerful as women may who have not married powerful men. Be sure she has someone to guard her, and let her take care of the rest. I do not mean to chide you, but I think that Avasa Dani has made a sensible decision, and one that will allow her to protect her true nature most effectively.
You may wonder why I am living within Rome's walls again: I must tell you that I returned to discover my villa was missing most of its roof, which has been temporarily replaced to keep out the winter rains, and then, when the weather improves, there will be new tiles put in place. A few of the walls may have to be rebuilt, and I may decide to expand the north wing while I am about it. This will take time, so I have engaged a house on the Palatine Hill, where I can keep a garden and a small stable. It is suitable for a widow, and although the cost of maintaining it is ridiculous, I have laid out the necessary gold and will remain here until my villa is habitable again. I have reprimanded my steward for neglecting the place so shamefully. Niklos Aulirios is dividing his time between tending to me and supervising the necessary repairs. The only worthwhile outcome has been that I have had an opportunity to renew my acquaintance with the Papal Court— and what a viper's nest it is.
You cannot imagine how the factions have been sniping at one another while His Holiness Boniface IX of the Roman Obedience does his best to be rid of Benedict XIII in Avignon. I thought there was
trouble before, but now, I might as well be at the Sultan's Court, with all the intrigue for which the Turks are famous, for they have nothing on this quagmire. Two Popes allied with two countries is madness, and you may see it in all they do. If these men suppose they are serving any purpose but their own, they must have lost their wits. Surely they cannot believe that they are benefitting their religion with such skullduggery: I cannot imagine how they could conduct themselves more reprehensibly than they are doing now. However, they may yet find actions more appalling than what I have seen to heap more shame on themselves and their Church. They would undoubtedly burn me at the stake for what I have just written, so I ask that you destroy this letter when you have done with it. I have no desire to die the True Death just now, or at such messy hands as theirs.
They say the King of England is in prison and his cousin, Henry, son of John of Gaunt, rules in his stead. If that is so, it will, I fear, incite more hatred within the Plantagenets and may lead to feuding. They are a pugnacious lot, and no one seems to be able to talk peace to them. So, if Henry Bolingbroke has his way, Richard will abdicate in his favor, and then that will be the end of Richard II. Henry is not so foolish as to leave a deposed King alive while he is trying to establish his claim. If the Popes were not locked in their own battles, they might have the power to intercede before England gets bloody, but that is too much to hope for, given the climate in Rome and Avignon, and England will pay the price, I fear.
I have visited Villa Ragoczy, and have discovered that it is in rather better repair than mine; I will have the builders inspect it and tend to its upkeep as it is needed. The steward there has been attentive to the property, and his family is providing most of the labor the estate demands. The land is in good heart, the orchards have been bearing well, and the vineyard is flourishing. Sanct' Germain will be satisfied with what he finds when next he visits the place. There is to be a feast for the local farmers at Villa Ragoczy at the Nativity, which the Church approves, and which the steward has provided in Sanct' Germain's name for the last ten years, or so I am told.
So if you will take my advice, Rogerian, remain where Sanct' Germain expects to find you, in Alexandria, and see Avasa Dani established in the house she wants. For now, this is the best service you
