Path of the Eclipse (40 page)

It may not be entirely becoming of me to continue this search, but now that my feet are on the Path, as those who follow the Buddha say, it is not for me to turn aside. I only hope that you will not cast me out of your hearts for this act, which may appear rash, but which, I must assure you, comes from my soul. Surely the work that my brother began must be finished, and it is appropriate for me to do so, as there is no other to continue. I will endeavor to keep you informed of my travels and my discoveries, but there may be long periods when it will be difficult or impossible for me to send you word, such as when I am aboard a ship, if it becomes necessary for me to travel by water again.

There has been other, disquieting news that I must tell: the Mongols are rumored to have come to the lands west of here. One man we met shortly before my brother fell ill said that he had heard that much of the land he called Persia was even at that moment under assault from these inhuman warriors. He said that all of the country of Persia goes in terror by day and night, and that they all expect to be slaughtered by these men. Persia is apparently the country we have known as Bu-Sa-Yin. The man claimed to come from the city of Sie-La-Shi, which he called Shiraz. Though he has not been in his native city for several years, he told us that he had had word from his brother a few months before and his brother had said that even then the city was in danger and would not be able to resist much longer.

We were distraught to hear of this, and though I have made inquiries, there seems to be no doubt that his report was honest, and the Mongols have indeed come to Persia, intent on conquest. We have heard, also, that these Mongols have brought disaster to much of the Golden Empire, but this does not seem possible. Though I am aware you will not be able to send me word until I have reached the end of my journey, still I trust that your news will be reassuring. Certainly the Imperial army is more than a match for these scruffy men on ponies. Surely God and Christ will champion those who strive for knowledge and peace and will turn away from those who make war.

With my prayers and my love to all of you, and the hope that your blessing will bring comfort to my brother’s soul, I commend this to the merchant from Braddur and the Will of God, at whose behest all things are done.

Mei Hsu-Mo

sister to Mei Sa-Fong

on the road to Pu-Na

10

When the soldiers reached the throne room, they stood aside in a respectful manner and let Saint-Germain enter alone.

“Ah,” Rajah Dantinusha said slowly as Saint-Germain approached him. “The jeweler told the truth.”

“I would assume so,” Saint-Germain answered with a sangfroid he was far from feeling. He dropped to one knee in the European fashion, then rose, regarding the man on the throne. “If you desired to speak with me, you needed only to send a message.” He was taking a chance making this gentle rebuke, but if he had any intention of keeping his independence, he knew that he must assume he had it from the first.

Dantinusha hesitated, his eyes flicking over the stranger, noting the heavy silver chain and the quality of the black silk robe he wore. Then he turned to the four men who flanked his throne. Nearest was the commander of his guards, Guristar. Beside him the Brahmin holy man Rachura, who regarded Saint-Germain with contemptuous curiosity. On the other side of the throne was Jaminya, the greatest scholar and poet in Rajah Dantinusha’s small kingdom. The fourth man was quite old and dressed in the clothes of a traveling merchant. Dantinusha selected this last man, saying, “Well, Qanghozan, what do you think?”

The merchant was startled to be the first to speak, and he began awkwardly. “Great Lord, certainly there is … there can be no doubt that this man is from the West.… The eyes, the skin … most assuredly, he is not…” He stared at Saint-Germain.

“Yet you do not know how far west,” Saint-Germain said ironically in Persian, repeating his observation in classic Arabic and Greek, and was rewarded by the amazed expression the merchant showed him.

Qanghozan mastered his astonishment, and spoke in Arabic. “Do you follow the Prophet? Are you of Islam?”

“No, that is not my faith,” Saint-Germain said, continuing in the elaborate courtesies he had learned from earlier followers of Islam. “It is a great misfortune that one such as I must give offense to you, and I pray that you will realize that it was not my intent. Surely those who have put themselves in the hands of Allah need fear nothing from the doubts of those less learned and blessed.”

The merchant nodded, saying carefully, “I have not, myself, taken up the way of the Prophet, though three of my brothers have. It is well that you honor his word, for Delhi is close and there are those who hear what is said in this place.”

Rajah Dantinusha interrupted the merchant. “You will speak in our tongues or not at all.”

“I had not meant to be discourteous,” Saint-Germain said at once. “It is my custom to speak to men in their own languages, if I know them. Hindi is acceptable to me. I have some Kashmiri and Tamal, but my command is faulty.” He looked back at Qanghozan, but continued to speak in Hindi. “You were good to tell me of these things.”

Apparently the poet Jaminya had understood the Arabic, for he could not hide his slight smile. He regarded Saint-Germain with awakening interest. “We were informed that you have traveled far. Where is your homeland, then?”

“In the West,” Saint-Germain answered promptly. “In what is now the Kingdom of Hungary. I have not been there in some time, and it was my hope to return there within a year. If, however, the Mongols are indeed spreading through the cities of Persia, then it may be some time before I can undertake the journey.” He paused, considering. “I could cross the Arabian Sea and land in Egypt or Africa and from there make my way to the Mediterranean and embark on a Venetian ship bound for Trieste or Constantinople, but that presents a great many problems, particularly since I am a very poor sailor.”

“He knows the routes,” the merchant said at once. “He does not speak as one who is ignorant.”

This time the Rajah himself asked the question. “Where have you come from? You have given us an excellent idea of where you are going, but where did this homeward journey begin?”

“I left my home in Lo-Yang about two years ago,” he said, his compelling dark eyes meeting the Rajah’s directly. “I went into the west of China and fought there against the Mongols until we were overrun and I was forced to flee. I made my way into the mountains, coming through Bod, the Land of Snows, where we passed the winter with Yellow Hat monks. Once out of the high mountains, we have come west and north along the mountains.”

“We? You did not travel alone?” Guristar demanded, his hands braced on his hips. He was not prepared to accept anything that Saint-Germain told him.

“I have traveled with my servant, Rogerio. He has been with me throughout my travels, in fact, for many years before that.” Saint-Germain read anger in Guristar’s swarthy face and decided to add a cooperative note. “Send for him, if you wish, and speak to him privately. He will confirm all that I have said.”

“Then he is well-coached,” the Commander snapped as he turned toward the man on the throne. “Great Lord, any man may claim he has come from far away, and when the man is plainly a foreigner, as this one is, it is the more plausible. He may tell us that he has been in the Land of Snows and there are few who could disprove him. It is a convenient lie, Great Lord. He is much more likely to be a spy for the forces in Delhi. The Sultan is anxious to extend his realm, and you know as well as I that this principality would be welcome addition to the Sultanate. Listen to the man. He speaks the language of the men of western Islam. What could be easier than to send such a one among us, posing as a traveler, needing only to tell ever-more-fantastic tales of his adventures to turn us away from real vigilance? Consider this, Great Lord, I beseech you!”

“Very eloquent,” Saint-Germain said softly, and as all five of the others stared at him, he reached into the wallet buckled to his belt. “I have here a message from the Master of the Yellow Hat lamasery called Bya-grub Me-long ye-shys, where my servant and I passed the winter. The message is in several languages, and one of them must be familiar to you.” He took the scroll from the wallet and offered it to the man on the throne.

But it was Guristar who took it. “Do not think that we are unwary, foreigner!”

“Naturally not,” Saint-Germain murmured, and watched while the Commander of the guards opened the scroll with exaggerated care.

“Tell me,” Rajah Dantinusha said to Saint-Germain while Guristar pored over the words, “why did you want to sell those jewels? One I can understand, and perhaps two, but six?”

Saint-Germain raised his brows, answering in a philosophical tone, “Since it is apparent that I will not be able to reach my homeland this winter, or quite possibly next winter, I must have a place to live. I have studies to pursue, and I would prefer to live pleasantly.” He did not add that well-paid servants were less likely to carry tales than poor men with a strange neighbor.

“You wish to buy a house? With these jewels you could have half of this palace.” The Rajah’s manner was less formidable now.

“I doubt it,” Saint-Germain answered truthfully. “A room or two, no more.”

“Perhaps,” Dantinusha allowed. “Guristar, what have you learned?”

The Commander of the guard looked up from the scroll. “I can read one of the sections, and it is as he says, though, of course, there is no way to prove that this is genuine.” He started to hand the scroll back to Saint-Germain, but was stopped by the poet Jaminya.

“Let me examine the scroll, Great Lord. If there is forgery, I will know it.” He held out his hand for the scroll, and after seeing an approving sign from the Rajah, Guristar reluctantly gave Jaminya the scroll.

The room had grown silent as the pcet read. Saint-Germain hoped that the man’s claim was justifiable, or he might find himself wrongly denounced. It would not be, he reminded himself, the first time. Or the tenth.

At last Jaminya glanced at Saint-Germain. “The Yellow Hats are quite an important sect, aren’t they?”

“So I understand. I didn’t see much of other Orders, but in the middle of winter, it was not likely that anyone would be traveling, and so I must take their word for it. Their chapterhouse in Rhasa is quite large.” Saint-Germain was wary, though he answered the question easily enough. The questions would test him and he would have to satisfy the poet.

“They have an ancient tradition of masters, do they not?” Jaminya was holding the scroll negligently, but his eyes kept moving over it.

“That was my understanding, yes.” Saint-Germain did not dare to look at the Rajah, for fear that such a move would be interpreted as insolence.

“And this one, this SGyi Zhel-ri, is a man of great wisdom, wouldn’t you say?” Jaminya was not looking at Saint-Germain at all.

“You must pardon me—certainly the master is wise, but I would not call him a man. He is less than ten years old.” The first of the traps was past, and Saint-Germain hoped that the remainder of the test would be of a similar nature.

The others listening were startled. “Absurd,” Guristar said quite loudly.

“Well, Jaminya, is it absurd?” the Rajah inquired.

“He is correct,” the poet assured his prince. “Two years ago I spoke with a number of Buddhist scholars who were returning from a long retreat in Bod, and they told me then of this child, who had only recently entered the lamasery, and who was regarded with reverence and awe even then.” He opened the scroll again.

“Let me see,” Dantinusha said, holding out his hand for the scroll, accepting it quickly from the poet. “But this is most surprising,” the Rajah said as he read.

Guristar laughed unpleasantly. “Do you expect me to believe that the Master of the Yellow Hats would speak highly of a foreigner, one who is not part of the country or the faith of Bod? He has hired some forger in a distant city to do this, and he has asked a number of questions of the men coming from Bod, and has learned enough to impress those who seek marvels.”

Saint-Germain did not raise his voice, but the quality of command grew in him so that he was more forceful. “If it were my intention to deceive you and the Rajah and, indeed, anyone else, there is no reason I should choose such elaborate and easily discredited methods. I would only have to say that I was a merchant from the West who had been driven out of a distant city by invaders or a corrupt ruler. There would be no way for you to verify my claim. I would only have to show you the jewels and tell you my tale of misfortune. Instead I have spoken to you honestly and openly, and for that you have accused me of deceit.”

Dantinusha looked up from the scroll. “You’re a most clever man, foreigner. You have an answer for any reasonable objection.”

“Great Lord,” Saint-Germain said evenly, “what am I to do, if everything I say is regarded with suspicion?” There was no challenge in his words, and no apology. He looked from one man to the next, his eyes betraying no feeling.

Dantinusha let the scroll roll closed. “You are said to have great understanding. The Master of the Yellow Hats commends you for your wisdom. Most unusual, isn’t it?”

“I do not know, Great Lord,” Saint-Germain answered honestly. “It was nothing we discussed.” He could see that the Commander of the guard was getting restive again.

The poet Jaminya spoke before Guristar could. “If you have wisdom that the Master of the Yellow Hats acknowledges, then reveal it. A wise man may remain silent all his life, but once discovered, then it is important that he find a way to bring his knowledge to others.” He was looking not at Saint-Germain but at the Brahmin Rachura.

The somber holy man nodded. “True wisdom will make itself known. If the message on this scroll is genuine, then all will benefit from his teaching. If the message is not genuine, those of us who have advanced far in learning will know it at once.”

Guristar almost smirked. “Excellent. Let the fool bring himself down by his own temerity.”