Path of the Eclipse (55 page)

Within her, a welcome, familiar warmth ignited, filling her with a restless lassitude. She admitted, if only to herself, that she had made her decision when she sent for the books, and these last protestations were nothing more than the deprecatory lessons she had been taught all through her life. And compared to the joy his first touch promised her, they were nothing. “Wait, Saint-Germain,” she murmured, then chuckled wistfully. “When I was younger, it did not matter where I loved, but now, I would prefer the comfort of my bed.” She moved back a few steps and reached to draw the curtains around her low bed aside.

Saint-Germain’s hand fell over hers, and he held the curtains parted for her. He waited until she had knelt on the blankets before stepping into the tentlike enclosure of the bed and kneeling beside Padmiri, not quite touching her.

“I’m cold,” she said, her hands chafing her bare arms, though she knew it was not the frosty night that brought the frisson to her skin. “Warm me…” Her holy books had advised her that this was a night to kiss and fondle the right side of the body, and to adorn the flank of the beloved with patterns of bites like passing clouds, to lie still with legs entwined like climbing plants. Padmiri’s last two lovers had been punctilious in observing these dicta, but Saint-Germain was not constrained by such instructions. His hands, light and fondly persuasive, were sliding lightly over the thin fabric of her robe, and the heat they brought came from within her.

As he moved on his knees, Saint-Germain was able to lift the edge of the bedcover and draw it up. “Lie back, Padmiri,” he whispered, and as she bent, he lifted her robe from her, then lay beside her in the sweet-scented gloom.

The bedcover was smooth on her skin, but his hands and lips fired her with the onset of her passion. His loosely curling dark hair brushed her breasts, her abdomen. Padmiri’s breath came faster and once she made a soft sound like the cry of a night bird. There had never been instructions in scripture for the riot in her soul—how she wanted to touch him, show him the full extent of her gratitude. But he was clothed. A little wildly, she wondered how much hair grew on his body, and where? Were his nipples taut as hers? He was male: surely he must want to have her fingers ready for him … for what? For the demands her flesh was eager to answer? Then the questions were gone and there was only the reality of his mouth and his seeking hands.

The bedcovers trembled and surged and once the hangings billowed as Padmiri flung her head back, caught now in a rising tide that consumed her with rapture. Perhaps she called his name when her amazingly sustained release began, and perhaps it was that she was no longer aware of anything but him and her ecstasy.

A letter from Mei Hsu-Mo to Nai Yung-Ya and the Nestorian Christian Church of Lan-Chow. The ship carrying this letter and a cargo of pepper and cotton sank in a squall six days out of port.

In the fortnight of the Bright Frosts, though I have not seen such here, near the end of the Year of the Tiger, the Fifteenth Year of the Sixty-fifth Cycle, the one thousand two hundred eighteenth year of Our Lord, to the Pope Nai Yung-Ya and the congregation of Lan-Chow.

I have been in Pu-Na for some weeks now, and have made contact with a trader from the city he calls Constantinople, which we know as Ki-Sz’-Da-Ni. He speaks a little of the language of Pu-Na, and I have learned it a little, so we have been able to discuss a few matters. This man, who is called Hemedoris, has said that he might be able to provide passage to Egypt, and from there I would be able to find my way to his home, even as he will. I am not eager to travel with this man, for though he claims to be a Christian, he has neither wives nor concubines, as a good Christian should, but cohabits with the lowest prostitutes, which he says is a sin and which he says that he confesses on his return to Christian countries so that he may be absolved. It is as we have been told, I am discovering, and the Christians in the West have chosen quite a different path, if this man is any example, though I most earnestly pray he is not.

There have been rumors again about the predations of the Mongols. Everywhere one hears of this atrocity and that disaster. May God preserve you from them! I do not know how it may be possible for these appalling men to be in China one day and in Persia the next, but apparently this has happened. Even the sailors I have spoken with fear them and say that they believe it is only a matter of time before the Mongols will ride their demon horses over the sea to plunder ships on the water. This may yet come to pass, though we have been taught that it is only those versed in the ways of God who may stand on the waters and not be wet.

I was fortunate in my companion on the road, a man of some years, and a distinguished Buddhist teacher. We spoke a great deal of our faiths and I am certain that each of us was well-pleased by the understanding we have gained. I see that it is possible for those who follow the teaching of Siddhartha to be in accord with good Christians on many important matters. He, I must tell you, has warned me of this Hemedoris, for he has heard of those who seize upon travelers and sell them into slavery. It would be an easy thing for this Hemedoris to do, as I am so far from home and there are none to guide me, or who await me at the end of my journey. I must assure you that I am taking his advice very much to heart, for it would not please me to have this venture end so poorly. I have also explained to Hemedoris that I am not willing to pay him with my body, however much he may agree to do for me if I should accept his bargains. Be assured that I will take no pleasure with this person, as that would be insulting to this mission and our faith.

It is fairly dry at this time, the rains coming through the summer. Here it is damp, and when my brother died, the air was steaming, so hot and wet it had become. There are fresh breezes off the sea, which take away some of the particular scent of this place. I have been told that in the north it is often very cold and the worst of the rains are spent before they reach the mountains, so that this enveloping heat touches them less. I did not think that I could learn to long for the sight of snow, but so it is. Humble frost would be a delightful thing to me this morning, for although we are near the dark of the year, yet there is a fruit tree bending over the roof of this inn, and I can hear birds singing and chattering nearby.

Sadly, the money which was provided us, and which seemed so lavish an amount when we set out, is now gone, and I am somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed. I have done a little fine needlework for the innkeeper, and he is willing to pay me for this and supply me with my passage money when I leave here, but what I will do after that, I have not yet considered. I have prayed for guidance and for fortitude, and there is comfort in prayer, though, as yet, no solution. I have still two pendants of my brother’s which I know could be sold for a considerable sum, but I am loath to part with them. It would be dishonorable to treat his things in so shabby a way. If there is absolutely no other recourse but prostitution, then I will sell the pendants, and offer recompense to his memory when I arrive in Constantinople, at the great church there.

It is not my intention to make a claim upon the congregation, but if it should happen that it must be done, I will send you word and ask for what assistance you may provide. Doubtless, the distances being now so great, it will be longer than a year before any aid might be provided, yet I fear that I must prepare you for that possibility. Had my brother lived, and had our companion not revealed himself unworthy of the name Christian, there would be no need for me, or any of us, to make such requests of you. I am alone now, and in this world, that can be most unpleasant. Forgive me for this unseemly petition, but do not turn away from my need because it is not appropriate for me to address you thus. Think of your wives and daughters, and imagine what their plight could be in this place, were they as alone as I am. I have not the money to return to you, and I promised my brother that I would press on and finish what we have begun. I do not intend to change that, or to renege on my word, but I would be more confident in my task if I did not have the specters of starvation and degradation as company in my thoughts.

There is a legend here that the Apostle Thomas preached here and was buried not too great a distance from this place. I have asked to see the burial place, but everyone indicates a different direction and a different hill or mound for him, so I will not be too hasty in assuming that the legend is true. I have been told that there were Christians here for some time, and that there are a few still, but no one knows precisely where they are, or how to find them. It would please me to see another Christian besides Hemedoris, yet I doubt that it will be possible for me to find these people, if they do exist. I fear that it is simply another legend, and that there may have been Christians here once, but now they are vanished. I have been assured that everyone in Constantinople is Christian, even the Emperor himself. Doubtless, when I reach that city, I will be among friends again and the fears that haunt me in the night will not harass me in that city.

You are always in my prayers and thoughts, and if it is fated that we will not see one another in this life, I will greet you in the Gardens of Paradise, which, I tell you most sincerely, Pu-Na is not.

Mei Hsu-Mo

sister of Mei Sa-Fong

in Pu-Na

7

Rachura had been reading from scripture, but Dantinusha now waved him into silence. Here, where the sun lanced through the half-open shutters, it was warm enough, but the wind was cold and where the shadows fell, the heat was leeched away.

“I have a few new verses—minor things, but you might find them intriguing,” Jaminya said to the Rajah. “Melancholy is not useful in a ruler.”

Ordinarily this bantering tone would evoke a smile from Dantinusha, and he would have given the poet his attention. Today, however, his mouth tightened with distaste. “I wish for silence. If that is not acceptable to you, then leave.”

Taken aback, Jaminya retired to a corner of the room and made a show of examining a scroll with critical eyes. His thoughts were far away and he was only remotely aware of the script in front of him. Fear had sunk its claws into his chest and he was striving to master it. He twisted the ends of his mustaches, trying to appear nonchalant.

Rachura had got to his feet and went to stand before the Rajah’s throne. It was unacceptable for him to feel distress and so his demeanor was restrained and he called the chill that went through him a breeze instead of alarm. “I will withdraw, if the Rajah permits this.”

“The Rajah does not,” Dantinusha snapped. “The Rajah intends to keep as much of his court in sight as possible.” He rose suddenly and began to walk toward the windows. The sunlight gleamed on the brilliant green silk of his long jacket. “Someone,” he said in a steely undervoice, “someone has started a conspiracy against me. I thought we had done with that three years ago, but there are fools everywhere, and the thing has begun again. I will not have it. Understand me. I will not have it.” His voice had grown louder and he ended on a shout.

Jaminya shot one frightened look at Rachura but could discover nothing in the Brahmin’s composed features. More than anything else, he wished he could leave the room. His hands, he realized, were trembling and he rolled the scroll he held and thrust it into his sash. He tried to speak, but could think of nothing to say.

“This palace is filled with spies, riddled with them. It might as well be a marketplace of secrets. I have ordered that five of my slaves have their tongues cut out. It won’t end it, of course. Nothing will end it.” He was at the window now, and he pushed the shutters wider. “It was a warning, only a warning. If it is not successful, then there will be executions again, and I am so tired of them.”

Rachura did not move from his place before the throne, but he spoke to Dantinusha deferentially. “Great Lord, you are too mild. If there are those who have chosen to move against you, then it is your obligation to cut them down. How else will chaos be kept out of the world?”

Dantinusha was not listening. Something had caught his attention, and he leaned forward to have a better look. “The blind beggar with the slit nose—you know him? He sits in the marketplace and steals vegetables. He was lieutenant of the palace guard three years ago. He was not killed, not being one of my brothers or cousins. There are many like him. This evil is all-pervasive. Limbs may be struck off and tongues cut out and eyes burned away, but there is still rebellion.” Quite suddenly Dantinusha came away from the window. “I am sick at heart, but I will order deaths and maiming until I am certain that the throne is protected!”

Guristar appeared in the doorway to the chamber. He was magnificently garbed today, in clothes of silk and fur. He abased himself and straightened up in one practiced movement. “Great Lord, your daughter desires the opportunity to speak with you.”

“I left word that she was to stay in her quarters. You know how unsafe the times are,” Rajah Dantinusha said with asperity.

“For that reason, she wishes to see you. She has begged me to tell you that her place, as your heir, is at your side.” The guard commander touched his long sword.

“So that we may both be struck down?” Dantinusha demanded furiously. “Tell her that she is not to leave her quarters, not until I come personally to lead her away from there. This is not a minor threat, Guristar. You were the one who championed swift action, and I delayed. Now, you are courting danger, because of Tamasrajasi’s whim.” His face darkened and he glared around the room.

“She said,” Guristar persisted, “that if you must fall, then she would rather have a clean death with you than suffer as she might have to later.”

Dantinusha was quiet, his face grave. “They would not use her well, whoever they are.” He looked at the window. “She would not die quickly, it is true, but she would escape the debts I have earned in this life. A hot knife is quick, much quicker than rebels in the hall. Be sure that she has a knife.”