Authors: MARY JO PUTNEY
None of his disquiet was visible as he raised the pistol and took careful aim at the small reddish sphere. For Juliet it was one of those moments that become engraved forever on the mind. Ross looked handsome and calm and utterly English, as relaxed as if he were target-shooting in a London gallery. A shaft of light spiked through the palm fronds and touched his hair to blazing gold. On the far side of the garden the child held rigidly still, his eyes so wide that white was visible all around the dark irises. The sound of his panicky breath filled the air.
Juliet uttered a fervent silent prayer for both the boy’s sake and Ross’s. Then the gun roared out.
Each time a shot was fired, it took longer for the smoke to dissipate. Impatiently the amir stepped forward to see the results, Ross following more slowly behind. Before they were halfway across the courtyard, the smoke cleared enough to reveal that the boy was unhurt and crimson fragments of ruptured pomegranate were smeared on the white wall behind him.
Nasrullah burst into laughter and clapped Ross on the back. “Splendid, splendid! You are a magnificent marksman.” Stepping up to the tethered boy, he ran a languid hand down the downy cheek. “You have won yourself a slave, Lord Khilburn,” the amir said. “He is a pretty child. Enjoy him.”
Shaking with repressed fury, Juliet stepped forward and untied the bonds from the boy’s wrists. The child looked up at her uncertainly, alarmed by her veiled countenance. Under her breath she said gruffly, “Do not fear. All will be well.”
Then she took his hand and led him back toward the group of watchers. When they halted and turned to watch the rest of the scene, his fingers stayed curled in hers.
With the merest hint of irony, Ross was saying, “Your majesty is merciful and generous. I thank you for the gift.”
In a lightning jump, the amir said, “You claim that Major Cameron is your brother, yet you do not resemble him except in height. Did your father have you by different wives?”
“No. Major Cameron is not my brother by blood, but by marriage,” Ross replied. “His sister is my wife.”
“Ah-h-h.” Nasullah stroked his beard. “Have you only one wife? While that is said to be the ferengi practice, surely men of rank such as yourself need not abide by such a paltry custom.”
“Some men have concubines,” Ross admitted, “but our law binds all men, of all ranks, to one wife at a time.”
The amir snorted. “How tedious. A man needs variety.”
“Variety is not without charm, but it comes at the cost of deeper love,” Ross replied. “A man who has a dozen horses will cherish none of them as much as the man who has only one. In the same way, a man with but one wife will know her better and value her more than a man with a harem full of wives and concubines.”
Though he did not so much as flick an eyelash in her direction, Juliet felt as if his comment was aimed at her, and she felt a curious blend of pride and guilt. Ross was much too good for her, but she had always known that.
Nasrullah was less impressed. “That sounds to me like what a man tries to make himself believe when he has no choice.”
Ross smiled. “As you will, your majesty. There are many truths, and this is one of mine.”
With another abrupt shift the amir said, “It is extraordinary. I have two hundred thousand Persian slaves in Bokhara—no one cares for them. Yet I take a single British captive and a person comes all the way from England to demand his release.”
Juliet tensed and could feel matching tension in Ross. They had reached the heart of their mission.
With a complete lack of pride, Ross dropped to his knees before the amir. “I do not demand, I beseech. If you are holding my brother captive, I beg that you release him. Knowing how the laws of hospitality are honored in your great land, I cannot believe the reports that he has been brutally murdered.”
“Your plea is most moving, Lord Khilburn, and perhaps if you had come several months ago, I would have granted your petition. But, alas, you come too late.” Nasrullah’s voice dripped with spurious regret, but his dark eyes gleamed with malice. “It grieves me to inform you that Major Cameron has been executed.”
Juliet closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath as she surrendered the last faint hope. Her brother was dead.
The Persian boy squeezed her hand hesitantly and she realized that her hand had tightened on his. It was to his credit that, after all he had just endured, he was sensitive to her distress. Forcing her eyes open, she saw that her husband had become as still as she. After a long, long pause Ross said, “Might I ask what he did to deserve such punishment?”
There was a dangerous silence, for the amir was seldom questioned, but after a moment he shrugged. “His credentials were not in order, so there was some question of whether he was truly representing the British government. Then Cameron was caught spying. When confronted with the evidence, he converted to Islam and swore loyalty to me, only to recant a few days later.” Nasrullah’s eyes were cold as death. “According to our law, if a man says he will turn Muslim, he must do so or die.”
“I see.” Ross got heavily to his feet. “Those are indeed grave transgressions. Yet since he has paid for his crime, I beg that you allow me to take his body home for burial.”
“I have wasted enough time on this matter for today,” Nasrullah said brusquely. “I will consider your request and speak with you another time.” He glanced around until his eye caught that of one of his guards. “The foreign minister has questions for Lord Khilburn. Take the ferengi there.” Then the amir strode back into the audience chamber.
As Ross watched the ruler move away, his right hand curled into a fist. He forced his fingers to relax. Nasrullah was as cruel and mad as his reputation, and Ross and Juliet would need the devil’s own luck to get out of Bokhara with their necks intact. Schooling his expression to impassivity, he followed the guard from the courtyard, Juliet and the boy following.
Abdul Samut Khan led them to a small office where the Bokharan minister of foreign affairs was dictating to a Persian scribe. The minister was an Uzbek with bushy brows and a permanent scowl, and for the next hour he subjected Ross to a sharp interrogation while Juliet and the boy squatted silently in a corner of the office.
The minister began by asking whether the British people would be angry at news of Major Cameron’s death.
When Ross affirmed that they were already upset by the major’s captivity and would surely be furious at news of his death, the minister frowned and asked how far it was from England to Bokhara. He relaxed when he learned how great the distance was, then embarked on a series of questions on the internal politics of Britain and Russia. He was well-informed on the latter, not surprising when the Russian empire loomed over Central Asia like a thundercloud.
However, there was a brief, dangerous flurry when the minister asked the names of the four British “grand viziers,” then accused Ross of lying because the names were different from what Ian Cameron had given the year before. Wearily Ross explained that there had been a recent change of government, which led to the complex process of explaining how the British constitutional monarchy worked.
The Bokharan was mollified when his visitor was able to name the previous government’s chief ministers, though Ross doubted that his interrogater really believed that an administration could change peacefully. To install a new government without bloodshed was contrary to the tenets of Asiatic rulership.
The questions went on and on, and Ross was so tired that he was having trouble concentrating. The caravan had set out long before dawn, and he had endured a full and stressful day since. Now dusk was falling, but the foreign minister seemed indefatigable. Finally Ross asked, “May my servant take my new slave to collect his personal belongings?”
The minister agreed, and sent a guard to escort Juliet and the boy to the slave quarters. They returned half an hour later, Juliet carrying a small bundle of possessions tied in a square of cotton fabric. When they appeared, the foreign minister became suddenly affable. “My apologies, Lord Khilburn, for keeping you so long. I will wish to speak with you again, but that is enough for today. You must be fatigued from your journey.” With a clap of his hands he summoned armed guards to take the visitors to the quarters that had been assigned to them.
After retrieving their camels, they left the royal palace and were escorted to a massive walled compound about half a mile from the citadel. When they entered the main house, the nayeb bustled up to them. “Greetings, my friends.” He bowed. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“This is your home?” Ross asked with surprise.
“Indeed. The amir often allows me to act as a host for distinguished visitors. Let me show you to your apartment.”
The two rooms assigned were on the upper level and shared a balcony that overlooked an enormous garden behind the house. The apartment was simply but comfortably furnished, with white walls, cushioned divans, and handsome Bokharan rugs. One chamber had a rope bed, while the other was equipped with a table suitable for eating and writing. Servants were already bringing in their baggage and placing it in the bedroom. As the nayeb lit several oil lamps, he said, “I shall give orders for a meal to be served to you here in a few minutes. Do you wish your servants to stay with you, or shall I send them to my own slave quarters?”
“Jalal can sleep here on the floor. The boy…” Ross studied the child for a moment. “I would like him to dine with me tonight so I can speak with him, but he can sleep in your selamlik. I imagine that you have other boys around his age.”
The nayeb nodded. “Is there anything else I can provide for your comfort?”
“A bath,” Ross said promptly.
“You are welcome to use the hammam.”
Ross would have given six months of his life to do that, but unfortunately Juliet would not be able to do the same, and she surely felt as grubby as he did. Summoning all that remained of his nobility, he said gravely, “It is against the custom of my people to use hammams. Do you have a large tub that could be brought here, and a screen to place in front of it?”
“A tub?” Abdul Samut Khan said, perplexed. “Major Cameron was also my guest, and he did not object to the hammam.”
“But he was Scottish and I am English.” Ross injected a martyred note into his voice. “I realize that this is a great inconvenience, for water must be carried in and out for a bath. If it is not possible…”
“No, no, it shall be done,” the nayeb said, though his expression made it clear that he thought his guest’s request was eccentric in the extreme. “I believe that there are large tubs in the laundry. I shall give orders that a bath be prepared for you after you have dined.”
Abdul Samut Khan was turning to go when Ross said, “You mentioned that Major Cameron was your guest. I should like to discuss him with you.”
The nayeb’s eyes flicked around, as if he was looking for unwelcome ears. His voice dropping, he said, “And I wish equally to talk with you. Tomorrow morning.” Then he left.
There were a ewer of water and a basin in the room and the three of them had just enough time to wash their hands before the meal was served. The little boy dug into the rice and lamb greedily; from his thinness, it appeared that he had been on short rations in the palace.
When they had all eaten, Ross began questioning his new possession. Juliet had already introduced the boy as Reza, so Ross asked, “Were you born here in Bokhara, Reza, or were you brought here as a slave?”
The child’s bright gaze fixed on him. Now that he was not terrified, it was clear that he had a quick understanding. “I am Persian-born, my lord. My father is a grain merchant in Meshed.”
“Tell me how you came to be taken captive.”
“I was visiting my uncle’s farm in the country. My uncle warned me not to wander far in the fields, but I was only small and did not heed him. Then Turkoman bandits came and stole me.” As gravely as a little old man he added, “As a ferengi, you may not know this, but it is forbidden for a good Muslim to enslave another Muslim. However, Shütes are considered heretics, so we are sheep to the Turkoman wolves.” Reza’s expression turned hard and adult. “Someday I shall return to my home, though it takes twenty years, and there I will learn the use of weapons. Never again will I be caught by such as they.”
“How long have you been a slave?”
“Two winters.”
“It is against the law of my people to hold slaves, so you are now free again,” Ross said, glad that the problem of the boy could be solved so easily. “Before winter comes again, you will be with your family in Meshed.”
Reza gasped; apparently it had never occurred to him that his new master would set him free. He scrambled around the table, fell on his knees, and seized Ross’s hand. Pressing kisses on it, he said, “All blessings upon you, my lord. This is twice you have saved me today— first my life, and now my soul. Never will I forget what you have done. Never will I allow any man to curse the ferengi in front of me. Never—”
“Peace,” Ross said, laughing. He pulled his hand free, letting it rest for a moment on the boy’s silky black head. He had always liked children; if he had had a son, he would have liked one as bright and resilient as this boy. Looking over the small dark head at Juliet, he added, “Jalal, take him to Saleh tomorrow. When Abdul Wahab next leads a caravan westward, he can be trusted to deliver Reza to his family in Meshed.”
Reza stood. Now that he was no longer a slave, he exercised his newfound freedom to throw his arms around Ross for a heartfelt hug. Then he did the same with Juliet.
After a few more minutes of talk, Ross dismissed the boy to find a bed in the nayeb’s slave quarters. When he left, Ross noted that the only door to the main house was solid wood and had a heavy bar on the inside. It was comforting to know that they could ensure privacy when they wanted it.
He turned to speak to Juliet, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. It proved to be two of the nayeb’s slaves carrying a giant laundry tub that was even larger than an English hip bath. Immediately behind was another pair of slaves carrying a folding screen of Chinese origin, then a whole line of women bearing towels, soap, and canisters of steaming water. Bemused, Ross watched the procession go by. The tub was set in a corner of the bedroom and the screen placed in front of it. After hot scented water was poured in, the servants bowed their way out.