The Eden Passion (67 page)

Dhari passed him by and went into the front parlor and took up a vigil by the window there, throwing her voice back into the hall with a soft warning. "You'd better get away from the door, both of you. If they see you . . ."

Then they did. Still peering through the curtains at the door, John saw a large contingent of armed men riding up from the direction of the palace, at least thirty horsemen and as many on foot, their faces indistinguishable from the distance. Then effortlessly the first line of horsemen leaped the wall and led their mounts around the dusty courtyard.

Quickly John withdrew, taking Aslam with him, joining Dhari at the window in the parlor. "We could still leave," he said urgently.

But she shook her head, an expression of sadness in her face as she peered through the curtains at the clouds of dust rising about the stamping hooves, the courtyard filled with laughing, shouting men, their figures black against the flames of the burning huts across the road.

Several carried torches, and as they started toward the steps of the bungalow, John heard the bolt at the front door slide, saw that Dhari had heard it as well, and for the first time saw fear in her eyes.

"No," she whispered, and pushed past him, calling out, "No, Reverend Jennings, don't. . ."

They reached the entry hall at the same time and saw Jennings smiling at them, his hand on the bolt. "Don't worry," he said. "I know these men. They are your grandfather's guards. I've taught many of their children to read and write. I'll talk to them."

"No, please," Dhari begged. "Don't go out."

But the bolt was sliding again, the door opening, and again Jennings looked back at them with a radiant smile. "And I heard a voice from heaven saying, write this." He quoted, " 'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord henceforth. Blessed indeed, said the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them.'"

He passed through the door, accompanied by one final cry from Dhari.

From outside, John heard a sudden cessation of voices as the sepoys

caught sight of Jennings. John moved to the window and stood behind Dhari, one hand grasping Aslam's wrist, ignoring the little boy's pleas to "Let me see!"

At the moment there was nothing to see but the stillness of the confrontation itself, the men with torches moving slowly back before the black-clad figure.

Then he saw Jennings lift both arms into the air, speaking full-voiced in native tongue, moving down the steps, several of the horsemen parting to make way for him.

"What's he saying?" John whispered.

"He's . . . praising them," Dhari murmured, "for their courage, for reclaiming what is rightfully theirs."

The waiting stretched on, Jennings filling the quiet with his resolute voice, smiling now and then up at a dark face, patting a horse's head, reaching out to touch a hand.

John felt the tension, his eyes watering at the intensity 7 of his gaze. Overhead, the sun, rising to midmorning, beat down, catching and reflecting the glitter of a sword.

Suddenly the once-stilled men erupted into a frenzy of movement, shattering the stillness as all pushed forward toward the core, the place where Jennings stood. Dhari screamed as time and time again the men lunged forward with their swords, plunging them downward.

John watched as though in a trance, as if such a catastrophe were not possible, mindlessly clinging to the hope that somehow Jennings was not at the center of that bloody attack.

But that frail hope was shattered by one sharp cry from Dhari, who had never taken her eyes off the scene and who pressed back against John, both her hands covering her mouth. Her eyes clearly reflected the atrocity which John saw now, Jennings' decapitated head lifted aloft on a sword, the severed tendons and muscles dripping blood, that beneficent smile still on his face, as with a great roar the men shouted their approval and passed the sword among themselves, causing the head to tremble as though it were still alive.

John twisted away, dragging Aslam with him.

Again he heard Dhari's voice behind him, as though, past the initial shock, she'd scarcely been affected by the tragedy.

"Listen closely," she said. "Wait here with Aslam. I'll lead them away. As soon as we're gone, take Aslam, get the horse and ride out the back."

"No."

But she rushed over his protest. "Aslam," she whispered to the boy, "take him the secret way."

The little boy nodded solemnly.

Again John tried to protest. "I'm not leaving without you."

"I'll meet you beyond the toll house at the lower end of the bridge," she rushed on. "There's a grove of trees there. Wait, and I'll come as soon as I can."

Still not convinced of the validity of the plan, John begged, "Come with us now. We could still—"

But she was shaking her head. "No, please, do as I say. They won't harm me, I promise. It's your only chance."

As once again the cries arose from the courtyard, John pulled her to him. Wordlessly she kissed him, drew Aslam to her for an embrace, then she was gone. At the door she stopped for a final instruction. "Stay out of sight until I lead them away," she whispered, "then run."

John nodded and once again lifted Aslam into his arms. He carried the boy to the window and abruptly lowered him to the floor as he saw Jennings' decapitated head still being passed among the men.

When the men caught sight of Dhari, they fell silent. To John's amazement, she moved directly toward them, her hands waving excitedly toward the road, clearly relaying the false message that the other white man had fled. Several of the horsemen started out at a gallop toward the wall, only to be stopped by a shout from the others, who now encircled Dhari cautiously, looking down upon her with suspicious eyes.

Aslam started to speak. John clamped his hand over the boy's mouth as again a stillness descended on the courtyard. Apparently the men were divided, half wanting to take off immediately in pursuit, the other half doubting her words.

One of the men slid from his mount, grasped the sword bearing Jennings' head and thrust it before her face.

John saw her draw back. Then he saw her recover, step forward and spit into the dead face.

All at once a roar of approval went up from the watching men. The sepoy who had dismounted climbed back onto his horse, and grinning, reached down and swung Dhari up into the saddle with him.

With a triumphant yell, still holding the sword aloft, he led the way back into the road, the others following after him, and in a mi-

raculously short time the courtyard was empty save for the settling clouds of dust and the mutilated body of Fraser Jennings.

John pushed away from the window and leaned against the wall, clasping Aslam to him, A smell of smoke was now filling the room, the crackling of flames growing louder. He looked out at the front porch and saw it on fire, lit apparently by a torch which had been tossed backward.

The small hand suddenly twisted in his, the child leading. "Come, John," the boy whispered, "I know the way."

Then they were running back through the bungalow. They ran across the rear courtyard toward the stable, where, even before he'd opened the door, he heard Black neighing in fear as the smoke reached his nostrils.

"No time to saddle," John shouted as Aslam started toward the tack room. Quickly he threw the harness on, drew back the reins, lifted Aslam up onto the broad black back and pulled himself up behind.

With only a few words, Aslam directed him through the rear gate and down the narrow alleyway, past low bungalows, bypassing the central bazaars altogether. He heard shouts and screams in the distance, and the continuous muffled reports of rifles. But not until they entered the lower street did they encounter anything, and then he tried to draw the boy closer to him and shield his eyes from the scene, the ground littered with corpses, dogs already foraging on the dead flesh.

His thoughts moved to Dhari, and he felt a prayer forming in his head. He wrapped his arms more tightly about Aslam and wondered how the boy would survive with images like these burned into his consciousness.

Ahead he saw the Kashmir Gate, and beyond that the toll house. He drew Black to one side, thinking that the rampaging sepoys would surely place a guard at the gate.

But to his surprise, he saw the gate empty save for the sprawled bodies of British soldiers where apparently they had pursued the marauders as far as the gate before being hacked down.

West of the gate he looked up toward the settlement of Darya-ganj, a small suburb occupied by minor European families and Eurasian officials. Coming from that direction he now heard cries and shouts, saw the sky overhead black with smoke, and realized that the rebels were going through the city, a section at a time, thus accounting for their absence here.

Then hurry! Tightening his grasp on Aslam, he urged Black forward, and felt the horse respond with a sudden burst of speed. He would have passed the grove of trees altogether had it not been for Aslam's cry, "There! We're to wait there."

Sharply John pulled back on the reins and guided Black into the shelter, moving immediately toward a vantage point where he could see through the foliage in all directions.

"Can we get down?" Aslam asked.

John hesitated. Unarmed, his only defense for himself and the boy was this fast horse and a moment's head start. He looked over his shoulder toward the gate, trying to remember if Dhari had set a time. One hour? Two? But he couldn't remember and had no intention of leaving without her, and in order to pacify Aslam, assisted him down to the dirt and urged him to "Stay close."

John remained on the horse. With the exception of the fires and smoke, he saw nothing moving, though he continued to hear the reports of distant guns, which told him the rebellion was far from over, their escape not yet completed.

It was late that afternoon when John heard approaching horses. He looked through the trees toward the Kashmir Gate, and with one hand drew Aslam close. Still keeping his eyes on the approaching horsemen, he moved slowly to where he'd secured Black to a tree. He swung Aslam up and was in the process of following suit when suddenly he noticed something different about the riders. They were riding their horses at a slowed, almost ritualistic pace. These men were drawing near with due deliberation.

No matter, thought John. Again he grasped the horse and was in the process of swinging up when he noticed something else. The lead rider was not alone. Someone was sitting with him in the saddle.

Still grasping the reins, he whispered to Aslam, "Keep still," fairly confident that the man could not see into the thickness of the grove, and curious about the passenger whose head and face seemed to be obscured by a black hood and whose hands he now saw were bound in front.

At what point recognition became clear, he didn't know. Perhaps it was the hem of the sari he'd seen earlier that morning in the kitchen annex. Or perhaps it was Aslam's whisper, "Mama . . ." the child's voice breaking for the first time into a tone which resembled adult fear.

Still the riders drew nearer, until they were less than fifty yards

from the grove of trees. The others halted, and that one lone rider proceeded forward at a slowed pace, the specifics of his passenger clearer. It was Dhari, of that he was certain, but why was her face hooded, her hands bound, and why . . . ?

Then all at once the rider pushed her off the horse; she landed on her feet and seemed to stand erect for a moment, then suddenly collapsed, falling to her knees, then the rest of the way to earth, her bound hands clasping something which spilled in her fall, scattering small glittering lights of reds and greens across the brown earth.

The rider watched her for a moment, then reined his horse about and galloped back to the others.

"Mama," Aslam whimpered.

As John saw him struggling down from the horse, he warned sternly, "Wait! Do you hear me? Don't leave Black."

Reluctantly the boy agreed, his eyes still focused on his mother. "Go get her," he whispered, "please."

John moved cautiously to the edge of the trees, his attention divided between the lifeless figure of Dhari and the band of horsemen a short distance away. Why didn't they leave? They must know he was here. Were they using her as a decoy to draw him out?

All at once he heard her groan, a sound of pain mixed with fear. She turned weakly over onto her back in the dust, scattering more of the small glittering objects; then she was quiet.

Still keeping to the meager protection of the trees, John looked again toward the waiting horsemen. Suddenly he darted forward in full view, approaching Dhari at top speed, intent only on lifting her into his arms, then retreating.

But as he drew near her collapsed body, he saw the spilled objects in the dust, gems, countless in numbers, a dazzling array of diamonds, emeralds, rubies, the empty pouch still clasped between her bound hands. He fell on his knees and lifted her, while with his other hand he reached for as many as he could gather, was still struggling to collect them when he heard the sharp reports of rifles, the bullets hitting nearby, raising small explosions of dust.

The riders in the distance commenced shouting now and firing another round. John gathered her to him and left all the stones save for the few scooped up in his hand, and ran with her back toward the trees, feeling her head inside the black hood bob lifelessly against his chest.

"Move back!" he shouted to Aslam, and saw the boy slide toward

the horse's rear, his hands outreaching to assist John up, dragging Dhari after him.

"Hold on tight," he shouted to Aslam, and cradling Dhari in his arms, he dug his heels into Black, and with a cry urged him forward, exploding out of the thicket of trees at top speed, seeing the horsemen still grouped nearby, but not looking back to see if they were in pursuit, certain that they were.

Not until he was approaching the rise of land where he and Jennings had stopped for a rest on that day so long ago did he cease pounding the horse's sides. As Black slowed to a canter, he looked back for the first time and saw the riders in the distance, still on the other side of the bridge, filing slowly back through the Kashmir Gate. Clearly they had let them escape. For what reason, he had no idea.