"You have honored the Rajput by visiting his stables again, I am told," Vayu Ede said to Sanat Ji Mani as the two encountered each other in the main corridor of the palace at dusk; the servants were busy lighting the oil-lamps and setting handfuls of aromatic wooden chips to burn on the braziers that stood in the junction of two corridors, just ahead of them.
"Last night, yes," said Sanat Ji Mani as disinterestedly as he could; it was his third such visit in ten days. He was wearing yet another set of pyjamas, this one in a rich bronze shade the color of lamplight; his boots were also new, of tooled, dark-red leather that reached to his calves; they were handsome but lacked the earth-filled soles he craved, and his right foot remained painful and tender.
"How good of you, to take the opportunity to view the horses the Rajput has made his own." If there was any sarcasm in Vayu Ede's observation, it did not make itself heard in his voice.
"The Rajput has many horses," said Sanat Ji Mani. "He has much to be proud of."
"And you are a fine judge of such animals," said Vayu Ede.
"I have some knowledge of horseflesh," Sanat Ji Mani answered carefully.
Vayu Ede laughed aloud as if this were a great witticism. "The Rajput has said he would like to inspect his stables with you."
This was so unexpected that Sanat Ji Mani could not at first decide what to answer. Finally he bowed his head. "I am at the Rajput's service, of course."
"And so I shall tell him. It might be as well to do it tomorrow night, before the Rajput takes his cavalry on maneuvers. He has planned to have an inspection in any case, and you will make it far more worthwhile; you have your experience and he has his. Between you there should be a most useful discussion."
"I welcome it," said Sanat Ji Mani with the odd sensation he and Vayu Ede meant very different things.
"Excellent," Vayu Ede said, pressing his hands together and bowing deeply. "Shall I tell him you will meet him-shall we say?-just before sunset in the marshaling yard? Your companion should have finished her performance for the day, and that way, the soldiers will be in good fettle."
"That would be satisfactory," Sanat Ji Mani said, wondering if it had been wise to allow Tulsi to continue her demonstrations; it had seemed useful when she suggested that since her first performance had been so enthusiastically received, offering more of them would be strategically useful, but now it seemed that this was less beneficial than it had appeared.
"Then I will wish you good sleep. In these long nights, who is safe beyond his bed?" With that, Vayu Ede was gone.
Sanat Ji Mani, who had endured winters in the far north, found these nights hardly worth recognizing, but he kept this to himself as he made his way to the room he shared with Tulsi. As he walked, still favoring his right foot, he was struck with the last thing Vayu Ede had said: In these long nights, who is safe beyond his bed? Was that only a remark of a man ready to sleep, or had there been a threat hidden within it? He considered all the possibilities and decided he could not be certain either way; Vayu Ede was given to flights of language that were the mark of his profession of poet, so it was difficult to discern his purpose. The isolation within the Rajput's palace made it difficult to establish any sense of proportion in such remarks, and it would be easy to overestimate their importance as to underestimate them. Sanat Ji Mani was still pondering the ramifications of those words when he entered the door of his room and found Tulsi in trousers and a tunic of light-weight cotton half-way up the wall in a corner, using the angle to climb higher. "More practicing, I see," he said.
She sighed and dropped lightly down. "The wood is oily, and that makes the climbing difficult. I could not do it at all in silk."
"I am agog, no matter what the condition of the wood, or your clothes," he told her.
She heard the coolness in his tone. "And you seem caught up in-in what?"
"Rumination," he answered, taking his place on the side of the bed. "I will venture out later. For now, it is fitting that you and I give the appearance of sleeping."
"Sleeping?" She came to stand beside him. "Why should we sleep?"
"It is expected of us, I gather," he said, stretching out without removing the tunic or trousers he wore. "I think we may be watched for part of the night."
"More spies," she said, sighing again. "This is most wearing."
"That it is." He held out his arm, making a place for her beside him. "But for the time being, we can do nothing more than keep their suspicions at bay."
She lay down next to him. "True enough," she said. "I have a handful of coins from the soldiers tonight. I have added it to what they have thrown to me already. If nothing else, we will not have to leave here wholly without means."
"That is a very good thing," Sanat Ji Mani said, then added, "I am supposed to inspect the stables with the Rajput tomorrow evening."
"What on earth for?" Tulsi exclaimed, sitting up abruptly.
"I hope to find out," said Sanat Ji Mani. "Vayu Ede has noticed that I have been looking at the stables, and made the offer just as I was coming back here."
"And what does it mean, do you think?" She got up and began to pace. "Have they learned our plans?"
"Not that I can tell," Sanat Ji Mani answered. "But I intend to find out as much as I may tonight, so that I will not be wholly unprepared tomorrow evening."
"Very well," she said automatically. "And what if you discover we have been trapped-what then?"
"Then we must try to leave before dawn. I hope it will not be necessary. Neither you nor I are quite ready to leave this place. But if we must perforce-" He gestured resignation. "I will return well before the sky lightens."
"If we have to flee." She sat down on the side of the bed once again. "I should have saved food from supper."
"We will manage food, for you and for the horses," he said confidently.
"I will rely upon you for that?" She jumped into a back-flip. "I cannot perform anywhere near Devapur. Word of it would get back to Hasin Dahele and we would be hunted down." She sank, crosslegged, onto the floor. "No, if we slip away from here, we must travel as we did before-we must go a long way, staying off the main roads, and bringing as little attention to ourselves as we can. We will have to hide often, and move by night." Then she looked directly at him. "It would be wisest if you rely upon me for nourishment."
Sanat Ji Mani sat up. "Does that mean you want to come to my life?"
"I have not yet decided. But I know you will not be able to travel quickly unless you have more than birds' blood to sustain you." She saw the dismay in his face. "It is the prudent thing to do."
"Becoming a vampire is not a matter of prudence," he said sharply. "Do not argue with me. I will not lie with you again unless my life is what you want. Anything else would be repugnant to me, and disastrous to you; believe this, for I am in deadly earnest." He steadied himself and went on, "If this is not what you seek for yourself, the intimacy that has grown will be lost, and there will be nothing more than necessity in our bond. You may be satisfied with that, but I would not."
"But it would make our escape-" she began.
"That is too high a price for getting away." He met her eyes.
"Is it so terrible, then? your life?" Her voice was angry. "Have you lied to me?"
"It is so terrible, and I have not lied," he replied in a quiet voice that did not permit any argument. "It is a rare thing, to come to this life, to the shared blood-bond that is the gift that comes with knowing. But for those reasons, and others, you must not make the change a sacrifice or an act of defiance, or anything that would taint it, turn it to something unwanted or cruel. And, Tulsi, it would be cruel to use you as a source of food." He said it bluntly and deliberately, and watched her take it in.
She stared at him a short time. "Well, I must take your word for it," she said at last. "I only thought it would be worthwhile ..."
Sanat Ji Mani sensed her ambivalence. "You were more generous than you know to make such an offer," he said softly. "That is the crux of the matter: you do not know what you offered and it would be unkind of me to exploit your selflessness."
Tulsi quivered where she sat. "That sounds a bit daunting," she admitted.
"Good; I intended it should," he responded.
"All right; I will not ask to come to your life-if I ask to come to your life-for your advantage." She rose gracefully. "I will ask for mine."
His smile surprised and reassured her. "That would suit me entirely."
She came back to the bed. "We're supposed to sleep, you said?"
"Yes." He once again made a place for her at his side. "I will leave about midnight, before the Guards change, and the ones on duty are getting sleepy." He fingered the bronze silk he wore. "I shall change my clothes; I might as well carry a torch with this on."
"Is that its purpose?" Tulsi suggested.
"Possibly," he said. "More likely, it is our host displaying his opulence. This is much grander than that mulberry silk that has been taken for washing."
Tulsi peeled out of her cotton garments and reached for the robe of magenta silk, the most recent one the Rajput had provided her. "These are very nice," she said, meaning all the clothes she had received. "I never thought to have so much fine apparel as I have now." She knotted the sash loosely around her waist. "We look like a fire together, do we not?"
"I suppose so," Sanat Ji Mani said, thinking back to his years in the Court of Karl-lo-Magne, when royal favor was a costly privilege.
"Will you tell me what you see in the stables?" she asked, and yawned.
"When I return from the inspection tomorrow evening, I will," he promised her.
"And then we can plan our escape, if we do not have to go before dawn," she said.
"Yes," he said. "Sleep, Tulsi."
"Wake me if-"
"If I must, I will."
Tulsi snuggled a bit closer to him. "Good," she murmured.
Sanat Ji Mani waited until she was soundly asleep, then eased out of the bed and began to pay attention to the hall, listening for the soft footfalls of servants and the distant closing of doors. It was times like this that he missed reading, for it would have pleased him to spend his waiting time in study; but books were not available, and he had to content himself with his thoughts and his memories.
Shortly before midnight, he rose, went to the chest and took out a robe of sienna-colored silk, pulled it on over the bronze pyjamas, and slipped out of the room, going down the corridor to the stairs that led to the side-garden that gave on to the marshaling court. It was not difficult to deepen the slumber of the dozing sentry; Sanat Ji Mani waited until he heard the man snore, then slipped through the gate and made his way to the rear end of the stables, ducking between the enormous tack-room and the first aisle of stalls. Some of the nearer horses whickered at him, but none of them raised the alarm by neighing loudly. Moving quickly, Sanat Ji Mani determined that most of the stalls had two horses, indicating a build-up in numbers. He made a quick pass through the first aisle and went on to the next, checking on the horses there, and in the four aisles beyond. When he had finished, he glanced across the arm of the courtyard to the next stable, which fronted on the forward part of the marshaling court. This was the building Tulsi had seen a little of, and it was the place where Hasin Dahele kept his own mounts. Tempting though it was to cross the courtyard and continue his review, Sanat Ji Mani hesitated, aware that the Rajput's personal horses were apt to be guarded. Neither stable had easy access to any unguarded exit, not even to an exercise pen or a paddock outside the walls, which meant that any escape on horseback could only be done with confusion to mask it. Sanat Ji Mani checked the tack-room, looking for saddles and bridles, and found them set on wedges and pegs affixed to the wall, many of them newly installed, the wood still showing where the saws had gone; at least tack was accessible, that was something.
He had just stepped out of the tack-room when a gong sounded the change of watch; Sanat Ji Mani moved back into the shadows of the stable to observe the sentries coming off their posts, noticing how well-disciplined they were and how quickly they went about their duties; all the Guards were more heavily armed than they had been two nights ago. The prospect of war weighed heavily on Sanat Ji Mani as he made his way back to the room he shared with Tulsi, and kept him awake until the sky was glowing with the coming of day.
"What did you find out?" Tulsi asked once she had stretched and yawned herself awake.
"Not as much as I would like and too much to comfort me," he replied. "I think it is important that you and I be ready to move soon. Not this morning, because the Guards on the walls are carrying bows as well as spears, and that makes the chances for a successful escape much smaller than when all the Guards carried was spears."
She thought about this. "Bows do give an advantage," she said, trying to appear unconcerned. "We should probably not try to outrun arrows."
"Truly," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"Did you get into the stables?" she asked, trying to find something encouraging to talk about.
"The rear stable, yes; not the front stable. There has been a definite increase in horses, for they are stalled in pairs, not alone. It will not be easy to get out of the stables and through the gates-both are in full view of the Guards." Discouraging as this was, Sanat Ji Mani knew he had to tell her what he thought. "I was not impressed with most of the horses," he added. "Too much Mawari in the stock. They are sickle-hocked, most of them, and will probably not hold up under a long campaign, although I have heard they are tough and lightkeepers." As he said this, he remembered the Spiti ponies that had brought him and Rogerian through the mountains of the Land of Snows; they were narrow-bodied and straight-necked, but they had managed the rigorous journey better than many other breeds might have. "The Rajput would do well to find some Caspian stallions, or a Turkmene line to add shoulder and heart-room to his stud." He did not realize that Tulsi was staring at him until he glanced toward her.
"I did not know you have had so much experience of horses," she said a bit faintly.
His smile was quick. "I have had a long time to learn," he told her. "I have come to put a great deal of value on stamina in horses, but even more on temperament."
She pursed her lips, giving his remarks some thought. "What did you think of Timur-i's ponies?"
"Oh, they are tough as leather, and can trot forever," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But most of them are straight-shouldered and have trouble with their backs after they are ten or so. You have seen how few older ponies are used for fighting, and when they cannot be used for war, they become food; those ponies, left to themselves, are long-lived." He looked past her, mentally watching the hardy ponies of Timur-i's army. "And most of them are intractable and mean. They are not trained to be willing, but that is not the whole of it; the breed is obstinate."
"And you think the same of the Rajput's horses?" she asked.
"I think they, too, are not raised for willingness." He stopped talking.
"What is it?" Tulsi could not fathom what commanded his attention.
"I must think of something to say that will please the Rajput that will not make it appear I have no understanding of horses," he said.
"You will think of the best approach; you are very skillful with words." There was no tinge of criticism in her voice, and no suggestion of blame in her manner, but he brought up his head as if stung.
"If you mean that I-" He stopped as he saw the shock in her eyes. "I apologize. I thought you meant that I have manipulated you with words. And, I own, I have."
"Not to my disadvantage," she said, and changed the subject. "You should rest while you can, and while the sun is most enervating. I will break my fast and return here before morning is half-over. Then you can prepare for your meeting with the Rajput this evening."
"Very sensible of you," said Sanat Ji Mani. "I will take your advice and sleep as much as I can."
Tulsi came to the side of the bed. "I shall say no one is to disturb you; the servants are not to enter this room."
"Thank you," he said, preparing to surrender to the torpor that among his kind passed for sleep.
She bent and kissed him lightly. "You have done much for me, Sanat Ji Mani. Even if you do not get us out of this, I am grateful to all you have given me."
He whispered a few words in a language she did not recognize, and lapsed into a stupefaction that quickly resembled near-death. When he woke again, it was mid-morning and the sound of servants washing the floors in the corridor echoed along the stones and rose and fell like the sea. He rose and stripped off his robe, revealing his bronze pyjamas beneath. He brushed the lustrous silk and smoothed his hair, and stepped out into the hallway to go to the baths, wanting to present himself newly clean to the Rajput. The basins were empty and the fountain splashed rose-scented water. He chose the tepid pool and set his clothing aside before he got into the water; he did his best to ignore the queasiness the water imparted to him, and finished his washing quickly. His slow-growing beard was in need of shaving again, and he resolved to tend to it the following morning, aware he would miss Rojire more than ever while he was at the task. He was about to get out and dry himself when he heard voices in the hallway. He made himself very still and listened.
"Why do you encourage him to go to war?" asked a man Sanat Ji Mani could not recognize.
"Because it is his karma to be a conqueror," said Vaya Ede. "I have seen it in a vision."
"But how can you know he will win?" the first man pursued. "Beragar is prosperous now; where other Rajputs have been riddled with foreigners and intrigue, we have done well. Why risk this good fortune in the hope that war will-" A portion of what he was saying was lost-"that better can be had."
"Timur-i will make it possible," said Vayu Ede; whatever else he said faded, leaving Sanat Ji Mani to mull over the little he had heard: what had Timur-i to do with the Rajput's ambition, unless he was committed to claiming a piece of the Delhi Sultanate? That would account for his desire to keep Sanat Ji Mani and Tulsi with him, and for his build-up in horses and equipment. Who were the men he had overhead? And why were they having such a discussion at so late an hour? Was it to keep their remarks private, or had they intended to be overheard?
Tulsi was waiting in their room when he returned, dry and dressed, his dark hair still damp. "The women of the household are not talking to me," she announced. "Until now they have tried to speak to me, even though they knew I could not understand."
"Which is no longer entirely the case," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out.
"Very true," she agreed. "But they have tried to include me, to engage me in ways that did not need words. Today I might as well have been a statue in the garden."
"And what did you do?" Sanat Ji Mani asked.
"What could I do?" she countered. "I sat and ate and said nothing. I tried to understand as much of their conversation as I could."
"Did you learn anything of interest?" Sanat Ji Mani knew that she now had a rudimentary grasp of the local dialect and would understand most simple conversations.
"Only that the Rajput is planning to set out on a little campaign to press his frontiers back to the Godavari River, to establish a defined border on the north. At least, that seemed to be the sense of it." Tulsi paused, her eyes focused on a distant place. "There is a gap between the pass to the coast and the source of the Godavari River, isn't there?"
"Yes," said Sanat Ji Mani, recalling the maps he had seen in Delhi. "The pass is not an impossible one to use, and there are trade roads there." He frowned. "So Hasin Dahele is going west. Does he want to control the ports, or is he planning to seize the coast and work his way up to the Sabarmati River?"
"That is in Gujerat, and there is still fighting in Gujerat," said Tulsi.
"Then he might plan to swing inland, and take the mountain regions." Sanat Ji Mani frowned. "There is still something we do not know in all this."
"Do you think you will be able to find it out?" Tulsi goaded. "Because if this unknown thing concerns us, then it would be best if we could find out what it is." She took a deep, uneven breath. "Sanat Ji Mani, I am getting frightened, and I do not want to stay frightened."
"I can hardly blame you for that," said Sanat Ji Mani. He shook his head. "Neither you nor I have the look of the people of this region, or we might be able to hide among the populace and make our way out of Beragar at our own pace. But that is not possible. So we must use other means."
"Tonight? After you review the stables?" She sounded eager.
"Do you want to be back on the road again, Tulsi? Are you certain you would not prefer to remain here in this place, with comforts and pleasures around you?" He was not entirely serious, but he wanted to be satisfied that she had considered all that might happen to her once they left the palace.
"I would rather not have to worry about poison, Sanat Ji Mani, or the possibility of separation, or the problems of being among strangers who may mean me ill." She leaped up and grabbed hold of the main ceiling beam, and began to perform her contortions around it. "This can keep me well enough in other places. I only want to vanish."
"To vanish?" he repeated, wondering if he had heard her aright.
"Yes; we are too visible here, and that attracts us notice that is dangerous. If we could simply disappear, we would be safe." She stretched along the beam, sinuous as a snake.
"You astonish me," said Sanat Ji Mani, watching Tulsi extend and twist around the beam.
"I saw a python a few days ago, and he gave me this idea. I have not achieved as much as I would like, but I think this can be advantageous." She let go of the beam and landed on her feet. "Next I have to practice moving through small spaces, and then I will have something to rival the mystics who meditate in various postures. I do not wish to be made to look paltry by old men in meditation."
"However you use it, I am truly impressed." Sanat Ji Mani touched her face gently. "You have great courage, Tulsi, and you are resourceful. I cannot think how I could have come so far without you."
"I would not have gone anywhere but in the back of Djerat's wagon if you had not been with me." Her smile had a little weariness in it, a fatigue that was more than physical. "I will be glad to be gone from here."
"Particularly since the Rajput is bent on going to war," Sanat Ji Mani agreed. "So. When I return tonight, we will make our plans."
"Very good," said Tulsi, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "After tonight, I will tell you what I have decided."
"If you wish," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You need not hurry your decision on my account."
"I will not," she said a little louder.
"Then I will welcome your decision, even if it is to postpone it," he said. "I would rather you be sure of your answer than that you feel duty-bound to give me one at a specific time."
"More of your foreign gallantry," she complained with mock severity.
"Hardly that," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"Whatever it may be, I enjoy it." She took his hand in hers and guided it down the front of her body. "How soon can we be gone?"
"As soon as it appears we may get away without harm." He paused while something nudged in the back of his thoughts. "If Hasin Dahele is going on a preparatory campaign, then we should be able to slip away in the general confusion. I doubt anyone will notice we have gone until nightfall."
"Does that mean tomorrow?" She made no effort to conceal her excitement.
"I would think so; tomorrow," he said, "if the Rajput keeps on with his plans."
"Then I will continue my provisioning. I have some food already, but I will get more, and I will take as many of the garments we have been given as I can. We need not be beggars at once." She cocked her chin. "I have coins, too."
"Each very useful," said Sanat Ji Mani, fighting the niggling sensation that he was not aware of all he needed to be. "I wish I had more to bring to this venture."
"You have knowledge and your knives. For the time being, it will be enough," she said, then stared down at her feet. "I should tell you: I have never ridden a horse before." In response to his startled expression she said, "I have often watched the soldiers ride and train, so I know the way of it, but entertainers were not allowed on horses in Timur-i's army, for fear they would go to the enemy. So all I know is how to drive mules. I can handle the reins, I think, but the saddle will be strange to me."
Sanat Ji Mani chided himself inwardly for assuming that Tulsi would know how to ride; it was an inconvenience to them now, but he said, "You are a most capable woman, and you do not let yourself be ruled by ignorance. I will try to find a smooth-gaited horse for you"-no easy thing in the Rajput's stables, he added to himself-"and I will rely on your skills as an athlete to be able to maintain your balance. Balance is the heart of it."
"So I think-about balance." she said. "Timur-i's soldiers all clung to their horses like monkeys when they crossed hard ground."
"Yes," said Sanat Ji Mani, thinking of his fine Turkish saddles lost at Delhi, his flexible Persian saddles, still in Rojire's care, and the old Spanish saddle at Villa Ragoczy in Rome, all of which he wished he had with him now. He was unfamiliar with the saddles of this region and hoped they would not be difficult to ride. "But consider this, Tulsi: if we are to escape from men on horseback, we, too, must be on horseback, or we will not succeed; it does not matter who recalls our passage if we can stay ahead of our pursuers. If that means that you have to ride as best you can, then you must. Otherwise we will be caught."
"All right," said Tulsi. "I should have told you before now, but I did not think we would be able to escape on horseback; I thought we would go on foot."
"Well," said Sanat Ji Mani, the kindness of his tone reassuring her, "I am glad you did not wait until we were in the stalls to tell me."
"I would not do that," she said, still embarrassed by this lapse.
He gazed at her, his care for her lighting his dark eyes. "I am not angry with you, Tulsi. I would not be angry with you if you had done something much worse than omitting to mention that you cannot ride."
Slowly she raised her eyes to his. "All right." She turned away. "Does this make the escape more difficult?"
"It does not make it easier," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But I will keep this in mind."
"So long as you do not say we cannot go because of it." She sounded like a chastened child.
"No; I would not do that," he said, wondering why she was so upset.
"Because I would go if you had to tie me across the horse like a dead sheep," she declared. "I would not mind traveling that way."
"You say that because you have never had to do it," said Sanat Ji Mani, thinking back to the long trek from Rome to Ravenna traveling in just that manner.
"All right, I never have." She came and stood in front of him. "But if it would help us disappear, I would do it."
"I would not ask that of you," he said, hoping to ease her anxiety.
"If you must, you must," she insisted.
Sanat Ji Mani saw the worry in her eyes and said, "If it is necessary, I will do it, but only if all else fails."
She grinned at him, her mercurial shift in mood as troubling to him as her dejection. "Then we will get away for sure."
Text of a letter from Rustam Iniattir at Al Myah Suways to Zal Iniattir at Asirgarh; carried by sea-captain and caravan leader and delivered by hand.
To my most worthy nephew, the greetings of Rustam Iniattir from the port of Al Myah Suways where I have just purchased the Evening Star and the Glory of Medina, both good merchant ships, to add to our House and our commerce; both are fitted for the crossing of the Arabian Sea and have size and weight enough to ride the storm winds if that is necessary. They are made of teak and bear three sails each and have been tested on two previous crossings from the southern port of Manjurur to Al Myah Suways and back.
If you would consider sending one of your sons to me, I will establish him as my clerk here, provide him a house and enough to live on in reasonable comfort while the family's expansion is made secure. In addition to these ships, I have the agency for Sanat Ji Mani's ships as well, which means that there is opportunity for us to do more than gamble with wind, wave, and tide. We have already proven our worth in managing Sanat Ji Mani's business, and this gives us a reputation that goes before us. I am not asking you to risk a child on an enterprise that could bring the boy to grief, you see. I ask you to consider this offer carefully. If I do not hear from you by mid-summer, I will next approach Azizi about one of his sons.
The seasons here in Egypt have been uniformly hot. Even when the Nile floods, there is little cooling from its waters, for although the water brings life to the fields, it does not stop the might of the sun. I have made arrangements in Fustat to reinforce the cellars of my house there, so that it is not flooded when the Inundation comes again. There is not the season of heavy rains such as one had in Delhi, although there are squalls in winter.
It has been a most instructive time; I can hardly imagine that it is just a year since I arrived in Egypt, in the Mameluke Empire, with more hope than gold to sustain me. Yet so it is, and the House of Iniattir has much to be proud of, including the triumph we have achieved in spite of all Timur-i could do. I have thanked the Forces of Light many times for all that has been salvaged for us, and I am grateful that Darkness has not yet spread itself over our family. So many others have been devastated by Timur-i and his army, but we have not had to suffer the catastrophic losses visited upon so many. Is it a failure of gods, or is it something more encompassing, a rise of Light, as Zarathustra promised? I can only pray it is the latter, for then good fortune will be found throughout the world and ignorance be ended, along with the power of Darkness.
Through the good offices of Rojire, Sanat Ji Mani's manservant, I have been able to participate in several trading ventures that have extended our market-place well beyond the ones we have now. Our first ship has returned to Alexandria from England and the Low Countries, bringing woollens and honey and salted fish. This may not seem very impressive to you, but I am keenly aware that for a first round of trading we have done very well. In another year, we will expand our goods in these markets to include muslins from you and Azizi, which we will exchange for hemp and other textiles as well as preserved fruits. One day I may even take the journey to these distant, fabled lands to see where our trade stock has ended up. Rojire has said that there are merchant-houses in England that do business abroad often, and seek to trade with the Turks. If that is their wish, why should we not make the most of their desires? I shall inform you of my plans as I approach the time I have set aside for this venture. If your son is here, he will be able to handle the shipments from these distant places, and make a name for himself in what is already a distinguished family.
I have put forty pieces of gold aside toward the purchase of another ship, with the intention of adding to the amount with every success we achieve. As soon as I have enough, I will make the purchase and add another ship to what I intend will one day be a mighty fleet of merchant vessels plying all the waters of the world, from this port to China, and from Fustat to England and the lands of the Danes. I am told that the Danes have yellow hair and blue eyes, but I doubt it is so. Blue eyes I have seen before, but yellow hair? I know there was a Chinese pilgrim who stayed with Sanat Ji Mani whose hair was the color of rust, but that is not what I have been told the Danes have-their hair is like brass or parched grain. I will believe it when I see it. For now, I am content to arrange to trade with them, whatever the color of their hair may be.
I will hand this letter to Jumma Shamahdi, who is Captain of the Evening Star with instructions that it be given into the care of our factor in Chaul. From there, it will reach you as soon as a caravan leaves for Asirgarh. It is my hope that this be in your hands no more than two full moons after the dark of the year.
Rustam Iniattir
Merchant of Fustat and Al Myah Suways