voice. "Those of my blood are sensitive to such odors. Many another might not recognize it, but I have known that scent of old." As he said it, a nimiety of memories came back to him of the sick, the wounded, the dying: disease, war, famine, flood, fire, devastation— he had seen them for over three millennia and had never grown used to any of them. "If you have no treatment, you will surely die of that inner decay. It will get into your blood and that will be the end of you."
For a long moment Lum said nothing, and then he started toward the door. "I believe you. You may treat my foot, but you will do nothing beyond that. I do not wish to lose my simplicity."
"If your simplicity is genuine, you have nothing to fear; health will not imperil you," said Sanat Ji Mani, his words a bit brisker than they had been. He held the door and pointed toward the flight of stairs at the end of the hall. "Go to the next level. I will follow you."
Shrugging awkwardly as he steadied himself on his staff, Lum did as he was told; climbing the stairs proved more difficult than he had anticipated, for his balance was precarious, and pain slowed him down. Little as he wanted to admit it, the opportunity for treatment allowed him to admit how much discomfort he was in, and it troubled him. As he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped again. "Where should I go?"
"Fourth door on the right, the one with the brass latch," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You need not announce yourself; the room is empty."
"Very well." Lum stumped his way along to the door and pressed the latch. As the door swung open, he nearly fell.
Sanat Ji Mani was at his side at once, steadying him and supporting him across the floor to the bed set against an elaborate screen. "Lie down here," said Sanat Ji Mani, and then he called out "Rojire!"
Lum was just settling down on the bed, his staff set against the wall and his begging bowl on a shelf beside it, when a middle-aged servant in a short blue-grey kaftan came into the room. "My master?" If the sight of Lum surprised him, he made no sign of it.
"I need a vial of my sovereign remedy, clean bandages, a strong drawing poultice, a cleansing agent— the aloe-and-spikenard should do it— and a draught of syrup of poppies," said Sanat Ji Mani. "All that and a basin of hot water, along with my narrow knives, if you
would, please." He looked down at Lum. "Perhaps later willow-bark tea, to bring down his fever and stop the worst of the swelling."
"As you wish," said Rojire, and withdrew.
"My manservant will not be long," said Sanat Ji Mani, going to examine Lum's feet. "Your injury to your left foot is damaging your right. You are pulling the sinews of your right foot in compensation for the injury to your left," he said as he looked them over. "How long ago did you injure the left, and how did you do it?"
"It was three or four weeks since it began to pain me. The hurt itself took place sometime before that," said Lum. "I was coming down the mountains to Lahore, and a long, thin spike went into my foot. I removed it easily enough, and washed out the dirt that built up on the drying blood. I supposed I needed to do little more than that; my soles are as tough as camels' feet." He caught his lower lip between his teeth, as if describing the event made his affliction worse. "In a few days, the hurt seemed gone, and I thought no more about it. Until I was on the road here, and it began to hurt once more, and the puncture opened."
"The ailment was inside your body, not outside," said Sanat Ji Mani as he laid his hand very softly on the infected foot. "It is hot."
"Yes," said Lum. "And my body has taken the heat." He said this reluctantly, a sense of shame going through him as intense as his fever. "It goes from my foot upward."
"Yes, it has," Sanat Ji Mani agreed grimly, wondering if the pilgrim's foot could be saved at all. "I hope it is not too deep in your body."
"I have allowed myself to be brought into the world, to be turned from my mission, and all for a spike in my foot." He licked his lips and said something in his own tongue, a dialect Sanat Ji Mani had heard but did not know.
"You have not erred, Lum," said Sanat Ji Mani as kindly as he could. "The world is full of spikes and thorns and stings."
"All the more reason not to be caught by them." He twisted in an effort to look at his feet, then lay back. "I strive to rid myself of all desire."
"Then do not desire to do yourself harm," Sanat Ji Mani recommended. He took a step back and studied Lum: the man was very ill, that much was obvious. There were faint, reddish lines leading from
his foot up his ankle, a sure sign that the decay had taken hold. "I will clean out your wound and treat the flesh. You will have to remain here, off your feet, until the decay is stopped." He lowered his head. "I trust you will be willing to do what is best for your recuperation, though it is not how you have lived of late."
"If I improve I will decide," said Lum. "May I have some water? I am thirsty."
"Of course," said Sanat Ji Mani. "But just a very little bit now. I will give you a sleeping draught shortly, and when you waken, I will have a great flask of cold tea for you."
Lum was immediately suspicious. "Why should I have a sleeping draught?"
Sanat Ji Mani regarded him patiently. "I will have to draw the decay from your flesh. It will be painful, and you are likely to thrash around if you are not asleep. I will have enough to do to get the decay out of you without having to fight you in the process." He gave Lum a little time to consider this, then added, "You will have less done to you if you are asleep."
It was a while before Lum nodded. "All right. If it is what you must do, then I will consent." He closed his eyes as if experimenting with sleep. "How long will I sleep?"
"As long as necessary, I trust," said Sanat Ji Mani, and looked up as Rojire came into the room with a box in his arms.
"The basin of hot water is coming. Bohdil is bringing it." He put down the box and opened the top. "The servants are talking," he said in Roman vernacular.
"Yes," said Sanat Ji Mani so indifferently that Rojire was not sure he had understood.
"They are saying you have allowed a dying man into this house— a dying foreigner." Rojire saw that Lum was listening. "You know they dislike the omen."
"Let them say what they want," said Sanat Ji Mani, looking through the items in the box.
"I could forbid them," Rojire suggested.
"They would only talk the more, and outside these walls," Sanat Ji Mani told him as he took out the large vial of syrup of poppies. "Make
a draught of this for Lum; I will need it in a short while," he went on in the local dialect. "He will need to sleep deeply."
"How deeply?" Rojire asked.
"Deeply enough to permit me to complete what I must do, and then to have a restorative time, so he may regain his strength." Sanat Ji Mani took out the bandages, setting them on a low table near the bed Lum occupied. "And boil my knives with stringent herbs after they are sharpened." It was a trick he had learned from the physicians with the Roman Legions, and he had never found reason to abandon the practice. "When they are ready, bring them to me on a fresh drying cloth."
"Do you want anything more from the kitchen?" Rojire asked.
"Yes. Tell them to make a combination of green and willow-bark teas, and cool it, for Lum to drink when he wakens." Sanat Ji Mani had his drawing poultice out, and he spoke to Lum. "I am going to apply this to your foot. It is very strong and you may find it uncomfortable, but, if you are able, remain lying on your back. If it becomes too unpleasant, tell me."
"You are going to use the poultice now?" Rojire stopped in the door.
"Yes. As soon as the basin of hot water is here so I can wash his foot and see how much of it the injury has corrupted." Sanat Ji Mani maintained his calm demeanor, though he was keenly aware of the difficulty ahead of him.
"And after you apply the poultice?" Rojire promted.
"When it has had time to work, I will see if the infection will drain; if it does not, I will open the wound so that it can be cleaned. Then I will dress his foot with my sovereign remedy and bandage it so that it has a chance to heal." He was aware that these questions were being asked for Lum's benefit, for Rojire had helped Sanat Ji Mani tend the sick and injured since Vespasianus ruled in Rome. "We will see how he goes for the night and in the morning we will decide how to proceed." He looked down at Lum. "You may have to rest for a day or two, but you may use that time for meditation." He knew any recovery would take much longer than a few days, but he did not want to add to Lum's distress.
Lum could not entirely conceal his alarm. "The Parsi is returning tonight," he reminded Sanat Ji Mani. "He will expect me to depart with him."
"I will explain matters to him," said Sanat Ji Mani, and turned as Bohdil scratched on the door. "The hot water comes." He went to open the door, astonishing Lum in doing such a humble task while Rojire was in the room to serve him. "Put it down on the floor at the foot of the bed."
Bohdil did as he was told, watching Lum out of the tail of his eye. "Is there anything more?" he asked hopefully.
"Rojire will go with you to the kitchen, and give you instructions," Sanat Ji Mani said as he took a soft cloth in his hand and sat on the floor at the foot of the bed where Lum lay. "I am sorry that this will be painful."
Lum could not keep from tightening his fists in anticipation. "I am ready. Do as you must."
Taking Bohdil by the elbow, Rojire guided him out of the room into the hallway and toward the back-stairs, leaving Sanat Ji Mani to begin his ministrations to the red-haired Chinese pilgrim.
* * *
Text of a report submitted to Murmar bin Tughluq, the Sultan's Minister of Taxes, Rents, and Revenues, by his cousin, Balban Ihbal bin Tughluq.
* * *
In the glorious Name of the One God Allah, the acknowledgment of the one True Faith, which is Islam, and in highest respect and devotion to our kinsman the Sultan, this brings the greetings and protestations of devotion to you, Murmar bin Tughluq, and to our family, on this, the shortest night of the year.
I have been compiling reports from various informants throughout the city, and in consultation with others of our family serving the Will of the Sultan, the substance of which I present to you now, as I will present the same to the Sultan— may Allah give him long life and many sons— at the first opportunity. I ask you to make note of the contents and to correct any error you may find in the material, so that all the information I provide to the Sultan— may his splendor increase
from year to year— will be as useful as it may be, and garner us distinction among our kinsmen.
I have listened to the trader Mahannad of Meerut, who arrived not three days ago, and who has reported that there is fear that Timur-i Lenkh is moving again, and perhaps will come in this direction. If he does this, we will need to improve the number and quality of arms we have for the defense of this city. It is said that the speed of Timur-i's cavalry is swifter than demons can cross the sands, that his horses trot from dawn until sunset without slowing or tiring, so that his men go five or six times as far in a day as most cavalry does. This may be a lie, but we cannot afford to think it is, or to ignore the implication. I recommend we prepare for sudden attack, and to that end, you should increase customs taxes for all traders entering and leaving the city. You should also be alert to the presence of spies among those who enter and leave the city, for it is not unlikely that our enemies will seek to discover the extent of our preparedness as well as determine who among our population might be counted on to support their ambitions. The world is not so friendly a place that you can ignore the possibility that Timur-i, or some of his men, will not do their utmost to enter Delhi and seize its riches to their own ends. While I pray that this will never happen, I believe it is wisest to be prepared for such an eventuality.
I have a number of other informants among the population, and now I am being told by them that many of the foreigners living here fear for their safety, should there be an attack on Delhi. Many of the foreigners suppose that we will use them to buy the safety of our own people. I have instructed my informants to make note of which foreigners among us complain of this the most vociferously, so that we may be alert to their fright-mongering and so do our utmost to silence all of those who would lead the people to panic. One of my informants has said he has heard camel-drivers say they do not wish to come here for a while, for they have heard rumors from Trebizond to Shiraz that Timur-i is going to come here. Another informant has said that pilgrims coming here are afraid to linger, not wanting to become hostages in a war that could break out at any time. A third informant I have tells me that foreigners who have lived here for some time are begin-
ning to worry that they may be made to bear the brunt of the cost of any war, and many are seeking to hoard or hide their wealth so they will not suffer too many losses at the hands of your officers.
I am posting more men in the markets, so that they may monitor all that is being said, as well as make note of the strangers who venture among us. I have the services of many good men, and the reports of others set to watch specific foreigners. I have made these various men loyal to me by my assurance of money for reliable information, and protection from any actions taken against them by the foreigners in question. I have detailed accounts for all these men, and if you are interested in what they contain, you have only to ask and I will provide you with faithful copies of their accounts, as I have already indicated. You will find, if you decide to review these accounts, that we will do well to be vigilant in our efforts to keep a close watch on the people of the city who speak against us, particularly those who are foreigners, and therefore more willing to sell their loyalty to other foreigners.
