"No; I think any soldier fights better on a rested horse than on a tired one," said Sanat Ji Mani. "To say nothing of your elephants. Crossing the pass will be harder on them than the horses. You know that."
"They are sturdy beasts," said the Rajput mulishly.
"And sure-footed, but they do not often traverse mountain ridges, nor do they fight well on steep slopes," said Sanat Ji Mani. "They will need time to negotiate the pass, wide or narrow, or you will run the risk of injury to elephants and riders, as well as any unfortunate enough to be in their paths."
Hasin Dahele puffed out his cheeks. "As you say, they do not usually cross mountain ridges, and on flat land, their charge is generally unstoppable. You are right about the terrain." This concession annoyed him. "Very well. We will make camp at the base of the pass tonight and take all of tomorrow to get the army through; we should be able to accomplish that much. At least it is a broad pass, and not one like a goat-track, as some of the passes are."
"All the more reason to rest before going through," said Sanat Ji Mani. "You will have the opportunity to gather information from travelers from the west, and you can keep travelers from the east from going ahead of you."
"There may be advantages in that," Hasin Dahele mused. "I will consider this while we continue on toward the pass; how best to patrol the road and watch for any who might be spies. My scouts will bring me word of what is ahead at sunset." He coughed, swatting at the dusty air with his hand. "In the meantime, perhaps you should go to your woman's wagon and rest out of the sun. There are more red patches on your skin."
"I am aware of them," said Sanat Ji Mani evenly. "Thank you, Rajput. I will do that."
With a slow shake of his head, Hasin Dahele remarked, "I do not know how you led your army as you did with the sun burning you so badly."
"I have told you I did not lead an army," Sanat Ji Mani pointed out as he turned his dun mare and started back along the line of the army to the rear, his umbrella-bearer hurrying to keep up while his
feisty roan mare fought to remain at the front of the march.
Tulsi Kil's wagon was in the middle of the ranks of vehicles, a small wooden carriage with high sides and a partial roof that was augmented with a double layer of heavy cotton cloth that covered the top and sides; Tulsi sat on the driving-box, handling the two mules pulling it with reasonable skill. She waved as she saw Sanat Ji Mani approach. "We have come far this morning," she called. "The Rajput is eager."
"That he is," said Sanat Ji Mani as he came abreast of the wagon. "I am going to get into the back and turn my horse over to this officer"— he gestured toward the umbrella-bearer— "who can bring the mare back to me at sunset." For the sake of the young officer, Sanat Ji Mani repeated this in the Devapur dialect.
The umbrella-bearer looked relieved. "I will do that."
"Good. I am going to climb up beside my companion now, and you may take the mare." Sanat Ji Mani kicked his aching right foot out of the stirrup and swung his leg over in front, just brushing the mare's mane as he did. "Keep her walking at the same pace," he told the officer as he rose on his left foot and straddled the air between horse and wagon; a moment later and he had pushed away from the dun mare and onto the driving-box, facing backward but safe. He signaled to the umbrella-bearer. "She is yours until this evening. See she has plenty of water."
The young officer caught the reins and pulled the horse away from the line of carts, wagons, and larger vehicles— two water-wagons were drawn by teams of eight mules— and spurred toward the front of the army; the wagons kept on steadily and behind them shuffled the elephants.
"I thought you would be here earlier," said Tulsi, her gaze fixed on the blistered places on his hands and face. She had wrapped a length of cotton around her head and over part of her face as well as all of her neck. "Perhaps you should cover yourself more completely."
"I thought I would be here earlier, too, and the wagon-cover will shield me," Sanat Ji Mani admitted as he slipped behind her into the bed of the wagon. "This is much better."
"You are very white where you are not red," she told him as she leaned back on the driving-box in order to hear his response. "Does that mean you are weak?"
"I am tired," he said. "This heat is taking a toll on me."
"As it is on all of us," said Tulsi. "I never thought I would miss the desert, but after this, I do." She gave her attention to the mules for a short while, then said, "I suppose we will travel through the heat of the day?" It was more usual to rest, but Hasin Dahele had been determined to press on.
"I believe so," said Sanat Ji Mani, already beginning to drift into that torpid state that was his slumber. "He wants to cover as much ground as he can."
Tulsi laughed. "He will wear out his army before his first battle," she said with certainty. "His troops are not used to this pace."
"Nor should they be," said Sanat Ji Mani, and lapsed into semi-consciousness.
Tulsi, unaware that he could not hear her, went on. "These are not Timur-i's troops and they cannot move as his can." She waited for him to comment. "Sanat Ji Mani?" she called softly, and then smiled as she realized he was asleep. Holding firmly to the reins, she whistled to the mules to pick up their pace, and was intensely pleased when they minded her.
It was a long day, traveling at a rapid walk, dust rising in a vast cloud that marked the army's progress to anyone watching for a considerable distance. Twice there were short stops to water the animals, when riders and drivers could have water and lentil-cakes, but the Rajput was determined to reach the foot of the pass by nightfall and did not allow much respite from the grueling march. By the time the sun dropped to the edge of the mountains ahead of them, Tulsi was glad to have Sanat Ji Mani waken and take her place on the drivingbox.
"Are you rested?" she asked as he gathered the reins into his hands.
"Enough to be hungry," he answered and added quickly, "I will find sustenance tonight, not from you. There are animals who can provide what I need."
She shook her head. "I wish I could be ready, but I am not. Your life is still too… too strange for me."
"Then you are right not to risk coming to it," he said with a swift, sympathetic smile. "It is difficult enough for those who seek it."
"I may yet regret my decision," she said.
"You have time to consider it still," he told her gently. "More immediately, I may have a plan that will get us away from this tomorrow."
She turned toward him, her eyes alight. "Tomorrow? Are we not supposed to go through the pass tomorrow? That is what the couriers were saying at our second water-stop."
"Yes, we are," said Sanat Ji Mani, "and that may provide us the opportunity we have been seeking."
"Tell me," she pleaded, wanting to hold on to his arm and knowing it would be improper to do so in this place.
Although no one around could hear them, or spoke the language they used, Sanat Ji Mani still lowered his voice. "There are two high valleys that comprise the pass ahead, that is, if the maps the Rajput is using are correct. If this wagon should lose a wheel on the climb to the pass, it would have to leave the road and then it would be forced to bring up the rear, behind the elephants. If we went slowly enough, we could drop far behind the army, and then we can ride the mules and take the other pass, the one south of us. It is narrower and steeper, but it is much nearer Chaul. From there we can find a ship and be on our way to Alexandria."
"Timur-i would kill those in wagons rather than leave them behind to fall into the hands of his enemies," said Tulsi, her expression dubious.
"Timur-i might, but Hasin Dahele would not," said Sanat Ji Mani. "He does not fear what is behind him, only what is ahead."
"And you think we could manage it?" she asked, trying to be convinced of his plan.
"I think we could, especially if more than one wagon lost a wheel, so that our predicament would not seem unique." There was a glint of intent in his dark eyes that caught her attention.
"Are you planning something more than a single accident?" She leaned forward to listen to him.
"I will not sleep tonight, so I may be able to go about the camp and work the wheels on a few other wagons and carriages; not too many, just enough so that one more will not be remarkable," he said. "We may also be able to delay our trouble until the others have occurred, and then we will have a better chance of success."
"How do you reckon that?" She rubbed her hands together and felt the grit that had accumulated there.
"If I can volunteer to help remount the lost wheel of another wagon, I can promise to attend to ours on my own," he said. "The soldiers will know I am able to do this, and we will drop farther back in the line by helping."
Tulsi nodded slowly. "It may work," she said. "It may be enough to get us away."
"So I hope," he said, and winced as a small gap in the mountains let through a brilliant shaft of sunlight. He tried to turn from it, but did not manage in time, and was left with a large patch of red on his forehead.
"That will be black by morning," said Tulsi. "Are you sure you should ride here before dark?"
"Oh, yes; I think I should be ready for my escort to appear," he said. "I wish I could have that umbrella right now." As quickly as the light had struck, it was gone. "Better," he said, doing his best to ignore the tenderness of his skin.
"Are all vampires so hampered by sunlight?" She sounded alarmed.
"When the soles of my shoes are lined with my native earth, or the floor of the wagon is, I am as sensitive as other men; sunlight would burn me eventually, as it does others, but it would be nothing like this. Without my native earth— well, you see." He lifted his hands; the red patches were almost black now and would begin to peel in a day or so.
"Where is your native earth? Have you none you can reach?" She was apprehensive, and it sharpened her questions.
"I had chests of it back in Delhi, but no doubt they are gone; everything else is. I should have two chests in a warehouse in Chaul, that will enable me to cross water without suffering too much discomfort. Without it, I would be incapacitated, with it I am only wretched." He managed an ironic smile.
"I saw you in the river," she said. "I thought you would drown."
"Alas, no," he said. "That would be too easy." He thought of his escape from the forest fire in Spain, when he had been bruised and battered for hours only to wash up on a jagged boulder far away from the flames.
Tulsi listened carefully, saying only, "Can you not resist it: what the water does?"
He nodded. "With my native earth, I can." Hearing his name shouted, he looked about and saw the young officer with the umbrella leading the dun mare. "I will have to go," he said to Tulsi. "I will find you after we have made camp tonight."
She held out her hands for the reins. "I will look for you."
"No; stay where you are. If both of us start searching, we may never find one another." He swiftly brushed a kiss on her lips, then rose on the driving-box, holding on to the frame to steady himself, and after steadying himself, dropped down into the saddle on the dun mare. "I will find you!" he shouted to Tulsi as he and the officer cantered off toward the front of the line.
Tulsi watched him go, distress showing in her features. She managed to wave but did not know if he saw it or not. Giving her full attention to the mules, she did her best to banish the worry that was growing in her. "There is nothing you can do about it now, in any case," she told herself aloud, in the hope that a stern delivery would bolster her mood, but she could not shake off the foreboding completely.
As Sanat Ji Mani approached the head of the line, he felt his right foot slip out of the stirrup. This did not make his riding much more difficult, for he had over three millennia of horsemanship behind him and could manage with far less. But the stirrup, a heavy, truncated triangle of thick metal, kept banging into his half-healed foot, and by the time he could pull the dun into a walk near Hasin Dahele, the wound through his foot was open again, and bleeding. He tried to conceal this as he bent in the saddle, caught the stirrup, and set his foot in place. Straightening up, he saw the Rajput was watching him critically.
"You are bleeding," said Hasin Dahele.
"It is nothing to bother about," said Sanat Ji Mani.
"Bleeding is always something to worry about, for it allows all manner of impure things to enter the body, as well as robbing it of strength," Hasin Dahele corrected him. "You have taken quite a chance with that injury." He raised his brows to add significance to his remark. "It is your weak foot."
"It is nothing," Sanat Ji Mani repeated. "I will put new wraps on it tonight."
"It will fester," said Hasin Dahele.
Sanat Ji Mani gave no response to the warning. "How much longer until you make camp?"
