Far Pavilions (66 page)

Anjuli and her sister had left camp in the
ruth,
together with one of Shu-shu's women; their horses following behind in the charge of an elderly syce and two grey-bearded members of the body-guard, while Ash, Kaka-ji and Mulraj rode ahead. Jhoti had not come out with them, though he had meant to, insisting that he was quite recovered. But Gobind had produced a new and fascinating game that one played with coloured pegs, so he had decided at the last moment that he would prefer to stay behind after all, and that anyway it was too hot for riding: Shu-shu and Kairi must go without him.

The
ruth
came to a stop near a tall outcrop of rock near the mouth of a mile-wide amphitheatre where the hills made a half-circle about the plain, and syces and escort discreetly turned their faces away as the brides descended and the riding party set out across the level ground. Ash had been afraid that without Jhoti to keep her entertained, Shushila might insist on their all keeping together; but luckily Kaka-ji proved an excellent substitute. The old man rode beside her and complimented her on her progress, offered useful suggestions and chatted about various incidents in the camp, while Mulraj as usual kept near by. It was as easy as it had ever been for Ash and Juli to ride on ahead – though less easy to tell her about Jhoti, because the moment they were out of earshot she forestalled him by speaking first.

‘Why have you kept away from us for so long?’ demanded Anjuli. ‘It was not because of work, and you have not been ill for I made Geeta make inquiries for me. There is something the matter. What is it, Ashok?’

Ash hesitated, taken off guard. Juli had always been direct, and he should have borne that in mind and been ready with an answer that would have satisfied her; but there was no time to think of one now – and he had already decided that he could not tell her the truth. The impulse to do so was suddenly so strong that he had to clench his teeth to keep back the words, and Anjuli must have seen it, for a small crease appeared between her brows – that same frown line that he had ached to smooth away last night, because he could not bear to see her troubled.

The sight of it was just as unbearable today, and he thought that if he had not known before that he loved her, he would know it now, if only because of the pain that that small shadow caused him. Once again he would have given anything to be able to smooth it away and to tell her that he loved her and that there was nothing he would not do to protect her from unhappiness. But because he could not do so he took refuge in anger, and told her furiously that he had had more important things to do than sit about making social conversation in the durbar tent, and though she might not be aware of it, there had already been two attempts to murder her young half-brother: the second of them by poison, and only a few days ago.

This was not in the least how he had planned to break the news to her and the sight of the white shock on her face made him ashamed of himself. But he could not unsay the words, and as it was too late now to try softening the blow, he told her the tale harshly and in detail, leaving nothing out. When he had finished she said only: ‘You should have told me after the first time; not now, when I have so few days left.’

It was what Ash himself had thought; though it had certainly not occurred to him immediately – or to Mulraj at all, unless Mulraj considered that any help, for however short a period, was worth having. But Anjuli had seen it at once, and the crease between her brows deepened, though now it was no longer on Ash's account but on Jhoti's. She looked very white and shaken, and he saw for the first time that there were dark shadows under her eyes, as though she too had not been sleeping.

He said: ‘I'm sorry, Juli.’ And thought as he said it that in the circumstances it was a singularly useless statement to make – a polite and automatic expression of regret that could serve as an apology for overturning a tea-cup or inadvertently jostling someone in a doorway. But there did not seem to be anything else he could say, and he
was
sorry: deeply and sincerely sorry… and for so many more things than neglecting to tell her about Jhoti. Perhaps most of all for having given her back the broken half of her little mother-of-pearl fish, for if he had not done that…

The sound of Shushila's laughter, borne on another brief gust of wind, was a reminder that unless he quickened their present pace they would soon be overtaken, because as they talked they had unwittingly slowed to a walk. He said urgently, ‘Come on,’ and they spurred forward again and raced across the plain towards a gap in the encircling hills, and entering it, found themselves in a quiet valley that was awash with evening shadows.

The ground here was less rough and stony than on the open plain, but the hillsides were largely rock and there were caves among the tumbled boulders, some of which had clearly been occupied at some time or another by either men or cattle, for the rock faces bore the traces of old fires, and here and there on the ground about them were marks left by cow-droppings that had long since been dispersed by sun and wind and the dung-beetles. But though Ash looked closely, he could see no sign of present habitation, and having assured himself that they had not been followed and that the valley was untenanted, he drew rein, and once more both horses fell into a walk. But though there was no longer any danger of being overheard, he did not speak, and Anjuli too was silent.

The shadow of the hills to their right covered two thirds of the valley, and although those nearest them were still bright in the sunset and aglow with the heat of the burning afternoon, it was cooler here than it had been out on the plain. The wind that had whipped up the dust-devils was blowing more strongly now, and the occasional gust that swept in from the plain dried the sweat between their shoulders and put an end to the hot, brooding stillness that had prevailed all day. Ahead of them the sky was already green with the evening and the hills were no longer lion-coloured, but brilliant with rose and cerise and apricot where the sunlight still lingered, and deep blue and violet in the swift-gathering shadows below. But Ash had no eyes for such things…

He was looking at Juli and realizing that although he might see her again during the next few days, and once more, and finally, at her wedding, he would never again be alone with her and be able to look his fill.

She was dressed, as always for the evening rides, in men's clothing: trousers and achkan and a small muslin turban that covered her hair and showed only the deep widow's peak in the angle where its folds crossed. The severity of the headgear only served to heighten the beauty of her features, drawing attention to the lovely lines of cheek and chin and the size of the wide-set eyes with their heavy fringe of lashes, while its colour, a vivid ruby-red, deepened the ivory tones of her skin and was repeated in the warm curve of her lips and the caste-mark between her brows. She sat tall and straight-backed in the saddle, and her shoulders had nothing of the sloping delicacy of Shushila's, but were slim and square.

Any casual passer-by would have taken her to be a handsome youth, for she held her head erect like a man instead of submissively bent as becomes a gently nurtured woman. But to Ash, riding beside her, her present garb seemed to emphasize her femininity far more than the graceful folds of a sari. The straight lines of the
achkan
showed the swell of her breasts which a sari could hide, and her slender waist and rounded hips were not those of a boy – though her hands might well have been. So much of Juli's character, thought Ash, was written in those hands. He studied them as they rested quietly against her horse's mane, the reins looped between the strong, square-tipped fingers. Dependable hands…

He had forgotten Jhoti. But Anjuli had not, and when she spoke at last it was in an undertone, as though she was thinking aloud: ‘This is Nandu's doing,’ said Anjuli quietly. ‘It must be so, for who else could gain any profit from Jhoti's death, or have any reason for wishing to kill him? The camp is full of Nandu's men… though I cannot believe that there can be many who would be willing to kill a child. But then it would not need many, only one or two, and if we do not know who they are it will be difficult to guard him. We must decide who can be trusted and see to it that there is always one of them with him to keep watch.’

She turned to look at Ash, and said: ‘Who else knows of this, besides Mulraj and yourself and my uncle's Hakim, Gobind Dass?’

‘No one,’ said Ash, and explained why it had seemed best that first time to keep the matter secret, and to tell only herself and Gobind now. Anjuli nodded and said thoughtfully: ‘Yes, you were right. It would only frighten Shu-shu, and as she would never believe that Nandu could have ordered such a thing, she would see it as part of a plot to kill us all – our family. My uncle would believe, but what can he do? Besides, if he knew he would find it difficult to conceal his alarm from Shu-shu, or from Jhoti either. But there are others whom I think we can safely trust. Old Geeta, for one. And Jhoti's own body-servant, Ramji, who has been with him since he was born, and whose wife is one of my women. Ramji would surely know which, if any, of his fellow servants could be trusted. Let us think now…’

The horses wandered forward unchecked, pausing occasionally to crop a mouthful of parched grass and moving on again while their riders discussed ways and means of preventing the murder of a child, and behind them the sky darkened. Presently another and far stronger gust of wind swept down the valley, driving the dust before it and snatching the turban from Anjuli's head to send it bowling away, unwinding as it went. Her hair whipped about her face and streamed forward on the blast like sea-weed in a tide-rip, and both horses threw up their heads and snorted and began to trot.

‘High time we turned back,’ said Ash. ‘You'd better tie something round your head or you won't be able to see where you're going. Here –’

He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his riding breeches and put it into her hand, and turning his horse caught his breath and said in English: ‘Good God!’

They had both been too occupied to pay much attention to their surroundings, and neither of them had thought to look behind them or to wonder why the light seemed to be fading unusually quickly. The sky ahead had been clear and calm, and even now the last of the sun lay gold along the crest of the near hill. But as they turned they saw that behind them lay nothing but darkness: a brown, turgid curtain of darkness that spanned the horizon from left to right and was advancing with such speed that it had already blotted out the entrance to the valley. The wind that drove it forward was no longer blowing in gusts, but had steadied to a gale, and now they could smell the dust and see that the sky above them was turning brown. ‘But it's too early,’ thought Ash dazedly. ‘A month too early… more!’ He stared at the advancing dust-storm as though he could not believe what he saw.

Juli said: ‘Shushila,’ and caught her breath on a sob. ‘Shushila –’

She dropped her hands and let the handkerchief that she had been trying to tie about her head vanish on the wind, and snatching up the reins, urged her horse to a gallop, riding headlong for the wall of darkness that had swallowed up the plain where they had left Shushila. But Ash had recovered himself and he was too quick for her. He had never before used more than the lightest touch of a spur on Baj Raj, but he used both now, and the horse bounded forward and was level with Anjuli's mare and riding it off, turning her back up the valley.

‘No!’ cried Anjuli. ‘No – I must go to Shushila.’

She wrenched at the reins in an attempt to check the frantic animal, and Ash cut her across the wrists with his whip and called savagely: ‘Don't be a fool. Mulraj will look after her' – and brought the whip down again, this time on Baj Raj, though the horse needed no urging, for the towering, boiling darkness that was sweeping down on them was something he had never seen before, and he desired to escape from it every bit as urgently as Ash did.

The mare too was galloping at full stretch, and it is doubtful if anyone could have turned her; but Anjuli made no further effort to do so, because she had realized even as he spoke that Ashok was right and that what she had meant to do would have been an act of madness. Once caught in the heart of such a storm she could have seen nothing and helped no one; and Mulraj was with Shu-shu. He and the others could be counted upon to see that no harm came to her, and in all probability they had seen the approaching storm long ago and ridden straight back to camp, and were safe by now. But she and Ashok…

Anjuli had never seen a dust-storm either, but she did not need to be told that it was not a thing to be caught in out in the open, and she settled down to ride as she had never ridden before, crouching over the saddle-horn with her weight thrown forward to help the labouring animal, and without any idea where they were going, for she was half blinded by her own hair blowing about her face in wild, black confusion.

Ash was making for a cave that he had noticed earlier that evening in the brief moment before the shadow of the far hills reached it. He would not have seen it if the sun had not been on it, for at the time it had been a good half mile ahead, and though they had been moving slowly towards it they had barely covered more than half that distance. But Ash had been trained among the Frontier hills, and in the sunlight there was a sharp difference between the work of nature and that of man…

Even at that range it had been possible to see that below a jutting overhang of rock someone, at some time, had closed in the front of a large cave with mud bricks, leaving an entrance large enough to admit a man or a cow. It was the shape of that doorway – a black, straight-sided oblong – and the bleached colour of the mud that did not quite match the surrounding hillside, that had caught Ash's attention and made him narrow his eyes and stare at it to make sure that the cave behind it was not occupied. But nothing had moved in the valley or on the hillsides, and he knew that if there had been any men about, there would have been smoke, for it was the time of the evening meal. The sunlight had retreated and the cave had been lost among the advancing shadows, and Ash had turned to look at Juli, and forgotten it: only to remember it again in the instant that he had realized the significance of that ominous pall of darkness.