Chanting sounded in the distance. Ian listened a moment. "A funeral. Judging by the amount of noise the mourners are making, it's for an important man. There's a river to the right. They must be carrying the body to a burning ghat there."
Laura murmured, "Rest in peace."
While she wondered how to prolong this conversation, which was the longest that they'd had in days, Ian said, "Speaking of pyres, did you know that Pyotr Andreyovich burned Moscow down?''
"What?" Laura said incredulously.
"It's true. I'm sure you know the story of how Moscow was evacuated before Napoleon and his troops could occupy it?"
"Every Russian schoolchild knows that the residents and the army withdrew ahead of Bonaparte. On the very night the French occupied the city, a great fire struck. But I never heard that it had been set deliberately."
"I suspect that the governor of Moscow wasn't anxious to admit that he ordered the destruction of the greatest city in Russia," Ian observed. "Pyotr was one of a handful of young officers who hid and waited for the French to arrive. He said the deserted city was eerie, like a haunted dream. That night, after the French had taken possession, he and the others who had stayed set Moscow ablaze, running through the streets with torches. Since most of the buildings were wooden, virtually the whole city burned, except for the Kremlin."
"I had no idea," Laura said softly. "It must have been harrowing to be the instrument of destroying Moscow.''
"Pyotr said that seeing the city go up in flames was like watching the funeral pyre of a nation. Yet afterward. Mother Russia arose from the ashes like a phoenix." Ian's glance was respectful. "You come of fierce people, Larishka. By having the courage to destroy everything that might aid the enemy, Russia brought down the greatest conqueror Europe had ever known. Britain was instrumental in administering the coup de grace to Napoleon, but it was the Russian campaign and the Russian winter that really broke him."
"I'm a little envious that you knew Uncle Pyotr so much better than I," she said wistfully.
"Prison is a wonderful place to learn to know another person in depth," Ian said, voice dry again. "Amazing how much detail one can recall when there is nothing else to do."
He withdrew again, but the conversation had lifted Laura's mood. Yes, there would be better days ahead—and better nights.
* * *
After Meera took her place, Dhamo thrust his torch into the stacked wood. A wisp of smoke trickled lazily upward. Then the cotton ignited with a crackle of sparks and a surge of vicious heat. Her stepson began to circle the pyre, stabbing the torch in repeatedly. Clouds of smoke billowed into the air, incongruously scented with the spicy tang of burning sandalwood.
Meera's resignation lasted until the first yellow flame shot upward, fed by the oil-soaked cotton. The hem of her sari flared and pain blazed along her lower leg, shattering her numbness. She screamed and hurled herself frantically away from the flames. Unable to wait passively for an agonizing death, she scrambled down from the pyre, even though she expected that remorseless hands would seize her and hurl her back into the inferno.
But the billowing smoke provided unexpected cover. When her feet hit the ground, instinctively she darted toward the thinnest section of the surrounding crowd. As she blundered through the clouds of heavy, eye-stinging smoke, she crashed into a man who muttered a curse. A woman hissed at Meera for her rudeness, and a hand clutched at her wrist, but she broke away.
Miracle of miracles, she managed to get through the ring of watchers before anyone realized who she was. As she bolted into a grove of trees, furious shouts began rising behind her. The sound grew until it was like the howling of jackals.
Meera threw one quick glance back and saw that the men were overcoming their incredulity and starting to follow. But she had played with her brothers as a girl and could run with unfeminine speed. Soon it would be dark. If she could hide until then, she might win free.
Even if she became a beggar and starved, it would be a better end than what she was fleeing. Driven by fear and desperate hope, she lifted the hem of her charred sari and raced away from the burning ghat.
* * *
Laura glanced toward the river, where a plume of smoke marked the site where the funeral they had heard earlier must be reaching its culmination. She heard shouting but thought nothing of it until Ian suddenly reined in his horse and threw up a warning hand. "Do you hear that?" he said sharply. "Something's wrong."
Laura also stopped. Zafir, who had been a little behind, moved briskly forward to join the others so that the party was in a compact group. As the shouting rapidly drew nearer, someone exploded from the bushes about fifty feet ahead. Laura had only time to register that it was a running woman in a red sari before half a dozen howling men appeared close behind her.
As the fugitive stumbled into the road, she raised her head and saw Ian. Hatless and a dozen feet ahead of Laura and Zafir, he was easily identifiable as a European. Instantly the woman veered toward him, "Please, sahib!" she cried frantically. "Do not let them burn me!"
As more people poured into the road, Ian spurred his horse forward past the woman. When he was between her and her pursuers, he shouted, "What's going on here?"
Laura caught her breath, startled and a little unnerved by her husband's transformation from casual traveler to soldier. With his height and air of command, he effortlessly dominated his surroundings. The men in the crowd skidded to a confused stop in the middle of the road.
Ian was not the only one to change. As Zafir eased his rifle from its holster, the Pathan's usual laughing expression vanished, leaving the fierce gaze of a mountain warrior.
Deciding she should contribute something, Laura pulled her own rifle from its holster and laid it across her lap, trying to look dangerous. Though she didn't cock the hammer, her regular target practice had improved her skill to the point where she might actually be of use if worse came to worst.
Having regained his composure, the man who had been leading the pursuers said belligerently, "Continue on your way, Englishman. This is no concern of yours."
Ian looked over his shoulder at the fugitive, who stood between Laura and Zafir. "Why were they chasing you?"
The length of sari that was usually draped over a woman's head had fallen away, showing that the fugitive was very young, hardly more than a girl. Voice shaking, she said, "My husband's family is forcing me to become suttee against my will, sahib."
Turning to the group, Ian said harshly, "Is that true?"
The leader spat. "Meera, the sacrilegious slut, consented to suttee, then changed her mind. She has disgraced herself and the family by her cowardly flight. Only by returning to the pyre will honor be redeemed."
"Please, sahib, do not let them take me," Meera begged. "If you protect me, I will be your wilting slave."
As the front edge of the crowd began inching forward, Ian set his horse into motion. It began prancing back and forth across the road with short, mincing steps, a masterly display of horsemanship that created an effective equine barrier between the girl and her pursuers. "You are breaking the law," he said, his harsh voice carrying to everyone present. "The Sirkar forbade suttee a dozen years ago."
A Brahmin priest worked his way to the front of the group. "Suttee is our ancient custom, Englishman," he said furiously. "Neither you nor your filthy Sirkar have the right to forbid it."
"And it is ancient English custom to hang men who burn women," Ian said with menacing cordiality. "By all means let us act according to our national customs."
"You are no longer in British India, Englishman," the leader snarled. "This is Rajputana—the Sirkar has no authority here. The woman consented to become suttee, and now she must burn. If you don't give her back to us, we will take her."
A voice from the back of the group shouted, "And if you don't hand her over now, that isn't all we'll take, Englishman!"
Laura sucked her breath in, chilled. A potent combination of religious fervor and hatred of the British was ra
pidly turning the crowd into a vicious, unpredictable mob. She swallowed hard, determined not to give in to her fear. Softly she said, "Zafir, take the girl up with you. We may need to run for it."
Zafir lowered his rifle and snapped his fingers to get Meera's attention. When she turned, he extended one hand. The sight of his fiercely bearded visage made her hesitate until he smiled. "Come, little dove. You are safe now."
Reassured, the girl grasped the Pathan's hand and he swung her up behind him. With a metallic clatter of jeweled chains, she settled sideways and wrapped shaking arms around his waist.
Laura had been watching Meera, but she snapped her attention back to the crowd when someone roared, "English swine!"
The first shout triggered a roar of similar epithets. As fury rent the dusky sky, Laura saw a man at the right of the crowd scoop a jagged chunk of sandstone from the ground and wind up to throw at Ian. Terrified because the attacker was on his blind side, she shouted, "Ian, look out! To your right!"
Ian spun and saw the missile launched at him. Cobra-swift, he whipped his revolver from the holster and fired without seeming to aim. The sandstone shattered and fragments showered on the crowd, provoking howls of dismay.
He shifted his aim and shot again. The second bullet struck between the feet of the leader and sent up a whirlwind of dust and gravel. The man blanched and jumped backward, belligerence vanished.
As gun shots echoed across the plain, Ian raised one hand and ripped off his eye patch, exposing the blind eye. "If you do not value your lives, at least have a care for your souls!"
Slowly he scanned the group, glowering at each man in turn. When he was done, he continued in a voice that cut like a lash, "Anyone who tries to injure the widow Meera shall have an eternity of time in which to regret it."
A pall of horror settled over the group and everyone gaped at Ian as if he were the devil incarnate. The silence was so profound that the jingling of a bridle rang like a church bell. At first Laura didn't understand. Then she remembered what Ian had told her soon after they met. To the superstitious, a blind eye was an evil eye, with the power to inflict curses. Already men at the back of the crowd were fading away, faces ashen.
Ian said quietly in English, "Time for us to be on our way. Laura, circle around the crowd to the left."
She nodded and set her horse to scrambling up the sloping embankment. Zafir, Meera, and the packhorse followed. Ian came last, holding his revolver ready as they rode around the group, then returned to the road a safe distance ahead.
When they were in the clear, Ian ordered, "We'll put a few more miles behind us before we camp for the night."
They set the horses into a fast canter. Zafir led the way, the Indian girl clinging like a limpet. Ian moved forward until he was riding even with Laura. "How are your nerves holding up?"
Laura was not surprised to see that he had already managed to replace his eye patch and looked as calm as if he were riding across an English meadow. "Reaction has set in and I feel ready to fall to pieces, but basically I'm fine," she said in a voice that was less steady than she would have liked. "Do you think they'll try to follow?"
"Unlikely. I've always suspected that much of the reason for suttee is to get rid of inconvenient women," he said cynically. "Now that the family has rid itself of this one, there's no reason to hunt her down, especially if they might be cursed for doing so."
"That was very cleverly done," she said admiringly. "But weren't you at least a little anxious?"
He shrugged. "None of them had guns, so there was no danger.''
They had had rocks and had been willing to use them, but Laura didn't bother to point that out. Obviously quelling a near-riot was all in a day's work for her husband. "I was surprised you didn't correct that fellow when he called you an Englishman."
Ian grinned. "Even a pigheaded Scot knows that sometimes one must avoid being distracted by side issues."
His auburn hair shone like dark fire in the setting sun, and altogether he was irresistibly attractive. If they had been standing rather than riding, Laura knew that she would walk up and kiss him whether he was willing or not.
Needing to change the direction of her thoughts, she said, "I'm ready to concede that you had a point about learning to be a decent shot."
"Of course I was right," he said, voice bland but expression mischievous. "Does this mean I can now expect perfect wifely obedience in all things?"
"No," she said cheerfully. "But I will work harder on my marksmanship.''
His laughter was almost as good as a kiss. Almost.
Chapter 19
After their encounter with the mob, they followed the road to the northwest, not stopping until well after sunset. As Laura slid stiffly from her saddle, she noted that Ian had chosen a campsite that was protected on three sides.
Zafir helped the Indian girl from his mount, then set about collecting fuel and building a fire. With Ian tending the horses, Laura could deal with the young widow in relative privacy. After introducing herself and the men, Laura said, "Do you have any burns or other injuries, Meera?"
The girl examined the scorched silk of her sari, then said in an admirably even voice, "My leg is a little blistered, memsahib, but nothing more."
Laura went to her medical kit for a jar of salve. "This will help ease the pain." After handing over the salve, she began unpacking the food and utensils needed for dinner. "Though it's against the custom of your people to eat with those of other faiths, you are welcome to share what we have."
Meera raised her small chin. "Now I am out-caste, memsahib. I will eat whatever you grant me and be grateful for it."
When Laura set the griddle over the fire to heat for baking bread, Meera said, "Let me do that, memsahib. I told your husband I would be his slave, so it is right that I serve you."
Laura sat back on her heels and said doubtfully, "You should be resting after such a ghastly experience."
The girl gave a wry smile. "I am no frail lotus blossom, memsahib. Though my husband was wealthy and of high caste, my own birth was low. I know how to cook and clean as well as any woman." As proof, she knelt and began mixing water with flour to make bread, her jewelry swaying incongruously in the firelight when she began expertly kneading the dough.
"It's good of you to help," Laura said, "but you won't want to be a servant forever. Can you return to your own family?"
Meera shook her head. "My eldest brother would be willing to accept me, I think, but Mohan's sons might make trouble for him if he did." She looked earnestly at Laura. "An English lady should not travel without a maid, memsahib. Allow me to serve you. I swear I will work very hard."
Laura considered. "My husband and I will not be in India much longer. After a short visit to Dharjistan, we will go to Bombay. If you wish, you can work for me until we leave. With a reference, it won't be hard for you to find another position." She shook her head as she studied the slim, expensively dressed young woman. "But it will be a great comedown for you."
"Compared to death, memsahib, being a lady's maid is not so bad."
Laura couldn't argue with that.
With Meera baking chapatis on the griddle and Laura cooking the pot of pilaf, dinner was ready by the time the men had finished their chores. After the meal, Laura persuaded the girl to tell them about her background, and how she had managed to escape from the pyr.
When the young widow was finished, Laura added, "Meera will serve as my maid until we reach Bombay. Then she'll seek another position there."
Ian nodded approval. "Tomorrow we'll pass through a town where we can pick up clothing and a pony for her to ride."
Meera ducked her head. In a choked voice, she said, "You are as generous as you are brave, sahib."
Ian looked mildly embarrassed. "I could hardly stand by and watch them drag you off to be burned alive."
Laura knew he was speaking the simple truth; she could not imagine Ian allowing such a crime to proceed. It must be tiring to always feel responsible for ever
yone. Laura herself had been another of his projects. Perhaps he was wearying of the project and that was why he was pulling away.
As Ian banked the fire, he said, "Zafir, tomorrow evening we'll be near the compound of your Uncle Habibur. Do you think he'll be willing to put us up for the night?"
Zafir grinned. "If you come so close without visiting and Habibur finds out, he will swear a blood feud against you."
"It will be good to see the old reprobate again." Ian gave a reminiscent smile. "When I visited on the way to Bokhara, it took me two days to recover from his hospitality."
"Think of how much more exhausting it is to be his nephew," Zafir said with deep feeling.
As the men drifted into a discussion of the colorful Habibur, Meera shyly approached Laura. "Memsahib, there is nothing that a humble creature such as I can do for your husband, so I must express my thanks to you." Deftly she removed from her neck a long chain made of filigreed gold wire in abstract floral patterns. "Please take this as a mark of my gratitude."
Laura's eyes widened as the beautifully wrought necklace shimmered in the firelight. "This is too valuable, Meera. You must keep your jewelry for your future. You will need it for a dowry should you decide to marry again."
"I have enough other jewelry to ensure my future." Meera's youthful face became sardonic. "I do not know if I will ever take another husband, memsahib, but if I do, it will be a man of a lower caste that does not require suttee." She laid the glittering, sinuous chain in Laura's hand. "As for the value of this—my life is worth a great deal, too."
Seeing that it was a question of honor, Laura said gravely, "Thank you. I shall cherish this necklace always."
Pleased, Meera went to make up a bed on the far side of the fire while Laura did the same on her side. Ian's manner had been so relaxed that she hoped he might lay his blankets within touching distance of her. To her disappointment, he said, "Though I doubt it's necessary, I think we should post a guard tonight. Zafir, I'll take the first watch."