"Aye, he lives, more than that we cannot say."
Ross swallowed hard. When the refrain was over, he said, "So my brother may yet be among the living."
"Aye, but he may also be dead. I know only that a European still languishes in the Black Well," Ephraim answered.
His friends added, "The King of Kings is He."
Eyes compassionate, Ephraim finished, "Surely this knowledge is as bitter fruit to thy tongue, but a brother has a right to know his brother's fate."
Ross burned with questions, even though they would be futile, since Ephraim had said he knew no more. Before Ross could decide what to say, Abdul Samut Khan entered the reception room.
Immediately Ephraim gave a bland smile. "Please, honored Khilburn, tell us the story of Sir Moses Montefiore's chicken."
Before Ross could begin, the nayeb said, "Lord Khilburn, I would like you to join me for an early dinner." Turning to the Jewish visitors, he said, "Of course, you would also be welcome."
It was an invitation for form's sake, and everyone present knew it. Rising to his feet, Ephraim ben Abraham said, "You do us great honor, Abdul Samut Khan, but alas, the dietary laws of our faith forbid our acceptance. It is time we took our leave."
Ross stood and bade his guests farewell. As he shook Ephraim's hand, he said quietly, "I thank you for your songs. I shall carry them in my heart always."
"As your songs will be in our hearts," Ephraim replied. "Shalom, my brother Khilburn."
As they left, Ross knew that he was unlikely to see the three again, for in a few days he would be gone or dead. Then the nayeb made an impatient gesture and Ross pulled his chaotic thoughts back to the present. It would take time to think through the implications of what he had just learned, but for the moment it was necessary to play the amiable guest.
In spite of his host's initial hurry, the meal was a leisurely one. When they had finished eating, Abdul Samut Khan called for a nargileh, a water pipe. Smoking in public was a criminal offense, but the custom was common indoors and the nayeb often indulged. This particular nargileh was a beautiful specimen with an elaborately cut crystal bowl.
The water burbled softly as the nayeb drew on the flexible tube. He gave a sigh of satisfaction, then withdrew his mouthpiece and offered the tube to Ross, along with a fresh ivory mouthpiece for his guest's use. "Please, join me."
Ross had never developed a taste for smoking, but at least the water pipe cooled the smoke and made it less objectionable. As he fixed the mouthpiece and inhaled, his host said, "Have you had time to consider the matter we discussed several days ago?"
So Abdul Samut Khan was still hoping to make some profit from his guest. "I have thought it over, and my answer is the same," Ross replied as he returned the smoking tube. "I have not the gold required, nor the desire to thwart the amir's will. What shall be, shall be."
The nayeb's expression hardened and he inserted his mouthpiece in the tube with a snap. "Yawer Shahid Mahmud will stay here to supervise your confinement. Naturally he is disappointed that he will not go to war with us, but your dignity requires that you be guarded by an officer of rank."
Abdul Samut Khan's voice dropped. "Though he is in my household, his loyalty is to the amir, and I cannot predict what he might do if the battle reports are not good."
In other words, Shahid might decide to slaughter his prisoner if the war went badly. Ross accepted the nargileh tube and drew a mouthful of mellow smoke, then exhaled it slowly. It sounded like a none-too-subtle attempt to frighten Ross into bolting. It was a good threat; if Ross's only choice was between Shahid and Abdul Samut Khan, he would choose the nayeb, who might possibly do what he was bribed to do.
Luckily there was another choice. "I appreciate your concern for my welfare, but with your artillery skills, surely the Bokharan army cannot help but triumph."
"You have a smooth tongue, Lord Khilburn." The nayeb gave a reluctant smile. "I cannot decide whether you have great innocence or great guile. But enough of gloomy topics. On a more pleasant note, I intend to give a small feast for a few friends the night before the army leaves. It will take place in my gardens and there will be music and dancers—Persian dancers, who are much more skilled than those of Turkestan. You shall find it most enjoyable. To go to war is to risk death, so one should celebrate life. As the great Persian poet Omar Khayyam said, 'Make the most of what we have to spend, Before we into dust descend.' Is that not so?"
Ross smiled to hear the same verse he had quoted to Juliet. On this he and his host were in complete agreement.
When Ross returned from dining with Abdul Samut Khan, Juliet waited until he had barred the door, then pulled off her veil and hugged him.