Silk and Secrets(80)

"Indeed it is. Once more I am flattered by your courtesy."

It was the best meal Ross had had in weeks, and having just received a stay of execution, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Juliet also ate well, though she said nothing. She was thoroughly into her role of dark, enigmatic desert marauder, her eyes darting around warily, as if expecting attack. After snatching her food, she hunkered down a little apart from the others to eat.

The Bokharans watched with interest as she raised food to her mouth behind her veil. One of the deputy chamberlains said to the other in Uzbek, "That slave is a wild one. The ferengi is lucky the fellow has not taken his gold and perhaps his life."

Ross ignored the comment. He'd decided to use his fluent Persian so that he could communicate freely with Bokharan officials, but to conceal his knowledge of Uzbek on the chance that he might overhear useful comments by men who thought that he did not understand. Even if the comments weren't useful, they could be amusing, like the one he had just heard.

As they finished the meal, the grand chamberlain said, "Your slave is a Targui of the Sahara, is he not? Once or twice I have seen one of his tribe in Bokhara."

"Aye, but he is a servant, not a slave. Among his own people, he is of high rank. He serves me only as long as it pleases him." Ross bit into a ripe, juicy date. "The Tuareg are great thieves. In their own language, the words 'to plunder' and 'to be free' mean the same thing. But Jalal usually does what I ask, and he's good with camels."

"Does he speak or understand Persian?"

"A little, I think." Ross gave a bored shrug, clearly indicating how tedious he found the topic of his servant. "It is hard to tell how much he understands."

"The lad has unusual gray eyes, like a Baluchi," the chamberlain said reflectively, his gaze still on Juliet. "It is said that the Tuareg are a handsome race."

"The women, who go unveiled, are very handsome. Of Jalal himself, I cannot say, for I have never seen his face."

Curiosity finally satisfied, the chamberlain rose to his feet. "Now, Lord Khilburn, we will ride to Bokhara."

* * *

The Silk Road had turned Bokhara into the richest oasis in Central Asia, an arrogant citadel guarded by the perilous deserts that surrounded it. The city had not changed in the years since Ross's first visit. He suspected that its massive walls and lofty watchtowers hadn't changed in centuries.

When they reached the giant gateway that was the western approach to the city, Ross halted his camel, preparatory to dismounting. The chamberlain frowned. "Why are you stopping?"

Ross raised his eyebrows. "Is it not forbidden for unbelievers to ride in the city?"

"Usually, but exceptions are made for those in the amir's favor," the chamberlain said. "Of course you will have to dismount when we reach the royal palace. Even I will, for only the amir and his grandees may ride within the palace walls."

Ross nodded and set Julietta in motion again. He and Alex Burnes had had not only to put aside their mounts inside the city but also to change to humbler garments, since they were infidels. Because they were traveling as private individuals rather than as representatives of the British government, they had quietly obeyed all local customs so that they would not attract unwelcome attention.

The city skyline was dominated by minarets and domes. Bokhara was one of the holy cities of Islam, and it was said that a good Muslim could pray in a different mosque every day of the year. Ross and Burnes had decided that was an exaggeration, but there were easily a couple of hundred mosques and dozens of religious colleges.

On this journey it was not possible to avoid attention. The wide street that led from the entry gate to the palace teemed with people who stopped to stare at Ross, with more emerging onto their flat rooftops to see him. A hum of comments about his clothing, coloring, and general foreignness arose from the watchers. As on the trip across the Kara Kum, the general tone was more curious than hostile. Once a young water carrier who had pressed against a wall to let the riders pass called out cheerfully, "Salaam Aleikum!"

Ross smiled and lifted his hand. "And peace be unto you."

The great public square in front of the royal palace was called the Registan. Ross remembered it from his previous trip, for the square was the heart of the city, and it churned and buzzed during the daylight hours. In the center was a great market with canopies shading sellers of fruit, tea, and goods from all over Asia, but most of the throng were present to talk, to see and be seen.

The diversity of the crowd was incredible. The majority were either oriental-eyed Uzbeks from Bokhara's ruling class or people of Persian descent, who were called Tadjiks when they lived in Turkestan. Virtually every other race of Asia was also represented, from Hindus to Uighars to Chinese. The few women present rode astride like men, their bodies invisible under black horsehair veils that covered them from head to foot.