city, though he knew that sometimes it was best to go safe and unnoticed in this turbulent land. ‘Perhaps it will do no harm to talk to him,’ he said finally, hating himself.
Vikash went inside, and returned with a whiteskinned man of middle age: a Rondian. His chin was clean-shaven, but he had bushy grey moustaches and was clad in Keshi garb. He was soaked in perspiration, despite the relative coolness of the air – but then, his homeland was far colder than this.
‘Master Graav is a mercantile agent from Verelon,’ Vikash said,pronouncing the foreign names awkwardly. ‘He is based in Hebusalim.’
Graav spoke in Lakh, with a slight rustiness and a Western inflection, but he was easily understandable. He asked about Ispal’s family, nodding when Ispal reassured him that every pregnancy that anyone could remember of his wife and her ancestors had resulted in multiple births.
‘There must be a lot of you,’ Lowen Graav observed, ‘many girl-children of the line.’
Ispal frowned. ‘Not so many; the trait does not appear to pass down the male line, so my mother-in-law’s sons have not fathered such daughters. And bearing successive multiple pregnancies is hard on the women. My wife had six sisters; three are dead. One dwells in a village not far from here, but she married late and has only youngsters. Her daughters will not flower for six or seven years yet. Her other sister bore only sons and is now barren after miscarriage.’
‘And what of your own family?’
Ispal wondered a little about the wisdom of telling such things to a stranger, but Vikash smiled reassuringly. ‘I married my wife Tanuva when she turned fifteen, after I returned from my first trip to Hebusalim, in what you ferang call the “First Crusade”. Our first children together were my eldest son Jai and a stillborn twin – that was the only such mishap we have had. The following year came twin daughters, Jaya and Ramita. Two years later we had twin boys, before I was conscripted into the mughal’s army and forced to march north again. That was during what you call the “Second Crusade”. What a mess! The mughal and the sultan could not agree, so there was no cooperation. We never even reached Hebusalim before we ran out of food and water. Only my experience and the rank that gave me saved my company. When we got back, people thought we were ghosts, so thin and ragged we were, so blackened by the sun.’ He patted his gently rounded belly. ‘It has taken me many years to recover my shape.’
‘The Second Crusade was in 916,’ Lowen ruminated. ‘Bad years for traders. And since?’
Ispal finished his tea and looked around for another. Vikash motioned to a servant. ‘Whilst I was away, the plague came through – it always follows the wars, you know. Poor Jaya was taken, and both boys, so there were just the four of us, for a time. But Tanuva and I made more: twin boys, then triplets. A fever took one of the triplets two years later. Jai is now seventeen and Ramita has just turned sixteen. The twin boys are ten and the surviving girl triplets are eight – six children in all, and that is enough, I am thinking.’ He laughed. ‘Poor Tanuva says she has to work too hard!’
Graav leant forward. ‘So, this daughter Ramita is the only marriageable daughter you have?’
Clearly Lowen Graav was keen to resolve this deal and return north.
Good. A wise man does not bargain in haste
. ‘Clearly, Lowen-
saheeb
,’ agreed Ispal. ‘She is promised to another, however: the son of my blood-brother. This has been arranged for some time now, and she and the boy are very happy – indeed, they are quite in love.’ He smiled benevolently, the caring father who has pleased his daughter in his marriage arrangements.
Vikash Nooridan frowned, clearly wanting Ispal to roll over on this deal, not play hard to get.
Ispal ignored him. ‘Who is your client, my good sir?’ he asked. ‘What is his good name?’
Lowen shook his head. ‘My
Vikash went inside, and returned with a whiteskinned man of middle age: a Rondian. His chin was clean-shaven, but he had bushy grey moustaches and was clad in Keshi garb. He was soaked in perspiration, despite the relative coolness of the air – but then, his homeland was far colder than this.
‘Master Graav is a mercantile agent from Verelon,’ Vikash said,pronouncing the foreign names awkwardly. ‘He is based in Hebusalim.’
Graav spoke in Lakh, with a slight rustiness and a Western inflection, but he was easily understandable. He asked about Ispal’s family, nodding when Ispal reassured him that every pregnancy that anyone could remember of his wife and her ancestors had resulted in multiple births.
‘There must be a lot of you,’ Lowen Graav observed, ‘many girl-children of the line.’
Ispal frowned. ‘Not so many; the trait does not appear to pass down the male line, so my mother-in-law’s sons have not fathered such daughters. And bearing successive multiple pregnancies is hard on the women. My wife had six sisters; three are dead. One dwells in a village not far from here, but she married late and has only youngsters. Her daughters will not flower for six or seven years yet. Her other sister bore only sons and is now barren after miscarriage.’
‘And what of your own family?’
Ispal wondered a little about the wisdom of telling such things to a stranger, but Vikash smiled reassuringly. ‘I married my wife Tanuva when she turned fifteen, after I returned from my first trip to Hebusalim, in what you ferang call the “First Crusade”. Our first children together were my eldest son Jai and a stillborn twin – that was the only such mishap we have had. The following year came twin daughters, Jaya and Ramita. Two years later we had twin boys, before I was conscripted into the mughal’s army and forced to march north again. That was during what you call the “Second Crusade”. What a mess! The mughal and the sultan could not agree, so there was no cooperation. We never even reached Hebusalim before we ran out of food and water. Only my experience and the rank that gave me saved my company. When we got back, people thought we were ghosts, so thin and ragged we were, so blackened by the sun.’ He patted his gently rounded belly. ‘It has taken me many years to recover my shape.’
‘The Second Crusade was in 916,’ Lowen ruminated. ‘Bad years for traders. And since?’
Ispal finished his tea and looked around for another. Vikash motioned to a servant. ‘Whilst I was away, the plague came through – it always follows the wars, you know. Poor Jaya was taken, and both boys, so there were just the four of us, for a time. But Tanuva and I made more: twin boys, then triplets. A fever took one of the triplets two years later. Jai is now seventeen and Ramita has just turned sixteen. The twin boys are ten and the surviving girl triplets are eight – six children in all, and that is enough, I am thinking.’ He laughed. ‘Poor Tanuva says she has to work too hard!’
Graav leant forward. ‘So, this daughter Ramita is the only marriageable daughter you have?’
Clearly Lowen Graav was keen to resolve this deal and return north.
Good. A wise man does not bargain in haste
. ‘Clearly, Lowen-
saheeb
,’ agreed Ispal. ‘She is promised to another, however: the son of my blood-brother. This has been arranged for some time now, and she and the boy are very happy – indeed, they are quite in love.’ He smiled benevolently, the caring father who has pleased his daughter in his marriage arrangements.
Vikash Nooridan frowned, clearly wanting Ispal to roll over on this deal, not play hard to get.
Ispal ignored him. ‘Who is your client, my good sir?’ he asked. ‘What is his good name?’
Lowen shook his head. ‘My
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