The Temple Dancer by John Speed Page A

disappointed.
    "Why do you call him Deoga?" Lucinda whispered in Portuguese.
    "It is what the Hindis call him; I don't know why. I've just picked it up
in talking with them." Geraldo's teeth showed benea-:h his well-trimmed
mustache. "This is the first I've spoken in Portuguese all day."
    "Yes." Lucinda sighed, feeling the tension fade from her shoulders.
"Speaking Hindi constantly is quite exhausting. It's a pleasure to talk with
you.

    "And with you, Lucy," Geraldo said. His eyes bored into hers and she
turned away, wondering if she were blushing.
    "What are you talking about?" Slipper demanded in Hindi.

    By late afternoon, the caravan reached the dharmsala. Unlike inns, dharmasalas were provided by the government, free of charge. The dharmsalas
of Bijapur were famous for their austerities, yet merchants travelling with
goods preferred them to inns because of their safety. The gates were locked
at night, and only opened in the morning after the guests had checked their
possessions. Anyone found with someone else's goods would be arrested
or even killed on the spot.
    Da Gama and Pathan quickly got the caravan settled: the horses were
stabled, women safely stowed in the plain guest houses, food cooked, dinner served.
    The master of the dharmsala was just about to lock the gates when two
well-armed horsemen rode up. After a little discussion and a little baksheesh, the master fetched Pathan. "Bring your purse, Deoga," Pathan said,
and the two of them went to meet the riders.
    Pathan hung back, letting Da Gama make the arrangements. Da Gama
considered the faces of the riders, their rings and earrings, their richly liveried stallions, their shining weapons. "Can I trust you to guarantee our
safe passage?"
    The bandit with a dark scar across his flat nose had been doing most of
the negotiating. His hand curled around the emerald-covered handle of his
dagger. "The courtesy of the Three-Dot clan is well known. Some small token of your respect, that is only fitting. Do you think we have no honor?"
    It took a quarter of an hour to haggle the precise size of that small
token of respect.
    "Ask for proof," Pathan whispered when a price had been set. The riders glanced at each other, and then the one with the scarred nose peeled
back his sleeve and showed Da Gama three black dots tattooed in the crease
of his elbow.
    "What do you think?" Da Gama asked Pathan, who simply shrugged.
At last, Da Gama counted out a pile of golden rials.

    "Have a pleasant journey," the rider told him, rolling down his sleeve.
    "You're not accompanying us?"
    "Do we look like guards?" The rider snorted. "You'll be safe enough.
We'll be watching."
    "But you won't see us," his companion said. Without a bow, without
another word, the riders wheeled their horses and rode off.
    "Now do you see why I wanted to have our own guards, Deoga?"
    Da Gama looked helplessly at Pathan. "Shall I tell you why we hired no
guards? Dasana couldn't afford them. He gave me barely enough to cover
this bribe. If it weren't for my family obligation to my cousins I should never
have taken this job." Da Gama stalked off, leaving Patr.an staring speechless.
    Finally the dharmsala master came and waved them both inside before he
locked the gate. The sun set and the moon glowed behind great silver clouds.

    "Tonight you sleep like a Hindi," Maya said as she and Lucinda looked at
the small dharmsala room they were to share. Two quilted bedmats had
been tucked into opposite corners of the room. "Hive you slept on the
floor before?"
    Does she mock me? Lucinda wondered. "This will be my first time."
    "So many first times. So many new experiences for both of us," Maya
said, moving toward one of the mats without looking at Lucinda.
    I wonder if I make her as uncomfortable as she makes me, Lucinda
thought. She struggled with the brass latch of her large, leather-bound trunk.
With a final grunt, the latch opened, the sound echoing like a gunshot from
the high