The Journeyer

“You are right. Very well, bring them on. And please send in my man Yissun to interpret for me.”

The Lady Tofaa Devata, though her name meant Gift of the Gods, was not beautiful by my standards, either. She was about Hui-sheng’s age, but she was ample enough to have made two of Hui-sheng. Shaibani had called her a Bangali, and evidently the King of Ava had imported her from that Indian state of Bangala, for she was typically Hindu: an oily brown skin that was almost black, and indeed was black in a semicircle under each of her eyes. I thought at first that she had misapplied her al-kohl eyelid-darkening cosmetic, but I was later to see that almost all Hindus, men as well as women, naturally had that unsightly discoloration of each eye pouch. The Lady Tofaa also had a red measle of paint on her forehead between her eyes, and a hole in one nostril where presumably she had worn a bauble before it was lost by her dicing husband. She wore a costume that appeared to be (and was, I discovered) a single length of cloth wound several times about her amplitude in such a way that her arms, one shoulder and a roll of unctuous dark-brown flesh around her waist were left bare. It was not a very seductive baring, and the cloth was a garish fabric of many blatant colors and metallic threads. The lady and her attire gave a general impression, besides, of being somewhat unwashed, but I gallantly attributed that to the hard times she had suffered lately. I might find her unappealing, but I would not prejudge her case on that account.

Anyway, the other claimants and witnesses and counselors in the Sardar’s main room were considerably less prepossessing. They were of various races—Mien, Hindu, some Ava aborigines, maybe even some of the higher- class Myama—but hardly choice specimens of any. They were the usual assortment of layabouts that wait to prey on seamen in the waterfront alleys of any port city. Again I felt almost sorry for the pusillanimous King Who Ran Away, having pitched himself from a throne down among such base company as this. But neither would I prejudge this case because I found all the participants so unappealing.

I was acquainted with one rule of law in these regions: that a woman’s testimony was to be far less regarded than a man’s. So I motioned for the men first to have their say, and Yissun translated, as one ugly man stepped forward and deposed:

“My Lord Justice, the late king wagered his person, and I hazarded a stake he accepted, and the dice rolled in my favor. I won him, but he later cheated me of my winnings when—”

“Enough,” I said. “We are concerned here only with the events in the hall of games. Let speak next the man who played next against the king.”

An even uglier one stepped forth. “My Lord Justice, the king said he had one last property to offer, which was this woman here. I took that wager and the dice rolled in my favor. There has since been much foolish argument —”

“Never mind the since,” I said. “Let us continue with the events in sequence. I believe, Lady Tofaa Devata, that next you presented yourself at the hall.”

She took a heavy step forward, revealing that she was barefoot and dirty about the ankles, just like the nonroyal waterfront denizens in the room. When she began to speak, Yissun leaned over to me and muttered, “Marco, forgive me, but I do not speak any of the Indian languages.”

“No matter,” I said. “I understand this one.” And I did, for she was speaking not any Indian tongue, but the Farsi of the trade routes.

She said, “I presented myself at the hall, yes—”

I said, “Let us observe protocol. You will address me as your Lord Justice.”

She bridled in obvious rancor at being so bidden by a pale-skinned and untitled Ferenghi. But she contented herself with a regal sniff, and began again:

“I presented myself at the hall, Lord Justice, and I asked the players, ‘Before my dear husband wagered me, had he first wagered and lost himself?’ Because, if he had, you see, my lord, then he was already a slave himself, and by law slaves can own no property. Therefore I was not his to hazard in the play, and I am not bound to the winner, and—”

I stopped her again, but only to ask, “How is it that you speak Farsi, my lady?”

“I am of the nobility of Bangala, my lord,” she said, standing very erect and looking as if I had sought to cast doubt on that. “I come from a noble merchant family of Brahman shopkeepers. Of course, being a lady, I have never stooped to clerk’s learning—of reading or writing. But I speak the trade tongue of Farsi, besides my native Bangali, and also most of the other major tongues of Greater India—Hindi, Tamil, Telugu … .”

“Thank you, Lady Tofaa. Let us now proceed.”

After having spent so long in the far eastern parts of the Khanate, I had quite forgotten how prevalent in the rest of the world was the Trade Farsi. But clearly most of the men in the room, because they dealt always with the mariners of the sea trade, also knew the tongue. For several of them inmediately spoke up, and in a vociferous clamor, but what they had to say, in effect, was this:

“The woman cavils and equivocates. It is a husband’s legal right to venture any of his wives in a game of chance, just as it is his right to sell her or put her body out to hire or divorce her utterly.”

And others, equally loudly, said in effect:

“No! The woman speaks true. The husband had forfeited himself, therefore all his husbandly rights. He was at that moment a slave himself, illegally venturing property he did not own.”

I held up a magisterial hand and the room quieted, and I leaned my chin on my hand in a pose of thinking deeply. But I really was not doing any such thing. I did not pretend, even to myself, to be a Solomon of juridical wisdom, or a Draco or a Khan Kubilai of impulsive decision. But I had spent my boyhood reading about Alexander, and I well remembered how he opened the unopenable Gordian knot. However, I would at least pretend to ponder. While I did so, I said casually to the woman:

“Lady Tofaa, I have come here in search of something your late husband was carrying. The tooth of the Buddha that he took from the Ananda temple. Are you acquainted with it?”

“Yes, Lord Justice. He wagered that away, too, I am sorry to say. But I am pleased to say that he did it before he wagered me, plainly valuing me more than even that sacred relic.”

“Plainly. Do you know who won the tooth?”

“Yes, my lord. The captain of a Chola pearl-fisher boat. He took it away rejoicing that it should bring good fortune to his divers. That boat sailed weeks ago.”

“Do you have any idea where it sailed to?”

“Yes, Lord Justice. Pearls are fished in only two places. Around the island of Srihalam and along the Cholamandal coast of Greater India. Since the captain was of the Chola race, he undoubtedly returned to that coast of the mainland mandal, or region, inhabited by the Cholas.”

The men in the room were muttering dourly at this seemingly irrelevant exchange, and the Sardar Shaibani sent me an imploring look. I ignored them and said to the woman:

“Then I must pursue the tooth to the Cholamandal. If you would be pleased to come with me as my interpreter, I will afterward assist you to make your way to your people’s home in your native Bangala.”

The men’s muttering got mutinous at that. The Lady Tofaa did not like it, either. She flung her head back, so she could look down her nose at me, and she said frostily, “I would remind my Lord Justice that I am not of a station to accept menial employment. I am a noblewoman born, and the widow of a king, and—”

“And the slave of that ugly brute yonder,” I said firmly, “if I should find in his favor in this proceeding.”

She swallowed her pomposity—actually gulped aloud—and instantly went from arrogant to servile. “My Lord Justice is as masterful a man as my late dear husband. How could a mere fragile young woman resist such a dominant man? Of course, my lord, I will accompany you and work for you. Slave for you.”

She was anything but fragile, and I was not complimented by being compared to the King Who Ran Away. But I turned to Yissun and said, “I have made my decision. Publish it to all here. This argument turns on the precedence of the late king’s wagers. Therefore the whole matter is moot. From the moment King Narasinha-pati abdicated his throne in Pagan, he had surrendered all his rights and properties and holdings to the new ruler, the Wang Bayan. Whatever that late king spent or squandered or lost here in Akyab was and still is the rightful property of the Wang, who is here represented by the Sardar Shaibani.”

When that was translated, everyone in the room, including Shaibani and Tofaa, gave a gasp, all of astonishment, but variously also of chagrin, relief and admiration. I went on:

“Each man in this room will be accompanied by a guard patrol back to his residence or business