The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [169]
‘Kairi did not wish to,’ volunteered Jhoti, who had been listening to the conversation of his elders. ‘She wanted to stay behind. But Shu-Shu said that if Kairi wouldn't go she would not go either, and she began to cry and say that she was so tired of the noise and the smells of the camp, and of being shut up in a ruth or a tent, and that if she didn't get away from it and out into the open air for a while she would die. You know what she is like. So of course Kairi had to agree to come. Oh, here they are at last – Good. Now perhaps we can start.’
They rode away across the plain, holding their horses to a sedate trot in order not to out-distance the cart containing the waiting women, who could not ride, or the Rajkumari Shushila, who in spite of what Kaka-ji had said was an indifferent horsewoman and rode on a lead-rein held by an elderly retainer.
Both girls wore light head scarves that concealed their faces and left only their eyes uncovered, but once clear of the camp and in open country they allowed the flimsy material to blow free. But Ash noted with interest that except for Jhoti and Kaka-ji, none of the men-folk – not even Mulraj, who was related to the royal family – ever looked directly at them even when replying to a question: an exhibition of good manners that impressed him, though he did not emulate it. Having been told to consider himself one of the family, he saw no reason why he should not claim an honorary brother's privilege and look as long and as openly as he pleased, and he had done so. But at Anjuli rather than at her younger sister; though little Shushila, laughing and excited by the sport and the heady taste of freedom, was well worth looking at: a princess from a fairy-tale, all gold and rose and ebony, and sparkling with gaiety.
‘She will be ill tonight. You'll see,’ said Jhoti cheerfully. ‘She is always ill after she gets excited. Just like a see-saw, up in the air or down in the mud – bump! I think girls are silly, don't you? Fancy having to marry one.’
‘Hmm?’ said Ash, who was not listening.
‘My mother,’ confided Jhoti, ‘had arranged a marriage for me, but when she died my brother Nandu broke it off, which was a good thing, for I did not wish to get married. He only did it to spite me – that I know well. He meant to do me an ill turn, and did me a good one by mistake, the silly owl. But I suppose I shall have to marry some day. One has to have a wife in order to get sons, does one not? Has yours given you any sons yet?’
Ash made another indeterminate noise and Mulraj, who was riding on the other side of him, answered on his behalf: ‘The Sahib has no wife, Prince. His people do not marry young. They wait until they are old and wise. Is that not so, Sahib?’
‘Umm?’ said Ash. ‘I'm sorry – I didn't hear what you said.’
Mulraj laughed and threw up a protesting hand. ‘You see, my Prince? – he has heard nothing. His thoughts are far away today. What is it, Sahib? Is there something that troubles you?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Ash hastily. ‘I was only thinking about something else.’
‘That is plain – you have already missed a chance at three birds because of it. Ohé! – there goes another. A fine, fat pigeon. No… you are too late. The prince is before you.’
Jhoti had in fact been the first to see the pigeon, and before Mulraj had finished speaking his hawk was in the air and he himself spurring excitedly in pursuit.
‘He has been well taught,’ approved Mulraj, watching the child race away; ‘and he rides like a Rajput. But I do not like the look of his saddle. It seems to me… Forgive me, Sahib.’
He set spurs to his horse and left at a gallop, abandoning Ash, who, left alone with his thoughts, was not ungrateful for a period of silence. He was not feeling at all sociable that morning; or particularly interested in