The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [392]
Bukta heard Ash gasp, and turned to him grinning. ‘Did I not say that the road here was well hidden? No one who did not know it would dream that there was a way through those rocks, or think of searching for one.’
Ash glanced behind him and saw nothing but tumbled boulders and the steep flank of a hill, and realized that he himself must have looked out at this spot at least a hundred times, and ridden past it on numerous occasions, without ever suspecting that there was a way through those rocks and back into the folds of the hills behind them. He turned to study the place carefully so that he would recognize it again in case of need, noting such landmarks as a triple-fanged ridge on the hillcrest above, with a patch of shale in the shape of an arrow-head lying immediately below it.
The shale should be easy to see from a long way off, as it was several shades lighter than the hillside, while the tip of the arrow pointed directly downwards to the spot where he now stood. And nearer at hand, a mere dozen yards away, stood a twelve-foot-high boulder, liberally streaked with bird droppings and flaunting a tall tuft of grass that had sprouted from some crevice on the summit. He would recognize that boulder again, thought Ash, for combined with those parallel white streaks, the grass gave it the appearance of a plumed helmet, and he took careful note of its position in relation to the rocks that concealed the entrance to the canyon.
The old shikari, watching him, nodded in approval. ‘The Sahib does well to mark this place carefully,’ said Bukta, ‘for it is not easy to find again from this side. Well, there lies your way to the city. You had better leave me fifty rounds – and the shot-gun and cartridges also. It will cause talk if you carry more than one weapon apiece. I will remain here until such time as you return.’
‘That may be much longer than you think,’ observed Ash grimly.
Bukta waved a negligent hand. ‘No matter. There is both water and grazing here, and having food and the Sahib's shot-gun – not forgetting the beautiful new Angrezi rifle that the Sahib gave me, and my own old one also – I shall neither go hungry nor fear attack, so can wait a long time. Besides, it is in my mind that you may wish to leave in haste and by this same road, it being the only one that is not guarded, and I do not think you would find your way back to Gujerat without me.’
‘That much is certain,’ agreed Sarji with a curt laugh. ‘Stay then, and wait for us. For I too think that we may need to leave in haste.’
The city being no more than a few miles distant and the sun still well above the horizon, they returned to the canyon and rested in the shade until the light mellowed and the shadow of the hills at their back crept forward and engulfed the valley, leaving only the opposite range warm gold against an evening sky. Only then did they rise, and whistling up the horses, led them back through the narrow passage between the rocks, mounted, and having bade goodbye to Bukta, rode out across the valley towards the dusty, beaten track along which Ash had ridden so often in the days when he and Kaka-ji and Mulraj had gone again and again to argue with the Diwan and the Rana's councillors over the disputed marriage contracts of the brides from Karidkote.
The valley had not changed, nor had the forts that overlooked it, or the frowning walls and flat, jostling rooftops of Bhithor that blocked its far end and masked the great lake and the wide, enclosed amphitheatre of plain beyond. Nothing had changed: except himself, thought Ash wryly. In appearance, at least, he bore no resemblance to the young British officer who had ridden along this same track on a blazing spring morning, bound for the Rung Mahal and his first sight of the unpleasant despot who was to become Anjuli's husband.
He had been wearing the elaborately frogged