|
Three days later, Dayan and Damba left the valley with Brad. Their destination was the secret training ground for guerrilla cavalry. They went to the cottage to say goodbye to Romelle. She was sitting in the swing on the porch when they rode up.
"Take care of yourself while I'm gone," Brad said to her from his saddle. "I'll be back in three weeks."
"Do not go unescorted anywhere," Dayan urged her, also still on his horse. "I am leaving two strong lamas on guard at the compound gate. If you should have to go to the temple, or anywhere, they will go with you. Lock all the doors at night. Admit only those whom you know. Stay close to your father. I do not trust the Manchus."
"What more could they want of me?" asked Romelle with some impatience. "Surely, I am not important to them anymore. The ruby is in the temple. Besides, I have Rebel. Your father told me that people around here believe his powers to be almost supernatural. He saved your father's life. He found the Golden City. No, you go about your business of preparing for war. I shall be busy packing while you are gone. I'm going home, and I'm taking my father with me."
Both men were taken aback. They dismounted at once.
She drew herself up with a trace of hauteur. "Thank you for having the courtesy to stand before me like gentlemen. Dealing with warriors on horseback makes me all the more homesick for civilization."
Her words made Brad perceive for the first time that he had allowed himself to take on the appearance of a ruffian. His clothes were unkempt, his hair shaggy, his military bearing declined to a slouch. He wondered if he had shaved yesterday, or when.
Dayan became self-conscious as he had not been for years. He thought of the Empress Eugénie's impeccable grooming, her beautiful homes, the fine manners required of all who came into her presence. He remembered the elegant English girl he had loved, and the withering look bestowed upon him by her father, whose stony silence had clearly pronounced him an unacceptable barbarian.
"Uncle Bart...is really...going home?" ventured Brad, twisting his hat nervously in his hands.
"His work here is done," she replied. "He will ask Doctor Dash to take charge of everything. Today, he finishes the latest batch of Magic Wine. We are going to deliver it personally to Alexis, and then, yes, we are going home to the Place Dauphine."
"The Place Dauphine," echoed Dayan. "You are going to live in Paris again. You are going...home."
She was unsmiling. "Of course it is my home. I do not belong here. I brought the ruby, I found my father, and now I return to my world. What did you think I would do?"
Her tone was almost cruel.
Yes, my proud prince, what would I do? Nurture my love for you? For a priest who cannot make the commitment I require? Where would I live? In a yurt, drinking mare's milk from a silver-lined skull? And you, Lieutenant, you overgrown boy, what did you think I would do? Sit here while you play soldier, simply cheering on the Master of Horses?
There was no answer to her rhetorical question.
She knew it. She turned on her heel and went into the house.
The men remounted.
"We'll stop at the caravansary and ask Chavadzy to stay," suggested Brad. "Perhaps he can convince them to change their minds."
"But he wants to go with us," Damba interposed.
"He can come the next time," said Dayan. "He must stay here now. We cannot. He is a Westerner. He will think of something to stop them from leaving. He must. We need Doctor Bart, and I....."
"Let's go," interjected Brad, galloping away.
Chavadzy agreed to stay.
|