The nobleman approached him.
“We will be going now, stablekeeper. I thank you, again, for your efficiency and good service.”
The stablekeeper made so bold as to ask: “Your wife is well, I hope, noble sir?”
The nobleman smiled. “Oh, yes. Startled, no worse. I can’t imagine what the dacoits were thinking.” He made a small gesture toward the soldiers, who were now busy assisting the wife and her ladies into their howdahs. The gesture spoke for itself.
The stablekeeper shook his head. “Dacoits are madmen by nature.”
The nobleman nodded and began to leave. An apparent sudden thought turned him back.
“I have no idea what madness has been unleashed in Kausambi tonight, stablekeeper. But, whatever it is, you would do well to close your stable for a few days.”
The stablekeeper grimaced.
“The same thought has occurred to me, noble sir. The Malwa—” He paused. The nobleman, though not Malwa himself, was obviously high in their ranks. “The city soldiery will be running rampant.” He shrugged. It was a bitter gesture. “But—I have a family to feed.”
The expression which came to the nobleman’s face, at that moment, was very odd. Very sad, it seemed to the stablekeeper. Though he could not imagine why.
“I know something of that, man,” muttered the nobleman. He stepped close and reached, again, into his purse. The stablekeeper was astonished at the small pile of coins which were placed in his hand.
The nobleman’s next words were spoken very softly:
“As I said, keep the stable closed. For a few days. This should make good the loss.”
Now, he did turn away. Watching him stride toward the howdahs, the stablekeeper was seized by a sudden impulse.
“Noble sir!”
The nobleman stopped. The stablekeeper spoke to the back of his head.
“If I might be so bold, noble sir, may I suggest you exit the city by the Lion Gate. It is a bit out of your way, but—the soldiers there are—uh, relaxed, so to speak. They are poor men themselves, sir. Bengali, as it happens. Whenever I have occasion to leave the city, that is always the gate which I use. No difficulties.”
The nobleman nodded. “Thank you, stablekeeper. I believe I shall take your advice.”
A minute later, he and his wife were gone, along with their retinue. They made quite a little troupe, thought the stablemaster. The nobleman rode his howdah alone, in the lead elephant, as befitted his status. His wife followed in the second, accompanied by one of her maids. The three other maids followed in the last howdah. Ahead of them marched a squad of their soldiers, led by the commander. The rest of the escort followed behind. The stablemaster was impressed by the disciplined order with which the soldiers marched, ignoring the downpour. An easy, almost loping march. A ground-eating march, he thought.
He turned away from the pouring rain, made haste to close and bar the gates to the stable.
Not that they’ll need to eat much ground with those mounts, he thought wrily. The most pleasant, docile little elephants I’ve ever seen.
Halfway across the stable, his wife emerged from the door to the adjoining house. She scurried to meet him.
“Are they gone?” she asked worriedly. Then, seeing the closed and barred gates, asked:
“Why did you shut the gates? Customers will think we are closed.”
“We are closed, wife. And we will remain closed until that madness”—a gesture to the north—”dies away and the city is safe.” Wry grimace. “As safe, at least, as it ever is for poor folk.”
His wife began to protest, but the stablekeeper silenced her with the coins in his hand.
“The nobleman was very generous. We will have more than enough.”
His wife argued no further. She was relieved, herself, at the prospect of hiding from the madness.
Later that night, as they prepared for bed, the stablekeeper said to his wife:
“Should anyone inquire about the nobleman, in the future, say nothing.”
His wife turned a startled face to him.
“Why?”
The stablekeeper glared. “Just do as I say! For once, woman, obey your husband!”
His wife shrugged her thick shoulders with irritation, but she nodded. (Not so much from obedience, as simple practicality. Poor men are known, now and then, to speak freely to the authorities. Poor women, almost never.)