The boy’s sullen expression vanished, to be replaced by one of uneasiness. He cast a quick glance back at Hawkana, who nodded.
“Siddhartha is a prince among men, being of the First,” stated the host.
“‘The Blue Danube,’ on one of these flutes?”
“If you please.”
The boy shrugged, “I’ll try,” he said. “It’s been an awfully long time. . .. Bear with me.”
He crossed to where the instruments lay and muttered something to the owner of the flute he selected. The man nodded his head. Then he raised it to his lips and blew a few tentative notes. He paused, repeated the trial, then turned about.
He raised it once more and began the quivering movement of the waltz. As he played, the prince sipped his wine.
When he paused for breath, the prince motioned him to continue. He played tune after forbidden tune, and the professional musicians put professional expressions of scorn upon their faces; but beneath their table several feet were tapping in slow time with the music.
Finally, the prince had finished his wine. Evening was near to the city of Mahartha. He tossed the boy a purse of coins and did not look into his tears as he departed from the hall. He rose then and stretched, smothering a yawn with the back of his hand.
“I retire to my chambers,” he said to his men. “Do not gamble away your inheritances in my absence.”
They laughed then and bade him good night, calling for strong drink and salted biscuits. He heard the rattle of dice as he departed.
The prince retired early so that he might arise before daybreak. He instructed a servant to remain outside his door all the following day and to refuse admission to any who sought it, saying that he was indisposed.
Before the first flowers had opened to the first insects of morning, he had gone from the hostel, only an ancient green parrot witnessing his departure. Not in silks sewn with pearls did he go, but in tatters, as was his custom on these occasions. Not preceded by conch and drum did he move, but by silence, as he passed along the dim streets of the city. These streets were deserted, save for an occasional doctor or prostitute returning from a late call. A stray dog followed him as he passed through the business district, heading in the direction of the harbor.
He seated himself upon a crate at the foot of a pier. The dawn came to lift the darkness from the world; and he watched the ships stirring with the tide, empty of sail, webbed with cables, prows carved with monster or maiden. His every visit to Mahartha brought him again to the harbor for a little while.
Morning’s pink parasol opened above the tangled hair of the clouds, and cool breezes crossed the docks. Scavenger birds uttered hoarse cries as they darted about loop-windowed towers, then swooped across the waters of the bay.
He watched a ship put out to sea, tentlike vanes of canvas growing to high peaks and swelling in the salt air. Aboard other ships, secure in their anchorage, there was movement now, as crews made ready to load or unload cargoes of incense, coral, oil and all kinds of fabrics, as well as metals, cattle, hardwoods and spices. He smelled the smells of commerce and listened to the cursing of the sailors, both of which he admired: the former, as it reeked of wealth, and the latter because it combined his two other chief preoccupations, these being theology and anatomy.
After a time, he spoke with a foreign sea captain who had overseen the unloading of sacks of grain, and now took his rest in the shade of the crates.
“Good morning,” he said. “May your passages be free of storm and shipwreck, and the gods grant you safe harbor and a good market for your cargoes.”
The other nodded, seated himself upon a crate and proceeded to fill a small clay pipe.
“Thank you, old one,” he said. “Though I do pray to the gods of the Temples of my own choosing, I accept the blessings of any and all. One can always use blessings, especially a seaman.”