Before he could move, the woman suddenly turned and poised herself at the edge of the roaring pit. She emitted one long intense wail, then threw herself directly into the fire. At that moment the robes of a second woman caught, and she too turned and plunged head-first into the flames. Merciful God! What are they doing! The three remaining women paused for a moment. Then they clasped hands, and, as though on a private signal, plunged over the edge into the inferno, their hair and robes igniting like dry tinder in a furnace. The women all clung together as the flames enveloped them. Hawksworth tried to look again into the pit, but turned away in revulsion. "What in hell is happening?" Vasant Rao's eyes were flooded with disbelief. "They must have been his concubines. Or his other wives. Only his first wife was allowed to have the place of honor beside his body. I've. . ." The Rajput struggled for composure. "I've never seen so many women die in a _sati_. It's . . ." He seemed unable to find words. "It's almost too much." "How did such a murderous custom begin?" Hawksworth's eyes were seared now from the smoke and the smell of burning flesh. "It's unworthy of humanity." "We believe aristocratic Rajput women have always wished to do it. To honor their brave warriors. The Moghul has tried to stop it, however. He claims it began only a few centuries ago, when a Rajput raja suspected the women in his palace were trying to poison him and his ministers. Some believe the raja decreed that custom as protection for his own life, and then others followed. But I don't think that's true. I believe women in India have always done it, from ancient times. But what does it matter when it began. Now all rani, the wives of rajas, follow their husbands in death, and consider it a great honor. Today it seems his other women also insisted on joining her. I think it was against her wishes. She did not want to share her moment of glory. _Sati_ is a noble custom, Captain Hawksworth, part of that Rajput strength of character wanting in other races." A hand seized Hawksworth's arm roughly and jerked him back through the crowd, a sea of eyes burning with contempt. Amid the drifting smoke he caught a glimpse of the bullock carts of the caravan, lined along the far end of the road leading into the fortress. The drivers were nowhere to be seen, but near the carts were cattle sheds for the bullocks. If they can send innocent women to their death, life means nothing here. They'll kill us for sure. He turned to Vasant Rao, whose face showed no trace of fear. The Rajput seemed oblivious to the smell of death as smoke from the fire engulfed the palms that lined the village roads. They were approaching the porch of the great house where the head of the dynasty had lived.