Then we burned on the grave the tree to which he had been crucified, and piled a great cairn of stone above him.

There we left him, on the roof of a great mountain that looks down on Persia.
It was perhaps two hours, or it may have been three, after burying Gooja Singh (we rode on in silence, thinking of him, our wounded groaning now and then, but even the words of command being given by sign instead of speech because none cared to speak) that we learned the explanation, and more with it.
We found a good place to camp, and proceeded to make it defensible and to gather fuel.

Then some of the women belonging to our Kurdish friends overtook us, and with them a few of our Kurdish wounded and some unwounded ones who had returned to glean again on the battlefield.

These brought with them two prisoners whom we set in the midst, and then Abraham was set to work translating until his tongue must have almost fallen out with weariness.

Bit by bit, we pieced a tale together that had reason in it and so brought us understanding.
Our first guess had been right; the Turks had already sent (some said a full division) to wreak vengeance for our plundering of the gold.