Читать книгу The Complete Empire Trilogy - Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts - Страница 21

Mara frowned.

She concealed her worry behind a fan of stiffened lace and voiced her desire to halt. Papewaio signalled the one other officer and fifty men in her retinue, and the bearers set her litter down in the dooryard of the Tuscalora estate house.

Mara pulled aside the curtains to gain a better view of her unwilling host. Jidu of the Tuscalora was a fat man, his face and jowls moon-round, and his eyelids long-lashed as a woman’s. Both plump wrists were covered with jade bracelets, and the bulging cloth of his robe was sewn with discs of shell. He clinked like a tinker when he moved, and perfumes hung around him in a nearly visible cloud.

From Jican, Mara had learned that Jidu’s profits came only from chocha-la bushes. The rare variety of chocha beans provided the most costly and desired confection in the Empire, and because of a freak concentration of minerals in his soil, the Tuscalora were blessed with the most outstanding plantation in the Empire. Had Jidu the wits to operate in an organized fashion, he would have been a wealthy man. Instead, he was merely affluent.

But poor estate management was no reason to presume the Tuscalora ruler was ineffectual. Lord Jidu’s argumentative reputation had more than once led to bloodshed with his neighbours to the south. Only the Acoma strength, before Sezu’s death, had blunted the man’s aggressive nature. Mara came expecting trouble and hoping to avoid conflict. Even as she greeted Lord Jidu, her entire garrison, save a few guards along the outer perimeter of her property, were moving into place a short distance from the Tuscalora border. If the matter came to battle, Tasido and Lujan would lead a combined assault upon the Tuscalora, while Keyoke held the reserves to protect the home estate house. If Mara’s contingency plan failed – if the battle went against her and the Acoma could retreat in time to minimize their fatalities – enough strength remained to keep Ayaki alive until his Anasati grandfather could rescue him. Mara put aside such thoughts. Under such circumstances, she would be dead and all would be in the hands of the gods – or Tecuma of the Anasati.

Warned of his visitor by a runner from his border guard, Lord Jidu bowed without stepping from the shade of his foyer. That Mara’s honour guard came armed for battle did not ruffle him as he leaned casually against his doorpost and said, ‘Lady Mara, your arrival is an unexpected pleasure. To what do I owe the honour?’ His face became instantly impassive as his visitor ordered her warriors to stand at ease around her litter. The Lady clearly intended to stay, despite the fact that the Lord of the Tuscalora pointedly scanted courtesy by not inviting her inside for refreshments.

Chilled by the man’s calculating eyes, Mara forced herself to begin. ‘Lord Jidu, I have a note signed by you promising the sum of two thousand centuries in metal to my late husband. My hadonra has communicated with your hadonra regarding this matter several times in the last few weeks. When another request, personally made by me, was delivered to you, you took it upon yourself to answer with insult. I came to speak of this.’

‘I’m not certain I take your meaning,’ said the Lord of the Tuscalora. He made a show of tossing aside a fruit rind and, with a curt motion of his head, sent one of his servants swiftly into the house. The next instant the runner flashed out through a side entrance, sprinting for what surely would be the soldiers’ quarters.

‘I mean this,’ said Mara with all the forcefulness she could muster. ‘When you say you do not feel obliged to respond to my message and would be pleased if I would cease “nagging at you”, you insult my honour, Lord Jidu.’ Pointing an accusatory finger, she looked more like the image of her father than she knew. ‘How dare you speak to me like some fishwife by the riverside! I am the Lady of the Acoma! I will not abide such instruction from any man! I demand the respect I am due.’

The Lord pushed away from the doorpost, his manner no longer languid. Speaking as if to a child, he said, ‘Lady Mara, betting debts are not usually settled so directly. Your late husband understood.’

Mara snapped her fan shut, certain the man was stalling her. The instant his garrison received the call to arms, his mockingly paternal solicitude would end. She swallowed, bitterly resolved, and answered with the pride of her ancestors. ‘My late husband no longer rules, but I can assure you, had Lord Buntokapi received such impolite demands to “cease nagging”, he would be challenging you over the point of his sword. Don’t think I will do less if you do not apologize at once and make good the debt.’

Lord Jidu stroked his plump waistline like a man just rising from a feast. He watched Mara keenly, and his confidence warned her before the rattle of armour and weapons that a squad of Tuscalora soldiers hurried into view. Papewaio went tense by her side. These were not slack household guards but soldiers well seasoned by extended duty on the border. They stationed themselves at either side of the doorway, in an advantageous formation: in the event of attack, the Acoma bowmen would be forced to fire uphill, and into the glare of the sun.

Pulling himself up to the limit of his squat stature, Lord Jidu stopped stroking his stomach. ‘If I avow that your demand for payment is an affront, what then, Lady Mara? To pester me for the sums due you implies I will not pay my debt. I think you may have insulted Tuscalora honour.’

The accusation caused the soldiers by the door to clap hands to their sword hilts. Their discipline was faultless; and their readiness to charge, a palpable tension in the air. Papewaio signalled the Acoma retinue, and as smoothly the Lady’s green-armoured guard closed protectively about the litter, shields angled outward. Surrounded by men who sweated with nerves and determination, Mara resisted the need to blot her own damp palms. Had her father felt the same fear as he charged on the barbarian world, knowing his death awaited? Fighting to maintain an outward appearance of calm, Mara looked between the shield rims of her bodyguard and locked stares with the Lord of the Tuscalora. ‘Then we agree we have a cause to settle.’

Sweat sparkled on Jidu’s upper lip, yet his eyes were not cowed. He flicked his fingers, and instantly his line of soldiers crouched in preparation for a charge. Almost inaudibly Papewaio murmured for his own men to hold steady. But his heel scuffed backward in the gravel, and behind the litter Mara heard a faint rustle. The archer crouched there, beyond the view of the estate house, had seen the signal. Surreptitiously he strung his bow, and Mara felt fear like a blade in her heart. Papewaio was preparing to fight, and his instincts in matters of war were uncanny.

Still, Lord Jidu’s reply all but unnerved her. ‘You speak boldly, for one who sits deep in the heart of Tuscalora lands.’

Mara arose from her litter and stood motionless in the sunlight. ‘If Acoma honour is not satisfied, blood must answer.’

The two rulers measured each other; the Lord Jidu flicked a glance over Mara’s fifty guards. His own squad was three times that number, and by now his reserves would be armed and awaiting orders from their Strike Leaders, to rush the estate borders where scouts had earlier reported the presence of soldiers in Acoma green. The Lord of the Tuscalora lowered his brows in a manner that caused his servants to duck quickly inside the estate house. ‘The blood spilled will be Acoma, Lady!’ And the man’s plump hand rose and signalled the charge.

Swords scraped from scabbards, and the Tuscalora archers snapped off a flight of arrows, even as their front ranks rushed forward. Mara heard battle cries from the throats of her own soldiers; then Papewaio shoved her down and sideways, out of the line of fire. But his action came too late. Mara felt a thud against her upper arm that turned her half around. She fell back, through gauze curtains and onto the cushions of her litter, a Tuscalora arrow with its pale blue feathers protruding from her flesh. Her vision swam, but she made no outcry.

Dizziness made the sky seem to turn above her as the shields of her defenders clicked together, barely an instant before the enemy closed their charge.

Weapons clashed and shields rang. Gravel scattered under straining feet. Through the haze of discomfort, Mara concentrated upon the fact that the one Acoma archer who mattered had not yet released his round. ‘Pape, the signal,’ she said through clenched teeth. Her voice sounded weak in her own ear.

Her powerful Strike Leader did not answer. Blinking sweat from her eyes, Mara squinted through sunlight and whirling blades until she found the plumed helm. But Papewaio could not come to her, beset as he was by enemies. Even as Mara watched him dispatch one with a thrust to the neck, two others in Tuscalora blue leaped over their dying comrade to engage him. Plainly, Jidu’s orders had been to cut down the one Acoma officer, in the hope that his death might throw Mara’s guard into disarray.

Through her pain, Mara admired the merit of such tactics. With the high number of newcomers among the Acoma guard, and little to no encounters on the battlefield, many of these men were fighting with shieldmates who were strange to them. And against the relentless, concentrated attack of Jidu’s finest warriors, even Papewaio was hard-pressed. Mara gritted her teeth. Only minutes remained before the enemy overwhelmed her guard, and the plan she had devised to avoid their massacre had yet to be put into effect.

She gripped the side of the litter, but even that small movement caused the arrow in her arm to grate against the bone. Agony shot through her body; she whimpered through locked teeth and struggled not to faint.

Blades screeched in a bind, seemingly over her head. Then an Acoma guard crashed back and fell, blood spraying through a rent in his armour. He shuddered, his opened eyes reflecting sky. Then his lips framed a parting prayer to Chochocan, and his hand slackened on his sword. Mara felt-tears sting her eyes. Thus her father had died, and Lano; the thought of little Ayaki spitted on an enemy spear turned her sick with fury.

She reached out and caught the sweat-damp grip of the fallen soldier’s sword. Using the blade as a prop, she dragged herself to her knees. The sun fell hot on her head, and her eyes swam with pain. Through waves of faintness, she saw that an unlucky arrow had managed to dispatch her precious archer. He lay moaning with his hands clenched over his gut. And the signal arrow that would summon Lujan and Tasido to action sparkled unused at his feet.

Mara groaned. Shouts beat against her ears, and the clash of blade on blade seemed like drum rolls in the temple of Turakamu. Papewaio called an order, and the Acoma still able to fight closed ranks, stepping back of necessity over the still-warm bodies of their comrades. Mara prayed to Lashima for strength and reached out with unsteady hands for the fallen archer’s bow.

The horn bow was heavy and awkward, and the arrow slippery in her sweaty hands. Mara notched the shaft with raw determination. Her hand faltered on the string, and the arrow tilted, sliding. She managed to recover it, but the rush of blood to her head momentarily blackened her vision.

She willed herself to continue by touch. Sight cleared in patches; another man crashed against her litter, his blood pattering into streaks across white gauze. Mara braced the bow and strove against weakness and pain to draw.

Her effort failed. Tearing agony laced her shoulder, and her lips drew back in a cry she could not stifle. Weeping tears of shame, she closed her eyes and tried again. The bow resisted her like iron-root. Tremors shook her body, and faintness stifled her awareness like dark felt. As the cries of the men and the clatter of weapons dimmed in her ears, still she strove to pull a bow that probably would have defeated her strength when she was in perfect health.

Suddenly someone’s arms supported her. Sure hands reached around her shoulders and closed firmly on the fingers she held clenched to leather grip and string. And like a miracle, a man’s strength joined hers, and the bow bent, paused, and released.

With a scream audible through the noise of battle, the signal arrow leaped into the sky; and the Ruling Lady of the Acoma passed out into the lap of a man with a leg wound, who, but for the grace lent by her cunning, would have died a condemned criminal in the wilderness. He eased his mistress’s slender form onto the stained cushions of her litter. The strip he should have used to bind his own hurt he pressed to staunch the blood from the arrow wound in Mara’s shoulder, while around him the Tuscalora pressed in for the victory.

Lord Jidu ignored the chilled fruit at his side as he sat forward eagerly upon his cushion. He motioned for a slave to fan cool air upon him while he sat watching the finish of the battle in his dooryard. Perspiration from excitement dripped off his forehead as he regarded his imminent victory – though it seemed to be longer in coming than he had expected. Many of his best warriors bled upon the gravel walk, no small few felled by the black-haired Acoma officer who fought with his hands drenched red to the wrists. He seemed invincible, his blade rising and falling with fatal regularity. But victory would come to the Tuscalora, despite the officer’s aptness at killing. One by one the ranks at his side diminished, overwhelmed by superior numbers. For a moment Jidu considered ordering him captured, for his worth in the arena would recover the cost of this battle. Then the Lord of the Tuscalora discarded the thought. Best to end this quickly. There was still the matter of the other force of Acoma soldiers on his border, now attacking, no doubt, upon the release of that signal arrow. At least one Tuscalora archer had struck the Lady. Perhaps she bled to death even now.

Lord Jidu took a drink from the tray. He drew a long sip, and sighed in anticipation. The question of this debt he had incurred while gambling with Lord Buntokapi was coming to a better conclusion that he could have hoped. Perhaps he might gain the Acoma natami, to bury upside down beside the bones of Tuscalora ancestors. Then the Lord Jidu considered Tecuma of the Anasati, ignorant of this battle. A laugh shook his fat throat. Capture the Acoma brat and force Tecuma to terms! The boy in exchange for withdrawal of Anasati support from the Alliance for War! Jidu smiled at the thought. The Great Game dealt blows to the strong as well as the weak; and any ally of the Warlord’s was to be balked, for war inevitably bent the monkeys of commerce away from chocha and into the pockets of armourers and weapons masters.

But all would depend on this victory, and the Acoma soldiers were showing an alarming reluctance to die. Perhaps, thought Jidu, he had ordered too many to attack the force on the border. Already both sides had been reduced, but now the odds were little better than two to one in favour of the Tuscalora. Again the green plume of the Acoma officer fell back, and the First Strike Leader of the Tuscalora shouted to his men to close. Now only a handful of soldiers remained, crowded against Mara’s litter with their swords swinging in tired hands. Their end was certain now.

Then a breathless messenger raced up to the estate house. The man prostrated himself at his master’s feet. ‘Lord, Acoma troops have penetrated the orchards and fired the chocha-la bushes.’

Jidu bellowed in fury for his hadonra; but worse news followed. The messenger took a gasping breath and finished his report. ‘Two Acoma Strike Leaders with a force of three hundred warriors have taken position between the burning crops and the river. None of our workers can get through to battle the blaze.’

The Lord of the Tuscalora leaped to his feet. Now the situation was critical; chocha-la bushes matured with extreme slowness, and a new field would not mature to yield sufficient harvest to recover his loss within his lifetime. If the bushes burned, the proceeds from this year’s crop could not pay off the creditors. Ruin would be visited upon Jidu’s house, and Tuscalora wealth would be as ashes.

Gesturing for the exhausted messenger to move clear of his path, the Lord of the Tuscalora shouted to his runner. ‘Call up the auxiliary squads from the barracks! Send them to clear a way for the workers!’

The boy ran; and suddenly the fact that Mara’s escort was nearly defeated lost its savour. Smoke turned the morning sky black and evil with soot. Plainly, the fires had been expertly set. Lord Jidu almost struck the second messenger, who arrived panting to report that shortly the crops would be ablaze beyond hope of salvage – unless the Acoma force could be neutralized to allow water brigades access to the river.

Jidu hesitated, then signalled a horn bearer. ‘Call withdraw!’ he ordered bitterly. Mara had set him to select between hard choices: either surrender honour and admit his default as a dishonour, or destroy her at the price of his own house’s destruction.

The herald blew a series of notes and the Tuscalora Strike Leader turned in open astonishment. Final victory was only moments away, but his master was signalling him to order withdraw. Tsurani obedience told, and instantly he had his men backing away from the surrounded Acoma guards.

Of the fifty soldiers who had arrived upon the Tuscalora estates, fewer than twenty stood before their Lady’s blood-splattered litter.

Jidu shouted, ‘I seek truce.’

‘Offer the Lady of the Acoma your formal apology,’ shouted the green-plumed officer, who stood with sword at the ready should combat resume. ‘Satisfy her honour, Lord Jidu, and Acoma warriors will lay down their weapons and aid your men to save the crops.’

The Lord of the Tuscalora jiggled from foot to foot, furious to realize he had been duped. The girl in the litter had planned this strategy from the start; what a vicious twist it set upon the situation. If Jidu deliberated, if he even took time to dispatch runners to survey the extent of the damage to determine whether his force had a hope of breaking through, he might forfeit all. No choice remained but to capitulate.

‘I concede the honour of the Acoma,’ shouted Lord Jidu, though the shame gripped him as though he had eaten unripe grapes. His First Strike Leader called orders for the warriors to lay down their arms, with reluctance.

The Acoma soldiers left living unlocked their shield wall, weary but proud. Papewaio’s eyes flashed victory, but as he turned towards the litter to share victory with his Lady, his sweat-streaked features went rigid. He bent hastily, the bloody sword forgotten in his hand; and for a last, vicious instant, the Lord of the Tuscalora prayed that fortune favoured him. For if the Lady Mara lay dead, the Tuscalora were ruined.

Mara roused, her head aching, her arm aflame. An Acoma soldier was binding it with a torn shred of litter curtain. ‘What …’ she began weakly.

Papewaio’s face suddenly loomed over her. ‘My Lady?’

‘What has passed?’ she asked, her voice sounding small.

‘As you hoped, Jidu ordered a withdrawal when his fields were threatened.’ He glanced over his shoulder, where his battered and weary squad stood ready, and said, ‘We are still in danger, but I think you hold the stronger position for the moment. But you need to speak with Jidu, now, before matters turn for the worse.’

Mara shook her head and allowed Papewaio and another soldier to lift her from her litter. Her feet seemed to betray her. She was forced to cling to her Strike Leader’s arm as slowly she made her way over blood-spattered gravel to where her line of remaining soldiers stood. Mara’s vision was blurred. She blinked several times to clear it, and noticed an acrid smell in the air. Smoke from the fired fields drifted like a pall over the estate house.

‘Mara!’ Jidu’s shout was frantic. ‘I propose a truce. Order your men to stand away from my fields and I’ll admit I was wrong in not acknowledging my obligation.’

Mara regarded the fat, anxious man and coldly moved to turn the situation to Acoma advantage. ‘You attacked me without provocation. Did you think, after admitting you were wrong, I would forgive the slaughter of good men for payment of a debt you owe me anyway?’

‘We can settle our differences later,’ cried Jidu, his colour turning florid. ‘My fields burn.’

Mara nodded. Papewaio motioned with his sword point and a soldier sent another signal arrow overhead. Mara tried to speak, but weakness overcame her. She whispered to Papewaio, who shouted, ‘My mistress says our workers will put out the fires. But our men will maintain position with lit torches. Should anything here go amiss, the chocha-la field will be reduced to ashes.’

Jidu’s eyes went feral as he struggled to think of a way an advantage might still be gained. A ragged, smoke-stained runner raced into the dooryard. ‘Master, Acoma soldiers repulse our men. The auxiliaries failed to open a way to the river.’

The Lord of the Tuscalora lost his resolve. Painfully resigned, he sank to his cushions and rubbed his hands on chubby knees. ‘Very well, Mara. I accept the inevitable. We shall abide by your wishes.’ He said to his First Strike Leader, ‘Put up your arms.’

The Lord of the Tuscalora looked on uneasily while Mara shifted her weight to ease her wounded arm. The Lady of the Acoma had refused Jidu’s offer to let his healer tend her; instead she had settled for a field bandage contrived by Papewaio. Acoma soldiers still held position amid the chocha-la and the Tuscalora Force Commander confirmed the worst. The Acoma could fire the field again before they could be forced back.

Jidu sweated and strove desperately to pass the matter off as a misunderstanding. ‘It was an agreement between men, my Lady. I had many wagers with your late husband. Sometimes he won, sometimes I won. We let the sums accumulate, and when I won a bet, the amount was deducted. If later I chanced to gain the advantage, I let the debt ride in turn. It’s … a gentleman’s agreement.’

‘Well, I do not gamble, Lord Jidu.’ Mara turned dark, angry eyes upon her unwilling host. ‘I think we shall simply settle for payment … and indemnity for the damage done my honour. Acoma soldiers died this day.’

‘You ask the impossible!’ The Lord of the Tuscalora flung pudgy hands in the air in an un-Tsurani-like display of distress.

Mara raised her eyebrows. ‘You still choose not to honour this debt?’ She glanced pointedly towards the Acoma soldiers who clustered close at hand, an archer in their midst ready to launch another signal arrow. Jidu stared at the shell sequins ornamenting his sandals. ‘Ah, my Lady … I’m sorry to cause you inconvenience. But threats cannot change the fact that I am unable to honour the debt at this time. Of course, I will meet my obligation in full the instant my circumstances permit. On this you have my uncompromised word.’

Mara sat very still. Her voice held a hard and bitter edge. ‘I am not presently inclined towards patience, Lord Jidu. How soon may I expect payment?’

Jidu looked abashed as he admitted, ‘I have recently suffered personal reversals, Lady Mara. But I can safely promise compensation when this year’s crop goes to market.’

If it goes to market, Mara thought pointedly. She sat back. ‘The chocha-la harvest is not due for another three months, Lord Jidu. You expect me to wait until then for two thousand centuries of metal – and my indemnity?’

‘But you must,’ the Lord of the Tuscalora exclaimed miserably. He motioned in distress to the short, thin man who sat at his master’s side. Sijana, the Tuscalora hadonra, shuffled scrolls in a hasty review of the estate’s finances. He whispered furiously in his master’s ear and paused, expectant. Lord Jidu patted his stomach with renewed confidence. ‘Actually, Lady, two thousand centuries can be paid now – plus another five hundred to repair the damage you’ve suffered. But a single payment of that size would prevent me from expanding the planting for next year. Lord Buntokapi understood this and promised to allow a favourable repayment schedule, five hundred centuries a year for the next four years – five years to cover the restitution.’ The hadonra’s nod of satisfaction turned to dismay; a deep flush rose from Jidu’s collar as he realized his words had contradicted his earlier insistence that his debt was to be left to wait upon the outcome of future wagers. Since Mara was certain to seize upon this small but shameful lie, he quickly added, ‘I’ll pay interest, of course.’

Heavy silence fell, punctuated by Jidu’s heavy breathing and a near-imperceptible creak of armour as Papewaio shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Mara used her good hand to open her fan, her manner poisonously sweet. ‘You argue like a moneylender, while Acoma soldiers lie dead outside your door? If my late Lord chose to offer terms on the debt, so be it. Produce the document and we shall abide by the terms.’

Jidu blinked. ‘But our agreement was spoken, Lady Mara, a promise between noblemen.’

The fan vibrated in the air as Mara reined back rage. ‘You have no proof? And yet you haggle?’

With his field held hostage, Jidu shied from bringing up matters of honour again. ‘You have my word, my Lady.’

Mara winced. The Lord of the Tuscalora had created a situation where she could only call him forsworn, an insult no ruler could ignore. Etiquette demanded that the Lady of the Acoma accept the agreement, thereby gaining nothing for the next three months, and then only a fifth of what was due, or resume the useless slaughter.

The fan poised motionless in her hand. ‘But this debt is overdue already, Lord Jidu,’ she said. ‘Your hadonra’s failure to acknowledge inquiries in timely fashion brought about this impasse. I will brook no more delays, or your fields will be put to the torch.’

‘What do you propose?’ he asked weakly.

Mara rested her pretty fan on her knee. Though her wound obviously taxed her, she judged her moment perfectly, offering a counterbargin before Jidu’s wits could recover. ‘My Lord, you own a small strip of land between my northern and southern needra fields, cut down the middle by the dry stream bed.’

Jidu nodded. ‘I know the land.’ He had once offered to sell that same acreage to Mara’s father; Sezu had declined, because the land was useless. The banks of the dried stream were rocky and eroded and much too steep to cultivate. A crafty expression crossed the features of the Lord of the Tuscalora. ‘Have you a need for that land, my Lady?’

Mara tapped her fan, thoughtful. ‘We recently gave the use of our upper meadow to the cho-ja. Now, Jican might find it useful for those lower fields to be connected, perhaps with a plank bridge so the needra calves can cross without injuring their legs.’ Recalling the stray note Sezu had left penned in one corner of a very tattered map, Mara stifled a smile. As if conceding a favour, she added, ‘Lord Jidu, I am willing to cancel your debt in exchange for the land and all privileges granted along with it. Also, you will vow not to oppose the Acoma for the remainder of your life.’

The wizened hadonra stiffened in poorly hidden alarm; he whispered in his master’s ear. The Lord of the Tuscalora heard him, then smiled unctuously at Mara. ‘As long as the Tuscalora are allowed access to the Imperial Highway for our wagons, I’ll agree.’

The Lady of the Acoma returned a gracious wave of her fan. ‘But of course. Your workers may drive your wagons down the gully to the highway anytime they wish, Lord Jidu.’

‘Done!’ Lord Jidu’s cheeks bulged into a smile. ‘My word upon it! And gladly.’ Then in an attempt to reduce tensions, he bowed low. ‘I also salute your courage and wisdom, Lady, that this unfortunate confrontation has brought a closer bond between our two families.’

Mara gestured to Papewaio, who helped her rise. ‘I’ll have your vow, Jidu. Bring out your family sword.’

For a moment there was tension in the air again, for Mara was publicly demanding the most sacred oath in place of a simple assurance. Still, until the Tuscalora fields were clear of Acoma warriors, Lord Jidu dared not protest. He sent a servant to fetch the ancient sword of his forefathers, one as old as any in the Empire, precious steel wrapped in a simple sheath of cane wood. While Mara and her officer looked on, the Lord of the Tuscalora gripped the hilt and pronounced his oath to abide by his promise in the name of his ancestors.

At last satisfied, Mara gestured to her soldiers. They helped her back into her bloodstained litter. Her face seemed pale as she lay back in her cushions. Gently her retinue lifted her onto their shoulders. As they prepared to carry their wounded mistress home, Mara nodded at the Lord of the Tuscalora. ‘The debt is met fairly, Jidu. I will gladly tell anyone who asks that the Lord of the Tuscalora is a man of honour who meets his obligations without flinching.’ Then she added, pointedly, ‘And abides by his promises. All will know your word is your bond.’

The Lord of the Tuscalora stood unflinching under the sting of her sarcasm. He had underrated her and had lost a great deal of prestige through the mistake. But at least the breach of honour would not become public knowledge, and for that small grace he thanked the heavens.

When the Acoma retinue was safely away from the Tuscalora house, Mara closed her eyes and hid her face in her hands. Alarmed, Papewaio stepped closer to the litter. ‘You took a very great risk, my Lady. Yet you triumphed.’

Mara’s reply came muffled through her hands. ‘Many brave men were killed.’

Papewaio nodded. ‘But they died like warriors, mistress. Those who gained honour at your command will sing your praises before the gods.’ He fell silent then, for the litter seemed to be shaking. ‘My Lady?’

Papewaio looked to see what ailed his mistress. Behind the shield of her palms, Mara was weeping with anger. Papewaio left her to her own release for a time, then said, ‘If the gully is flooded, the Lord of the Tuscalora will have no easy way to take his crops to market.’

Mara’s hands came down. Despite red eyes and a white face, her expression showed crafty triumph. ‘If Jidu is forced to use the long pass around the gorge to reach the Imperial Highway, his chocha-la will spoil with mould by the time it reaches Sulan-Qu. That will cause hardship for my Lord of the Tuscalora, for I doubt he’ll be able to pay the toll I will impose upon use of my needra bridge.’ When Papewaio turned curious eyes upon his mistress, she added, ‘You heard Jidu vow never to oppose the Acoma? Well, that is a start. That fat dog will be my first vassal. Within the season, Pape, within the season.’

The Acoma Strike Leader marched along, considering what this young woman had accomplished since he had accompanied Keyoke to the temple to bring her home. He nodded once to himself. Yes, Jidu of the Tuscalora would bend his knee before Mara or else forfeit his harvest. Such were the ways of the game, and Mara had gained the victory. There could be no doubt.

The brightly painted litter sitting in the dooryard of the Acoma estate house confirmed that Bruli of the Kehotara awaited the Lady of the Acoma. Mara reined in her irritation. Returned from the hive of the cho-ja, whose growing Queen had offered wonderful balms for healing Mara’s shoulder, the young woman dismissed her bearers and escort. She must at least offer her personal greeting before giving Bruli an excuse to quit her presence, or else risk insult to the Kehotara. Which, Mara considered, might just be one of the reasons the Lord of the Minwanabi had dispatched his vassal’s handsome son to the Acoma estate.

Misa, the prettier of her personal maids, waited just inside the door. She held a comb and brush, and one arm was draped with a richly embroidered overrobe whose colours would set off her mistress’s dark eyes. Recognizing the hand of Nacoya in the appointing of the welcoming committee, Mara submitted without comment. With the slightest of frowns marring her brow, she stood while Misa’s hands expertly arranged her hair into a knot fastened with jewelled pins. The overrobe fastened in front with a row of flimsy ribbons, yet hid the white bandage that dressed the wound on her upper arm. Questioning Nacoya’s taste, Mara nodded briskly for Misa to retire, then made her way to the great hall where Nacoya was entertaining her guest in her absence.

The young son of the Kehotara rose and bowed formally on her entrance. He wore a costly robe buttoned with sapphires, the high cut of the hem and sleeves showing his legs and arms to good advantage.

‘Bruli, how pleasant to see you again.’ Mara sat on the cushions opposite the young man, bemused by his changed appearance. He was a good-looking man. Inwardly, she considered that most young ladies would have been flattered, even anxious, to be the focus of this suitor’s attention. His smile almost glowed and his charm was undeniable. In some ways it was a pity he was born to a noble house, for he could easily have been a master of the Reed Life and retired wealthy from the rewards of sharing his charms with powerful clients.

‘My Lady, I am pleased to see you again.’ Bruli seated himself, neatly tucking his sandals beneath his calves. ‘I trust the business with your neighbour went well?’

Mara nodded absently. ‘Merely a small debt from Jidu to my late Lord Buntokapi that needed settlement. The matter has been resolved.’

A flicker of interest stirred in the eyes of the young man, at odds with his languid expression. Reminded that Bruli might himself be an agent for the Minwanabi, Mara steered the conversation away from her contention with Lord Jidu. ‘My outing this morning has left me tired and hot. If you will join me, I will have my servant bring wine and cakes to the garden.’ To allow her tactic time to have effect, she seized upon the simplest excuse. ‘I will meet you there after I change into a more comfortable robe.’

Nacoya nodded almost imperceptibly, telling Mara that her delay had been opportune. The young suitor bowed. While a servant led him away, the First Adviser to the Acoma hurried to her mistress’s side, her usual grouchy manner replaced by solicitude. ‘Did the cho-ja ease your pain?’

‘Yes.’ Mara fingered the ribbons on the overrobe. ‘Now, mother of my heart, will you explain to me what this silly frippery has to do with our plans for young Bruli?’

Nacoya’s eyes widened with evil delight. ‘Ah, Mara-anni, you have much to learn of the ways of men!’ Taking her charge firmly by the hand, she towed her off to her private quarters. ‘This afternoon you must do your best to be the temptress, my Lady. I have selected appropriate raiment for you to wear after your bath.’

Crossing the threshold, Nacoya displayed a conspirator’s excitement. Servants could be heard pouring bath water behind the small folding partition, and several items of clothing had been neatly laid out upon the sleeping mat. Mara regarded her adviser’s chosen outfit with a sceptical eye. ‘Nacoya, several pieces seem to be missing.’

Nacoya smiled. She gathered up the skimpy lounging robe, commonly worn by ladies in the privacy of their own quarters. Nudity, per se, was not a social difficulty. Adults and children of both sexes bathed together and a small loincloth for swimming was optional. But like most things involved with courtship, provocation was a condition of the mind. Worn in the garden in the presence of a stranger, this slight gown would prove more alluring than if Mara had invited Bruli to swim naked with her.

Nacoya ran old fingers over the gauzy fabric, her manner suddenly serious. ‘For my small plan to work, Bruli must become motivated by more than the wish to please his father. If he comes to desire you, he will do things he otherwise would never consider. You must act as flirtatiously as you are able.’

Mara almost winced. ‘Shall I simper?’ She turned sideways, surrendering the lace fan to one of the servants who arrived to remove her travelling robes.

‘That might not hurt.’ Nacoya stepped over to a chest and fished out a small vial. Then she hummed softly over the splash of the bath water; the song was an ancient courting tune she remembered from her youth. Presently Mara emerged from behind the screen, swathed in soft towels. The old woman waved the servants aside and dabbed an exotic essence upon the girl’s shoulders and wrists, and between her breasts. Then she lifted the towels aside; regarding the nude form of her mistress, she resisted an impulse to cackle. ‘You’ve a fine, healthy body on you, Mara-anni. If you could practise a little more grace and elegance in your movement, you could have all the blood gone from his head in a minute.’

Not at all convinced, Mara turned towards the reflecting glass, a costly gift from a clan leader on her wedding day. Against its dark patina, a dimmer shadow returned her gaze. Childbirth had left a minimum of stretch marks, the result of constant ministration of special oils during her pregnancy. Her breasts were slightly larger than before Ayaki’s conception, but her stomach was as flat as ever. After giving birth to her son she had begun the practice of tan-che, the ancient formal dance that strengthened the body while keeping it limber. But Mara found little attractive in her slender form, particularly after having seen Teani’s charms.

‘I’m going to feel terribly silly,’ she confided to her image in the glass. Nevertheless, she allowed the servants to dress her in the skimpy robe, with several pieces of flashing jewellery and a ribbon upon her right ankle. Billowy sleeves concealed the dressing on her upper arm. Humming loudly now, Nacoya stepped behind her mistress and gathered her hair on top of her head. Binding it with ivory and jade pins, she fussed and allowed a few wisps to dangle artfully down around Mara’s face. ‘There; men like the slightly dishevelled look. It puts them in mind of what ladies look like in the morning.’

‘Bleary-eyed and puffy-faced?’ Mara almost laughed.

‘Bah!’ Nacoya shook her finger, deadly serious. ‘You have yet to learn what most women guess by instinct, Mara-anni. Beauty is as much attitude as face and form. If you enter the garden like an Empress, slowly, moving as if every man who sees you is your slave, Bruli would ignore a dozen pretty dancing girls to take you to his bed. As much as managing your estates, this skill is necessary for a Ruling Lady. Remember this: move slowly. When you sit, or sip your wine, be as elegant as you can, like a woman of the Reed Life when she struts on her balcony over the streets. Smile and listen to Bruli as if everything he says is stunningly brilliant, and should he jest, for the gods’ sake laugh, even if the joke is poor. And if your robes move and part a little, let him peek a bit before you cover up. I wish this son of the Kehotara to be snorting after you like a needra bull at breeding time.’

‘Your plan had better prove worthwhile,’ said Mara with distaste. She ran her fingers through jingling layers of necklaces. ‘I feel like a merchant’s manikin. But I will try to act like Bunto’s little whore, Teani, if you think advantage will come of it.’ Then her voice gained an edge. ‘Understand this, though, mother of my heart. I will not take this young calley bird to bed.’

Nacoya smiled at her reference to the finely plumed birds kept by many nobles for their beauty. ‘A calley bird he is, mistress, and my plan requires that he show us his finest plumage.’

Mara looked heavenward, then nodded. She started her usual brisk walk, but remembered to move out the door with her best imitation of a woman of the Reed Life. Attempting to be languid in her approach to the young suitor, Mara blushed with embarrassment. She thought her entrance was exaggerated to the point of silliness, but Bruli sat up straight upon his cushions. He smiled broadly and jumped to his feet, bowing deferentially to the Lady of the Acoma; all the while his eyes drank in her image.

Once Mara was installed upon her cushions, the young man might even have poured her wine himself, but the servant, who was actually Arakasi, accomplished the service before him. His manner showed no trace of distrust, but Mara knew he would never let his mistress accept any cup touched by a vassal of the Minwanabi. Aware, suddenly, that Bruli had ceased talking, Mara flashed him a brilliant smile. Then, almost shyly, she lowered her eyes and pretended intent interest. His conversation seemed trivial, concerning people and events of seemingly little consequence. But she listened to the gossip of the court and cities as if the subjects fascinated her, and she laughed at Bruli’s attempts at wit. Arakasi directed the house slaves, who came and went with trays of wine-soaked fruit. As Bruli’s breath smelled more and more strongly of spirits, his tongue loosened, and his laughter boomed across the garden. Once or twice he rested his fingers lightly on Mara’s wrist, and though she was not in the least bit intoxicated, his gentleness sent a thrill through her body. Idly she wondered whether Nacoya was right and there was more to love between man and woman that Buntokapi’s rough handling had shown.

But her inner barriers stayed raised. Though to Mara the act was laughable, so awkward did she feel in the role of seductress, the detached observer within her noted that Bruli seemed entranced. His gaze never left her. Once, as she waved Arakasi back to pour more wine, the front of her robe parted slightly. As Nacoya had advised, she hesitated before closing the gap. Bruli’s lashes widened, and his pretty eyes seemed nailed to the slight swell of bosom revealed. How odd, she thought, that a man so handsome should be moved by such a thing. He must have had many women; why should another not bore him? But Nacoya’s wisdom was ancient. Mara followed her adviser’s lead and a little later allowed her hem to creep upward slightly.

Bruli stumbled over his words. Smiling, sipping wine to hide his clumsiness, he still could not help staring at the slowly increasing expanse of her thigh.

Nacoya had been right; testing further, Mara said, ‘Bruli, I must beg your leave to retire. But I hope you will have time to return to us in’ – she pouted, as if thought were very difficult for her, then smiled – ‘say, two days.’ She rose with all the grace she could muster, artfully allowing her robe to fall more open than before. Bruli’s colour deepened. To Mara’s gratification, he returned an emphatic assurance that he would return upon her pleasure. Then he sighed, as if two days seemed a long period.

Mara left the garden, aware that he watched her until she disappeared into the shadows of the house. Nacoya waited at the first door, the glint in her eyes revealing that she had observed the entire hour’s conversation.

‘Do all men have their brains between their legs?’ Mara inquired. Frowning, she compared Bruli’s behaviour to what she remembered of her father’s stern manner and her brother’s rakish charm.

Nacoya hustled her mistress briskly away from the screen. ‘Most, thank the gods.’ Pausing before the door to Mara’s quarters, she added, ‘Mistress, women have few means to rule their own lives. You have the rare fortune to be a Ruling Lady. The rest of us live at the whim of our lords or husbands or fathers, and what you have just practised is the mightiest weapon at our command. Fear the man who doesn’t desire a woman, for he will see you only as a tool or a foe.’ Almost gloatingly, she patted Mara’s shoulder. ‘But our young calley bird is smitten, I think, as much as working on his father’s behalf. Now I will hurry to reach him in the outer courtyard before he takes his leave. I have a few suggestions on how he may win you.’

Mara watched the old woman hurry energetically away, hairpins leaning precariously to the left. Shaking her head at the follies of life, she wondered what Nacoya would advise this silly young suitor from the Kehotara. Then she decided she would consider that in a hot tub. This display of womanly charms for the purpose of inflaming Bruli had left her feeling slightly soiled.