Maia (Beklan Empire 1)

In the lower city, droves of cattle and of slaves arrived in dusty clouds, both by way of the Gate of Lilies and the Blue Gate: wounded soldiers returned from the fronts and companies of recruits marched out under veteran tryzatts. Fleitil and his men put the last, finishing touches to the great statue of Airtha in the temple precinct. The beggars and cripples sat scratching themselves in the shade, ragged children pilfered from the stalls and the pilgrims murmured their prayers and made their offerings before the Tamarrik Gate. Lalloc, who had replaced Zuno with Megdon from the Puhra depot, ordered him to sort out the prettiest girls from among the provincial consignments and prepare them for private sale in the upper city. In reply to his inquiries as to the present whereabouts of Genshed--for Occula had been insistent to learn what might have become of him following his flight--Megdon could tell nothing except that he had said he meant to clear out of the empire altogether and try his luck in Terekenalt. The old woman's sweet-shop was in new hands, repainted and smartened up. The gold and silversmiths were enjoying an excellent season, while the Street of the Armourers had more business up and down its steep length than the oldest could recall. No traveler from a distant land could have discerned that this was the heart of a realm where rebellion and civil war lay germinating behind the fac.ade of mercantile prosperity.

Maia, still unable in her heart to feel any inclination for a lover, was nevertheless finding refusal even harder than before. The story of her auction had spread through the provinces, and although most, perhaps, of the wealthy visitors to the upper city were content--or at any rate appeased--merely to see the fabled Serrelinda, there were always some who (especially after they had caught a glimpse of her: for she was hanged if she was going to live the life of an anchorite) could not resist trying their luck.

There were many callers at her house by the Barb, and although no one offered her nine thousand meld (no one having nine thousand meld to offer), several men, sending passionate letters through Ogma or Jarvil, promised large sums in return for no more than an hour of her time. One young Belishban nobleman, who had been most persistent, at last stabbed himself one night outside her gate, but fortunately was picked up by his friends and taken home to recover. Gifts and flowers Maia accepted, although, remembering Milvushina's warning, she never ate sweetmeats or anything which had not been bought and prepared by Ogma. Letters she ignored and money her servants had orders to refuse. After a few weeks her attendant soldiers, at her own request, were increased to three, the third being necessary to protect her from spontaneous demonstrations like that of Selperron, some of which were of a less acceptable nature.

She began to go about more and accepted a number of invitations, mostly to small supper-parties and the like given by Nennaunir, Otavis, Dyphna and other reputable shearnas eager to show themselves her friends. Yet on such occasions she always asked her hostess to make it clear beforehand to the male guests that her favors were not available and that in this respect she would be displeased not to be taken at her word.

The upper city, of course, was sadly denuded of young men by the wars. Sarget the wine-merchant, however, at whose party in the Barons' Palace she had danced the senguela, became a good friend, perceiving and appreciating as he did her sincere love of music. On several evenings Maia found herself one of no more than four or five guests whom this quiet, unassuming man had invited to listen to Fordil and his players until a late hour. In this way she learned much, for Sarget would ask Fordil not only to play but to talk about his art, or perhaps to explain the intricacies of some composition--his own or another's. She never danced, however, at these supper-parties--only at her shearna friends'--for as often as not Sarget would have invited one or two members of the Thlela, and she knew well enough the difference between such natural grace and vivacity as she possessed and the life-long discipline and skill of dedicated professionals.

Yet with all these distractions, the recollection of Zen-Kurel never left her. That is to say, the conviction that Zen-Kurel was her lover refused to be relegated to the past. She could not think of him as gone, as nothing but a memory. Often she recalled what Occula had said to her in Sencho's house about work and pleasure. Poor Maia! she thought one day, in one of her rare indulgences of self-pity: reckon there's been a lot more on the work side than what there has on t'other. To only two men had she ever given her heart together with her body, and one of those had been no more than a green girl's introduction. To have loved Tharrin was hardly matter for poignant reminiscence: left to herself at home she'd have grown out of him--oh, yes--soon enough. Ah, that was just nature, she thought: any girl begins by feeling herself in love with the man who takes her virginity. That was why she still wept for him, why he still visited her dreams with his livid throat and his poor, staring eyes. But of course there had never been--never could have been--any notion of part-nership or marriage between herself and Tharrin.

But her tears flowed also when she dwelt upon the brief hours which she and Zen-Kurd had spent together. She had fallen into a habit of recalling, of dwelling upon every least detail--things of no moment whatever; how in explanation she had tapped out a dance-rhythm with her fingers on his chest; how she had dropped one of the daggers and he had picked it up; the healed scar on his forearm which she had meant to ask him about and then forgotten--for all the world like some old man, with little left now to occupy his time, continually handling the petty treasures and souvenirs hoarded in his room. Yet this preoccupation was not of her own wisli--or not entirely. There were plenty of times when she reminded herself of everything which common sense so cogently suggested. Why not forget? She was a public figure in a realm hostile to Katria. Zen-Kurel might already have put her out of his thoughts. And even setting that aside, on grounds of sheer probability it seemed all the world to nothing that she and he would never meet again. He might even be dead. Wasn't she as lucky as she could well be, the Serrelinda? It was open to her to pick and choose where she would. She could marry a powerful Beklan noble and live secure for the rest of her hfe.

And yet--and yet, she could not tell why, but she felt certain that Zen-Kurel was not dead. And with Maia, who no more weighed rational probabilities or assessed likelihood than any other girl in the half-civilized and superstition-dominated empire, intuitive certainty differed little from informed knowledge. And she was equally sure that he had not forgotten her, for if she knew how she felt, then she knew how he felt. "And I'm no enemy of Katria, nor yet of Terekenalt," she used to say to herself. "I'm a Suban marsh-frog!" This, of course, was pure quibbling, for originally Suba had been bitterly hostile to annexation by King Karnat. But after the initial shock of what poor Tharrin had revealed to her Maia had first absorbed, then accepted and finally come to cherish as a delicious secret her exotic origins in that remote marshland whither she had actually been and hardly anyone else in Bekla had. Naturally, she also cherished the thought of Nokomis, just as anyone throughout the entire human race feels proud of a famous and distinguished forebear. No, she was no Tonildan and no Beklan either; and therefore no enemy of K.atria.

Reason as she would, she remained convinced that she and Zen-Kurel were fated to meet again, though when and where she could not imagine. So persistently did this notion haunt her that one bright noonday, when the city walls seemed wavering in the heat and most of its people dozing in the shade, she went down to the temple and asked--as did many on occasion--for a seer to read the omens for her.

The man to whom she was conducted was a handsome young priest--no eunuch, but on the contrary possessed of a warm, reassuring manner; so that she found herself liking and (rather to her surprise) trusting him. He began by asking her to tell him, in confidence and without reservation, the entire matter on her mind, but this she felt unable to do.

"There's someone I hope to meet again," she said. "I believe I shall, but I want to know when and how."

"A man or a woman?" he asked, smiling.

"Well--a man."

"Where is he?"

She

shrugged. "I wish I knew. Far away."

"So is there no ordinary, day-to-day likelihood of your paths crossing?"

She paused, troubled by the question. Yet there could be only one answer. "No."

"Do you believe that he will seek you out?"

"He would, but it's not in his power. He won't have forgotten me, I know that."

"Saiyett, if the god and I are to help you, you must make the effort to be frank. Do you love this man? Who is he?"

She shook her head. "I can't tell you no more. Here's the money. If you can help me, I shall be grateful: else we'll have to leave it."

He nodded equably, accepting her at her word, and proceeded to the usual astrological questions about her age and the approximate dates of her first menstruation and loss of virginity. This done, he asked her to throw a handful of brightly-colored sticks--red, blue and green-- into a basin of sand; then to look at a sheet of gnarled bark and tell him what likenesses she perceived on its surface. At length he left her, retreating into a little alcove where he stood for several minutes in silence.

"This is all the god vouchsafes," he said at last, returning to where she sat waiting. "It's little enough, but then you have told me so little, saiyett. You will meet this man again if you yourself seek him; and else not. Also the god says, 'Opportunity is all.' "

" 'Opportunity is all'?" she repeated, looking up at him in perplexity.

He bowed. "I wish you well, saiyett. Believe me, I have done my best for you."

Anyone might have said as much, she thought, going over it in her mind while Ogma prepared a coot bath and laid out for her two or three robes from which to choose for the evening. She had been invited to supper by Milvushina and, since she had been expressly told that no one ehse would be there, was naturally curious to know what she was to hear--or to be asked.

Anyone might have said as much. Still, that was nothing unusual. After all, doctors frequently advised, "Go to bed until you feel better" and lawyers (or so she had heard) often said, "You have a weak case and might as well not proceed"; and took their fees for saying those things. Well, to hear from a professional nothing more than the obvious at least clarified your mind and stopped you thinking in circles. "If you seek him ..." Yet how was she to do that? "Opportunity is all." Was she to make it, then?

"Zenka," she asked silently, "won't you tell me, darling?" But for once he made no reply in her heart, only smiling as he had smiled in the lamplight at Melvda when he had promised that he would always love her and begged her never to forget him.

Rather abstractedly, she selected a plain robe of very pale gray and a contrasting necklace of tawny ziltate beads from the Telthearna; a present from some admirer. No doubt, she thought, their price had lined some Ortelgan pocket; perhaps Ged-la-Dan's.

Milvushina received her warmly and affectionately. The old reserves which had at one time constrained their relationship had entirely vanished, due--or so Maia felt-- not only to their closer acquaintance and happier fortunes, but also to a certain mutual dependence which each felt without actually saying as much.

Milvushina, an aristocrat to her fingertips but nevertheless a girl from the back of beyond, her man gone to the wars and her servants all Beklan, often found herself, even now, somewhat out of her depth. From Maia she could seek advice without breach of confidence or loss of dignity.

Maia, for her part, was more than glad of a friend who, unlike the shearnas, was not for ever concerned with men, basting and the material advantages to be gained therefrom. Nennaunir and Otavis were warm-hearted, unenvious and the most easy-going and tolerant company imaginable, yet she not infrequently felt--to her own surprise and self-annoyance--that there were things about which she could not speak to them. Nennaunir, who admired her success, was plainly ready to stand by her anywhere; would have lent her money if she had needed it, lied for her or spoken up in her defense against anyone.

Yet she could not have talked to Nennaunir about Zen-Kurel.

Milvushina was another matter. Although Maia had not as yet spoken to her of Zen-Kurel, she had come to feel that one day, when she was ready, she would probably find sympathy and understanding.

What she felt to be their common bond was a sense of deep personal integrity transcending superficial contamination. Whatever had befallen Milvushina, whatever had been done to her, she plainly regarded as past and over, and her true self as remaining intact despite it. Her devotion to Elvair-ka-Virrion was no matter of expediency or eye-to-the-main-chance. In her own eyes she had neither come down in the world nor (like Nennaunir) up in it: she was Elvair-ka-Virrion's consort and the willing mother of his unborn child. With all this Maia felt herself entirely in sympathy.

Milvushina received her wearing a dark-blue, loose-bod-ied gown of Yeldashay silk on which was embroidered in gold thread a likeness of Airtha the mother almost identical to that which Maia had seen last year in the long gallery of this very house. Smiling, she put her hands behind her back and drew it close for a moment, to show Maia the swell of her belly beneath.

"Enjoying it?" asked Maia, passing an admiring hand over the curve.

Milvushina nodded happily, poured wine for them both and led her into the cool, flower-scented supper-room.

Maia, naturally, asked first about the latest news from Elvair-ka-Virrion and the Chalcon expedition, and of this Milvushina spoke with every appearance of cheerfulness, giving--very convincingly--the impression of having heard nothing which she could not mention in the hearing of the slaves.

"In the last letter I had--that was three days ago---he said they were a good thirty miles or more into Chalcon and sending out patrols to find Santil's main force. It's very difficult country, he says--"

Milyushina laughed--"well, I could have told him that--and it's not always easy to get supplies through. Apparently at least one baggage-train's been ambushed."

"What d'you reckon's going to be the rights of it, then?" asked Maia.

"Well, if you really want to know, I think it'll all come to little or nothing," answered Milvushina. "I told Elvair as much myself. In those hills Santil can keep out of the way for as long as he likes--I should imagine--and then of course he's got the people on his side. I felt quite sure Elvair would have trouble feeding an army that size once they really got any distance into Chalcon. If you ask me, they'll be back before the end of the summer and no one much hurt on either side. But they'll have lots of rip-roaring stories to tell, won't they? Men always do."

They talked of other things. After supper, however, when the sun had set, the slaves had brought in the lamps and left them together and she was sitting at her embroidery frame, Milvushina came back to the war in a rather different vein.

"I didn't want to say this before," she said. "I know slaves get to hear everything anyway, but I don't want them saying they heard it from me. I can't help worrying, Maia. Elvair says the whole country's bitterly hostile, even though he's had it proclaimed everywhere that they've no quarrel with anyone except Santil. I told him how it would be. My father was very well-liked, you see; and besides-- well, I think they're angry about me, too."

" 'Tain't all that surprising," said Maia.

"Elvair says arrows come flying out of the trees, bridges get broken, sentries are found strangled--all that sort of thing--and never an enemy to be seen. But what in Cran's name did he expect?"

"Has he told Kembri all this, or just you?" asked Maia.

"I don't know what he's told Kembri," said Milvushina. She paused, holding up two contrasting strands of yellow to the lamp. "It's so hard to tell in this light, isn't it? Which one would go better with the green, d'you think?" And then, as Maia pointed to one of them, "But I know what Kembri told me, only this morning. Not about Chalcon-- about Urtah."

"Uriah?"said Maia. "What about Urtah, then? You mean as there's trouble there, too?"

"So Kembri was saying," answered Milvushina. "You know, of course, don't you, that the Urtans have been pressing for Bayub-Otal to be pardoned and rele

ased? Kembri's still holding him in Dari-Paltesh, to make sure his father keeps the province quiet; I don't know for certain, but it's my belief he's told the old man secretly that he will release Bayub-Otal as soon as things have quietened down and people have begun to forget about what happened in Suba."

She refilled Maia's goblet. "But the High Baron of Ur-tah's one thing, you know, and the Urtans themselves are another. There are a lot of people there who hate the Leopards and aren't content to wait. There's been trouble; no actual rebellion yet, but the next thing to it, and naturally Kembri's worried. There's unrest in Belishba, too. Apparently the governor's written to Kembri that there's so much heldro opposition to the slave quotas there that unless they're reduced he can't undertake to go on keeping law and order. It's the open fighting in Chalcon that's sparked all this off; I'm certain of that. I only wish to Cran the Leopards had left Santil alone and Elvair was safe back in Bekla. To tell you the truth, Maia, the whole thing's troubling me very much."

She was silent for a time, and Maia was silent too, listening to the distant cry of the watchman on the Peacock Wall and the thin "twink, twink" of bats hunting above the dark garden outside.

At length Milvushina resumed. "But actually, none of this is really what I wanted to talk to you about, Maia dear. There's something else; something nearer home that concerns you as much as me."

"Oh, ah?" Maia waited with some little apprehension.

"Do you remember," went on Milvushina, "one day when we were at your house, I told you I was afraid of Fornis?"

"Ah; on account of Elvair'd taken you away from old Sencho's," said Maia. "Nor he wouldn't send you back to Chalcon when she told him."

"Well, it's worse now," said Milvushina. "Durakkon's told Fornis officially that at the end of this year she'll have to cease to be Sacred Queen."

"Don't see as he could have done anything else," replied Maia. "I mean, her time's up anyway; more than up, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you can guess how much she likes the idea. And meanwhile everyone's begun talking about who's to succeed her."