"A dream, eh?" said a red-haired man in a short, sacking smock, who reminded Maia horribly of the Sacred Queen attired for her pleasure. "What's dreams?--just a lot of rubbish--"
"Then I s'pose you reckon it was all rubbish when Lespa told me King Karaat's battle-plan in a dream, do you?" said Maia.
This came out with the greatest conviction. In the mo-ment that she was saying it she believed it herself.
"And I s'pose you'll say next that it wasn't Lespa who brought me safe across the river? D'you want to make her angry, talking like that? I tell you--this star's the sword of Bekla, come to destroy her enemies!"
"Is that the rights of it, saiyett?" asked the big man. "Honest?"
"Of course it is!" answered Maia. "Give me patience! Lespa sends you the best sign for a thousand years, and you stand there wondering whether it's good or bad---"
It was not only her beauty--that clear and patent sign of the favor of the gods--but her whole manner, her air of joyous confidence in the midst of their anxiety, which they found more convincing than any words.
" I believe her!" shouted an older man. "Well, stands to reason, don't it? If the goddess was going to tell anyone, it'd be the Serrelinda she'd tell. Hasn't she had the goddess's favor all along?--and damned lucky for all of us, too! She's right, the star's good!"
By this time a considerable crowd had gathered round the jekzha, and Brero and his mate were fidgeting uneasily in the shafts.
"Where d'you want to go, then, saiyett?" asked the big smith. "You want to go down the Market and tell the lot of them, is that it?"
"Yes, Baltis, yes!" cried Maia; at which there was a roar of laughter, while someone called out "She even knows his name!" Smiths throughout the empire were generically called Baltis, but evidently this had been a rather luckier shot than that.
They opened up the way for her, calling out "Maia! Maia!" and striding along beside the jekzha as the soldiers pulled it down the hill and into the sandy expanse of the Caravan Market. Here all manner of people--slaves, stall:keepers, shearrias, beggars, merchants, tradesmen and their wives--were gathered in groups, gazing northward at the comet and talking together; some among themselves in low voices, others loudly and excitedly, arguing and gesticulating. A few booths were open and one or two hawkers were also seizing the opportunity for business. In the half-darkness it was difficult to tell how many people might be there altogether, but Maia guessed perhaps a thousand.
"Are you going to the Scales, then, saiyett, or where?" asked Brero over his shoulder.
When Maia, prompted by the words of Sarget's man, had first set out, she had simply had it in mind to go down to the lower city, walk about among the people and show them that at any rate she, a popular public figure, was not afraid. As so often, she had acted on impulse and without any clear idea of what she thought was likely to ensue. In the Street of the Armourers she had answered spontaneously.
Now--or so it appeared--she seemed expected to make some kind of speech. Yet she had no idea what to say.
The plinth of Fleitil's bronze Scales--those same onto which Selperron had climbed to get a look at the Serrelinda--was not infrequently used as a rostrum, both by official and unofficial public speakers.
Possibly the smiths and armourers had not thought of the Scales until Brero spoke, but they did now all right.
" 'Course she is, soldier!" shouted Baltis. "Why don't you pull her up the ramp? Then she needn't even get down."
At one end of the plinth was a long, gently-inclined ramp, and up this (in the absence of any instruction to the contrary from the dazed Maia) the soldiers now drew the jekzha. Seconds later she found herself some six or seven feet above the sandy market-place, looking down on bobbing heads, flaring torches and everywhere faces, young and old, male and female, all unconsciously revealing their common anxiety and disquiet.
They had something else in common, however; they all knew her. She was their Serrelinda, their swimmer, the girl who had raised nine thousand meld in twenty minutes and given the lot (so they supposed) to the Chalcon expedition. She'd come for some purpose or other--that much was plain.
They crowded round the Scales expectantly.
Maia was filled with a dismaying sense of her own lack of confidence and authority. If she had been going to dance, or even just stand up to be admired, she would have felt fine, but now--oh, Cran, it was like a dream!--she'd got herself into a situation where they were all waiting for her, not to dance but to speak. Looking round helplessly she saw yet again, hanging above the rooftops to one side of the dark, slender column of the Tower of the Orphans, the silent presence of the comet. This was what they were all afraid of. So was she, but not in the same way that they were. They feared it, in ignorance, as a threat and a herald of disaster. She feared it as any true, loving worshipper fears and holds in awe the manifest revelation of the deity. Lespa was her guardian, her friend; what hadn't Lespa done for her? But awesome indeed, now, was this hitherto-unimagined majesty and glory of the astral Lady of Dreams.
She could only pray for help. Climbing down from her jekzha, she faced the sword of light and raised her arms. Her prayer was unspoken yet passionate.
"Lespa, bestower of dreams and truth, mistress of or-der--of stars and seasons, moon and menstrual blood-- you brought me here from the Tonildan Waste. I've always honored you, dear goddess! Grant to me now that self-abandon and humility which you showed in your sacred union with Shakkam."
There was no time for more. Turning back towards the people below, she stepped forward to the edge of the plinth, hearing in her heart as she did so the cool voice of Occula, "A pretty girl, banzi, starts a yard ahead. What happens after that's up to you, but often the yard can make all the difference."
"Good people," she cried, "I've come to tell you that Lespa's spoken to me in a dream! Just as she spoke to me in Suba and brought me back safe, so now she's sent me here tonight."
She stopped. Her mouth felt dry. She could not see their faces so clearly as she would have liked, but at least no one had interrupted. Yet she could find no more words.
"Her message, saiyett?" called a voice.
That was better; she could at least answer a question. "The star!" she said, pointing. "It means good and not harm to the city! There's no reason to be afraid! That's Lespa's message!"
"Tell us your dream, then, little saiyett," shouted someone else; and there were murmurs of agreement.
"That I mustn't do," she replied, spreading her hands and shaking her head. "If you don't want to believe me, I can't help it. But I've come because Lespa sent me, to say she means us good and not harm. The star's sent for a blessing! That's why I'm not afraid, and nor should you be."
At thi
s there was some cheering, yet somehow it lacked conviction. So distrustful and canny is the human heart that, faced with the unknown, the strange and imponderable, it is always less ready to impute good than ill, and often, even when misgivings have been disproved on clear evidence, will obstinately cling to them, as though reluctant to be deprived of the opportunity to feel hapless and accursed.
"She's right!" shouted Baltis. "Hasn't she been right all along?"
"Right for old Sencho, you mean," called out someone, with a sneering laugh. "You been listening to them big blue eyes and deldas, mate, that's your trouble."
"I been listening to her as swum the river, damn you!" answered Baltis angrily. "Are you telling me--"
Maia began to realize that if the matter were to come to contention, she had already exhausted whatever powers of persuasion she had ever possessed. Circumstances had not allowed her to go about the business as she had originally intended. Still, she had done her best and said what she had to say: it would go round the city. The thing to do now---if only she could manage it--was to make her departure with dignity.
Standing on the plinth above the bickering roughs--their oaths in her ears, their sweat in her nostrils--she now became aware of some new entry taking place on her left, from Storks Hill on the far side of the market-place. The torchlight was too patchy and intermittent to enable her to make out exactly what was happening, but she could see two files of soldiers--oh, Cran, yes! there must be twenty at least just gone across the lighted front of that stall--and hear authoritative cries of "Back, there; back! Make way!"
What could it be? Something important from Chalcon? Could they have taken Santil-ke-Erketlis prisoner, or perhaps one of his captains? Suddenly the horrible thought came to her that Fornis might have returned. She thought of the cat on the wall. Fornis couldn't miss her, stuck up here on the plinth.
Well, yes, but Fornis could hardly shoot her here, in the full public gaze. (Oh, couldn't she just? whispered an inner voice: that's all you know.)