79: FAREWELLS
"I'm sorry, Brero," said Maia.
She was most anxious that he should believe her. She would have hated him to think that she did not feel sincere regard for him--for all three of them, but him in particular. "I've done everything I can, honest I have."
It was true; she had. She had even steeled herself to go and see Eud-Ecachlon, whom Kembri, she was told at the Barons' Palace, had left in charge of the musters. She had waited an hour and been treated exactly as she had expected--with chilly correctness and a firm assertion that as matters stood no single available soldier could be dispensed with. "You know, of course," Eud-Ecachlon had said coldly, "that if it were possible I would certainly make an exception in favor of you." Maia had colored, raised her palm to her forehead and left him without another word: so she had deprived herself of discussing any question of substitutes, or of how she was expected to get about without her soldiers.
Now, Brero and his mates were standing before her, equipped for active service--swords on left hips, daggers on right, Gelt breastplates, hard leather helmets and leggings; lacking only their shields, which they had left outside. They had come to say good-bye, and as far as they were concerned it was plainly a keen disappointment, not lacking the bitter ingredient of a feeling that she had let them down. After all, the Serrelinda--if she couldn't get anything done as she had a mind to, who could? Probably they'd already been boasting to their comrades that the thing was as good as fixed.
So they stood fidgeting and ill-at-ease, these strapping fellows, on the polished floor of her parlor, perhaps secretly wondering whether even now, maybe, if only one of them could manage to say the right thing--
"I'm sorry, Brero. I went to see Lord Eud-Ecachlon myself: I'd have seen the High Baron if I'd thought it'd have made any difference."
"Yes, of course, saiyett."
"Surely it won't be very long, will it? One Beklan's worth six o' those rotten old Palteshis any time. I tell you what, Brero: you bring me back that woman's head and I'll give you five thousand meld for it, I swear I will. Oh, I'm sure you'll be back soon: why, it might be no more than a week!"
"Well, we'd all like to think so, saiyett, of course. A lot can happen in a week, can't it, one way or the other? But you'll be safe enough; don't worry, we'll see to that."
Suddenly she was on her feet, taking his hands, taking the others' hands in turn, looking into their eyes with the most earnest desire to convince them.
"Oh, Brero, I really did do everything I could to keep you with me, honest! I'm not as powerful as you think, and that's the truth. I've got enemies, you know, and I'm not sure they aren't worse than yours, 'cos you can see yours."
He was embarrassed. "You mustn't take on this way, saiyett. You've always done the right thing by us; and we've enjoyed lookin' after you." (Murmurs of corroboration.) "D'you remember that young chap that day in the Caravan Market, him as bought all the flowers and soaked you wet through? And how I had to pull the wheel over his foot to get rid of him! Ah! we had some good times, didn't we?"
She gave them two hundred and fifty meld each. She had had it ready. They'd been expecting something, of course, but not as much as that: it was equivalent to about six months' pay. She gave each of them a keepsake, too-- or perhaps it was a talisman for good luck and safety, was it? After all, she'd touched them, hadn't she, and if the Serrelinda wasn't lucky, who was?
For Brero, a little onyx bull no bigger than his thumb; and for the other two, an Airtha in malachite and a silver Canathron to be worn as a charm (for the third fellow was Lapanese). No meanest curmudgeon could have argued that all this wasn't generous, and as they thanked her she felt that at least she had convinced them that she was not indifferent to their fortunes and welfare.
"We'll have to be going now, saiyett," said Brero a minute or two later. "The muster's at noon, you see. You did say, didn't you, that you'd be needing your jekzha?"
She nodded. "That's right. The wise man--the doctor from Suba--he's going north to Quiso, you know, and there's a caravan leaving this morning: I'm taking him down to join it."
"You do know, saiyett, don't you, that the caravans have to assemble at the Blue Gate today--outside it, I believe--because the muster's in the market? Anyway, I've hired two porters to pull you down there. They're waiting now." He grinned. "They won't be like us, of course, but I dare say you'll get there, one way or another."
When they had gone, she went outside and stood for a little while on the terrace, watching the shadow of the gnomon just perceptibly moving on her bronze sundial. The sundial had been a gift from Bodrin, the wealthy metal-master of Gelt, who had had it set up with precision by two of his own craftsmen.
Although she enjoyed possessing such a marvel--there were very few in Bekla, and it always impressed even the most aristocratic visitors--she had never really understood it, and had once made Sarget burst out laughing--no common occurrence--by inquiring whether it worked equally well by moonlight. There were three lines of verse carved round the base, and these at least she had mastered--"Time is a flower, In Tiltheh's power: Pluck thou the hour." She read them now, and they gave her little comfort. Reckon I'd alter that, she thought. "Waiting's a task, The gods do ask. Wear then thy mask." Still, that wouldn't mean much, would it, not to anyone 'ceptin' me?
The hired porters were aging men in torn, dirty clothes.
One had a limp and the other a white, sightless eye. She guessed they were the best that Brero had been able to drum up for her. Kembri's muster officers, she knew, had been thorough and ruthless with all who could not bribe them enough. Probably almost every able-bodied man in the city, unless he were a craftsman of more use to the Leopards if left alone, had been impressed either as a soldier or as some sort of auxiliary. She wished she could have had a more thorough look round for herself, or at least have had a chance to put these men into respectable clothes.
Once through the Peacock Gate, however, with Nasada, cloaked and booted for his journey, hunched beside her, she found the Street of the Armourers plunged into such turmoil that there was hardly anyone to notice even the Serrelinda. A number of people seemed to have decided to leave Bekla on their own account and were piling hand-carts with their possessions. Many of the shops were shut, but this had done nothing to diminish the universal agitation. Men, some more-or-less armed and others not armed at all, were on their way to the muster, some singly, others in groups. A number of these were clearly strangers to Bekla, levied from the provinces. Once, a little distance off, she saw a party who looked very like Tonildans being shepherded along by a Beklan tryzatt. She called out to them and waved, but could not attract their attention over the heads of the crowd.
It was clear enough that there would be no getting across the Caravan Market and probably no getting down Storks Hill either, and Maia told the men--who were already dawdling, and muttering to each other--to pull off to the left, cross over one of the little bridges spanning the Monju brook and so come down into the Sheldad.
The Sheldad, however, was if anything worse than the Street of the Armourers, seeming as it did to be full of wailing women either parting from sweethearts or husbands or else accompanying them to the Caravan Market. Maia told the men to get straight across it and go down by the Tower of the Orphans; an easy landmark, yet still they objected, grumbling over their shoulders above the surrounding tumult that it was too far and they didn't know the way. It so happened that at this moment Maia caught sight of a passing officer whom she knew--an honorably disabled man, now employed on staff duties, whom she had met at one of Sarget's supper-parties. Climbing down, she ran across to him, explained her difficulty and begged him to put the fear of Cran into her surly hirelings. This he at once did very effectively and Maia, knowing the district well enough, thereupon directed them out of the Sheldad and on towards the Kharjiz.
"Do you know," she remarked conversationally to Na-sada, pointing to the house as they passed it, "I was once sent there to go to bed with Eud-Ecachlon
?"
"Well," he replied, "that's one thing you won't have to do any more, isn't it? Whatever happens, I'm sure you're well out of marriage with an Urtan. They're proud people, rather humorless and terribly quick to resentment. Anda-Nokomis has got a lot of Urtan in him, you know: always talking about his honor, and never a joke or a laugh. Have you ever seen Anda-Nokomis really laugh? You've refused Eud-Ecachlon, and you were perfectly entitled to; but he won't forget it. Stay here and save your Zen-Kurel; I'm one who honestly believes you will. But after that get straight out of Bekla. It's a devils' playground, Maia."
They passed the Temple of Cran and the Tamarrik Gate, and so came at last to the Blue Gate and the walled precinct outside. Here there was barely time for Maia's tearful thanks and farewells, and the bestowing on her of Nasada's blessing, before the captain of the caravan--a well-known mercenary employed by the merchants' guild of Kabin-- came forward personally to conduct the wise man from Suba to his place in the leading ox-cart (in those further back, road dust was apt to be troublesome, especially at this time of year), after which he was prompt to obey his orders from Eud-Ecachlon to get off punctually and leave the city approaches clear for the military.
Maia returned past that same guard-room where once the soldiers had taken pity on her and Occula.
Then, on impulse, she told the men to turn left, up Leather-Workers Street and so into the Caravan Market. Her officer friend had certainly done wonders for their frame of mind, for they obeyed her without a murmur.
All the efforts of the municipal slaves to keep sprinkling the sandy expanse of the Caravan Market had not succeeded in keeping down a thin haze of glittering dust, through which the impressed men were moving half-heart-edly to their various rallying points. Here they stood coughing, many with rags or cloths held over their faces.
There was a general atmosphere of uncertainty and irresolution; less, perhaps, of unwilling or faint-hearted men than of men at a loss, genuinely ignorant of what was required of them. Maia had not gone halfway along the colonnade bordering the north side of the market before it became clear enough to her that half these conscripts were peasant villagers who had almost certainly never been ten miles from their homes in their lives. Many looked nervous and a few actually frightened, simply of their imposing surroundings. Some were joking and sky-larking to keep up their spirits, others sitting on the ground as glum and silent as beasts in market-pens; cowed by homesick-ness, by fear of the future and the uncertainty of everything around. Among them, contrasting sharply, walked brisk, uniformed tryzatts of the Beklan regiment, who had evidently been given the task of organizing them into squads. This they had apparently decided to set about by dividing them into spearmen, swordsmen, bowmen and so on, ir-respective of where they had come from. Maia watched with pity--indeed, she came within an ace of intervening;-- as a tryzatt almost forcibly separated a simple-looking lad with a sword from another--obviously his mate and probably the only person in the whole crowd whom he knew--carrying a spear, and led him away across the market to join a group of strangers. She could see the boy, as he looked back over his shoulder, trembling and almost weeping. A little farther on, an officer had succeeded in forming thirty or forty men into a ragged line. Having looked them over, he called out three, seemingly more or less at ran-dom, and, conferring upon them then and there the rank of sub-tryzatt, told them that they were now in charge of the rest and would be answerable for them. At every egress from the market a regular soldier had been posted to discourage the inclinations of anyone who might be so lacking in public spirit as to be tempted to melt away.
Even Maia could see that these were not what anyone in his senses could call a likely lot. She wondered what kind of men Santil-ke-Erketlis had, and in what spirit they had carried out their forced march and fought their battle at the end of it. Obviously they must have had every confidence in their leader and believed that what they were being required to do would turn out to their own advantage. Had any of these men around her, she wondered, any real idea of what they were being compelled to fight for? They comprised, between them, a very fair sample of the sort of bumpkins the Leopards had oppressed by restricting the selling prices of cattle, corn and timber. Who ought to know if not she?
The jekzha had just come opposite "The Green Grove" (which was shut, no doubt on Eud-Ecachlon's orders) when in the colonnade Maia recognized Milvushina's maid Lok-ris. Lokris had set her back against one of the square columns and was doing her best to ward off two rough-looking men who were plainly pestering her--more for their amusement, it seemed, than with any real expectation of obtaining her favors. As she attempted a cuff at one of them, he dodged to one side, sniggering, while the other pulled at the shoulder of her robe.
Maia got down and went across to them.
"Do you know who I am?" she said coldly, looking from one to the other.