Daughter of the Empire (29 page)

The hadonra dabbed at a blackened knuckle, barely
able to contain his distaste for dealing with the plodding Buntokapi. ‘I see, Lady.’

Mara watched him with bland humour. ‘My Lord is new to matters of commerce, Jican. Perhaps it would be best if you dealt with each issue slowly and in detail.’

Jican’s expression did not change, but his eyes seemed to light. ‘Yes, mistress.’

Now Mara returned a veiled smile. ‘Take as much time as you need. I think you’ll find sufficient topics to discuss for the entire evening, and perhaps into the night.’

‘Of course, mistress.’ Jican’s enthusiasm brightened. ‘I will give orders not to be disturbed while Lord Buntokapi needs my aid.’

The hadonra had always been quick-witted. Mara rejoiced in his attributes, yet she showed no trace of her feelings. ‘That is good, Jican. Since my Lord is showing an interest in household matters, take along any documents you think he might need to study.’

In a voice of smothered delight, Jican said, ‘Yes, mistress.’

‘That is all.’ Mara waved in dismissal, then stood thoughtfully, racking her mind for other matters that needed to be called to her husband’s attention. Yet as she plotted, she feared. The path she had chosen was perilous; no law and no person could protect her if she stepped wrongly. The sunlight upon the painted screen suddenly seemed very dear. Mara closed her eyes and recited the teachings of the sisters of Lashima to herself for what seemed a very long time.

Mara winced at the sound of Buntokapi’s huge hand striking flesh. Another slave would sport a bruised cheek or black eye in the morning. Braced for the inevitable onslaught, she was unsurprised when the screen to her quarters slid open with no knock in warning. Even when
he was not angry, Buntokapi seldom employed the courtesy her rank normally entitled.

‘Mara,’ he began, his fury near the point of explosion; and Mara cursed inwardly as he strode in, his battle sandals carving up the floors for the second time that week. Fortunately, the slaves who repaired the damage lacked the right to complain.

Buntokapi stopped, sweating under his heavy armour. ‘I have spent days with these important business matters Jican claims I must personally attend to! I go out to drill my soldiers for the first time in a week, and when I am tired from the sun, the first thing I find is more … of these!’ He threw down a heavy sheaf of documents. ‘I grow bored! Who oversaw all this before I came here?’

Modestly Mara lowered her eyes. ‘I did, husband.’

Buntokapi’s anger dissolved into astonishment. ‘You did?’

‘Before I asked for you in marriage, I was Ruling Lady.’ Mara spoke lightly, as if the matter were of small importance. ‘The running of the estate was my duty, as it is now yours.’

‘Aie!’ Buntokapi’s frustration was palpable. ‘Must I oversee every tiny detail?’ He yanked off his helm and shouted for assistance. A servant appeared at the door. ‘Bring a robe,’ Buntokapi commanded. ‘I’ll not stand in this armour another moment. Mara, help me.’

Mara rose awkardly and came to her husband, who stood with arms held out straight. Touching him as little as possible, for he was dirty, she unfastened the buckles that held the breast and back plates together. ‘You may, if you choose, delegate some of these tasks. Jican is capable of taking care of the daily operations of the estates. I can give him the benefits of my opinion if you’re too busy.’

Buntokapi shrugged the lacquered plates off over his
head and sighed in relief. Unaccustomed to lifting, Mara struggled with the weight, until her husband reached one-handed and tossed the heavy armour to the floor. He tugged the light gambeson over his shoulders, and spoke through a muffling layer of cloth. ‘No. I want you looking after our son.’

‘Or daughter,’ Mara shot back, nettled that a wife might do a body servant’s chores but not tally accounts. She knelt and unbuckled the green leather greaves from her husband’s hairy calves.

‘Bah, it will be a boy. If not, we shall have to try again, heh?’ He leered down at her.

Mara showed none of her revulsion, but untied the cross-gartered sandals, which were as crusted with filth as the broad feet they protected. ‘As my Lord wills.’

Buntokapi peeled away his short robe. Nude except for a loincloth, he unselfconsciously reached under to scratch his groin. ‘Still, I will allow Jican to make decisions about the business matters he has been in charge of since your father’s death.’ The servant arrived with the clean robe, and the Lord of the Acoma quickly donned it without calling for a bath. ‘The hadonra is competent. And he can still come to me for important decisions. Now I plan to spend some time in Sulan-Qu. Several of my friends are –’

He paused, puzzled, as Mara suddenly clutched at the cloth of her dayrobe. She had been having mild contractions all morning, but this was strong, and her face drained of colour. At last her time had come. ‘Bunto!’

The usually violent-tempered man was suddenly both delighted and alarmed. ‘Is it time?’

‘I think so.’ She smiled calmly. ‘Send for the midwife.’

Solicitous for the first time in his life, Buntokapi was furiously patting Mara’s hand to the point of inflicting
bruises when the midwife came, followed in an instant by Nacoya. The two of them chased him away with a briskness no husband in the Empire could withstand. Buntokapi left like a whipped dog, looking over his shoulder as he disappeared through the screen.

The next hour he spent pacing in his study as he waited for his son to be born. As the second hour dragged on, he sent for wine and something to eat. Evening faded into night, still without word from the birth chamber. An impatient man who had no outlet for his concern, he drank and ate, then drank again. After the supper hour he sent for musicians, and when their playing failed to soothe his nerves, he called for the hot bath he had neglected that afternoon.

In a rare mood of respect, he decided to forgo the company of a girl. Bed play seemed inappropriate while his wife was giving birth to his heir, but a man could not be expected to sit waiting with no comforts. Buntokapi bellowed for the runner to fetch a large jug of acamel brandy. This he would not surrender, even when servants pulled the screens away and filled his tub with steaming water. They waited with soap and towels. Buntokapi stripped off his robes and patted his expanding girth. He grunted to himself about needing to practise with the sword and bow more, to keep fit, as he slid his bulk into the water. A weaker man would have winced, but Buntokapi simply sat down. He took a brandy cup from a servant’s hand and drained it in one long pull.

The servants worked with diffident care. None of them wanted a beating for letting suds inadvertently spill into the open cup and sour the brandy.

Bunto sloshed back in his bath. He absently hummed a tune while the servants soaped his body. As their hands kneaded his taut muscles and the heat drew him into a
sleepy, amorous mood, he luxuriated in the bath, and soon he drifted into a doze.

Then the air was cut by a scream. Bunto bolted upright in the tub, overturning his brandy and splashing the servants with soapy water. Heart pounding, he groped about for a weapon, half expecting to see the servants running for safety while armoured men answered the alarm. Instead all was quiet. He looked to the musicians, who awaited his order to play, but as his mouth opened to speak, another scream rent the stillness.

Then he knew. Mara, slender, girlish Mara, was giving birth to his son. Another scream sounded, and the pain in it was like nothing Buntokapi had heard in his short life. Men wounded in battle made loud, angry cries, and the moans of the wounded were low and pitiable. But this sound … this reflected the agony of one tormented by the Red God himself.

Buntokapi reached for his brandy. Dark fury crossed his face when he found the cup missing. A servant retrieved it quickly from the door, filled it, and placed it in his master’s hands. After Buntokapi drained it he said, ‘Go see that nothing is amiss with my wife.’

The servant ran off and Buntokapi nodded to another servant for a refill. Long moments passed while the sounds of Mara’s torment filled the night. Shortly the servant returned and said, ‘Master, Nacoya says it is a difficult birth.’

Buntokapi nodded and drank again, feeling the numbing warmth of the brandy rise up from his stomach. The scream came again, followed by a low sob. Exasperated, the Lord of the Acoma shouted over the noise, ‘Play something lively and loud.’

The musicians struck up a march tune. Buntokapi emptied the brandy. Irritated as Mara’s cries cut through
the music, he tossed away the cup and motioned for the jug. He set the jug to his lips and took a large gulp.

His head began to swim. The screams seemed to come at him like a swarming foe, unwilling to be blocked by a shield. Buntokapi drank until his senses grew muddled. A happy glow suffused his vision and he sat with a stupid smile on his face until the water began to cool. The master still showed no signs of arising, and worried servants scurried to heat more water.

More brandy was brought, and after a time Buntokapi, Lord of the Acoma, could barely hear the music, let alone the unrelenting screams of his tiny wife as she struggled to bear his child.

In time, dawn silvered the screens to his chamber. Exhausted from a sleepless night, Nacoya slid open the study door and peeked in. Her Lord lay back sleeping in the cool water of the tub, his great mouth open and snoring. An empty jug of brandy rolled on the floor below his flaccid hand. Three musicians slept over their instruments, and the bath servants stood like battle-beaten soldiers, the towels hanging crumpled from their hands. Nacoya snapped the screen shut, disgust on her wrinkled face. How grateful she was that Lord Sezu was not alive to know that the successor to his title, Buntokapi, Lord of the Acoma, lay in such condition when his wife had laboured long to bear him a healthy son and heir.

A shout rang out.

‘Mara!’

Buntokapi’s anger rent the morning quiet like the challenge of a needra bull. Mara winced. She glanced instinctively at the crib near her side. Little Ayaki still slept, undisturbed by his father’s bellow. His eyes were tightly closed and his stocky limbs half tangled in his covers. After two months of Buntokapi’s roars, the infant could sleep through a thunderstorm. Mara sighed. The boy was his father’s son, thick of body and with a big head that had made his mother wish for death when he had been born. The difficult labour had drained Mara in a way she would not have thought possible before. While but eighteen years of age, she felt like an old woman, tired all the time. And the first sight of her son had saddened her. She had secretly hoped for a lithe, handsome child, such as her brother Lano must have been as a baby. Instead Buntokapi had given her a red-faced, round-headed little brute, with a visage wrinkled like a tiny old man’s. From the first moment he filled his lungs with air, he had a shout to rival his father’s; already he affected the same scowl. Still, as Ayaki lay asleep, Mara could not feel other than love for him. He is my son as well, she thought, and the blood of his grandfather is in him. The traits he has inherited from his Anasati heritage will be trained out of him and those from the Acoma will be nurtured. He will not be like his father.

‘Mara!’ Buntokapi’s irritable shout sounded very near at hand, and the next instant the screen to the boy’s
nursery slammed back. ‘Here you are, woman. I’ve been all over the house looking for you.’ Buntokapi entered with a frown like a storm cloud.

Mara bowed with serenity, only too glad to lay her embroidery aside. ‘I have been with our son, husband.’

Buntokapi’s expression eased. He went to the crib where the boy lay, restless now from his father’s loud entrance. Buntokapi reached down, and for a moment Mara feared he would ruffle the boy’s black hair, as he did his hounds’. But instead his meaty hand gently straightened the cover that lay twisted between the tiny legs. The gesture caused Mara an instant’s affection towards Buntokapi, but she banished such sentiment at once. Though he wore the Acoma mantle, Buntokapi was a son of the Anasati, a house second only to the Minwanabi in despite for things Acoma. This Mara knew in her heart. And soon the time would come for change.

Exaggerating her whisper – Ayaki was a sound sleeper – she said, ‘What do you desire, husband?’

‘I must go to Sulan-Qu … ah, on business.’ Buntokapi straightened from the crib with studied lack of enthusiasm. ‘I will not be returning this night, and perhaps tomorrow as well.’

Mara bowed in acquiescence, not missing the haste in her husband’s tread as he departed through the screen. She needed no incongruities to guess that there was no business for her husband to conduct in Sulan-Qu. During the past two months his interest in business had waned, until it bordered on open neglect.

As Jican resumed control of the Acoma management, he kept his Lady well informed. Buntokapi still played hob with Keyoke’s administration of the warriors: which men were assigned and to what post. Having barely reached the point where she could influence a few small
household matters, Mara could do nothing about that, at least not yet.

She stared at her embroidery in distaste, glad that in Buntokapi’s absence she need not keep that up for the sake of appearances. More and more she needed time to think and plan for the future. Her husband’s suspicious nature had partially played into her hands. Aware in his plodding way that Mara’s talent for commerce overshadowed his, Buntokapi had confined himself to seeing that his wife did not gain control of his household. Never did he realize that she had managed the garrison as adroitly before their marriage. As a result, he never thought to question other strange practices around the estate, such as Papewaio’s wearing a black headcloth. And despite his interests in warcraft, Buntokapi never became familiar with the men. Their heritage held no interest for him; otherwise he would have discovered that grey warriors had come to wear Acoma green. Certainly he lacked the imagination to embrace such changes in tradition, Mara thought, then caught herself, sharply. Even in thoughts she must not be careless. Too often he had shown he was more than a simple warrior.

Still, the man had no subtlety. Hearing his booming laugh in the mustering yard as he gathered the warriors for his escort, Mara wondered what prompted his clumsy effort at subversion. Boredom might be taking him to Sulan-Qu in the heat of high noon, to bathe with other soldiers and exchange stories, and perhaps to wrestle or gamble … or to sport with a woman of the Reed Life.

Buntokapi had returned to Mara’s bed soon after childbirth, but now that the Acoma had a living heir, she had no reason to play the dutiful wife. Buntokapi’s clutching, slobbering embrace revolted her, and she had lain still, sharing none of his passion. The first night he seemed not to notice, but on the second he became angry.
The third night he complained bitterly of her lack of enthusiasm and the fourth night he beat her, then slept with one of her maids. Since then she had met his advances with no response at all, and at the last he had fallen to ignoring her.

But now Buntokapi set off for the city for the third time in ten days, and Mara was intrigued about the reason. She called Misa to open the screen, and the moment her husband’s litter and his small escort of warriors jogged smartly down the lane to the Imperial Highway, she sent her runner for Nacoya.

The old woman answered her summons tardily, but there seemed no lack of respect in her bow. ‘My mistress requires?’

‘What takes our Lord Bunto into the city so much of late?’ asked Mara. ‘What gossip do the servants tell?’

Nacoya glanced significantly at Misa, who awaited her mistress’s wishes by the screen. Warned that the nurse’s answer might be best not shared with servants, Mara sent her maid to fetch the noon meal. As Misa hurried off, Nacoya sighed. ‘As you would expect. Your husband has taken an apartment in the city so he may visit a woman.’

Mara sat back. ‘Good. We must encourage him to stay in the city as much as possible.’

Nacoya brightened with curiosity. ‘Daughter of my heart, I know some things have passed, never to be regained, but I am still the only mother you have known. Will you not tell me what you are planning?’

Mara was tempted. But her scheme to regain control of her house bordered on treason to her Lord. Although Nacoya had already deduced Mara’s intent to dispose of Buntokapi, the plan was too risky to confide. ‘That is all, old mother,’ Mara said firmly.

The nurse hesitated, then nodded, bowed, and departed, leaving Mara staring at the baby, who had begun to stir in his crib. But Ayaki’s well-being was far
from her thoughts. That her Lord had a woman in the city might provide exactly the opportunity Mara required. Hoping the gods were looking after her at long last, she had begun to ponder the options of this new development when Ayaki’s healthy wail spoiled thought. Mara lifted the fussy baby to her breast and winced as the little boy bit hard upon her nipple. ‘Ow!’ she said in surprise. ‘You are your father’s son, no doubt.’ The baby quieted as he began to suck, and Misa returned with a tray. Mara ate the food without interest, her mind busy with a plan more risky than anything her old nurse might have guessed. The stakes were high. One misjudgement, and she would lose all chance of regaining the title of Ruling Lady; indeed, if she failed, the sacred honour of her ancestors might be shamed past hope of expiation.

Mara poured a cup of chocha and sat back upon her heels as Gijan, son of Lord Detsu of the Kamaiota, nodded politely. His gesture concealed biting impatience, but even his critical nature could not fault the young wife’s hospitality. She had seen him comfortable in the finest cushions, brought him refreshment, and sent immediate word to her husband that an old friend had arrived unexpectedly and was waiting to greet him.

Gijan lounged back, admiring the rings on his hands. His nails were clean to the point of fussiness and his jewellery ostentatious, but the rest of his dress showed restraint. ‘And where might Lord Buntokapi be?’

‘On some matter of busines in the city, I expect.’ Mara displayed none of the pique a young, pretty wife might feel at a husband’s absence. Aware that Buntokapi’s guest held her under closest scrutiny, she fluttered one hand offhandedly. ‘You know these things are beyond me, Gijan, though I must say he spends a great deal of time away from home.’

Gijan’s eyes narrowed, his self-absorbed admiration of his jade now an obvious act. Mara sipped her chocha, certain now that this guest had come to spy for the Anasati. No doubt Lord Tecuma wished information on how his third son fared as Lord of the Acoma. He had sent a handsome messenger, perhaps hoping the contrast to Buntokapi would entice a young wife to speak freely. After the barest interval the young noble said, ‘Is that rascal neglecting his affairs then?’

‘Oh no, Gijan.’ To avoid giving her father-in-law an excuse to pry further into Acoma affairs, Mara qualified expansively. ‘If anything, Lord Buntokapi is too rigorous in his attention to details. He spends long hours at his desk.’

Lord Gijan’s polished façade broke before incredulity. ‘Bunto?’ Aware he might have betrayed his appraisal of the new Lord of the Acoma, he closed his gaping mouth and added, ‘Of course. Bunto was always a diligent fellow.’

Mara smothered a smile. Both of them lied outrageously, and each knew it; but a guest might not question the word of a host without raising the thorniest implications of honour.

With the topic of Buntokapi’s management effectively closed, the morning wore on in polite conversation. Mara sent for thyza bread and fish, which slowed Gijan’s effort at interrogating until at last her runner returned from town. Stripped to his loincloth, and breathless from the road, he dropped to his knees before Mara. ‘Mistress, I bring word from the Lord of the Acoma.’

Pleasantly Mara said, ‘What does my husband wish?’

The slave had barely washed his feet clean of dust before presenting himself; gasping still from his journey, he said, ‘My Lord Buntokapi says he is most apologetic for being absent when his dear friend Gijan of the
Kamaiota calls. He is presently unable to return to the estate and wishes for Gijan to join him in Sulan-Qu.’

Gijan nodded to the exhausted slave boy. ‘Tell my servant to have my litter prepared.’ Then he smiled at Mara. ‘If my Lady has no objection?’ Mara returned the smile, as if his presumption in ordering her runner was only another right of a man in the presence of a mere wife. How different it had been when she had been Ruling Lady. And things would be different again, soon; this she vowed as she ordered her maid to remove the food tray. Then, all lightness and grace, she saw Gijan to the door of the estate house.

While waiting in the hallway for the visitor’s escort to assemble, she dismissed her runner and inwardly acknowledged relief. She had feared that Buntokapi might be returning. Though the journey to the city from the estates took two hours on foot, a message runner could make it there and back in half that time. By litter, Gijan would not reach Sulan-Qu until nearly sundown. No doubt Gijan also loved gambling, so Buntokapi would hardly subject his boyhood friend to a return trip after dark. Dice and cards and betting would keep them both in the city for the night, which was a small blessing from the gods. Already Mara had begun to treasure his absence, but this was a freedom she dared not love too much lest impatience prove her downfall.

Gijan bowed formally in farewell. ‘I shall give your husband compliments on your hospitality when I greet him, Lady Mara.’ He smiled at her, suddenly charming, and Mara realized this young man was wondering if she was another neglected woman ready for a romance.

Formal and distant, she showed him briskly to the screen. She did not need to waste time fending off the advances of amorous younger sons. What Bunto had shown her of lovemaking had convinced her she needed little from men. If ever she came to desire the company
of a lover, he would be nothing like this silly, vain nobleman who took his leave to join Bunto in a night of gambling, wine, and prostitutes. As the litter departed, Mara heard a loud wail from the nursery.

‘Men,’ she muttered under her breath, and hurried to attend her son. The boy needed changing. Preoccupied, Mara gave him over to Nacoya, who had not lost her knack for dealing with infants. As the old woman began a game with the child involving his fingers and toes, Mara considered what Buntokapi’s reaction to Gijan’s visit would likely be.

The following afternoon, it seemed she had read his mind. Wearing his wrestling cloth, and gleaming still with the oil and sweat of his exercise, Buntokapi scratched the mat of hair on his chest. ‘When someone calls and I am in the city, do not waste so much time sending messages, wife. Simply send them along to my town house.’

Mara bounced Ayaki one more time on her knee, her eyebrows raised in inquiry. ‘Town house?’

As if the matter were of small account, Buntokapi answered over his son’s shriek of pleasure, ‘I have moved to larger quarters in Sulan-Qu.’ He gave no reason, but Mara knew he had established the apartment to meet with his mistress, a woman named Teani. As far back as Mara could remember, Lord Sezu had never felt the need to take a town house. Though the practice was common enough among other lords whose estates were remotely located, no matter how late business kept Sezu in the city he always returned home to sleep under the same roof as his family. If Mara was generous in her assessment, Buntokapi was barely more than a boy, only two years older than she, and with none of her level-headed nature. While she had sat next to her brother, hearing the lessons on governance her father gave, Bunto had been a
neglected, lonely boy who had spent time off by himself brooding, or in the rough company of soldiers. Her own coldness did not upset him but encouraged a return to his former habits of finding the pleasures he understood. Still, Mara had not selected this husband because she wanted someone strong-minded and resolute, like her father. Now her plans demanded that she encourage his self-indulgent, bad-tempered nature, though the course would be dangerous in the extreme.