Maia (74 page)

A number of boats were moored against the landing-stage, but apart from two or three sharp-featured, foreign-looking soldiers with spears and helmets, and a little group of Subans gathered about an upturned boat which they seemed to be repairing, there was no one in the courtyard. Suddenly a boy, happening to look up in the direction of the approaching kilyett, called out and pointed, whereupon they all turned, staring. Someone spoke to the boy,

whereupon he ran across the courtyard and disappeared through an open doorway.

"Maia," said Nasada, "I think you ought to go and stand well forward on the bow. And Luma, you come back here, near me, will you?" He picked up a paddle and moved aft to sit beside Tescon. "Right up on the front, Maia: we'll keep it steady-we won't let you overbalance."

As she hesitated, she saw Bayub-Otal come out into the courtyard, followed by several soldiers. He was dressed in light armor, over which he was wearing a short, blue cloak, with a sword on his right hip. As he raised his hand to her in greeting the soldiers broke into cheers. A few moments later a pair of double doors on the far side of the courtyard opened and through them, stooping under the lintel, appeared an immensely tall, broad-shouldered man, accompanied by a group of officers and a few women. All were dressed in uniforms and robes as fine as any to be seen in the upper city, though there were certain differences of style which Maia, though she vaguely noticed them, felt too much agitated to take in in detail. The big man spoke to one of his followers, shading his eyes to look at the boat. Then he, too, with an unhurried, easy gesture, raised his hand, though whether to Nasada or herself she could not tell, and thereupon strode across the courtyard to the edge of the landing-stage. Out of the doors behind, more men and women came pouring, so that soon the courtyard behind King Karnat-for it could be none other than he- was full of people, all plainly excited and eager to join in welcoming the newcomers.

As the warmth of spring draws a butterfly from its crevice-that is to say, without will or decision on its part-so Maia was affected by the spontaneous excitement of those gathering along the shore. To act on the inspiration of the moment-whether it was a matter of putting on the slave-traders' decoy gown, of gratifying the High Counselor at the Rains banquet or of responding to the inner certainty that Lespa was with her as she began the sen-guela-this was her nature. Even when, as now, she felt full of uncertainty and was far from clear what was required of her, still her instinct was to respond rather than to hang back.

She went forward to the raised, square bow-one corner was daubed with soft earth from the bank into which Tescon had driven it, but there was no time to bother with

that now-and took up what she hoped was a gracious, courtly stance, her bare feet several inches above the gently rippling water, the flying cranes round the hem of her new, linen shift twirling slightly in the breeze of the boat's movement, the stems of the water-lilies cool and smooth round her wrists, her brow and neck.

In after years the tale of her arrival at Melvda was often told, both in Suba and in Terekenalt; how King Karnat, at the Star Court, upon hearing news of her approach, came down with his captains to the waterside to greet the miraculous girl who had crossed the Valderra by night with Lenkrit and Anda-Nokomis. True, not many people were actually in the courtyard at the time-perhaps fifty-though later, many more claimed that they had been. The tale grew in the telling, and some, as they grew older, would weave into it all manner of fancies born of later musings.

"What was she like?" younger men would ask some graybeard, when enough sour Suban wine had loosened tongues. "Tell us what you saw that day."

"Why, she was-well, d'ye see, she wasn't just like any lass that you'd catch sight of in the market, nor yet at a festival, and think "That's a pretty one: I wouldn't mind her.' Oh, no! She looked-well, I'll tell you now, she looked as though she'd come from some other world to put this one to rights for good and all. She looked like someone who could never grow old or die."

"But was she really as beautiful as they say?"

"She was more beautiful than I care to remember now, for when you're old it hurts, and that's the truth. But what I most recollect-there was a kind of a brightness about her, like. It was as though light was actually shining from her-or at least, that's just how it struck my fancy at the time, you know. It was mid-day, to be sure, but all the same she seemed brighter than anything round about her."

"But what was she wearing, granddad-how did she look?"

"Well, that's just it. She'd got no jewels nor nothing of that, but you felt you'd as soon go putting jewels on a rose or a goldfish. Her arms and legs were bare-I remember that-and her hair over her shoulders was all gold-shining in the sun, it was. She was wearing a kind of a short, white dress all embroidered with birds, and those golden lilies- real lilies, they were-round her neck and her head. They'd left drops of water on her arms and I remember as the

boat tipped a bit, one of them twinkled a moment, you know, in my eyes."

"But wasn't there any show to it, then-no music or flags-nothing of that?"

"Well, I suppose it seems strange-yes, it would-if you weren't there-but no, there was nothing of that at all. It was really more the kind of startling of it, you see; unexpected, like waking up to snow. It was like you'd be out in the woods and then suddenly, before you've had time to think, there's some bird or creature you've never seen in your life-never knew there was such a thing. That's the part that's hardest to describe. In one way she was just like that-a flesh-and-blood creature, what you'd call arresting, like it might be a leopard or a humming-bird. But in another way there was something about her you couldn't pin down-as though we'd all been blest; and as though she could never be harmed or hurt. But the exact look of it all-in my mind's eye, you know-that's gone: that's like a tune that's vanished away out of my head. I wish it hadn't. All I know now is, it was the best one I've ever heard. I'd like to hear it just once again-ay, that I would."

"What did the king do?"

"Well, he was stood there waiting, d'ye see, as the boat came up to the landing-stage, and he was just about staring at her, too. Of course, everyone was staring at her, but then King Karnat was that tall-he was a big, fine man to look at, you know-he was head and shoulders above the rest, so they couldn't help but see how he never took his eyes off her. And then Anda-Nokomis stepped up beside him and U-Lenkrit and one or two of the other captains, they came crowding round so it was a wonder, really, as no one got pushed into the water. And then the king came forward and offered her his own hand out of the boat, and she smiled at him and bent her head and put her hand to her forehead. But then the king, if you'll believe me, he put
his
hand to his forehead! Well, so she blushed at that, right down to her shoulders, and he spoke to her-something or other-I don't know-in Beklan. Only King Karnat, he couldn't speak a great lot of Beklan, you see-no more than just a few words as he'd picked up. So then Anda-Nokomis spoke to her and said the king had said he was honored to meet her-I was quite near, y'know, I heard that much-and then they all got to laughing, because Anda-Nokomis could only speak a few words of

Chistol, you see. So the king, he tells someone to go and fetch his young captain-fellow-very fine-looking, handsome young chap he was, too. What was his name, now? One of those Katrian names-ah, Zen-Kurel, that's it- only he was the king's interpreter, you see, as used to question the prisoners and so on. So while he was coming, the old doctor, U-Nasada, he followed the girl out of the boat on to the landing-stage and Anda-Nokomis presented him to the king. And the king said-in a kind of halting way, making a joke of his bad Beklan, you know-he said 'Oh, I've heard of you. You're the man who can keep my soldiers alive, aren't you?' And then the girl-it was the only thing I heard her say-I'd been wondering what her voice would be like. It was soft and kind of slow, like pouring cream-she came from somewhere over in the east, you know-she says, 'Oh,' she says, 'but
I
shall need him, your majesty, to keep
me
alive, too.' And the king answered-well, you know, some joking sort of thing- and then this young Captain Zen-Kurel came out and the king and all of them walked back up into the big hall, talking together."

"She began talking with the king then, did she?"

"I was surprised she seemed so much at ease with the king and the rest, but I reckon the way of it was, you see, it was almost same as though she'd been a first-rate huntsman, say, or a river pilot-something of that. You know how it is-those kind of people have their skills and their knowledge that the quality need and respect. I mean, when it comes to hunting, the huntsman knows more than the king, doesn't he? So sometimes the king acts like he's an equal-jokes with him, lets him take liberties and that. It was the same, really, with this golden lily girl. It wasn't so much that they'd have liked to have her, every one of them, but-well, there was kind of a sense in which they felt she really was above them by nature. They felt a kind of respect was due, like, to anyone as beautiful as she was. They wanted to keep her in their company-made them feel lucky, I reckon. It did
me,
any road, just to see her that day."

"But then there was a lot more than that to the business, grandpa, wasn't there? Later on?"

"Oh, ah, there was a whole lot more to it than that. Ay, that there was-"

Seated at supper between Zen-Kurel and Bayub-Otal, Maia was doing her best to appear relaxed and easy. From time to time the king, sitting beyond Zen-Kurel on her left, would lean forward and speak to her through him, and she would answer, not sure how warm or open a response it was fitting for her to make. That he admired her he had made plain enough, but she was used to that and it had already occurred to her that if he thought of her-as no doubt he did-as in some degree belonging to Bayub-Otal- the girl he had helped to escape from Bekla-he would want to steer clear of any possible ill-feeling. Karnat's reputation was that of a warrior and general, with enormous personal hold over his followers, who were said to regard him almost as a god. At this very moment, indeed, there was about him an air which suggested to her that he never entirely cast aside the burden of this leadership. Mixed with his friendliness and warmth was a certain restraint-the self-restraint of a commander. He was not acting a part, but he was nevertheless conscious of his position and of the presence of his captains and his Suban allies. Whatever his inward inclinations, he would take care that no remarks were passed behind his back about the general being struck on the Tortildan girl. Besides, he was a king. If he did want her, no doubt he would send for her privately, as Kembri had done. So she gave smiling, neutral answers, complimenting him on the bearing of his soldiers and on all she had heard (which in fact was little enough) of Terekenalt. When he spoke to her of Bekla, she said she had been unhappy there, was delighted to have escaped and very glad to find herself in Suba.

Yet despite the honor being shown to her, this last was no more true now than when she had first crossed the Valderra. After her triumphant arrival at the Star Court that morning, three or four Suban ladies, the wives of notables, had taken her into their care, summoned their maids to bring her food and attend her in the bath, and then put their own wardrobes at her disposal. Two of these ladies had known Nokomis, and Maia once again responded as well as she could to their expressions of incredulous astonishment, assuring them that she was in no way related to the legendary Dragonfly of Suba.

By Beklan standards the dresses were disappointing- their style dowdy and dull for a girl like her-but she had chosen the best of them, a pale-gray robe with a shower of yellow stars spreading outward from bodice to hem; and in this, with her hair freshly washed and set with combs, and a translucent necklace of Telthearna aquamarines, she felt as confident as was possible without actually seeing herself (for, looking at the Suban ladies, she could place little reliance on their assurances and praises).

The thought of passing the rest of her life in such a society depressed her unutterably. In some respects, so it seemed to her, Melvda-the whole place-was not all that far above her mother's hovel. Most of the servants were dirty (dirtier than ever me or Kelsi was, she thought), but no one seemed to notice this or think it unusual. The bathwater, though hot enough, was brown and smelled muddy. Her thin towel was soaked through before she had nearly finished drying. When one of her hostesses opened a wardrobe door to show her her dresses, there was a scurrying of roaches or beetles, but at this the lady showed no particular surprise or discomposure. Since no one had offered her a mirror, she concluded that there was none in Melvda.

However, she had felt a little comforted when they took her to her own quarters. This time there was no ladder. The small, neat house stood apart from any others, at the top of a short slope of grass and flowering bushes. Beyond, a medley of fields stretched away towards distant woodland. The table, cupboards, stools and benches were well-made and looked almost new. The bed was more than four feet wide-they had given her their best guest-house, they explained, usually allotted to a couple-while the sedge-filled mattress was softer than the one she had praised to Nasada two nights before.

"Would you like the girl who came with you to sleep here?" asked her hostess.

Maia declined, asking only that Luma should bring hot water and breakfast in the morning. She would, she assured the Suban lady, be perfectly happy to sleep alone in the guest-house. After all, there was none but friends all round her.

She was hoping that Nasada might drop in that night for another talk. There was much more she wanted to ask him; and not only that, but she had almost made up her mind to tell him the truth and beg him to advise her. Like

most girls, Maia found it next to impossible to keep a secret if she could not disclose it to anyone at all.

That afternoon she had accompanied the king, Bayub-Otal, Lenkrit and Nasada as they walked through the camps speaking to officers, tryzatts and soldiers. Karnat's army, both Katrians and Terekenalters, were encamped along the eastern edge of Melvda-Rain, in meadows divided every sixty or seventy yards by irrigation channels and ditches. Over these the soldiers had thrown narrow, makeshift bridges of planks or tree-trunks, across which Karnat led the way, always turning to offer Maia his hand. Although she had not the least knowledge of soldiering, she was struck by the obvious professionalism of Karnat's men. The camps were clean and tidy. There were trenches for burning or burying rubbish and these, as well as the cooking-fires, always seemed to be down-wind of the nearest huts and shelters. The latter were plainly the work of experienced hands; sound and firm, spaced equally and at this time of day opened up, by the removal of some of their timbers or branches, to let in the breeze.

Karnat seemed to know the faces and names of hundreds of men, and from the way in which they answered him, gathering eagerly round, each man hoping to be noticed, it was plain that they not only respected but liked him. Almost every soldier Karnat spoke to possessed a confidence and alertness which impressed Maia. These, she felt, were real men. Beklan, of course, was not their tongue and in any case it would scarcely have been appropriate for her to converse directly with them, but here and there she made use of Zen-Kurel to ask a question or utter a few words of praise. These Terekenalters, she reflected pleasurably, saw her as herself and not as the ghost of Nokomis, of whom they knew little or nothing.

By contrast the Suban camp, along the edge of which their boat had passed that morning, was a somewhat unattractive spot. To be sure, the men were in good heart- as lively and ardent as any captain could wish-and Lenkrit and Bayub-Otal met with nothing but eager enthusiasm. There were cries of "How far to Bekla, sir?" "Tell them Terekenalters we'll show 'em the way!" and so on. Yet the whole place was so befouled and the men themselves so dirty and undisciplined that it was hard to think of them as an army. Karnat, for the most part, had received straight, soldierly answers to straight questions, but here, by and

large, the men seemed much less dear about where they belonged or what their jobs were. The diversity of weapons, too-many of them nothing but farming or forestry implements, more-or-less adapted for service-made them seem not so much like soldiers as a mob of rough, hardy men, willing enough but lacking any real training or cohesion. Several times Nasada shook his head over the filth and stench. At length, while Bayub-Otal and Lenkrit were at a little distance, talking to five or six men gathered round a grindstone, Maia saw him draw Karnat aside and begin speaking to him earnestly and emphatically. The king listened and nodded with an air of agreement.

"They'll fight well enough, you know, your majesty," said Bayub-Otal, returning. "Of course, they haven't the experience of your soldiers, but they're as keen as rats in a granary. They'll chew up the enemy all right, you'll see."

"Have you met all your officers and talked to them?" asked Karnat courteously but rather gravely.

"Those I'm leading myself I talked to this morning," replied Bayub-Otal. "I haven't met Lenkrit's officers yet- I've arranged that for tomorrow."

"Well, I'm very glad you're here, Anda-Nokomis," said the king, "and I'll be still more glad when we've won back your inheritance. I only hope you're not going to find that hand of yours a personal disadvantage, but whether or not, I know the Subans will follow you and Lenkrit: I've never had the least doubt of that."

"Don't worry, sir," answered Bayub-Otal. "If I can rule Suba left-handed, I can fight for it left-handed."

Karnat laughed, clapped him on the shoulder and began speaking about the arrangements for striking camp. Maia, startled by what she had heard, fell back a step or two and plucked Nasada's sleeve.

"Is he really going to join in the fighting?"

"So he says."

"But, Nasada, how can he, with that hand?"

"He can't be stopped. He's Ban of all Suba, you see. The men know that, and they admire him for not crying off. If he didn't at least try to lead them in battle he'd have no real chance of ruling Suba after Karnat's won."

About the effect of her own appearance in the Suban camp there was no doubt. Before they had been there three minutes a grizzled, gap-toothed man in a torn jerkin and goatskin breeches, who looked well over forty, stopped

dead in his tracks, stared at her a moment and then cried out "Lespa's stars!" Behind her, Maia could hear him jabbering excitedly to four or five others, and soon (as there would not have been, she felt, in Karnat's camp, even had her likeness been known there) a rag-tag crowd was following at their heels and men were converging from every side. Again and again came murmurs of "Nokomis!" "Nokomis!" They seemed less excited than wonder-struck- almost afraid. No one spoke directly to her or tried to question her. Becoming nervous herself of the unceasing staring, whispering and pointing, she took first Nasada's arm and then, as he turned back to her and offered it, Bayub-Otal's.

"Do they really think I'm Nokomis?" she whispered.

"They're puzzled," replied Bayub-Otal. "They don't know what to think. They can't make it out as yet, but they know you must be a sign from the gods, and that's all that matters. Tomorrow I want to present you a little more formally to the officers."

"How will they take it, d'you reckon?"

"Why, as we all do, of course," he answered. "For the best omen we could possibly have had. And when Suba's free, we'll-"

But now more soldiers were crowding round, and he broke off to speak to them. The continual, muttering excitement, together with the acrid smoke and muddy squalor of the camp, had begun to exhaust and repel her. She did not resume their conversation, and was glad when, soon after, the king called for a boat to take them back to the Star Court.

Here several people, some officers, others older men- contractors and petitioners-were waiting to speak to Kar-nat; but after listening to the first for no more than a few minutes, he broke off to ask Bayub-Otal to arrange for supper to be served within the hour. This seemed to surprise the Subans-as indeed it did Maia, since from what little she had seen of this country, the customary time for supper was either sunset or soon after, and to that it still wanted more than two hours. However, no one was going to disagree with the king, whose fine presence and gracious manners gave him a natural authority accepted by everyone; and Maia had hardly had time to wash the mud from her feet and rinse her eyes and mouth (which felt gritty) before Zen-Kurel was outside the door of the ladies' quar-

ters, presenting his majesty's compliments and hoping that the young saiyett would do the king the honor of sitting near him at supper. It was this that had first made her begin to wonder what his personal feelings might be, but by the time the fruit and rather insipid sweetmeats had been served, she had decided that his warmth stemmed from nothing more than diplomacy. She was the luck of Suba and he was treating her accordingly.

The same, however, could certainly not be said of the young staff officer, Zen-Kurel. He was plainly fascinated by her. Throughout supper he had talked to her warmly and freely in his excellent Beklan, partly about his military service and close connection with the king and partly about her night crossing of the Valderra, which he obviously thought showed great courage on her part. If that was what he chose to think, Maia had no wish to disillusion him. She told him nothing of what had really happened and, as soon as she could, led him on to tell her something of himself. His mother, now dead, had been a Beklan girl (a shearna, she somehow suspected) who had married a Ka-trian baron, Zen-Bharsh-Kraill. They had apparently met in Dari-Paltesh, though he did not say how. He himself had never lived in Bekla, though as a child he had spent several years in Dari. "Of course, that was long before the king occupied Suba." His father was getting on now. One day he would have to go home and take over the running of the family estate in northern Katria. "But not too soon, I hope," he said. "Soldiering-it's a wonderful life, especially now I'm actually with the king. I don't want to stay at home and breed goats-not yet. Or even get married," he added, smiling.

"No, that's dull," said Maia. "Breeding goats, I mean," she added.

Zen-Kurel laughed. "I'm sure you had something better to do in Bekla than breed goats, hadn't you?"

"Yes, I was a dancer. But I've
danced
as a goat-well, that's to say, as Shakkarn. Do you know the senguela- the dance about Shakkarn and Lespa?"

He did not, and listened attentively as she described it and went on to speak of Fordil's extraordinary skill as an accompanist.

"But if you danced in the Palace of the Barons at Bekla, you must be a very good dancer?"

"Well, I don't know. It was just that there was this party,

see, and I happened to be there. I was surprised how much they seemed to like it. But then if you're attending on the king,
you
must be a very good officer."

"Well, not really. It's just that I happen to speak Beklan, you see-"

They both burst out laughing again, thoroughly pleased with themselves and each other. He was an extraordinarily fine-looking young man, possessing both style and charm, and merely to have him seated beside her, hanging on her every word and never taking his eyes off her, was making her feel better and forget the strain and eerie bewilderment of the afternoon. She might not have known how to handle that-who would? she thought-but she knew how to handle this all right. Ah, if only they had been in Bekla!