There was a silence. Then Maia said, "You're a nettle, too, aren't you?"
"You attend to your business and I'll attend to mine," replied Occula. "But I'll tell you this, banzi: it takes courage to puzzle out what Lespa's sayin'. She never tells you what to do: she tells you where you are. After that you're on your own."
Through the northern window shone for a few moments the lights of the lower city clocks telling the hour.
"Still, you woan' want to go home on your own, will you?" said Occula. "D'you think your soldier's come back by now?"
74: EUD-ECACHLON ASKS A QUESTION
Night by night the great comet poured out its hazy brightness into the northern sky, and throughout the city anxiety and wonder gradually diminished as still nothing happened and the prodigy became a thing accustomed. The priests, shrewdly no doubt, avoided committing themselves be-yond affirming that the gods had given assurance (none knew how) that the apparition portended no harm. One day a crowd of orderly and respectful suppliants succeeded in confronting the chief priest as he was entering the Tem-ple of Cran by the front portico, when to avoid or ignore them would have appeared undignified and perhaps even weak. He replied to their questions with grave self-pos-session and suavity.
"Consider," said he, "that many thousands of years ago the moon must have appeared in the sky for the first time. Can you imagine how astonished and bewildered the peo-ple of those days must have been to see it? What rumi-nation and presentiment they must have suffered--yes, suffered, for of course they were only poor, ignorant folk in those days, without the benefits of modern knowledge and of all this" (waving his hand towards the spacious precinct and the Tamarrik Gate). "To this day, how inexplicable, even if predictable, remain her phases, her waxings and waitings! Yet the moon is a blessing and no one now would dream of attributing ill-omen to the moon."
"Is the great star here to stay, then, my Guardian?" asked someone in the crowd.
"How do we know?" he replied. "Yet since you ask me, I would say not. All I am explaining to you is, that not every sign among the stars need or should be taken as the forerunner of some great change, let alone of disaster."
"So the Serrelinda was right?" called out someone else.
"Not having heard her speak, I cannot say," he answered with a sedate and condescending smile. "Our astrologers, of course, have spent many years of study in learning their expert skills. I entertain nothing against the Serrelinda--"
"Better not!" muttered someone.
"She has served the city superbly in her way. We have to serve it in ours." He spread his arms wide and raised his voice. "I will pray to Cran and Airtha to bless you all for honest and true-hearted Beklans, whom the gods surely love."
His scarlet-bordered robes swished on the pavement as he turned and ascended the steps into the noon-shadowed portico.
At about the same time Maia, who had begun--and to her credit was sticking to--a couple of hours' work a day on improving her reading and (which she found a good deal harder, since it had never really existed) her writing, was lying in the hammock in her garden, wrestling with a romance lent to her by Sarget, about the deeds of the hero Deparioth. Like nearly all people of relatively young civilizations--and certainly like virtually everyone in the Bek-lan Empire at this time--Maia found it natural to read to herself aloud, and her soft, rather pretty voice, stumbling and hesitating over the more difficult words, mingled with the lapping of the Barb and the intermittent piping of a damazin among the trees.
"Give back the--the miry--miry--solitude,
The thorns and briars--out--er--outstretched to
bless.
There lay my-- kingdom, I reckon that is--past compare.
This court's the desert--something wild--wilderness."
She knew the story well. This was Deparioth's lament for the loss of the mysterious girl they called the Silver Flower, who, having saved his life in the terrible Blue Forest, had then vanished forever. She read it through again.
"Give back the miry solitude,
The thorns and briars outstretched to bless.
There lay my kingdom, past compare.
This court's the desert wilderness."
The Blue Forest she knew by repute for a wild and savage place in northern Katria, beyond the borders of the empire; somewhere near where, so she'd heard, the Zhairgen ran into the Telthearna. She began to muse, the scroll laid aside. If she were really to put her mind to it, could she get to Katria? Might she be able to reach the Zhairgen quickly and secretly, and then somehow cross it before she was missed?
How far was it to the Zhairgen, anyway? It was, she knew, generally reckoned a good four or five days' journey to Dari-Paltesh; and the Zhairgen lay be-yond that.
Oh, she thought, if only things could just be back as they were that night in Suba; the night he brought the daggers! We knew our own hearts then, and that was all we needed to know. "Give back the miry solitude--"
Suddenly her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a cry of "Maia! Where are you?" It was a man's voice-- one that she remembered well enough but could not instantly put a name to. She stood up, and as she did so caught sight of someone approaching from the direction of the house. As the voice called again, she realized why she had felt so much startled. It was an Urtan accent. Yet it was not--no, it was not Anda-Nokomis. For a moment she had thought it was, and now she felt disappointed that it wasn't. Fancy that! she thought. A moment later Eud-Ecachlon came running down the grassy path to the hammock and took her hands.
To Maia Eud-Ecachlon, a man in his mid-thirties, had always seemed old--certainly much older than any of his friends in Bekla. Though he associated with Elvair-ka-Virrion and other young Leopards on equal terms, she had always thought of him as a man nearer to the generation of Kembri, Sendekar or Sarget--as indeed he was. She recalled his rather slow, stolid ways, his diffidence and the contempt with which Occula had once referred to him as "a one-balled Urtan goat". Yet she well remembered, too, the last time they had been together--how long ago it seemed! during that afternoon in Melekril last year, when, standing in for Occula, she had given him the time of his life. That had been great fun and she had enjoyed it herself-- at least to the extent of feeling that she had done a good job and a bit more besides.
She recalled, too, how warmly she had spoken of their meeting again on his next return to Bekla from Uriah; for she had been quite carried away by her own skill and success that afternoon. No, she thought, she had never disliked Eud-Ecachlon.
To her eyes he was looking, if anything, even older. There was more gray in his beard and somehow his thick-set body had about it an impalpable air of bearing a bur-den. Yet here he was, greeting her with warmth and cordiality--no trace of constraint or self-consciousness now-- and obviously delighted to see her again.
She was pleased enough to see him, too; invited him to stay to dinner and felt glad when he accepted.
He spoke, naturally, of the Valderra and of her celebrity in the em-pire. "Urtah would die for you," he said. "Do you know that? If Karnat had over-run Urtah--" And she, of course, let pass the awkward topic of Urtah's present loyalty to Bekla and thanked him graciously, wondering how much he was not telling her about the dissidents who were doing their best to stir up trouble in the province.
They spoke, too, of the murder of the High Counselor and the strangely unsuccessful search for the killers. Eud-Ecachlon inquired after Occula and seemed distressed when Maia replied that she could not tell what might have be-come of her after the arrests.
"Poor girl!" he said. "I suppose they must have done away with her. What a shame! She had such style, hadn't she? I don't mind telling you, that night when she made Ka-Roton stab himself I was terrified; but I must admit he had asked for it. Got a bit more than he bargained for, didn't he?"
Later, when dinner was over, she showed him Randronoth's miniature, carved cabinet; for she remained continually delighted by it and could not resist showing it off, though she said nothing about where it ha
d come from. Eud-Ecachlon took it in his hands and admired it politely, though without any very close examination, so that she perceived what she could have guessed--that such things did not mean much to him and were rather beyond his powers of appreciation. Well, but all the same, they'd come her way a lot less than his, she thought. Although she'd not been brought up among beautiful things, she could nevertheless feel naturally thrilled by something as rare and marvelous as this. She thought of the Thlela and their dance of the Telthearna on the night of the Rains banquet in Kembri's house. She had never before seen the Thlela, yet she had needed no teaching that night.
It was while Eud-Ecachlon was still holding the cabinet in his hands and at any rate giving the appearance of examining it that he remarked, with no particular alteration of expression or manner, "My father's ill, you know."
"The High Baron, Euda? I'm very sorry to hear it. I hope it's not serious?"
He closed the little doors and latched them. "Well, he's old, you know: I'm afraid he may not recover. Everyone in Urtah thinks the same, really."
"I know you both love him--you and Bayub-Otal. And you're the heir, of course. It must be a worrying time for you, as well as a sad one." And then, in her way of often coming straight out with anything that entered her mind, "What's brought you back to Bekla, then, at such a time as this? I s'pose you have to see Kembri and the Council, do you, on behalf of your father?"
"Yes, well--that, I suppose." He put the cabinet back in its place and sat down. "Urtah's not an easy province to govern, you know."
"Well, you can't very well try another one, can you?"
He looked up with a puzzled expression, as though taking what she had said seriously and considering it. He'd always been a bit slow, she recalled. "I was only teasing, Euda. I'm sorry you've got all these problems, honest I am. I cert'nly wouldn't like to have to govern a province-- any province."
"Oh--wouldn't you? Wouldn't you really?" He looked up at her earnestly, with a kind of concern in his voice. He really was a funny old chap, she thought.
"Well, that's one thing I'm not likely to find myself doing, so I needn't worry, need I? Euda, tell me, Anda-Nokomis--that's to say, Bayub-Otal--will they let him out, do you think? Is that what you came to talk to me about? Could I help? I mean, if your poor old father's dying, like you say--"
"WeH, that's one thing, that's part of it, yes." He paused. "Yes, of course, I came to see Kembri. Urtah's a divided province and that's its trouble, I suppose; and it's the Leopards' trouble too--they can't rely on it as they'd like to. Suba--it was Kembri and Fornis who sold it to Karnat, you know. Then my brother tried to get it back for himself--and the price was helping Karnat to take Bekla." (But he must know I know all this, she thought.) "And he'd have succeeded too, if you hadn't stopped him. What that would have meant for Urtah nobody knows, do they, since it didn't happen?"
As Ogma came in to clear away the dinner, Maia led Eud-Ecachlon back into the garden.
"But all most people in Urtah want is a quiet life," he continued, as they strolled down towards the Barb.
"Like most people anywhere, I suppose. You see, it's eight or nine years now since Suba was given to Karnat, and what's Suba to an Urtan farmer with his beasts to feed and his harvest to get in? But then, on the other hand, there's my poor old father. He loves Bayub-Otal, and ever since the fight at Rallur he's been breaking his heart to think of him shut up in that fortress at Dari-Paltesh. I believe that's what's killing him--the uncertainty. We've been entreating Kembri for months to pardon Bayub-Otal, simply so that the old man can die in peace. But Kembri doesn't trust us, it seems. He doesn't trust Urtah not to try to regain Suba, not to use Bayub-Otal against Bekla."
"And you want me to try to persuade him: is that it?"
"Oh, no, Maia. No, no, that isn't why I came at all." Eud-Ecachlon came to a kind of indeterminate stop in his walk, looking down and kicking with one foot at the grass. "They all think the world of you in Urtah, you know. Oh, yes, everybody does, I assure you." .
"Well, I must say you do surprise me, Euda, saying that. I'd have thought--well, you know--the girl who put paid to poor Anda-Nokomis--"
"Oh, no, Maia, no; the girl who stopped the bloodshed and saved Uriah from Karnat. That was what you did it for, wasn't it? That's what I was told you've always said, anyway; that you did it to stop the bloodshed."
"So I did. I've nothing against Anda-Nokomis--leastways, not any more. I'd be real glad to hear as he'd been let out. Time 'twas all forgot, I reckon."
They had almost reached the shore, and she turned aside to that same marble seat where she had sat to listen to Randronoth's emissary Seekron.
"Of course," said Eud-Ecachlon, looking out across the water, "I've never been married, you know. I was betrothed to Fornis once--did you know that? It was--oh, long ago now, when we were both young; before her father died, and before the Leopards came to power. I was in love with her. Can you believe that? I thought she was wonderful--a girl like a goddess. Her father, Kephialtar of Paltesh--he wanted the marriage, but she didn't. She took her father's boat on the Zhairgen and sailed it two hundred miles to Quiso. You've heard the story, I expect."
"I've--yes, well, I've heard something about it, Euda, of course. But 'twas all before I was born, you know. Want my opinion, though, I reckon you were lucky. Married to Fornis? Doesn't bear thinking about, does it?"
He gave a short laugh. "You're right, Maia, of course. But somehow that business knocked the stuffing out of me. You know--to be made a fool of, publicly, by someone you love, when you're young and--well, ardent, I suppose you'd say. Somehow I never could face the idea of marriage after that. Of course it's always disappointed my father; worried him, too. The succession, you know."
Maia, while not unsympathetic, was now beginning to wonder how she could tactfully bring about his departure, for she had half-promised Milvushina a visit that afternoon. She had been afraid that after dinner he might make advances to her, perhaps reminding her how she had once been all fervor, speaking of his return and crying "Soon, soon, soon!" However, he hadn't, which saved a lot of trouble.
Perhaps now was the time to ask him to be sure to join her supper-party the evening after tomorrow and bid him good-bye until then. She began "Euda--"
But he was still speaking. "I've always known I haven't really got what anyone would call great powers of leadership--not for a ruler, that is. People don't actually dislike me, but they don't fall down and offer to die for me, either; not like the Terekenalters for Karnat, or even the Subans for Bayub-Otal, come to that. But with a girl like you-- well, they'd only have to see you, wouldn't they?"
She was still preoccupied with what she had been about to say. "I'm sorry, Euda, I'm afraid I wasn't just exactly following you."
He turned beside her on the seat and took her hand.
"My father would rest in peace. And you-p-you've got dangerous enemies here--it's common knowledge. You'd have none, would you? And it would do more than anything else to reconcile Urtah to Bekla."
She started up from beside him. "What are you saying, Euda?"
"And I've already put it to Kembri that as part of the arrangement--as a sign of the Leopards' approval and goodwill--he should release Bayub-Otal on a firm promise that he'll give no more trouble. Kembri said he felt sure you'd be delighted. You'd realize, he said, that the arrangement would solve all manner of problems, for you and for Bekla. But apart from that, to be the first lady in the land--"
"Euda, are you asking me to marry you?"
"I'm asking you to marry me and to become High Baroneness of Urtah: for the sake of my people and myself. That's why I came to Bekla. And I assure you it's with my father's full approval."
Moaning, she sank down on the grass, her face buried in her hands. "O Cran! O Cran and Airtha!"
He stroked her hair. "What's the matter? It's a shock, Maia, is that it? I suppose I've done it clumsily. I'm afraid I'm not stylish and dashing, like Elvair-ka-Virrion---I know that. I'm just a held
ro; I don't know how you go about these things in Bekla--"
"No, no; 'tain't that. Oh, I dunno what to say! You can't want me --a girl from Sencho's---"
"Don't talk like that! That's all past and over! I'm speaking to the renowned, heroic beauty Maia Serrelinda." Then, as she said no more, her face still in her hands, he went on, "Are you afraid of it? You shouldn't be. Do you know what they think of you in Urtah? Let me tell you something. Only the other day, on my way here, I was talking to one of my principal tenants, a prosperous farmer down towards the southwest of the province. It seems his daughter knows you--a girl called Gehta. She met you when you were with Bayub-Otal on the way to Suba. 'She saved us all,' he said. 'I'd give her half my farm if she asked me for it. Why, if once those Terekenalters had got across--' "
With a dazed air, Maia, who could scarcely take in what he was saying, rose to her feet. "I--can I think it over, my lord? I need time--"
"Does it need thinking over? To be High Baroness of Urtah?"
"I--oh, don't think as I don't feel all the honor you're doing me, Euda. No, it's--"
"I'm old, is that it? The upper city's smart and gay--"
"Oh, don't talk like that, my lord! It's not right for a high baron's heir to be talking like that--"
"Perhaps it's not. No, you're right, of course. Well, you'd be able to change me a good deal, I expect; a girl like you. If ever there was a girl who was obviously favored by the gods--"
Maia, realizing that with this rather awkward, insensitive man their talk could hardly come to an end unless she were to bring it about herself, made a supreme effort to regain her composure.
"You'll understand, my lord--Euda--that this is all a surprise to me; unexpected, like. I feel sort of confused. I can't talk any more just now. Would you mind leaving me?"
"But what shall I tell Kembri?" he asked.
At this she could flare up, her tongue loosened naturally and spontaneously.
"Kembri? What in Lespa's name has Kembri got to do with it? This is between you and me, isn't it?"
He took it without a retort. "I'm sorry. When shall I see you again?"