"But would Sencho let her go?" asked Maia.
"He'll have to, if she offers the price: that's the law, you see. If a girl can put up twelve thousand meld five years or more after she was first bought, her master has to let her go. But that's nearly always to his own advantage, anyway. He's had the girl for five years, you see. She must have lost value, but he can always get another for twelve thousand or less."
"Not one like me he can'," said Occula. "I'll wipe her eye, you see if I doan'."
At this moment Ogma, the club-footed servant-girl who looked after the women's quarters, came in, raised her palm to her forehead and stood silently by the entrance, waiting for Terebinthia to give her leave to speak. It pleased the saiyett to keep her waiting for some little while. When at length she beckoned her over, it was to be told that Sencho wished to see her at once.
She left hastily and with none-too-well-concealed apprehension.
"Ah, well," said Zirek, returning his wares one by one to the pack. "It's always nice to have a chat with a bunch of pretty girls, even if you don't sell much. I'll have to be getting along now, though. I'm glad we met, Occula: I'll see you again." He paused a moment. "Tell us what you can, won't you? There's various ways, as I dare say you know; but I'll be back myself as soon as I can."
"I'll buy your flask of kepris, if you like," said Meris suddenly. "I'll give you a damn' good price, too. Here it is."
Placing herself squarely in front of him, she unclasped her cloak and let it fall to the floor. Except for her shoes and a silver bracelet on one arm she was naked, and in the warm, still room her body gave off a faint perfume of lilies. As she held out her arms to him, smiling, the young man stared at her without a word.
"There's a room through there," she said, "but we'll have to be quick. She'll be back soon."
Occula, stepping forward, picked up her cloak.
"I'm only new roun' here," she said to Meris, "and Cran knows I hate to spoil a bit of fun. But even more would I hate to see you both hangin' upside-down; and make no mistake, that's what it'll be if she comes back and catches you. Come on, Zirek, get your pack in one hand and your zard in the other and get out of here."
"Damn you, Occula!" shouted Meris. "What the basting hell's it got to do with you?"
As Occula held her by the shoulders she struggled fiercely, twisting her head round and trying to bite her hand. "Why can't you get her off me?" she cried to the pedlar, stamping her foot. "Don't you want to baste me? There's plenty'd like to who can't, I'll tell you that!"
"O Cran preserve us!" said Occula. "Meris, haven't you got any blasted sense at all? She'll be back any minute, you little hot-tairth idiot! Zirek, get out, go on, or I'll go and fetch the porter myself, damned if I doan'!"
At this moment Meris, who seemed completely beside herself, swung back one of her shod heels and kicked Occula on the shin. Occula, cursing with pain, slapped her as hard as she could, and as the girl sank to her knees once more gripped her under the shoulders.
"It's the heat," said the black girl, rubbing her bleeding shin against her other calf. "Come on, banzi, help me get her into her bedroom. For the last time, Zirek, will you get out?"
The two girls carried Meris bodily out of the room. Once they had put her on her bed she lay there quietly, her head thrust between two cushions. When they returned the ped-lar had gone.
"Now that just shows you, banzi," said Occula, "how easy it is to go on your ruin just because you itch and mustn' scratch. That girl's pretty enough to make a fortune, but she'll come to a bad end, you mark my words! Can you imagine what would have happened if old Terebinthia had come back just in time for a nice, private kura?"
"What's a kura?" asked Maia.
"Oh, give me patience!" said Occula. "A kura's when boys and girls are set to do it openly, at a party or a banquet, to amuse the ladies and gentlemen and get them going. Doan' worry, you'll see plenty before long. But if we'd had to admit that we knew what Meris was doin' and hadn' tried to stop her, we'd have been lucky to get off with a whippin'; and as for Meris herself--"
The beads clicked: Terebinthia was once more in the room. As the girls turned to face her she picked up a towel to wipe her sweating face and neck.
"The pedlar's gone?" she asked at length.
"Yes, saiyett."
"And where is Meris?" Terebinthia's tone was rather sharper.
"Gone to lie down, saiyett: the heat, you know."
Terebinthia paused. Her silence exuded a kind of suspicion and menace. Maia, realizing that very little escaped her and that that was one reason why she had risen to her position in this world where she herself must now live, felt afraid.
"Well," said Terebinthia, with a certain air of deciding on balance to leave something unsaid, "that will be--quieter, I dare say."
She paused again: the girls waited silently.
"I've just been talking with the High Counselor," she resumed at length. "He tells me he has been advised from the temple that the rains are almost certainly going to set in before morning."
"Good news, saiyett," said Occula.
"And if they do," continued Terebinthia, ignoring her, "the Lord General will be holding his customary banquet tomorrow night. The High Counselor will be attending, of course. He wishes Meris to accompany him, and also you, Maia, so that you can gain some experience."
"Me, saiyett? But--"
"And now I wish to see Meris," said Terebinthia. "No, Occula, you needn't bring her here: I'll go and talk to her in the bedroom. Perhaps by this time she'll be finding the-- er-- heat less troublesome."
"Oh, we'll take good care to keep on the right side of her, banzi!" said the black girl, holding the pottery cat up to the light and turning it this way and that. "If she was jus' to take a dislike to one of us, I doan' believe she'd stop at anythin', do you?"
22: THE RAINS BANQUET
In the midst of the dry, tawny plain Bekla, at the foot of Crandof's slope, lay like a tilted stone on the bed of a pool. For weeks the pool had been land-locked; the air inert, unstirring, so that no flow (one might imagine), even the most sluggish, could take place above its towers or across the long walls.
Sometimes, indeed, it seemed to move a little, back and forth, with a turgid languor caused by no wind; perhaps by the jostling of sweating bodies or the babel of voices, just as still water round a stone might momentarily be troubled, before settling once more, by the passing of some weary, trapped fish.
Beyond the city, harvest was ended and summer hung dry and empty as a husk. The little herd-boys lay in the shade, paying no heed to cattle too listless to stray from the banks of shrunken rivers where the baked mud could afford them no relief. The work of the world was to wait for rain, and weary work it was--heavier even than the thundery cloud-banks piling up, day after day, above the Tonildan mountains a hundred miles to the east.
Slowly, as though their mass were too great for even the gods to move without exertion, these clouds began to advance westward above the plain; and below them went a mist white as wool, creeping through the treetops of the Tonildan forest, moving silently on across the expanse of Lake Serrelind, thickening among the hovels of Puhra and Hirdo. And behind the mist, at first indistinguishable from it, came rain; a rain that joined the mist to the clouds, so that everything--villages, roads, huts in fields, boats on rivers--was isolated first by mist, then by rain, and at last by mud. Yet villagers, travelers, farmers, fishermen--all were prepared, forewarned by the fleecy mist, its approach visible for miles as it billowed up and over the low saddles between the ridges of the plain and flowed down to fill the hollows below.
This isolation was relief, deliverance at last from the arid remnant of summer, a warrant to sit idle and cool under a roof while outside, far and wide, further than the eye could see, the gods went about their share of the world's work so that in time man might return to plow, sow and graze cattle once more.
The rain, advancing out of the mist, fell with a quiet hissing upon dried grass, trees and
dusty roads. At last the soft, slow wind which bore it reached and flowed over Bekla itself, spilling currents of cool air through its streets and alleys. Everywhere sounded pattering and trickling. Soon the gutters were flowing, the winking surface of the Barb was almost visibly rising and fountains which had stood dry for weeks began to spout water. Householders, opening their windows, sat by them silently, watching and smelling the rain in rapt contentment, while the homeless beggars, gathering in the colonnades, spat and nodded together, their sores and scabs eased by the moist coolness. Sencho, drowsing in the bath, woke at the long-awaited sound and, erecting with pleasure, sent for Occula and Meris to join him. Fleitil and his journeymen-assistants, having made their wedges and blocks firm round the base of the new statue of Airtha by the Tamarrik Gate, covered it with a canvas tarpaulin, packed their tools and set off for the nearest tavern, there to drink to the prospect of two months' profitable studio work under cover.
As evening began to fall Durakkon, standing at one of the east-facing windows of the Barons' Palace, watched the mist top the low ridge four miles away and inch down the slope, obliterating yard by yard the highway to Thettit. He could make out no single traveler on the road, but this was not surprising.
Travelers would be unlikely to have delayed leaving Naksh for Bekla as late as the afternoon, for they too would have seen the mist, which often advanced faster than a man could walk; and as the roads were now, a wayfarer overtaken by it might well find himself at the mercy of worse than rain. Just as Senda-na-Say, waking by night at Puhra in the crackling fume, had encountered not only smoke but the death that lay within it.
Senda-na-Say had been a fool, thought Durakkon. He had unthinkingly assumed that the empire should and could be governed in the light of traditional, unchanging principles. He had never appreciated that new social forces had emerged within its society's complex structure; or if he had, had believed that concepts like honor, duty and the hereditary authority of the High Barons of Bekla could be stretched indefinitely, to embrace and control them. He himself, Durakkon, had known seven years ago that he and not Senda-na-Say was the man to move with the times and guide the empire along new paths. That was why he had taken the opportunity offered to him by Kembri and Sencho. They had needed a real and indisputable nobleman, a man of high rank, to lend respectability to the Leopards' seizure of power. He had seen the chance to fulfill his ideals, to give the empire enlightened, modern rule and greater prosperity; to sail with the irresistible current and not against it, to bring about the beneficial changes which Senda-na-Say would never have effected in a hundred years. Senda-na-Say had been a foolish, honorable man. The days of honorable men were past.
And his own ideals--what had become of them, those ambitions? He thought of the unspeakable Sencho, spinning his spy-nets, subsidizing delators and peculating the revenues as he lay stuffing and rutting among his trulls; of Kembri bargaining with the highest bidder for the use of Beklan soldiers to sustain the internecine feuds of the provinces. They, of course, remained untroubled by recurrent dreams of smoke and fire by night and the screaming of women from upper stories.
Prosperity, he thought: yes, there was certainly plenty of that for those--and they were not a few--in whose power it lay to attain it. Standing at the window, looking out across the upper city, he saw a green-shirted pedlar emerge from the gate of Sencho's house and trudge quickly away towards the Peacock Gate, clearly in a hurry to get back to his lodgings before the rain could reach him. That pedlar, enjoying the protection of the law--only a month before, two men found guilty of waylaying a licensed pedlar had been sentenced to hang upside-down on the ridge between Naksh and Bekia--would certainly, since he had judged it worth his while to call at Sencho's, be carrying goods of higher price and quality that those to be found in a pack eight years before. As the man disappeared under the arch of the Peacock Gate, the oncoming streamers of mist began creeping across the Thettit highway, a mile beyond the eastern walls.
Durakkon turned from the window, hearing outside the room the voice of the soldier on duty. In accordance with his own orders, someone was being denied access. Nevertheless, he thought, he might as well deal with the matter now--whatever it might be--rather than later. He went across to the doorway.
"What is it, Harpax?"
"My lord, a messenger from the Sacred Queen; one of her attendants."
"Admit her."
He recognized the woman who entered; Ashaktis, For-nis's personal maid, a Palteshi who had come with her from Dari and remained with her ever since. Fornis, feeling, like himself, the need to be continually on her guard against assassination, restricted her personal entourage largely to Palteshis.
"So the rains are here at last, Ashaktis," said Durakkon, by way of greeting.
"Yes, my lord, Cran be blest for them! The Sacred Queen commends herself to you, my lord. She is unwell--"
"I am sorry to hear it," said Durakkon perfunctorily.
"It is not serious, my lord, but she thinks it best not to leave her house for the time being. She has asked me to say that nevertheless, she needs to speak with you and accordingly begs that you will be so good as to visit her this evening. Naturally, she hopes that her request will not put you to inconvenience and that you will be at liberty to have supper with her."
He had better go, thought Durakkon. It was quite probable that Fornis had in all earnest come across something of which he ought to learn without delay. Calling in Har-pax, he ordered an armed bodyguard to be ready in half an hour. Seven years ago, he reflected, he could have walked alone and unarmed through any part of the upper and most parts of the lower city.
Before the rain began to fall that evening and washed on through the night, drumming on roofs and shutters, running in brown rivulets down the steep streets below the central walk--the Street of the Armorers, Storks Hill and the Street of Leaves--turning the outfall of the Barb to a chattering torrent racing past the Tamarrik Gate through all three open sluices, calling a two months' halt to trade and war alike, not only the powerful and wealthy but also those who catered for or pandered to them had already been preparing for the weeks ahead. In many respects life in Bekla during the rains was anything but inactive. In Beklan idiom the season was called "Melekril"; a word meaning, literally, the disappearance into cover of a hunted animal. Although supplies of fresh food were diminished, a certain amount still reached the markets and was bought by the rich, who traditionally passed the time in entertaining one another, often on a lavish scale. Vintners, grocers and bakers commonly laid in large stocks well before the onset of the rains, while herds of cattle were driven into the covered pounds outside the Gate of Lilies, there to be fed on roots and hay, for slaughter as required. The well-paved and -drained stone streets of the city made social intercourse easy enough for ladies carried in their utters. Among men, the customary practice was to walk through the warm rain with a stout cloak and overshoes.
The household of Kembri-B'sai had for some days past been fettled against the coming of the rains, for the Lord General customarily entertained freely during Melekril, partly because, like many successful soldiers of fortune, he enjoyed the display of wealth and the flattery and admiration of lesser personages; but also because he found this an excellent way of keeping his ear to the ground, of hearing rumors and assessing the undercurrents running through the life of the city.
For several years past he had given a banquet on the evening after the rains began, and this had now become something of an institution. Even as Durakkon was setting out for the house of the Sacred Queen, Kembri's servants were already on errands about the upper city, carrying his invitations for the following night. Meanwhile, slaves were preparing the great hall, polishing, sweeping, filling and trimming lamps, ensuring the flow of water to the pools and fountains and setting up the extra benches, couches and tables necessary for so large a number of guests. Several smaller rooms off the hall were also made ready, some for privacy and conversation, others for gambling or for still more pleasa
nt diversion. The housekeeper, plate-master, chief cook and butler, themselves dignitaries in their own right in a household numbering over two hundred servants and slaves, held last-minute conferences and is-sued final instructions to their underlings. Great masses of fresh flowers from the gardens, kept shaded and watered for cutting at the last possible moment, were brought in and banked in the pools, ready to be made next day into wreaths, garlands and decorations.
Kembri, as was his custom, had already instructed two of his army doctors to be in attendance; for experience had taught him that it would be unusual if the night's entertainment did not give rise to some illnesses, to say nothing of quarrels and injuries. Then, having supped, he betook himself--again by custom--to sleep at the house of one of his senior officers, for his own would be full of disturbance throughout the night.
"Banzi, have you used that stuff Terebinthia gave you?"
"Oh, Cran, yes! It felt horrible. I couldn't hardly do it!"
"But you did do it? Properly? You stuffed it right up?"
"Yes. Well, she saw to that."
"Good! Only whatever happens you must not go and let some bastin' idiot make you pregnant. That'd ruin everythin', that would."
"Oh, Occula, I wish you were coming too! I feel so nervous--"
"Well, it's bad luck in a way, but it can' be helped. Old Piggy-wig wants you and Meris and that's the end of it. Cran knows why! A big feast like this, he'd do much better to take two reliable, experienced girls like me and Dyphna, but there you are. Let's have a look at you. Oh, my goodness, banzi, it's lucky all the girls doan' look like you! There'd be rape every day!"
In spite of her agitation Maia could not help smiling. One glance in the wall-mirror had already been enough to tell her that no barefoot, hungry, cow-herding lass on the shores of Lake Serrelind had ever looked like this. The toes of her white leather slippers were stitched with crimson beads which matched the pleats of her full, Yeldashay-style skirt. A close-fitting, ribbed but flexible silk bodice both supported her bosom and left it almost completely uncovered, except by the tumble of well-brushed, golden hair falling two-thirds of the way to her waist. On one side of her head was fastened a spray of crimson keranda, the tiny, nacreous blooms of which gave off a fragrance perceptible five feet away. After much consultation, Terebinthia and Occula had agreed that she should wear no jewels at all, but that her eyelids and nipples should be gilded. The effect was startling and even Terebinthia, by glances if not in so many words, had shown herself not unimpressed.