Keyoke nodded, his scarred face impassive, but his manner suggesting approval. After a moment of thought, he ran the knuckle of his index finger along an old scar that creased his jaw. ‘Lady, would you recognize this gesture as such a warning, even in a crowded or public place?’
Mara nearly smiled. Keyoke had chosen a nervous habit of Papewaio’s, his only outward sign of tension. Keyoke never fidgeted; through danger or stress, and even in battle, she supposed, her Force Commander never lost control. If he scratched a scar in her presence, she would notice, and hopefully take heed. ‘Very good. So be it, Keyoke.’
A strained silence developed as Mara shifted her regard to the other warrior before her. ‘My brave Pape, had I not erred in one instance, I would now be dead and all our holdings and retainers left without a mistress.’ Wishing the moment of judgment could be delayed, the girl added, ‘Had I but said let none follow me to the grove …’ Her sentence trailed off, unfinished. All knew that her command would have been obeyed to the letter; duty would have compelled Papewaio to remain in the manor, leaving his mistress to fate’s choices.
Mara said, ‘Now one of my most valued retainers must forfeit his life for loyal and honourable service to his house.’
‘Such is the law,’ Keyoke observed, revealing no hint of sorrow or anger. Relieved that Mara had the strength to do her duty, his plumes of office stilled above his immobile features.
Mara sighed. ‘I expect there is no other way.’
‘None, child,’ said Nacoya. ‘You must specify the manner and time of Pape’s death. You may allow him to fall upon his own sword, though, granting him a warrior’s honour, to die by the blade. He deserves that, at least, mistress.’
Mara’s dark eyes flashed; angry at having to waste such a stalwart servant, she knitted her brows in thought. Nothing was said for a time, then, abruptly, she announced, ‘I think not.’
Keyoke seemed on the verge of speaking, then simply nodded, while Papewaio rubbed his jaw with one thumb, his familiar sign of distress. Shaken by the gesture, Mara continued quickly. ‘My sentence is this: loyal Pape, that you will die is certain. But I shall decide the place and the circumstance of that death in my own time. Until then you shall serve as you always have. Around your head wear the black rag of the condemned, that all may know I have pronounced death upon you.’
Papewaio nodded once. ‘Your will, mistress.’
Mara added, ‘And should fate cause my death before yours, you may fall upon your own blade … or seek to visit revenge upon my murderer, as you see fit.’ She was certain which course Pape would choose. Now, until she selected the time and manner of execution, Papewaio would remain in her service.
Mara regarded her three most loyal followers, half-fearful her unorthodox judgment might be challenged. But duty and custom demanded unquestioned obedience, and no one met her glance. Hoping she had acted with honour, Mara said, ‘Go now, and freely attend your duties.’
Keyoke and Papewaio rose at once. They bowed with stiff-backed formality, turned, and departed. Old and slow of movement, Nacoya performed her obeisance with less grace. She straightened, a hint of approval on her wizened face. ‘That was well done, daughter of Sezu,’ she whispered. ‘You save Pape’s honour and preserve a most loyal servant. He will wear the black rag of shame as if it were a badge of honour.’ Then, as if embarrassed by her boldness, the old nurse left hastily.
The house servant who hovered by the door had to speak twice before Mara noticed her. ‘As my mistress needs?’
Wrung out by the emotions and tensions of the afternoon, the Lady of the Acoma looked up. By the expectant look on the servant’s face, she realized the afternoon had passed. Blue shadows dappled the door screens, lending a moody, sombre air to the decorative paintings of huntsmen. Longing for the simplicity of her girlhood, Mara decided to forego the formality of the evening meal. Tomorrow was soon enough to face the fact that she must sit in her father’s place at the head of the table. She said to the maidservant, ‘Let the evening breezes in, then withdraw.’
The servant hastened to obey her wishes and slid open the large outer screens that faced the west. The orange sun hung low, kissing the purple edge of the horizon. Red-gold light burnished the marshes where the shatra birds flocked at eventide. Even as Mara watched, the ungainly creatures exploded into flight. Within minutes the sky was covered with silhouettes of grace and elegance, whirling across clouds fired with scarlet and pink, and indigo before the approach of night. No man understood the reason for this splendid group dance upon the wing, but the sight was majestic. Though Mara had watched the display a thousand times through girlhood, the birds still took her breath away. She did not notice the tiptoe departure of the maidservant but for the better part of an hour sat absorbed as flocks numbering in the thousands gathered to wheel and turn, bank and glide, while the light slowly faded. The birds landed as the sun vanished. In the silvery twilight they gathered in the marshes, clustered tightly to baffle predators while they slept.
House servants returned in the warm, sweet hour of nightfall, bringing oil for the lamps and hot herb tea. But exhaustion had overtaken Mara at last. They found her asleep amid her cushions, lulled by the familiar sounds of herders driving the needra into shelter. In the distance the sad song of a kitchen slave kneading thyza bread for the morning meal was a soft counterpoint to the faint calls of Keyoke’s sentries as they patrolled the grounds to ensure the safety of Acoma’s newest Lady.
Accustomed to temple discipline, Mara awoke early. She blinked, at first confused by her surroundings; then the rich coverlet thrown over her sleeping mat reminded her: she lay in her father’s chamber as Ruling Lady of the Acoma. Rested, but still aching from the bruises left by the Minwanabi assassin, she rolled on her side. Luxuriant strands of hair caught in her lashes; impatiently she pushed them away.
Dawn brightened the screens that faced east. The whistle of a herder driving needra to pasture cut through daybreak’s chorus of bird calls. Made restless by memories, Mara arose.
Her maids did not hear her stir. Barefoot, and appreciative of the solitude, the girl crossed the chamber and slipped the catch on the screen. She slid it aside with the barest of squeaks. Cool air caressed her skin between the loose folds of her robe. Mara drew in the scent of dew, and moist earth, and the delicate perfume of akasi flowers. Mist rose off the marshlands, rendering the trees and hedges in tones of charcoal, and there the lone silhouette of a herdsman driving the slow-moving needra.
The soldier at his post in the dooryard turned about on his beat, and realized the girl who stood in the white shift and sleep-tangled hair was his ruling mistress. He bowed gravely. Mara nodded absently as he returned to his duty. The girl regarded the wide expanse of her family estates, in a morning as yet unmarred by the noise and bustle of the day. Shortly all who worked upon the estate would be busy about their tasks, and for only a few minutes longer would Mara have this serene glimpse of what was now hers to protect. Her brows knitted in concern as she realized how much she had to learn to manage these holdings. At present she didn’t even know the extent of her inheritance. She knew vaguely that she had properties in other provinces, but she had no knowledge of their disposition and worth. Her father had disliked the details of farming and stock breeding, and while he had overseen his assets and his people’s well-being with wisdom, his conversations with Mara had always been turned to matters of his liking, and of a lighter nature.
When the maid called softly from the doorway of the chamber, Mara shut the screen. ‘I shall dress and breakfast at once,’ she instructed. ‘Then I will see this new hadonra, Jican, in the study.’
The maid bowed and hastened to the wardrobe, while Mara shook the tangles from her hair. Denied the comfort of servants in the temple, Mara reached automatically for her brush.
‘My Lady, don’t I please you?’ The young maid’s bearing revealed distress.
Mara frowned, annoyed by her thoughtless lapse. ‘You please me well enough.’ She sur
rendered the hairbrush and sat still as the serving girl began to tend her hair. As the maid worked, Mara conceded to herself that her decision to see Jican was as much to avoid Nacoya as to learn more of her estates. The old nurse had a natural tendency to be grumpy in the early morning. And beyond her normal ill temper, Nacoya would have volumes to say to the young girl on her responsibilites as Ruling Lady.
Mara sighed, and the maid paused, waiting for some indication from her Lady if there was a problem. When Mara said nothing, the girl continued, tentatively, as if fearing her Lady’s disapproval. Mara mulled over the questions for Jican, knowing that eventually she would have to contend with Nacoya’s scolding manner. Again she sighed, much as she had when facing one of Nacoya’s punishments for some girlish prank, and again, the maid halted to see if her mistress was displeased. After a momentary pause, the girl resumed arranging her mistress’s hair, and Mara became caught up in the questions of estate management.
Later, dressed and groomed, Mara sat with her elbow propped in a mound of cushions. Her lip was pinched between her teeth in concentration as she reviewed the latest of a sizeable heap of scrolls. Small, sun-bronzed, and nervous as a thyza bird, the hadonra, Jican, looked over her shoulder. Presently he extended a tentative finger.
‘The profits are listed there, my Lady. As you note, they are respectable.’
‘I see that, Jican.’ Mara laid the scroll on her knees as Nacoya ducked her head around the door. ‘I am busy, Nacoya. I will see you shortly, perhaps at noon.’
The old nurse shook her head, her hairpins as crooked as ever. ‘By my lady’s leave, it is now an hour past noon.’
Mara raised her brows in surprise. She sympathized with her father’s impatience with the management of his far-flung holdings. The task was more involved than she had suspected. Yet, unlike her father, she found the intricacies of finance fascinating. With a rueful smile at Nacoya’s impatience, the Lady of the Acoma said, ‘I lost track of time. But Jican is nearly finished. You may wait if you wish.’
Nacoya jerked her head in the negative. ‘Too much to do, Lady. Send your runner for me when you are ready. But do not delay much longer. Decisions must be made, and tomorrow is too late to consider them.’
The nurse departed. Mara heard her pause to mutter to Keyoke, standing guard in the hallway beyond. Then, drawn back to Jican and her lesson in commerce, Mara reached for another scroll. This time she commented on the balance, without the hadonra’s needing to prompt. ‘We may lack warriors, Jican, but we are strong in property, perhaps even prosperous.’
‘It is not difficult, mistress. Sotamu left clear records of the years he served your father. I but follow his example. Thyza crops have been bountiful for three years, while the hwaet blight in the plains provinces has driven high the prices of all grain – thyza, ryge, maza, even milat. With hwaet scarce, only a lazy manager carts his thyza to Sulan-Qu and sells it there. It takes only a little more effort to deal with a factor from a consortium of grain shippers in the City of the Plains.’ The small man sighed in discomfort. ‘My Lady, I mean no disrespect to any of your lofty class, but I have known many powerful lords to dislike the details of business. Yet at the same time they refuse their hadonras and factors the authority to act independently. Therefore we have traded with large houses and avoided the merchants of the city whenever we might. This has left us large profits more often than not.’
The hadonra paused, hands spread diffidently before him. Then, encouraged by the fact that Mara did not interrupt, he went on. ‘And the breeders … they are a mystery. Again I mean no disrespect, but the lords of the north seem especially shortsighted concerning choice of breeding bulls.’ More at ease, the little man shrugged in perplexity. ‘A bull that is ill-tempered and difficult to manage, but that is heavily muscled and paws the ground in fierce display, or with a large’ – he lowered his eyes in embarrassment – ‘ah, male member sells better than a fat one that will breed good meat animals, or a docile one that begets solid draught stock. So animals a cannier man might have castrated or slaughtered bring prime prices, while the best remain here, and people wonder at the quality of our herds. They say “How can the Acoma meat taste so good, when they keep such weak bulls?” I do not understand such thinking.’
Mara smiled slightly, the first relaxed expression she had shown since leaving the temple. ‘Those noble lords seek animals that reflect upon their own virility. I have no such need. And as I have no desire to be mistaken for any of my breeding stock, you may continue to select which cows and bulls to sell without regard for how their traits match up to mine.’ Jican’s eyes opened wide for an instant before he realized the girl was making a joke. He laughed slightly with her. Mara added, ‘You have done well.’
The man smiled his thanks, as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Plainly he enjoyed the responsibilities of his new office and had feared his new mistress might remove him. He was doubly pleased to discover not only that he would continue as hadonra, but that Lady Mara recognized his worth.
But Mara had inherited her father’s instinct for governance, even if it was only just beginning to emerge, and knew she had a competent, perhaps even gifted, estate manager beside her. ‘Your diligence in business brings honour to the Acoma as much as our soldiers’ bravery,’ she finished. ‘You may leave now, and attend your duties.’
The hadonra bowed from a kneeling position until his forehead touched the foor, an obeisance more abject than required from a man in his position. ‘I bask in the sunlight of my mistress’s praise.’
Jican rose and departed as a house servant came forward to gather the scrolls from the floor. Nacoya hurried through the doorway as the hadonra passed by. More servants followed at her heels with trays of refreshments, and with a sigh, Mara wished her overly abundant domestic staff could be transformed into soldiers.
Nacoya bowed, then sat before Mara had a chance to grant her leave. Over the soft clink of the serving ware and the bustle of servants setting down trays, she said, ‘Does my Lady think she should work all morning and take no meals?’ Her old, dark eyes turned critical. ‘You’ve lost weight since you left for the temple. Some men might think you scrawny.’
Still preoccupied with her discussion with Jican, Mara spoke as though she had not heard. ‘I have undertaken to learn of my estates and properties. You chose with care in selecting this Jican, Nacoya. Though I remember Sotamu with affection, this man seems a master of commerce.’
Nacoya’s manner softened. ‘I presumed much, mistress, but decisiveness was necessary at the time.’
‘You did well.’ Mara regarded the array of food, the odour of fresh thyza bread wakening her awareness of hunger. She reached for a slice, frowned, then added, ‘And I’m not scrawny. Our meals at the temple were not so plain as you think.’ She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. She regarded her indomitable nurse. ‘Now, what must we do?’
Nacoya pursed her lips, a sure sign that she broached what she guessed to be a difficult subject. ‘We must move quickly to strengthen your house, Lady. Without blood family, you make a tempting target for many. Even those with no prior cause for strife with the Acoma might look upon your holdings with an envious and ambitious eye. Land and herds might not tempt a minor lord to move against your father, but against a young girl with no training? “There is a hand behind every curtain,”’ she quoted.
‘“And a knife in every hand,”’ finished Mara. She set her bread aside. ‘I understand, Nacoya. I have thought that we must send for recruits.’
Nacoya shook her head with such sharpness that her precariously pinned hair threatened to come loose. ‘That is a difficult and dangerous proposition to attempt at this time.’
‘Why?’ Mara had forgotten the food in her annoyance. ‘I just reviewed assets with Jican. The Acoma have more than enough wealth to suport twenty-five hundred soldiers. We even have enough to pay for recruiting fees.’
But Nacoya had not been referring to the fact a new master must indemnify the forme
r master for each recruit’s training. Gently she reminded, ‘Too many have died, Mara-anni. The family ties that remain are too few to matter.’ Tsurani tradition required that only a relative of a soldier already serving could join a household’s garrison. As eldest sons tended to assume the same loyalties as their fathers, such recruits were further limited to second or later sons. Bearing these facts in mind, Nacoya added, ‘With the heavy recruiting your father undertook prior to the invasion of the barbarian world, most of the able men have already been called. Any you found now would be young and unseasoned. The Lord of the Minwanabi will act before such as those would prove any benefit.’
‘I have given that some thought.’ Mara reached under the writing table before her and removed a case, delicately carved of costly hardwoods. ‘I sent to the Guild of Porters this morning. The representative who arrives will be told to give this into the hand of the Lord of the Minwanabi, under bond and without message.’ Grim now, Mara handed the box to Nacoya.
Nacoya opened the finely crafted catch and raised an eyebrow at what rested within. A single red cord, darkened with blood from Mara’s hand, lay coiled next to a shatra feather. Closing the box as though it contained a scarlet dhast, the most venomous of serpents, Nacoya said, ‘You openly announce blood feud with House Minwanabi.’
‘I only acknowledge a feud begun ages ago!’ Mara shot back, the murder of her father and brother too near yet for temperance. ‘I am only telling Jingu that another generation of Acoma stands ready to oppose him.’ Embarrassed suddenly by her emotions, the girl stared at the food tray. ‘Mother of my heart, I am inexperienced in the Game of the Council, but I remember many nights when father discussed with Lano those things he plotted, teaching a son each move, and the reason for it. His daughter listened as well.’
Nacoya set the box aside and nodded. Mara looked up, sweating lightly in the heat, but composed. ‘Our enemy the Minwanabi will think this represents something more subtle than it does. He will seek to parry whatever move he thinks we plot, giving us the chance to plan. All I can do now is hope to gain us time.’
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 5