Tathea

by Anne Perry

  The blind man was gone.

  Tathea turned and fled too, not caring where she ran, anywhere to be away from their obscene, grasping hands and their devouring eyes. She heard their bellows of outrage only dimly above the pounding of her heart. They began to chase her, but they were too drunk and their legs buckled, sinking them into the gutter amid a shower of vicious oaths.

  “Stop, thief!” one of them called with a stroke of brilliant malice. “Stop that woman!”

  Other people took up the chase and Tathea ran in terror, turning first one way and then the other until her breath rasped in her lungs and her legs ached. At last she was cornered. Behind her were her pursuers and ahead only the black water of a canal. But she would rather drown than have those filthy hands touch her.

  She was about to plunge in, bracing herself against the shock of the cold, when out of the darkness a boat appeared, a slender skiff like Ishrafeli’s, except in it was a young woman in pale clothes.

  “Come!” she said quickly. “Jump! Don’t you know what will happen if they catch you?”

  Tathea did not hesitate. She leapt and landed awkwardly, gashing her shin on the wooden crossbeam that formed the seat. She was aware of pain, but little more. The skiff rocked violently with her weight and she crumpled onto the floor of it, her strength gone. The girl twisted the oar with a swift movement and they glided out into the engulfing night.

  Tathea slowly raised herself up until she was sitting, conscious of an ache in her chest and blood running down her leg.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  There was no sound but the gentle hiss as the bows cut through the water. Ahead of them was a patch of light from torches on long poles at a landing stage. Instinctively she shrank back from it.

  “It’s all right,” the girl said softly. “They won’t follow you here.”

  The skiff slid across the black silk of the tide and into the shadows again. The journey seemed endless. Tathea was shaking with cold and pain by the time they at last pulled in at a landing stage. The girl alighted and tied the skiff’s mooring rope to a carved stone post.

  “Come,” she invited. “You will be safe in our house, and you are welcome.”

  Tathea had little choice. She had no idea where Ishrafeli was, nor how to find him. She was injured and exhausted and so cold she could not keep her body still.

  “Thank you,” she accepted and climbed with difficulty onto the narrow, damp stones. She was very weak, and it hurt to breathe.

  “Can you manage?” the girl said with concern.

  “Yes ...” It took an immense effort of will to follow the girl up the flight of stairs. Tathea clung to the wall as she mounted the steps which curved round a tower. At the top they crossed a bridge, high above the water and went in through a beautiful studded door.

  Inside, candles were burning and the room glowed with the soft light. The furniture was simple, polished wood, although one large chest was intricately carved. But it was the girl herself who commanded Tathea’s attention. She had the loveliest face Tathea had ever seen. Now it was filled with concern.

  “You are hurt! I did not realize you were injured.” She came forward quickly, as if Tathea might fall, and indeed she was swaying as waves of pain shot through her chest and up her leg. She felt strong arms round her and was glad to be eased down into one of the chairs.

  “My name is Ellida,” the girl said. “I’ll wash and dress your wound. I have some skill in the art of healing. Please trust me.” She knelt in front of Tathea and regarded her gravely. “You will be safe here, I promise you. This house is very well guarded, and it is secret. The Oligarchs do not know of it.”

  Tathea was too tired and bewildered with pain and an overwhelming loneliness to care. Ishrafeli’s absence ached inside her more fiercely than any physical injury.

  “Thank you,” she said numbly, looking down with surprise at the amount of blood seeping from her leg.

  “What is your name?” Ellida asked, rising to her feet and going to the far side of the room where she poured water from a jug into a bowl and dropped a tiny spoonful of liquid into it. Tathea could smell the pungency of it from where she was sitting.

  “Tathea,” she answered. Where was Ishrafeli? How would he ever find her here? How could she have allowed so stupid a thing as a street robbery to separate them?

  Ellida returned with the bowl and several cloths and a jar of ointment. She searched Tathea’s face carefully, then felt her brow. She glanced down at where the woman had struck and pulled aside Tathea’s clothes with soft hands. Her mouth tightened and she did not touch the abrasion. She made Tathea lie down and began very gently to clean the wound in Tathea’s leg, then placed on it a bandage with some unguent, which stung.

  Tathea sank into a daze of pain. She winced.

  “Sorry,” Ellida said with a wry smile. “But it will stop the bleeding.”

  Tathea was doubtful. Nothing she knew of in Shinabari medicine, and she knew a considerable amount, could stop bleeding like this, except a pad held firmly for some time over the blood vessel. But there was no purpose in saying so—it would be rude, and the girl was doing her best. Obediently she drank the potion she was offered, trying not to wince at the bitterness of it.

  Ellida removed the empty cup, then helped Tathea over to a couch and eased her down.

  She must have drifted off into sleep because she awoke with a start to find two more people in the room. One was a young man, slender and dark, who moved with an unusual grace. The other was shorter and fair-haired, and judging by his crouched posture and the extreme pallor of his face, he was in great pain. As she watched, Ellida went to him swiftly and she and the dark young man helped him over to a pile of cushions.

  “What happened?” Ellida demanded urgently. “Pandolf?”

  The fair man gasped, clutching a bloodied hand to his chest and shoulder and Tathea could see that the wound must be deep, so thick and dark was the stain seeping through his fingers.

  “The secret police caught us at the end of the passageway going down to the Stair of Sorrows,” he answered between stiff lips. “They were waiting for us. We got two away, but they killed Arrigo. Radamistus rescued me.”

  Ellida turned to the dark man. “Are you sure Arrigo is dead?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I would not have left him in their hands alive.”

  “God protect his soul,” Ellida whispered.

  “That is another one of us gone!” Radamistus looked at her, his eyes narrow and anxious. He glanced beyond her to Tathea on the couch. “Who’s she?” There was alarm in his voice now, and suspicion.

  “A fugitive,” Ellida answered him, and her tone allowed no argument. She turned to Pandolf. “I must clean your wound and dress it. Talking can wait.” She worked in silence and Tathea watched.

  Radamistus went over to the window and stood with his back to them, staring out over the domes and rooftops into the night. Either he had no skill in medicine, or he was not needed.

  Ellida looked around for more linen. There was a roll of it on the small table. Without thinking, Tathea stood up and fetched it for her. It was only after she had done so that she realized that she felt only a dull throb in her side and her leg, and she was perfectly clear-headed. She had no difficulty in breathing, either. The fear was still there, and the desperate knowledge that she had no idea where Ishrafeli was, nor how they could find each other. But she was quite well. Amazement slipped through her like physical warmth, tingling her skin, loosening her knotted muscles. She must help, not stand here as if paralyzed. She bent and picked up the soiled cloths Ellida had been using, cleared away the bowl and fetched fresh water.

  It was several more minutes before the task was finished and Pandolf lay back on the cushions, the sweat glistening on his skin, a faint smile touching his lips. Would he recover, or had he already bled too badly before he got here?

  Ellida stood up. “Thank you,” she said graciously to Tathea, moving towards th
e far end of the room.

  Radamistus turned. “Can you do it this time?” he said very softly so Pandolf could not hear.

  “Yes,” she replied gravely and without hesitating.

  He looked at her. “Can you be so sure?” He did not disbelieve, it was surprise that lifted his voice.

  “Yes,” she answered without turning to him or stopping what she was doing. Her face was very grave, very certain.

  He bit his lip. “Do you always know?” His expression held such an intensity of emotion he seemed to be asking far more than the words held. There were layers of meaning beneath this exchange of which Tathea knew nothing.

  Radamistus swung round without warning, his dark eyes probing her thoughts.

  “My sister has the gift of healing. But perhaps you know that.”

  Tathea was caught by surprise. “No. I know nothing about her. I was attacked by some ... ruffians ... in the street. She rescued me.

  “But you were injured,” he pointed out, glancing down at her bandaged leg.

  “Yes. I did that when I jumped into her boat. And I was hurt below my ribs. But it is not as bad as I thought. It feels far better than it did even an hour ago.”

  A flash of humor lit his eyes. “Of course it is better. I told you, Ellida has the gift of healing. Pandolf will be better very soon too, since she says she is quite sure we got here in time. She knows when she has healed.”

  Tathea realized he meant literally that she had a gift, not simply that she was wise in herbs and knowledgeable in anatomy. She looked at Ellida with a new, sharp respect and curiosity.

  As if reading her thoughts, Radamistus answered the question that had flashed through her mind. “Yes, it is a burden. And not without danger. We are terrified the Oligarchs who rule Sardonaris will find out about it. We are at war, but I presume you know that. If you didn’t before, you have seen it now in Pandolf. And it seems you tasted a little of it yourself.” His eyes flickered down to her leg.

  “I thought they were just ...” She stopped.

  “Street robbers?” he finished for her. “They probably were. But if the Oligarchs ruled by law, not by fear, then such events would not be rife.”

  Ellida looked up from tidying away the herbs and bandages. “Our city is corrupt,” she elaborated. “Those who should administer the law and protect the weak take money to turn their eyes the other way when the depraved indulge their appetites—for anything. That is why your cries for help would not have been heard. But that is enough talk of grief tonight.” She made herself smile. “Come, it is time to rest. Pandolf will thank us little if we keep him awake all night. And you must be ready to sleep. We have a room you are welcome to. There is a bed, and blankets.”

  Tathea accepted gratefully. She was so weary the oblivion of sleep was the only haven from her pain and loneliness. Ellida showed her into a small room opening onto the water, and the smell of the night air was cool and welcome. The bed was made, and there was a ewer of clear water on the table and a small bowl of bread and fruit. There was even a clean cotton gown to wear.

  As soon as Ellida had gone, Tathea washed and undressed and lay down, thinking she would sleep immediately, but her anxiety for Ishrafeli would not let her rest. Then gradually above the murmur of water she became aware of voices beyond the door. Ellida and Radamistus.

  “You don’t know who she is!” he was saying angrily. “You have no right to bring her here. You endanger us all!”

  “Where else could I take her?” Ellida demanded. “She was being chased by the bawds from the brothels on the Green Canal. You know what they would have done to her.”

  “Yes, of course I do!” There was resentment in his voice. “But you should not have brought her here. You could have put her ashore somewhere else—anywhere.”

  “She was hurt ...”

  “And you are the great healer!” Now there was mockery in his voice. “You never miss a chance to remind me, do you? You’ve paid for your gift by forgiving me, and you’ll never let me forget it.”

  “You never let yourself forget, Radamistus.” Her answer was suddenly cool and steady. “I helped her because I wished to. I healed her because I have that gift. And I chose to forgive your betrayal of me willingly, for you as well as for myself. You are my brother; I want to be able to love you freely, with a whole heart and will.” Her voice dropped a tone and Tathea could only just hear her. “I want you to prove yourself as brave and as true as anyone in the resistance. You can’t do that if we don’t give you the chance.”

  “I don’t want any chance given me as a sop!” he said with profound bitterness, his voice sharp and low.

  “Then earn it!” she answered instantly. Lying in the dark, Tathea could hear the pain in her voice, and the regret, even if Radamistus could not.

  There was silence.

  “I’m sorry. I ... I hate having to prove myself. I feel as if everyone is waiting for me to—”

  “No one is!” she responded swiftly. “No one else knows of the first time except me.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being the leader?” There was surprise in him now, and something that might have been pity. “Doesn’t the weight of decision crush you, and the knowledge of pain and death, like Arrigo’s? If you had given different instructions he might still be alive.”

  Her answer was almost a whisper. “You do not need to tell me that. I do the best I know and live with my mistakes. I would also die for them if that is what is called for. I brought the woman back because I thought it was right. I still do. Now go and sleep. We have much to do in the morning. You saved Pandolf. Be glad of it. Good night.”

  Tathea did not hear his reply. Perhaps he made none. Perhaps he touched her, gently, in understanding and gratitude. She wanted to think so.

  When she awoke the sun was streaming into her room. The sky, framed by the golden stone of the window, was azure. Drifting up from the water below came the voice of a man singing to himself—a limpid, lyrical song of tenderness.

  Ishrafeli! She leaped out of bed and ran over, leaning out across the sill, memory and joy so sharp she could all but feel the touch of his hand and see the light on his face.

  But it was a stranger who poled his boat away across the still surface of the canal, and beyond the echoing walls his voice was not so like Ishrafeli’s after all. It had not the subtlety or the power, and it was far too light.

  She went back to the bed and dressed in the gown that Ellida had left for her. She moved slowly, not because her body hurt anymore—it was completely healed—but for the consuming ache of loss inside her.

  Downstairs breakfast was waiting: bread, cheese, and huge purple plums with glistening skins. Ellida and Radamistus were there, and Pandolf, looking rested and almost well again. The color had returned to his face and he sat upright at the table, if a little stiffly. They exchanged greetings and asked after each other’s recovery; then the conversation returned to the business of the resistance, but so coded as to be almost meaningless to Tathea. Only the fierce emotion in their faces betrayed their concern.

  She had her own preoccupations. She must find Ishrafeli. Even in this beautiful room she felt imprisoned and she was chafing to leave and begin her search. When Ellida rose at last and left them, Tathea followed her to the landing stage. The day was already brilliant, the stones warm in the sun. A faint breeze whispered in from the lagoon, clean with the morning tide, as if the sins of the night had been washed away. The water lapped against the buildings, an incessant, whispering presence. A barge laden with fresh fish passed by, followed by another carrying bales of silk in splendid colors: indigo and saffron and hot reds. Tathea’s gaze swept over the fine houses with their courtyards, pillared arcades, and flowering vines, the squares whose statues had less than perfect grace, less dignity than those of Parfyrion, but more of the agony and the bliss of human life. At the furthest edge of the lagoon where the blue of the water met the haze of the sky, the sun flashed momentarily on the white dome of what looked l
ike a palace.

  “Where is that?” she asked Ellida as she followed her into the boat. “Is that Sardonaris too?”

  Ellida did not answer. Without a word she untied the ropes and took the oar, guiding them out along the narrow canal and into the main thoroughfare now teeming with boats. Many were carved with heraldic beasts and painted with coats of arms. In some, ladies sat on cushions, proud and idle. Many were obviously courtesans.

  A boat passed them carrying a woman whose thin features had the calm of perfect faith, and suddenly the courtesans’ beauty seemed like blistered paint.

  The corpse of a man drifted by, face downward, the death wound between his shoulders, knife gleaming in the sun. No one else took more than cursory notice of it. Tathea was gripped by a sickening fear that Ishrafeli too had been killed and was floating in some dark canal, jostled by passing boats indifferent to his death. It was so blinding that the sunlight seemed harsh, the sounds of voices and splash of oars beating in her ears as if she were shut away from them in an unreachable world of loneliness.

  And then she saw him, walking easily down the street towards them, smiling as if he had never worried, never been touched with that sick terror for her that she had felt for him. He stopped on the stairs above them and looked down. His eyes searched to see she was whole, unharmed, but if he saw the torrent of relief in her, or the anger that he should be so casual, he gave no sign. Instead, he turned to Ellida, and like the light coming from behind a cloud, something quickened in him.

  “Thank you,” he said softly to her. “Thank you for looking after Tathea. I chased a thief to get a blind man’s money back, and we became separated.”

  Ellida too seemed to have been seized by some new emotion. Her face was flushed, her eyes brilliant. Her gaze on him did not waver. It was as though they were the only two living creatures on a painted stage.

  “It was the natural thing to do,” she answered him simply. “My name is Ellida. Are you also a stranger in Sardonaris?”

  “My name is Ishrafeli,” he replied, as though that satisfied the question.