Queen of Springtime

by Robert Silverberg

  “Yes. I’ve heard him say something along the same lines when that question came up.”

  “What if he’s lying? What if he simply doesn’t know the answer himself?”

  Simthala Honginda laughed. “There’s very little that Hresh doesn’t know, I think. But in my experience, when Hresh doesn’t know something, he usually admits it, without pretending otherwise. Nor have I ever known him to lie. Of course, you know him far better than I do.”

  “He’s no liar,” said Thu-Kimnibol. “And you’re right: he’ll say straight out, ‘I don’t know,’ if he doesn’t know. Therefore there has to be an answer to the question, and Hresh must know it. And it ought to be easy enough to work out, if you give it a little thought.” He was silent a time, kneading a sore place in the muscles of his neck. Then he turned to Simthala Honginda and said, smiling, “In truth, I think I know the answer myself.”

  “You do? What is it, then?”

  “Suddenly it’s all quite clear to me. You don’t need to be one tenth so wise as Hresh to see it, either. Do you want me to tell you the reason the sapphire-eyes allowed themselves to die without a struggle? It’s that they were a race of fools. Fools, that is all they were, without sense enough to try to save themselves. Do you see? Nothing more complicated than that, my friend.”

  Curabayn Bangkea was at his desk in the guard headquarters, shuffling documents about, when Nialli Apuilana appeared without warning, stepping through the doorway unannounced. He looked up in surprise, flustered at the sight of her. A host of excited fantasies blossomed instantly in his soul as his eyes traveled the length of her tall, slender figure, so supple, so regal in bearing.

  He had always lusted after her, though he knew he was only one of many who felt that way.

  She is as skittish as a xlendi, he thought, looking at her now. She eludes everyone who would harness her. But all she needs is the right hand to bring her into line. And why should that hand not be mine?

  Curabayn Bangkea was well aware of how absurd these fantasies of his were. The chances that she came here to offer herself in lovemaking to the captain of the city guard were very small. If he had any doubt of that, he only had to look at her face. Her expression was entirely businesslike, cold and formal.

  He rose hastily. “Well, lady, to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

  “You have Kundalimon under what amounts to house arrest. Why is that, Curabayn Bangkea?”

  “Ah, does it trouble you?”

  “It troubles him,” she said. “This is the city where he was born. Why should he be treated as a prisoner?”

  “He comes to us from the hjjks, lady.”

  “As an ambassador. Entitled to diplomatic courtesies, in that case. Either he should have the run of the city because he’s a citizen of this place, or else because he’s a representative of a sovereign nation with whom we’re not at war.”

  Her eyes were bright with anger, her nostrils flaring, her breasts agitated. Watching her, Curabayn Bangkea found himself growing agitated also. She wore nothing but a sash and some ornamental ribbons across her shoulders. Not an unusual costume in this season of warm weather, but scantier in general than was typical of unmated women nowadays. That kind of near-nakedness might have been acceptable in the cocoon era, Curabayn Bangkea thought, but we are more civilized now. Why did she have to be so provocative?

  He said cautiously, “The rule is that all strangers are sent to Mueri House for a period of observation, until we know whether they’re spies or not.”

  “He’s no spy. He’s an ambassador from the Queen.”

  “There are those who’d argue—your kinsman Prince Thu-Kimnibol is among them, let me say—that that’s simply two ways of saying the same thing.”

  “Be that as it may,” said Nialli Apuilana. “He’s complained to me of being held in what amounts to captivity. He thinks it’s unkind and unfair, and I do also. I remind you that his welfare is my responsibility. He was given into my particular charge, you know, by the chronicler himself.”

  Curabayn Bangkea’s eyes widened a trifle at that. “If it were up to me, I’d release him from all restraint in a moment, lady. But Husathirn Mueri’s the one who has jurisdiction over him. He was the holder of the judicial throne the day the stranger was remanded to custody. You ought to be addressing your request to him, not to me.”

  “I see. I thought it was a matter for the guard-captain.”

  “I don’t have any authority in this. But if you like, I’ll speak to Husathirn Mueri about it on your behalf.”

  “On Kundalimon’s behalf, you mean.”

  “As you say. I’ll try to get the order changed. You’ll be sent word when I do, later today, I hope. You’re still at the House of Nakhaba, right?”

  “Yes. Thank you. I’m grateful for your help, Curabayn Bangkea.”

  She didn’t sound particularly grateful. Her look was a flinty one, not the least flicker of warmth about it, and the anger was still there, too. Something was definitely wrong, and his offer of cooperation had not repaired it.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, lady?”

  Nialli Apuilana was silent a moment. She allowed her eyes briefly to close. Then she said, “Yes, a very foolish one, which I’m almost unwilling to speak of, it was so offensive. There’s a brother of yours, who is on guard duty at Mueri House—Eluthayn, I think that’s his name—he is your brother, isn’t he?”

  “Eluthayn, yes. My youngest brother.”

  “Yes. A few days ago, when I was paying a regular call there, this brother of yours attempted to interfere with me. There was an ugly incident.”

  Curabayn Bangkea said, mystified, “To interfere with you, lady?”

  Her nostrils flared again. “You know what I mean. He made a crude offer to me, this brother of yours. Without warning, without the slightest provocation, he approached me, he breathed his stinking breath in my face, he—he—”

  She didn’t go on. Curabayn Bangkea felt a surge of alarm. Had Eluthayn really been idiotic enough to do such a thing? There probably was provocation aplenty, he thought, staring at Nialli Apuilana’s uncovered breasts, at her long silken thighs thickly thatched with sleek red-brown fur. But if Eluthayn had dared to put his hands on the chieftain’s daughter uninvited—

  “He touched you, lady? He made overtures?”

  “Overtures, yes. In another moment he’d have been touching me too.”

  “Yissou!” Curabayn Bangkea exclaimed, throwing his hands out to his sides. “The stupidity of him! The effrontery!” The guard-captain bustled across the room toward Nialli Apuilana, so hastily that he came close to clanging his helmet into the lamp fixture dangling overhead. “I’ll speak to him, let me assure you, lady. I’ll investigate fully. He’ll be disciplined. And I’ll send him to you to apologize in a proper way. Overtures, you say? Overtures?”

  The lightest of quivers crossed her shoulders, a disgusted shudder, making her breasts tremble. She looked away from him. In a softer voice than she had been using, as though distress and shame were gaining the upper hand over anger in her, she said, “Punish him any way you see fit. I don’t want any apologies from him. I don’t want to set eyes on him again.”

  “I assure you, lady—”

  “Enough. I’d just as soon not discuss any of this further, Curabayn Bangkea.”

  “I understand, lady. I’ll handle everything. I would not have you insulted in such a way, by my own brother or by anyone else.”

  Did she soften a little, then? For the first time since she had come in she smiled. A faint smile, but a smile all the same. It could be that her anger was going from her, now that she had said what she had come to say. Curabayn Bangkea thought he even saw gratitude in her eyes and perhaps something more than that: that something had leaped across the gap that separated him from her. He had seen that look often in the eyes of other women to whom he had offered aid, or other things. He was sure that he had seen it just then. Curabayn Bangkea was a fundamentally self-confiden
t man. A great swell of confidence overcame him now, verging on boldness. Where Eluthayn, young and raw and foolish, had failed, he himself might very well succeed. This could be the fulfillment of his wildest fantasy. Unhesitatingly he reached for Nialli Apuilana’s hands and took them fondly in his.

  “If I can venture to make amends, lady, for my brother’s unfortunate boorishness—if perhaps you would do the courtesy of sharing dinner with me, and wine, this evening or the next, I’ll endeavour to show you that not all the men of the house of Bangkea are such crass and unthinking—”

  “What?” she cried, snatching her hands away from him as though his were covered with slime. “You too, Curabayn? Are you all insane? You denounce your brother for effrontery, and then you put your hands on me yourself? You invite me to dinner? You offer to prove to me that—oh, no, no, no, guard-captain, no!” She began to laugh.

  Curabayn Bangkea stared at her in shock.

  “Do I have to go around encased in armor? Must I assume that every soldier of the guards in this city will slobber and leer at me if I happen to come within his reach?” Her eyes were flinty again. She had become the image of her mother. Curabayn Bangkea, shrank back before her fury as though he stood before the chieftain herself. Coldly Nialli Apuilana said, “Speak to Husathirn Mueri about the matter of the house arrest, if you will. As for your brother, I want him transferred to other duties far from Mueri House. Good day, Curabayn Bangkea.”

  She went storming from the room.

  He sat frozen a long while, dumbfounded by the thing he had so brazenly dared to attempt.

  How could I have been so foolish? he asked himself.

  Even though she had come in here wearing only ribbons and a sash. Even though she had given him that warm, melting smile of gratitude. Even though he had been overcome by the fragrance of her, and by the closeness, and by his own lunatic self-assurance. For all of that, he had ventured into territory he should never have permitted himself to enter. He wondered how much harm he had done to himself. He wondered if he had ruined himself. He trembled in unaccustomed fear.

  Then anger, unfocused and wild, directed at the universe in general rather than at any specific target, welled up in him and swept the fear away. In a loud voice he called to his aide in the hall, “Get me my brother Eluthayn.”

  The young guardsman came in wearing a cheerful, jaunty expression, but it faded the moment he saw the look on his older brother’s face.

  Coldly Curabayn Bangkea said, “You moron, is it true you tried to rape the chieftain’s daughter?”

  “Rape? What are you talking about, man?”

  “She was just in here, talking about your interfering with her. Making overtures to her. She was furious with me, you simpering little bastard. I tried to calm her, and perhaps I did. But maybe not. By the time she’s done with this, she might bring me down as well as you. What in the name of Nakhaba did you try to do, anyway? Grab her rump? Stroke her breasts?”

  “I made an innocent little suggestion, brother. Well, not so innocent, perhaps, but playful. There she was, just about naked, the way she goes around all the time, you know, getting ready to go upstairs to that boy who came from the hjjks, and I said something to the effect that I wouldn’t mind being shut up in a room with her myself for a little while. That was all.”

  “That was all?”

  “I swear to you by our mother. Just a little come-on, you understand, nothing serious—though I’d have become serious in a moment, let me tell you, if she’d gone for the bait. You never can tell, with these highborns. But instead she went crazy. She began to rant and scream. She spat at me, Curabayn.”

  “Spat?”

  “In my face, right here. A good healthy wad of it it was, too, that left me feeling filthy for hours. You’d think I’d offended her to the depths of her soul, the way she was raging. To spit at me like I was an animal, or worse than an animal, brother! Who does she think she is?”

  “She’s the daughter of the chieftain, in fact. And of the chronicler,” said Curabayn Bangkea heavily.

  “I don’t care whose daughter she is. She’s just a spread-legged slut like all the rest of them, brother.”

  “Careful. It’s risky to slander the highborn, Eluthayn.”

  “What slander? Is she such a model of virtue? She and that boy in Mueri House, they couple like rutting xlendis. The two of them go at it for hours at a time, brother!”

  Curabayn Bangkea rose from his seat, grunting in surprise. “What’s that? What are you saying?”

  “Only the truth. That day she spat at me, I went upstairs and listened at the door, to see if she had any right being so high and mighty. And I could hear them thumping around. On the floor, they were, like animals. I’m sure of it. And there was no mistaking the sounds they were making. I’ve heard it since, other times. You think Hresh would be amused, knowing she’s coupling with him? Or the chieftain, if she knew?”

  His brother’s words went through Curabayn Bangkea like a spear. The situation was transformed completely by this. Coupling with Kundalimon, was she? Was that what those cozy little visits were all about? He and Eluthayn were safe, then. Why shouldn’t the captain of the guards, or even his stupid younger brother, also be able to offer himself for a little coupling to the highborn Nialli Apuilana, if she was willing to roll on the floor with something out of the hjjk Nest, who could speak only in clicks and clatters?

  He said severely, “Are you absolutely certain of this?”

  “On our mother’s soul, I am.”

  “All right. All right. This is going to be very helpful, what you’ve just told me.” Curabayn Bangkea dropped back into his chair and sat utterly still for a moment, letting the tension of the morning ease away from him. At length he said, “You understand I’ll have to transfer you to guard duty somewhere else, to pacify her. You don’t care a spider’s ass about that, naturally. And if you happen to see her in the streets, for Yissou’s sake be humble and full of respect. Bow to her, make holy signs to her, get down and kiss her toes, if necessary. No, not that. Don’t kiss her anywhere. But show respect. You’ve mortally offended her, and she has power over us that has to be taken into account.” Curabayn Bangkea grinned. “But I think I have some power over her now, too. Thanks to you, you lecherous idiot.”

  “Will you explain yourself, brother?”

  “No. Just get yourself out of here. And be careful hereafter when you’re around highborn women. Remember who and what you are.”

  “She had no call spitting in my face, brother,” Eluthayn said sullenly.

  “I know that. But she’s highborn, and she thinks differently about such things.” He waved his hands in his brother’s face. “Go, now, Eluthayn. Go.”

  The landscape changed again and again as Thu-Kimnibol continued northward toward the City of Yissou. Now the caravan moved through broad plains open to the sea-breezes out of the west, and the air was moist and salty and blue-green beards of scalemoss shrouded every bush; and now the route traversed wide flat silent arid valleys walled off from the sea by stark bare mountain ridges, and the skulls of unknown beasts lay bleaching on the sandy ground; and now the travelers passed into forested highlands, where jagged leafless trees with pale spiral trunks clung to tortuous outcroppings of black earth, and strange howlings and whistlings came floating down from the even higher country that lay to the east.

  He was struck by a deep awareness of the hugeness of the world, of the greatness and heaviness of the immense globe across whose face he was moving.

  It seemed to him that every hand’s-breadth of it that he covered was entering into him, becoming part of him: that he was engulfing it, devouring it, incorporating it within himself for all time to come. And it made him all the more eager to go onward, on and on and on across the face of it. He knew himself to be different in this way from those of the People who were old enough to have been born in the tribal cocoon, who still harbored some urge, he suspected, to crawl back into a small, warm safe place and close the hat
ch behind them. Not him. Not him. More deeply, perhaps than ever before, he understood his brother Hresh’s hunger to know, to discover, to experience.

  Thu-Kimnibol had been through here once before: when he was eighteen, going southward then, in his flight from Yissou to the City of Dawinno. But he remembered very few details of that earlier journey. He had ridden all the way with his head down and his eyes veiled by anger and bitter sorrow, driving his xlendi at full gallop. That grim and fretful ride survived in his memory now, two decades and some years later, only as a hard encapsulated knot, still capable of giving pain when prodded, like the memory of some terrible loss, or of a mortal illness successfully weathered at great inner cost. He touched it no more often than he had to.

  They were past the halfway point now, in territory subject to Salaman. Mostly his mood was dark these days. The turning point had come at that Great World ruin, summoning memories of Naarinta as it did, and bleak thoughts of the remote past. Now the bygone days of his own life had begun to press heavily on him: lost opportunities, false paths taken, the beloved mate snatched away.

  He did what he could to conceal his state of mind. But as the caravan was descending from the hills into a fertile plain cut by a host of swift streams and rivers Simthala Honginda said abruptly, “Is it the thought of seeing Salaman again that troubles you so much, prince?”

  Thu-Kimnibol looked up, startled. Was he that transparent?

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You and he were bitter enemies once. Everyone knows that.”

  “We were never friends, I suppose. And for a time things were bad between us. But that was long ago.”

  “You still hate him, I think.”

  “I’ve scarcely given him a thought in fifteen years. Salaman’s ancient history to me.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course he must be.” Then, delicately: “But the closer we get to Yissou, the deeper you drift into gloom.”

  “Gloom?” Thu-Kimnibol forced a laugh. “You think I’ve turned gloomy, Simthala Honginda?”