Is that all? Xylina restrained her impatience, and nodded to the slave, indicating that she had heard and understood him, and that he was to go on. He was a most unusual looking man: very slim, and very graceful, with long dark hair that shone like black silk, and hung to below his shoulder-blades, and very curious, dark eyes. At least, she assumed they were dark, as she could see very little of them. He kept his eyes cast down as he spoke to her and she could only infer their color. But despite the fact that he kept his eyes lowered, he carried himself with a kind of unconscious pride, much like Faro. He was incredibly well-spoken, actually, and despite her current throng of worries, she found herself envying the woman who owned him. She must take great pleasure in him.
“My mistress sends me to tell you that she is a woman of substance, and she is prepared to make her admiration clear in material ways,” he continued, apparently unaware of her scrutiny. “To make myself completely clear, she has heard of your current rash of troubles, and she would like to make you a loan sufficient to cover your current needs. This loan would be payable in installments, so as to keep the repayment from being too onerous.”
Xylina could not keep her amazement from showing, and the slave did not-quite-smile.
“You need not fear that my mistress is either a madwoman, or a lady who is likely to change her mind from one moment to the next,” he said smoothly. “She simply recalls her younger days, when she encountered tribulations, and she wishes to help those deserving of help so that they need not fear the future. Would you care to meet with her?”
“Why-of course,” she replied, trying not to stammer. “When would the lady wish to see me, and where?”
“This afternoon, if it pleases you,” the slave said. “And in the lady’s own home. I shall come to take you there, if you find that convenient.”
A thousand possibilities ran through her mind-and one of them was the notion that this might be a trap by her unknown enemy. Faro was in no condition to go with her, and who knew where this odd manservant might take her?
On the other hand, what choice did she have?
“I shall be happy to meet with your mistress at that time,” she said, hoping her hesitation didn’t show. “And please convey to her my heartfelt thanks.”
Chapter 7
Hypolyta Dianthre was nothing like the woman Xylina had imagined. She had expected someone like Lycia and most of the other Mazonites of her acquaintance: a tough old warrior, who could still pick up a blade and trounce men (and women too, for that matter) half her age. Such a woman would be broad-shouldered, tall, and muscular, with the physique of any true veteran. Perhaps she would bear the scars of many combats; she might even still wear the leather of a Guard.
Xylina had also expected a house something like Lycia’s home, perhaps a little larger. The comfortable but not extravagant dwelling of a Mazonite who had done well in her life, a place with a room or two for guests, and perhaps a half dozen slaves to serve her.
Such a woman, in such a house, would fit the description of the friends of Elibet, Xylina’s mother. That would be where Xylina could expect to find her support. And such a woman might well, with care and prudence, have amassed enough wealth to be able to afford to loan it to so odd a debtor as Xylina. Such a woman would not have felt the need to squander her savings on ostentation or luxury, and would feel well able to spare it.
Instead, she was conducted to a part of the city that she had never seen before. She had thought that her region was quiet, but here the walls were so high and the gates so thick that the quarter might have been completely deserted. The distance between gates was somewhat intimidating, too. Were the homes behind them as huge as this implied? Just exactly who and what was Hypolyta, and how had she made the fortune a villa like this must cost?
Several times she was certain that her would-be patroness could not possibly live in this quarter, that the manservant was only taking her through this section on the way to somewhere much more modest. But then he came to a halt before one of those gates, and opened it to display a lovely “wilderness garden” full of birds and the sound of falling water, bisected by a lane that led to an enormous villa. But strangely enough, as she neared it, and could see beyond it, she realized that it was positioned right against the wall around the Freedmen’s Quarter. That seemed very odd, as normally only the poorest Mazonites lived anywhere near the Freedmen’s Quarter.
There must be prosperous freedmen, men with villas and servants of their own. Perhaps the section of wall this villa abutted was backed by those islands of prosperity. In such a place, the danger of robbery from renegade men would be nonexistent, as would noise from over the wall. Most of the Freedmen’s Quarter was poor, but Xylina had heard of men who had acquired wealth and position and even traded outside Mazonia. Such men were tolerated, provided they kept to their place, because the enormous taxes they paid to the Queen made toleration worthwhile.
The manservant was the only slave she saw as they walked up the heavily tree-shaded lane to the door. There was not even a gardener in sight, although the grounds were wondrously beautiful and it must have taken a small army of slaves to cultivate the impression of controlled wildness.
They entered the front door, which was standing open to let in a gentle breeze, and as Xylina stepped onto the polished marble floor it seemed to her that the villa was echoingly silent. Although it must have taken another small army of slaves to tend this dwelling, there was not a single sight nor sound of them. Either they had been trained to work without a noise, and without being seen, or the place was tended by magic!
Still, it was hardly empty. As she followed her guide past the antechamber (a lovely jewel-box of a room, all marble and glass mirrors), past the large reception chamber (marble-floored and paneled in cream silk, full of comfortable chairs and couches upholstered in matching fabric), down a wide marble hall and into a smaller parlor, she could not help but notice the luxurious furnishings and appointments. There were huge ceramic pots containing generous swaths of colorful dried grasses, enormous fans of exotic feathers, or whole living trees. The lamps were all of delicate porcelain, thin enough for light to shine through. Furniture was uniformly made of gracefully carved pale woods, upholstered and padded in creamy leathers and satins. Windows stood open to gentle breezes, revealing yet more gardens outside. There was room enough and more for a huge extended family, with slaves to tend to every need, yet she saw no one.
It was all very strange.
By now, she was anticipating someone like the hostess of that entertainment that she and Faro had graced. Someone very wealthy, very powerful, and very much aware of both those attributes. She could not imagine how such a woman would have heard of her, much less actually seen her at her woman-trial.
Yet the woman she met matched neither of the images she had created in her mind.
The manservant ushered her into a small parlor, paneled in fine, pale-golden wood, and furnished with comfortable, casual couches covered in soft golden leather and beautiful marble-topped tables. Her hostess awaited her, seated on one of those couches, with a table beside her holding wine and two cups.
The woman greeted Xylina in a soft, almost hesitant voice. She looked like a plump and peace-loving grandmother, not like the kind of woman ruthless enough to have accumulated the wealth it would take to pay for a house like this one. Her short silver-gray hair clustered in tight curls about her head; her round face bore a curiously serene expression. She had a wide brow, round, very blue eyes, and a generous mouth that smiled a greeting to her guest.
Hypolyta wore breeches and a gracefully draped tunic of peacock-blue silk so heavy and lustrous that Xylina could not begin to guess how much it cost. Certainly more than the very expensive clothing she had seen at that party. Her round face was kind, with no scars or any other visible signs that she had ever been a warrior, and her voice was so low and so shy that Xylina had to lean forward to hear her properly. She patted the seat of the couch opposite hers, inviting Xylina to t
ake her place there, and immediately poured the girl a cup of wine with her own hand.
“I greatly admired your performance in the arena, child,” Hypolyta said, handing her the cool silver goblet. “It reminded me of my own, in a way-both in the fact that you spared your opponent’s life, and in that you used cleverness to offset a situation that seemed doomed from the start. The simple-minded brute I picked as my opponent had no more brains than a day-old chick, poor dear. It was ridiculously easy to befuddle him with simple tricks, then run him until he fell down from exhaustion. My woman-trial was far less of an ordeal than yours, and so I admired you that much more for your accomplishment.”
She paused to sip her wine and continued. “When I heard from my young cousin in the Guard that you were in dire straits, I thought it would be a great pity if no one rewarded your cleverness and tenacity. And I thought it would be even more of a pity if something as utterly ridiculous as the situation you find yourself in forced you into exile. Our land needs more young women like you, not fewer.”
Xylina shook her head, deprecatingly. This woman completely befuddled her. That low, soft voice was very hypnotic; it made everything in her want to respond to anything Hypolyta wanted, and it was difficult to keep her instinct of caution to the fore. “I do not know what to tell you, Lady Hypolyta. There are many in this city who would say that all this misfortune comes about because of the curse on my family-and who would remind you that according to that curse, those who aid me are doomed to face ruin themselves.” She shrugged. “Given the ill-luck that has pursued me, I would not blame you in the least if you had second thoughts about aiding me. There are many in the city who would think less of your intelligence for even asking me here and risking the curse.”
Hypolyta laughed delicately, and put down her goblet on the table beside her. Water droplets ran down the side. Xylina continued to hold her own goblet, to keep her hands from betraying her nervousness. “Anyone who believes in curses is a fool,” Hypolyta replied simply. “No Mazonite with any sense would give credence to such a tale. And I think of my offer more as a good investment than a silly indulgence. It was my good investments that brought me to the position where I am today. I think that you will, in time, repay my loan many times over. You will repay the loan itself, and you will become a good source to invest in, for you are clever, you have good sense, and your ability in magic is quite amazing.”
“I have yet to think of a practical use for that ability,” Xylina pointed out wryly. “Thus far, the only use has been in fighting off ruffians.” She took a sip of her own wine; it was cool and slightly sweet, very light, suitable for the warm weather.
“In time, I think that you will,” Hypolyta countered comfortably. “Certainly, when our Queen goes to war again, your magic will be of major importance.” She leaned forward a little and her demeanor changed subtly. “Now, about this loan. I understand that your current debt is something on the order of fifty gold coronets?”
The coronet was the largest gold piece in circulation in Mazonia. It was stamped with the image of the ruling Queen; the crown controlled the issuance of money. Xylina had tried not to think of the enormous sum, and now, faced with it, she could only nod. “Part of that is in payment for the house that I bought, and the rest is-”
Hypolyta waved a dismissive hand. “That absurd tax. Indeed. Now, if you had only that, you would really be no better off, you know.”
That had not occurred to Xylina-she had not even thought past the huge sum of money she owed. It had stood in her mind like a wall she could not possibly climb or see past.
Hypolyta smiled when Xylina widened her eyes with surprise. “Oh, it is true. I have looked over the situation. You would then own a vacant lot, upon which you would still have to pay property tax-you would have nowhere to live-and the city might still levy yet another fine on you for not clearing the ruins of your house! If you tried to camp upon your own property, the city would fine you for not living in a proper dwelling, and if you managed to clear the property with the help of your slave, you would still have to build a dwelling on it that matched the city standards for that area.”
Xylina felt the blood draining from her face, for that had not occurred to her, but Hypolyta was not finished. She truly had investigated Xylina’s situation thoroughly!
“In addition, if you could actually sell the place, you would then have to payanother sales tax on it. You would lose money on it, as you could only sell it for the value of the land alone. That would not retire the debt, and in the end you would find yourself back in a two- or three-room hovel much like the one you moved out of.” Hypolyta shook her head, and reached out her plump, oddly graceful hand to take up her wine-goblet. She took a sip, and Xylina followed suit, her mouth dry. “You would then be in no position to even begin to repay a loan. That would be a very bad investment on my part.”
“But-” Xylina began. She did not know what she was going to say, but she got no chance to interrupt.
For all that her voice was soft and shy, when Hypolyta spoke of business, she was impossible to stop. She waved her hand and Xylina held her peace. Clearly, Hypolyta had some ideas of her own.
“If, however, I were to give you a loan of, say, one hundred coronets, you would be able to discharge your debt, have a new house built, and hire more slaves to protect yourself and to develop a proper estate of your own.” Hypolyta smiled, a smile of maternal sweetness and pardonable pride. “I can recommend someone who will do the work cheaply and well. You will have a plain house, but it will be a good one. It will cost you much less to build on your own land than to buy another house, and you will be able to tailor it to the type of business you wish to pursue.”
“Business?” Xylina said faintly.
“Oh, yes. You should capitalize on that magnificent slave of yours, but not by such paltry means as entertaining at gatherings!” She smiled, making the mild rebuke even milder. “Surely there are many things that boy could teach others, and you should make use of that while he is still notorious for defeating all those ruffians. And you should have your new home built to take care of that. For instance, if you intended to train fighters for the arena, you could have the back garden cleared and the area prepared instead as a training arena.”
At Xylina’s wince, which she could not quite conceal, Hypolyta added hastily, “I only offer that as a supposition. You could just as easily train slaves to become needle-workers, bakers, or laundry-handlers. Or-surely that slave could train others to repel attackers; with two attacks upon you in the last several days, many older women, no longer able to defend themselves, are becoming nervous about their security. The trade in trained slaves is a good one, and it is one in which I made my fortune.”
Xylina looked askance at her. She could not imagine this gentle woman training gladiators. “What did you train your slaves as?”
“Skilled gardeners,” was the surprising reply. Or-in view of the way the grounds looked, perhaps she should have anticipated it. “It is more of an art than most realize- until they turn their expensive pleasure-gardens over to the hands of men who cannot tell a rare seedling from a weed. I supply all of the most highly trained gardeners in the country to the wealthy women of Mazonia. My slaves are experts and artists, and when they leave my hands, there is nothing they do not know about growing things.”
Xylina smiled, relieved. She did not think she would have been able to accept a loan from a woman who had made the money supplying trained gladiators to the arena. It would have felt too much as if she were betraying Faro by accepting gold tainted with blood. Nor could she even guess how he would have reacted to the discovery.
The notion of training slaves as unarmed bodyguards was a good one, though, provided Faro could be coaxed to do something that would ultimately protect women he hated.
“What would the conditions of this loan be?” Xylina asked cautiously. “How soon would I be expected to repay it, and what kind of payments would they be? How much would the loan cost me?”
At once, Hypolyta became a cool, calculating businesswoman. The transformation was quite remarkable. She sat a little straighter, and while her voice was no less hypnotic, it was a little less warm. “Payment would be in equal amounts, over a four-year period,” she replied. “The first payment would be due one year from now, and it would be in the sum of forty-five crowns.”
Xylina sighed. That would mean that she would be paying an extra twenty crowns a year for the privilege of borrowing the money-and yet, what other choice did she have? There was no one else willing to loan it to her-certainly no one willing to give it to her. It was either this, or exile, or so it seemed to her.
On the whole, paying eighty crowns to save herself from exile was not a bad bargain.
Was there any other way she could borrow less and save herself some of that fee?
“That seems honorable and reasonable to me,” she responded, after a long moment of weighing her options and coming up with no other plan that was even remotely as good. Hypolyta was right; withoutmore money to help her replace what was gone, she would be no better off. She could not remain Lycia’s guest forever.
“Very well,” the older woman said, with another sweet and matronly smile. “I will call my manservant, and we will draw up the contract.”
Lycia’s reaction was elation, when Xylina returned with her gold. It was carried by the slave, armed to the teeth and with a special permit that allowed him to be so. Lycia’s rugged face lit up when she saw the gold, and she congratulated Xylina on her good fortune, with no hint of ill-feeling. She had not had any luck at all in finding someone to loan Xylina the needed money to discharge her debt. Those of her friends who were sympathetic did not have nearly that much to simply loan away. Those women she knew who had that kind of capital were no more than acquaintances, and they were not at all inclined to loan gold to a strange child, particularly one who seemed to attract bad fortune. Her generous nature made her happy for her new young friend.
If I Pay Thee Not in Gold Page 13