The old woman answered her summons tardily, but there seemed no lack of respect in her bow. 'My mistress requires?'
'What takes our Lord Bunto into the city so much of late?' asked Mara. 'What gossip do the servants tell?'
Nacoya glanced significantly at Misa, who awaited her mistress's wishes by the screen. Warned that the nurse's answer might be best not shared with servants, Mara sent her maid to fetch the noon meal. As Misa hurried off, Nacoya sighed. 'As you would expect. Your husband has taken an apartment in the city so he may visit a woman.'
Mara sat back. 'Good. We must encourage him to stay in the city as much as possible.'
Nacoya brightened with curiosity. 'Daughter of my heart, I know some things have passed, never to be regained, but I am still the only mother you have known. Will you not tell me what you are planning?'
Mara was tempted. But her scheme to regain control of her house bordered on treason to her Lord. Although Nacoya had already deduced Mara's intent to dispose of Buntokapi, the plan was too risky to confide. 'That is all, old mother,' Mara said firmly.
The nurse hesitated, then nodded, bowed, and departed, leaving Mara staring at the baby, who had begun to stir in his crib. But Ayaki's well-being was far from her thoughts. That her Lord had a woman in the city might provide exactly the opportunity Mara required. Hoping the gods were looking after her at long last, she had begun to ponder the options of this new development when Ayaki's healthy wail spoiled thought. Mara lifted the fussy baby to her breast and winced as the little boy bit hard upon her nipple. 'Ow!' she said in surprise. 'You are your father's son, no doubt.' The baby quieted as he began to suck, and Misa returned with a tray. Mara ate the foot without interest, her mind busy with a plan more risky than anything her old nurse might have guessed. The stakes were high. One misjudgement, and she would lose all chance of regaining the title of Ruling Lady; indeed, if she failed, the sacred honour of her ancestors might be shamed past hope of expiation.
Mara poured a cup of chocha and sat back upon her heels as Gijan, son of Lord Detsu of the Kamaiota, nodded politely. His gesture concealed biting impatience, but even his critical nature could not fault the young wife's hospitality. She had seen him comfortable in the finest cushions, brought him refreshment, and sent immediate word to her husband that an old friend had arrived unexpectedly and was waiting to greet him.
Gijan lounged back, admiring the rings on his hands. His nails were clean to the point of fussiness and his jewellery ostentatious, but the rest of his dress showed restraint. 'And where might Lord Buntokapi be?'
'On some matter of busines in the city, I expect.' Mara displayed none of the pique a young, pretty wife might feel at a husband's absence. Aware that Buntokapi's guest held her under closest scrutiny, she fluttered one hand offhandedly. 'You know these things are beyond me, Gijan, though I must say he spends a great deal of time away from home.'
Gijan's eyes narrowed, his self-absorbed admiration of his jade now an obvious act. Mara sipped her chocha, certain now that this guest had come to spy for the Anasati. No doubt Lord Tecuma wished information on how his third son fared as Lord of the Acoma. He had sent a handsome messenger, perhaps hoping the contrast to Buntokapi would entice a young wife to speak freely. After the barest interval the young noble said, 'Is that rascal neglecting his affairs then?'
'Oh no, Gijan.' To avoid giving her father-in-law an excuse to pry further into Acoma affairs, Mara qualified expansively. 'If anything, Lord Buntokapi is too rigorous in his attention to details. He spends long hours at his desk.'
Lord Gijan's polished facade broke before incredulity. 'Bunto?' Aware he might have betrayed his appraisal of the new Lord of the Acoma, he closed his gaping mouth and added, 'Of course. Bunto was always a diligent fellow.'
Mara smothered a smile. Both of them lied outrageously, and each knew it; but a guest might not question the word of a host without raising the thorniest implications of honour.
With the topic of Buntokapi's management effectively closed, the morning wore on in polite conversation. Mara sent for thyza bread and fish, which slowed Gijan's effort at interrogating until at last her runner returned from town. Stripped to his loincloth, and breathless from the road, he dropped to his knees before Mara. 'Mistress, I bring word from the Lord of the Acoma.'
Pleasantly Mara said, 'What does my husband wish?'
The slave had barely washed his feet clean of dust before presenting himself; gasping still from his journey, he said, 'My Lord Buntokapi says he is most apologetic for being absent when his dear friend Gijan of the Kamaiota calls. He is presently unable to return to the estate and wishes for Gijan to join him in Sulan-Qu.'
Gijan nodded to the exhausted slave boy. 'Tell my servant to have my litter prepared.' Then he smiled at Mara. 'If my Lady has no objection?' Mara returned the smile, as if his presumption in ordering her runner was only another right of a man in the presence of a mere wife. How different it had been when she had been Ruling Lady. And things would be different again, soon; this she vowed as she ordered her maid to remove the food tray. Then, all lightness and grace, she saw Gijan to the door of the estate house.
While waiting in the hallway for the visitor's escort to assemble, she dismissed her runner and inwardly acknowledged relief. She had feared that Buntokapi might be returning. Though the journey to the city from the estates took two hours on foot, a message runner could make it there and back in half that time. By litter, Gijan would not reach Sulan-Qu until nearly sundown. No doubt Gijan also loved gambling, so Buntokapi would hardly subject his boyhood friend to a return trip after dark. Dice and cards and betting would keep them both in the city for the night, which was a small blessing from the gods. Already Mara had begun to treasure his absence, but this was a freedom she dared not love too much lest impatience prove her downfall.
Gijan bowed formally in farewell. 'I shall give your husband compliments on your hospitality when I greet him, Lady Mara.' He smiled at her, suddenly charming, and Mara realized this young man was wondering if she was another neglected woman ready for a romance.
Formal and distant, she showed him briskly to the screen. She did not need to waste time fending off the advances of amorous younger sons. What Bunto had shown her of lovemaking had convinced her she needed little from men. If ever she came to desire the company of a lover, he would be nothing like this silly, vain nobleman who took his leave to join Bunto in a night of gambling, wine, and prostitutes. As the litter departed, Mara heard a loud wail from the nursery.
'Men,' she muttered under her breath, and hurried to attend her son. The boy needed changing. Preoccupied, Mara gave him over to Nacoya, who had not lost her knack for dealing with infants. As the old woman began a game with the child involving his fingers and toes, Mara considered what Buntokapi's reaction to Gijan's visit would likely be.
The following afternoon, it seemed she had read his mind. Wearing his wrestling cloth, and gleaming still with the oil and sweat of his exercise, Buntokapi scratched the mat of hair on his chest. 'When someone calls and I am in the city, do not waste so much time sending messages, wife. Simply send them along to my town house.'
Mara bounced Ayaki one more time on her knee, her eyebrows raised in inquiry. 'Town house?'
As if the matter were of small account, Buntokapi answered over his son's shriek of pleasure, 'I have moved to larger quarters in Sulan-Qu.' He gave no reason, but Mara knew he had established the apartment to meet with his mistress, a woman named Teani. As far back as Mara could remember, Lord Sezu had never felt the need to take a town house. Though the practice was common enough among other lords whose estates were remotely located, no matter how late business kept Sezu in the city he always returned home to sleep under the same roof as his family. If Mara was generous in her assessment, Buntokapi was barely more than a boy, only two years older than she, and with none of her level-headed nature. While she had sat next to her brother, hearing the lessons on governance her father gave, Bunto had been a neglected, lonely bo
y who had spent time off by himself brooding, or in the rough company of soldiers. Her own coldness did not upset him but encouraged a return to his former habits of finding the pleasures he understood. Still, Mara had not selected this husband because she wanted someone strong-minded and resolute, like her father. Now her plans demanded that she encourage his self-indulgent, bad-tempered nature, though the course would be dangerous in the extreme.
Ayaki gave a last, deafening squeal and grabbed her beads. Prying his grip from her throat, Mara pretended indifference to her husband's indulgence. 'Whatever my Lord requires.'
Bunto returned one of his rare smiles, and ducking a swipe of Ayaki's tiny fist, Mara wondered briefly on the mistress, Teani. What sort of woman would infatuate a brute like her husband? But Buntokapi's pleased expression vanished as, with faultless timing, Jican appeared with a dozen scrolls in hand. 'My Lord, by the grace of the gods, you are back fortuitously. I have some papers dealing with matters of your distant holdings that need your immediate approval.'
With a beleaguered cry, Bunto said, 'Fortuitous! I must return to the city tonight.' He stalked from Mara's presence without so much as a good-bye, but his wife seemed not to care. Her eyes were fixed on the rosy face of her son as, drooling, he tried with fierce concentration to stuff her amber beads in his mouth. 'Your appetites might kill you one day,' she warned mildly; but whether she referred to her husband or his offspring only the gods might guess. After rescuing her jewellery, Mara smiled. The mistress, Teani, had wrapped another twist into the fabric of ideas evolved since the day the grey warriors had sworn service. The hour had come to begin Buntokapi's education on what it really took to conduct the business of the Acoma.
Alone in the cool shadow of the nursery, Mara consulted the wax tally started in secret during the last month. No one would interrupt her. Nacoya was out with Ayaki, and the slave who changed the covers in the crib could not read. Reflectively Mara chewed the end of her stylus. Each day Buntokapi visited his town house, she had sent at least one servant or Jican with some minor document to sign. From their dozens of reports, she had patiently pieced together the fact that her husband lived a very patterned existence. When in Sulan-Qu, Buntokapi arose at mid-morning, but never later than the third hour after sunrise. He would then walk to a public training arena where mercenary guards and warriors whose masters were staying in the city gathered to practise at arms. Buntokapi preferred wrestling and archery to sword work, but with a diligence that had surprised Gijan he now practised all three. His technique with the blade improved steadily, but he still chose the company of common soldiers over that of the other lords who occasionally availed themselves of the facilities. Midday saw him bathed and changed and on the way to his town house; for about two hours thereafter he remained receptive to any work sent from the estates by Mara. His mistress, Teani, was rarely out of bed before mid-afternoon, and his tolerance for business fled the instant she awoke. With a charm that even the oldest messenger had described with admiration, she would lure Buntokapi to her bed until barely enough time remained to rise and dress for dinner. Then the couple would attend the theatre to see comedies, the taverns to listen to minstrels, or the gambling houses, though Teani had no wealth except what came to her as gifts. She derived a perverse pleasure from encouraging her paramour to bet, and if he lost, rumour held that her eyes sparkled all the more brightly. Mara frowned. Many servants had been cursed and cuffed to glean this information - the last runner to carry a document to Lord Buntokapi had been severely beaten - but in this matter a slave boy was of little consequence. Worse might come if the man she had married continued to wear the Lord's mantle.
An enraged yell from Ayaki echoed down the corridor beyond the screen, followed by Nacoya's chiding voice. If the child had soiled himself, the nursery would shortly become the site of a minor commotion. Ayaki battled like a young harulth whenever anyone tried to change him. Sighing with indulgence mixed with exasperation, Mara concealed the wax slate beneath an old parchment map and resumed her study of the Empire. The border lines and the estates on this rendition were slightly out of date, having been drawn up when she was a little girl. But the dyes were still bright and most of the holdings of the major Lords of the Empire were clearly marked. Since Buntokapi detested everything to do with words on paper, he would never miss this one document from his study. The only use he had for a map was to find which lands were open for hunting.
As Ayaki's wails drew nearer, Mara noticed an interesting fact at the outset: the Lord of the Zalteca, a minor neighbour who had a very prosperous trade in pottery, used a strip of land between his own estates and the Imperial Highway that appeared to be the property of the Lord of the Kano, who lived far to the east near the city of Ontoset. Mara found this indefinably amusing. If other families exercised such usurpation of property rights, that knowledge might later prove useful. She would ask Arak-asi about it when he returned, and that thought sparked realization: only a week remained before she and Buntokapi celebrated their first wedding anniversary. The Spy Master might return to the estate at any moment.
Apprehension gripped Mara, even as Nacoya entered with Ayaki screaming in her arms. 'Your son would make a fine substitute for a guli,' said the old woman, referring to the hairy troll-like creatures of children's tales; they scared their victims to death with hideous screams.
Mara only nodded. Wondering whether her mistress had gone deaf, Nacoya called the slave away from freshening the crib to help manage the Acoma heir, who yelled until his face was red, and made everyone's ears sore. Eventually Mara arose. She bent over her baby and jingled her beads to amuse him. As Ayaki's wails changed to laughter in another of his mercurial shifts of mood, her thoughts continued.
Somehow she must prevent Arakasi from coming under Buntokapi's control. Her bull of a husband would only waste that information network, or worse, make it available for his father's use, which would place far too dangerous a power in the hands of the Lord of the Anasati. Necessity made Mara bold. She must prepare for Arakasi's arrival with no further delay, so that his loyalty should remain hers alone. Inwardly reviewing her husband's schedule of activities, Mara spoke briskly to the slave who laboured over the kicking, naked legs of her son. 'Call for Jican.'
Nacoya raised her eyebrows. 'To the nursery?' she said, startled, but her mistress ignored the liberty.
'The matter will not wait.' Without further fuss, Mara relieved the slave of the damp cloths and began to cleanse her infant's soiled bottom.
Jican arrived, any puzzlement he felt well concealed. He bowed deeply as his mistress tied a clean loincloth around her son. 'Have we some documents that would be appropriate for my Lord husband's review?'
Barely able to contain his distaste at the mention of the Lord of the Acoma, Jican said, 'My Lady, there are always documents that are appropriate for the Lord of the house to review.' He bowed, shamed at how close to insult his words came in their implication that Buntokapi neglected his responsibilities. Mara sensed her hadonra's discomfort as she lifted Ayaki onto her shoulder.
In a tone sweet as red-bee honey, she said, 'Then I think it would be fitting to send a scribe to my husband's town house at three hours after noon.'
Jican stifled open curiosity. 'If you think that is wise, mistress, then it shall be done.'
Mara dismissed him and saw that Nacoya, too, regarded her with a shrewd glint in her eyes. 'You are deaf, mother of my heart,' the Lady of the Acoma said softly. 'And business matters are never conducted in the nursery.'
The nurse bowed promptly, guessing something of her mistress's intentions; but the full extent of those plans would have terrified the old woman beyond measure. As I am terrified, Mara thought, and silently wondered whether the Goddess of Wisdom would hear the prayers of a wife who knowingly provoked a husband already renowned for his bad temper.
Buntokapi raised his head from rumpled, sweat-damp pillows. The screens were drawn closed, but even the decorations painted in scarlet, maroon, and ochre could not entir
ely block out the afternoon sun in the garden beyond. A golden glow suffused the chamber, lending warm highlights to tangled sheets and to the sleeping form of his mistress, Teani. The Lord of the Acoma regarded the rounded length of her thigh, his thick lips bent into a smile. This was a woman, he thought. Naked, she took his breath away, as Mara's slenderness never had. He had felt passion for his wife when he had first wed; but having tasted the delights of Teani's talents, he now realized that his feelings for Mara arose from desire to dominate the daughter of a great family - and to rectify his own limited experience with women prior to becoming a Lord. Once he had a son, he had tried to do a husband's duty, but Mara lay like a corpse, and what man could stay interested in a woman who offered no sport?
Mara's strange intellectual passions, her love of poetry, and her fascination with the cho-ja Queen's hive gave Buntokapi a general headache. His mistress was another matter. In silent appreciation, he studied Teani's long legs. A fold in the sheets hid her hips and back, but masses of red-gold hair, rare in the Empire, tumbled down shoulders like fine procelain. Teani's face was turned away, but Buntokapi imagined her perfection: the full, sensuous mouth that could tease him until he was crazy, and the straight nose, high cheekbones, and eyes almost amber in colour that brought admiring stares from every man when she clung to his arm. Her powers of attraction lent force to the manhood of Buntokapi, and just watching her slow breathing aroused him. With a leer he pressed a hand beneath the sheets to seek her firm, round breast. Someone chose that instant to knock at the door.
Buntokapi's questing fingers balled into a fist. 'Who is it?' His irritable bellow caused Teani to half spin, half sit up, in sleepy disarray.
Daughter of the Empire Page 26