Maia (113 page)

She was still preoccupied with what she had been about to say. "I'm sorry, Euda, I'm afraid I wasn't just exactly following you."

He turned beside her on the seat and took her hand.

"My father would rest in peace. And you-p-you've got dangerous enemies here-it's common knowledge. You'd have none, would you? And it would do more than anything else to reconcile Urtah to Bekla."

She started up from beside him. "What are you saying, Euda?"

"And I've already put it to Kembri that as part of the arrangement-as a sign of the Leopards' approval and goodwill-he should release Bayub-Otal on a firm promise that he'll give no more trouble. Kembri said he felt sure you'd be delighted. You'd realize, he said, that the arrangement would solve all manner of problems, for you and for Bekla. But apart from that, to be the first lady in the land-"

"Euda, are you asking me to marry you?"

"I'm asking you to marry me and to become High Bar-oneness of Urtah: for the sake of my people and myself.
That's
why I came to Bekla. And I assure you it's with my father's full approval."

Moaning, she sank down on the grass, her face buried in her hands. "O Cran! O Cran and Airtha!"

He stroked her hair. "What's the matter? It's a shock, Maia, is that it? I suppose I've done it clumsily. I'm afraid I'm not stylish and dashing, like Elvair-ka-Virrion-I know that. I'm just a heldro; I don't know how you go about these things in Bekla-"

"No, no; 'tain't that. Oh, I dunno what to say! You can't want
me
-a girl from Sencho's-"

"Don't talk like that! That's all past and over! I'm speaking to the renowned, heroic beauty Maia Serrelinda." Then, as she said no more, her face still in her hands, he went on, "Are you afraid of it? You shouldn't be. Do you know what they think of you in Urtah? Let me tell you some-

thing. Only the other day, on my way here, I was talking to one of my principal tenants, a prosperous farmer down towards the south-west of the province. It seems his daughter knows you-a girl called Gehta. She met you when you were with Bayub-Otal on the way to Suba. 'She saved us all,' he said. 'I'd give her half my farm if she asked me for it. Why, if once those Terekenalters had got across-' "

With a dazed air, Maia, who could scarcely take in what he was saying, rose to her feet. "I-can I think it over, my lord? I need time-"

"Does it need thinking over? To be High Baroness of Urtah?"

"I-oh, don't think as I don't feel all the honor you're doing me, Euda. No, it's-"

"I'm old, is that it? The upper city's smart and gay-"

"Oh, don't talk like that, my lord! It's not right for a high baron's heir to be talking like that-"

"Perhaps it's not. No, you're right, of course. Well, you'd be able to change me a good deal, I expect; a girl like you. If ever there was a girl who was obviously favored by the gods-"

Maia, realizing that with this rather awkward, insensitive man their talk could hardly come to an end unless she were to bring it about herself, made a supreme effort to regain her composure.

"You'll understand, my lord-Euda-that this is all a surprise to me; unexpected, like. I feel sort of confused. I can't talk any more just now. Would you mind leaving me?"

"But what shall I tell Kembri?" he asked.

At this she could flare up, her tongue loosened naturally and spontaneously.

"Kembri? What in Lespa's name has Kembri got to do with it? This is between you and me, isn't it?"

He took it without a retort. "I'm sorry. When shall I see you again?"

"I'll send you a message. You in the same lodgings- down by the Tower of the Orphans?"

"No; but do you know, I went back there this morning-just to see the room where we were so happy together that afternoon last Melekril? You won't have forgotten?" She shook her head. "I'm staying in Kembri's house this time."

"Are you? I see." But still she couldn't feel for him the contempt which would have risen up in Occula.

She kissed him on both cheeks. "Good-bye. I'll send my soldier, like I said."

He raised his palm to his forehead, did the heir of Urtah, and walked away through the garden, leaving the Serre-linda pacing back and forth on the grassy shore.

She could not sleep. The silence and the clear, bright moonlight seemed as though enclosing and holding her fixed, immobile-like a stone in the jam, she thought wryly. Every now and then would sound faintly the voice of the watchman on the Peacock Wall. Once she heard swans' wings overhead, and once a quick, harsh clamor as something alarmed the duck on the Barb. Whatever shall I do? she thought. What shall I do?

She had said nothing to Milvushina. She had not the least doubt that if she were to tell her about Zen-Kurel, Milvushina would be sympathetic and her secret would remain safe. No, it wasn't that. It was, rather, that she could not bear the highly probable prospect of Milvushina advising her to forget Zen-Kurel-advice which anyone would give, or so it seemed to her. That was beyond question, she thought, the advice she would get from Occula. She writhed to imagine Occula's generous, unselfish delight at the news of Eud-Ecachlon's proposal. "High Baroness of Urtah, banzi? You're jokin'!" Yes, High Baroness of Urtah-a sixteen-year-old peasant girl from the Tonil-dan Waste. And not only on account of her beauty-not this time. She remembered how she had told Zenka, that night in Melvda-Rain, of her resentment that everything seemed to happen to her on account of her beauty, and how easily and confidently he had taken it in his stride and set it aside. "You wouldn't like it much if I said you weren't beautiful." And then-oh, how her tears fell at the memory!-he'd made love to her again-like a hero, like a god, like an overflowing fountain of joy and sincerity and-yes, regard-the like of which she hadn't known existed. "When it comes, my girl," old Drigga had said to her once, "you won't have to worry about whether it's real or not. True

love's like lightning-there's no doubt about it." No, she thought wretchedly,
no
doubt about it. What am I to do? O Lespa, what am I to do?

Kembri had been clever, she thought: he was an adroit politician. And-yes-in his own grim way he was being kind to her-as kind as he was capable of being to anybody. She was as sure as she could well be that the idea had originated with him and not with Eud-Ecachlon. The very way Eud-Ecachlon had put it was enough to tell her that. And to do Kembri justice, he'd given her clear warning. Besides, to himself it must seem that he was treating her generously indeed. The marriage offered the solution to several problems, a most shrewd stroke of policy from every angle, public and private; to say nothing of the confidence he must feel in her as suitable for such a position from Bekla's point of view. By implication it was a bigger compliment than she could ever have expected to be paid to her. And Eud-Ecachlon-that decent, dull, not-too-sure-of-himself man, fated but not gifted to be a High Baron, burdened with the memory of an unhappy, ludicrous failure in love which had clouded him for years-he stood to get a bride whom thousands throughout the empire would give their eyes for.

So much for the protagonists. But politically, Kembri would have disposed, smoothly and irreproachably, of his greatest stumbling-block to Milvushina as Sacred Queen. He would have no need, now, to run the risk of killing a girl whose murder, even if only suspected, would bring the whole city about his ears; while from the point of view of the Leopards the Serrelinda ought to prove just the thing for Urtah. The Urtans would be delighted and flattered to get her. She would attract their loyalty and strengthen Eud-Ecachlon's position as High Baron. She might even, in some unforeseen way or other (if Karnat were to die, say, and the power of Terekenalt weaken), prove contributory to bringing about a peaceful re-unification of Suba with Urtah. There would be plenty of older people in Kendron-Urtah who remembered Nokomis. Kembri could not, of course, be aware of her, Maia's, acutal blood-relationship to Nokomis, but the odds were that he had already learned of the striking physical resemblance. Yet the blood-relationship, if she were to reveal it, would constitute no bar to her marriage with Eud-Ecachlon. They were cousins. His father had been her aunt's lover; nothing more than

that. Indeed, bearing in mind Nokomis's enormous celebrity, this would enhance, not detract from her status in Urtah.

Whereas if she were to refuse Eud-Ecachlon, there could be only one possible conclusion drawn by Kembri, the Council and the entire Leopard faction-that she had set her heart on becoming Sacred Queen at all hazards and reckoned she could achieve it by relying on the support of the people even against the Lord General. Well, she thought, maybe she could, at that, if she'd been cast in the mold of Fornis. Yet beloved of Lespa or not, she knew very well that she entertained no least desire to be Sacred Queen.

Now, for the first time, as she lay tossing restlessly, with the moonlight creeping across the floor, there came into her heart glimmerings of doubt: not of her love for Zen-Kurel-no, nor of his for her-but of its ultimate attainability. The fear of death-the fear of death as an imminent and actual probability-is a terrible thing, twisting and forcing the inward eye like a kind of distorting lens. In face of the fear of death, an alternative which would otherwise have seemed beyond bearing becomes at least endurable, while what was once felt as merely tedious or irksome appears positively attractive. Poor Maia had little doubt what would become of her, one way or another, if she were to refuse Eud-Ecachlon.

If only she had known anything at all of Zen-Kurel- simply his whereabouts! If she could have been sure of nothing more than that he was alive, then, she thought, she would also have known her answer. But to know nothing-nothing-

"What?" said the Fear of Death, squatting, hands clasped round bony knees, in the shadow under the window across the room. "A Katrian boy you were with for-how long? Three hours? You must understand, Maia, that I've nothing whatever against you; but for a girl of your origins to be asked in all earnest to become High Baroness of Urtah, and reject it for the ridiculous, out-of-the-question possibility of somehow regaining a foreign lad who made love to you and was gone almost at once! Who may be anywhere, who may be dead: well, to be frank I thought you had more sense. I couldn't protect you, you know-"

"But I haven't any heart for it!" she cried out to the horrible shadow. "High Baroness? What's Urtah to me, or a man who couldn't even see anything particularly beautiful about my cabinet of the fishes? And do you realize he never even said he loved me? Were you there? Do you remember what he called it? He called it 'the arrangement'! Yes, 'the arrangement'! Three hours-three days- what's it matter? What matters is the actual, physical memory of my Zenka-the things he said to me, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, what it was like to be with him, what it was like to know we understood and loved and respected each other! And I know what it would be like to
live
with him, too. I'd never have to be pretending to be something I'm not-not with him I wouldn't!"

"And then, you see, there's Form's," went on the Fear of Death, clicking slightly in moving to a more comfortable position against the wall. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten Fornis, have you?
Kembri
as an enemy-well, I suppose at a pinch you could try going on your knees to Kembri. But Fornis, my dear! I mean, won't she be
delighted
to hear that you rejected Eud-Ecachlon in order to try to supplant her as Sacred Queen? For of course that's what she
will
think, no danger. Ob, I know it's the middle of the night and all that, but really I've only got your good at heart. I mean, you do remember, do you, those bodies hanging by the road when you and Occula were coming up to Bekla last year? And you remember Fornis getting back from the temple, do you, with the blood all over her arms yum yum? And you're completely defenseless, you see. Oh, yes, of course, I know about the comet; not quite so bright tonight, by the way, have you noticed-?"

"O Cran, let me alone!" she screamed silently. "I'll do it! I'll do it! I'll tell them tomorrow! O Zenka! Zenka! If only I knew where you were! If only you were here to save me and take me away! But how can I die-yes,
die!
-for nothing but a memory?"

In spite of her near-hysterical fear, Maia did not lack awareness of the enormous consequence to herself of the decision she was now taking. She realized very well that she had been subdued by terror to conclude that, while she could and would have risked all for a realistic hope of recovering her flesh-and-blood Zenka, she was not equal to facing virtually certain death by murder for the sake of a love with no discernible hope or future. This was retreat; abandonment; surrender. She had a sensation of stepping down from some high, bright place into twilight, into a listless, sluggish world like that of oxen, a world where

she did not want to be and-had nowhere to go. She knew clearly enough that she was relinquishing the hope which had upheld her and prompted her actions ever since that night in Melvda-Rain. For months past she had known what she longed for, and now she had turned away from it.

And there were no compensations. If she had been five or six years older she might, perhaps, have comforted herself with the prospect of becoming the greatest lady in Uriah, a figure of power and consequence in the empire and one probably well able, with experience and the exercise of tact and discretion, to control and give guidance to a husband who would be only too glad to receive it. But what could all that mean to sixteen-year-old Maia, even had she been able to envisage it?

She fell asleep at last, just as first light was breaking and the mynahs and starlings were beginning to murmur along the ledges outside. She dreamt of the river and the soldiers who had carried her to Sendekar, but when she woke could find little meaning or comfort in the dream. Poor Maia was young enough to feel ashamed of what she was going to do; nor did it occur to her that this shame was creditable.

Brero, like the good fellow he was, could sense that something was wrong. He stood fidgeting on the little terrace as Maia, who had summoned him, at first remained silent, hesitating for the last time before sending her irreclaimable message. There were three possible ways of doing it. (Ah, rope, knife or poison, she thought bitterly; these being the options traditionally offered in the empire to someone compelled to commit suicide.) Either she could send Eud-Ecachlon a letter of acceptance, or she could herself go to Kembri's house and tell him; or else she could invite him to come and see her again. Not having much confidence for writing a letter (and not, of course, wishing to employ a scribe) and having no particular desire to encounter Kembri, she had decided on the last, and accordingly had packed Ogma off to the markets of the lower city for the makings of a slap-up dinner. It really was like being executed, she thought. If it had to happen, then it ought to be endured with style and courage. Yet now, with Brero waiting uneasily before her, she hung back, looked

at the ground, drummed her fingers on her knee, began to speak and then broke off.

"Brero, I want you-I want you to-"

"Yes, saiyett?"

These were the last moments of her youth, she thought. She had only to speak, now, and her life would cease to be her own, for ever. Her tongue was like a knife, about to cut away all that was past, which would thereupon float away and disappear behind her. There'd be no delay, either; she felt sure of that. Kembri would not lose any time in making the news of the betrothal public throughout the city.

She stood up and turned aside, filled with an uncontrollable anguish. In the act of trying to speak her lips trembled and for a few moments her sight actually clouded over. She realized that Brero had taken her arm and led her the few steps back to the bench.

"Very awkward times, these, saiyett; very awkward for everyone."

She looked up into his rugged, kindly face, not sure whether he meant something specific or was only trying as best he could to express a vague sympathy.

"I don't know whether you've heard the news, saiyett, but what they're saying in our mess is that Santil-ke-Er-ketlis has actually defeated Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion somewhere in Yelda, and our lads are falling back into Lapan. You wouldn't happen to know, I suppose, whether that's true?"

What's that to me? she thought. "No, I haven't heard anything, Brero. If I do I'll pass it on to you."

He hesitated. "Saiyett, I can see you're a bit upset, like; and that's none of my business, of course. But for what it's worth, I'd like to warn you-though I hope you won't tell anyone it came from me-that I'm not the only fellow in our mob as reckons there's going to be a whole lot of trouble, and 'fore very much longer too."

He paused, but she was too much preoccupied to prompt him.

"Only we sometimes get to hear things, saiyett, before they're given out by the heralds, you see; and sometimes, come to that, things that never
are
given out at all. Just, lads come back from the front and tell their mates. Well, you see, it's only that I'm hoping they'll let me go on being one of them as looks after you. I'm no coward-I've seen

plenty of action since I first joined up-but it's a good soldier who knows how to look after himself, as they say. If you could use your influence-that's if you're satisfied, saiyett, as I hope you are-I'm sure I'll be very grateful."

Recalled to her self-possession by this harmless and understandable bit of self-seeking, she smiled.

"Of course I will, Brero; don't worry. Now could you please be so kind as to go to the Lord General's house, ask for Lord Eud-Ecachlon of Urtah and tell him I'll be honored if he'll come to dinner with me a little after noon today?"

"But whatever kept you so long, Ogma? Oh, yes, I'm sure you must have taken great care to get all the best you could find. I know you always do-those brillions look lovely, and so do the trout-only now it's so late in the morning. Lord Eud-Ecachlon will be here quite soon and you'll need all of an hour to get dinner ready. Do make a start as quick as you can, there's a dear."

"Well, I
would
have been back a lot sooner, Miss Maia," said Ogma, her voice taking on the querulous, defensive tone with which Maia had become familiar, "if only it hadn't been for being bothered and pestered and-and followed all up the street and made to look that much of a fool until I didn't know if I was coming or going. And when you're a slave there's nothing you can do about it and-and 'tisn't likely, miss, that anyone's going to interfere to help the likes of
me,"
ended poor Ogma, who was obviously on the point of tears. "It's all right for some, as has soldiers to pull them about in jekzhas-"