"But she didn't say so?"
"No."
The voice uttered a sympathetic murmur. "Don't worry, Anda-Nokomis; I'd expect her to recover by tomorrow."
This exchange made Maia feel a good deal less apprehensive. The voice, which was slow, deliberate and rather deep, sounded like that of quite an old man. Obviously he was friendly towards both herself and Bayub-Otal: and she was not going to be made to get up and go on; or not just yet, anyway. To go to bed and stay there--that was more than enough for the moment. Sooner or later she would have to let them see she was conscious, so it might as well be now.
She moaned slightly, drew a couple of deep, sighing breaths, opened her eyes and looked round her.
She was lying near the edge of a long, more-or-less triangular patch of rough grass, bordered on either side by dense trees. The point of the triangle was behind her, to her right, and here a track came out from among the trees, leading on past her to a cluster of stilted huts about a hundred yards off. Near these stood a little crowd of dirty, rough-looking people--men, women and children---all staring in her direction. They did not seem to be talking much and were showing no particular excitement. In fact, she thought, they rather resembled cattle in a field gazing at a stranger.
Lenkrit and Pillan were standing a few yards away, together with two or three other men--obvious Subans; short, swarthy and broad-featured--all barefooted and dressed in the same sort of garment; rough, shapeless smocks made out of some kind of smooth, grayish skin unknown to her.
Bayub-Otal was kneeling beside her, together with an old man with a lined, brown face, deep-sunk eyes and a shock of gray hair. Round his neck, on a leather cord, was a bone amulet in the shape of a fish with gaping, toothed jaws. This, in fact, was the first thing Maia saw as she opened her eyes, for since its owner was bending over her it was hanging forward almost into her face. A good deal of the fetid, muddy odor, she now realized, came from him: at least, it was all around, but it would have been less strong if he had not been there. His look, however, was kind enough. Meeting it, she felt still less afraid, and for one strange, here-and-gone moment even had the notion that she had seen it somewhere before. It expressed not only concern but also a kind of firm, undemanding patience, suggesting that by and large he expected to find people suffering and that even if he could not do a great deal about it he was in no particular hurry to leave them and be off about his own affairs. Nevertheless, he was a somewhat startling figure with whom to be confronted at close quarters, and Maia involuntarily drew back a little, turning her gaze towards Bayub-Otal.
He, though looking as tired as she felt, smiled down at her reassuringly.
"You've nothing to be afraid of, Maia. We're in Suba. No one can take you back to Bekla from here."
Uncontrollably, the tears sprang to her eyes. She sat sobbing on the spongy, warm ground, her wet hair hanging round her shoulders, her mouth and nose running down her chin. Bayub-Otal put his arm round her, then rolled up his cloak and, placing it behind her head, pressed her gently back until she was once more lying down.
"Let her cry if she wants to, Anda-Nokomis," said the shaggy man. "It'll do her good. She couldn't very well cry before, could she?"
"Well, she didn't, anyway," replied Bayub-Otal.
Tescon came up the track from the direction of the village and spoke to Lenkrit.
"They've got a hut ready for us now, sir, and some food."
"What about Maia?" asked Lenkrit.
"One of the women's going to look after her, sir."
"Do you think she can walk, Anda-Nokomis, or shall we carry her again?" asked Lenkrit.
The shaggy man, stretching out a hand, helped Maia to her feet. Her sense of not wanting to go on, of not being able to face anything new, had returned. She felt all reluctance; yet she let him give her his arm and went with him across the grass, past the staring, muttering group and on between the huts.
Hard-trodden earth; wood-smoke; a peering face at a window, scraggy fowls pecking here and there, a fishing-net spread to dry, the crying of a baby, tattered garments hanging on a line. He helped her up a short, rough ladder into a murky hut where her feet sounded hollow on the boards, and here an old woman spoke to her--something about food--she could hardly understand a word She heard Bayub-Otal replying that she was exhausted and needed sleep. The old woman, clucking and nodding sympathetically, knelt beside a pallet on the floor, drew back the coverlet and pummeled a couple of dirty cushions. Maia, smiling as best she could and wiping her running nose on her arm, lay down and shut her eyes. After a minute she asked for water, and as soon as she had drunk it--it tasted muddy--she fell asleep. Not even the excitement of the villagers below disturbed her, as Lenkrit, their baron, told them that the stranger who had forced the ford with him by night was none other than Anda-Nokomis, the defrauded and rightful Ban of Suba.
Not long afterwards all four of the Subans--even Pillan could hardly stay on his feet--having eaten, went to bed and slept as soundly as Maia.
Maia herself woke about the middle of the afternoon. She no longer felt exhausted, but her shin was painful and she had a headache. The room was close and stuffy and the muddy smell seemed everywhere--in the air, in her mouth, on her very skin. For some time she lay unmoving, conscious only of her discomfort. At length, when some creature stirred in the thatch above--a dry, stealthy rustle followed by a brief scuttling--she turned her head quickly in the direction of the noise. Sometimes, as she well knew, things fell out of thatch and landed on you. As she did so she saw Bayub-Otal standing with his back to her, gazing out of the window opening. Hearing her move, he looked round and smiled.
"Feeling better?"
She nodded and tried to smile back, but her heart was like lead. She sat up, pressing fingers over her aching eyes.
"Are you feverish?" he asked. "Tell me--really--how you feel."
"I'm all right, my lord: only I've got a headache and my shin feels that bad."
"Try to eat something: you'll feel better. People often get headaches when they first come to Suba--it's the marsh air--but it soon passes off."
"I'd like to wash, my lord. Reckon that'd make me feel better than anything."
He sat down on a rickety stool under the window.
"Suban people mostly wash out of doors: I'll call a girl, shall I, to show you wherever it is they go here?"
"Oh. Well--well, at that rate, my lord, I think I'd rather eat first."
"Just as you like." He smiled again. "Just as you like, Maia. You're not a slave anymore, now."
He called from the window and after a little the old woman clambered up into the room, carrying a flask and a clay bowl. These she put down, smiled toothlessly at Maia, mumbled a few words to Bayub-Otal and disappeared again.
"She's gone to get you some bread and fish. People eat a lot of fish here; there's not much else, you see. This will be fish soup, I expect-- akrow, they call it." He filled the bowl from the flask. "Yes, it is. It's good, too. I had some myself earlier on."
She took the bowl from him. The liquid was pale yellow, not much thicker than water and surfaced with tiny, iridescent circles like a clear grav
y. White fragments of fish were floating in it. Seeing her hesitate, he shook his head.
"You just gulp it down. No spoons here. Pick out the big bits with your fingers, but watch for bones."
She tilted the bowl to her lips. The soup was hot enough, and its taste not unpleasant. It left a coating of grease on her lips and the roof of her mouth.
The old woman returned with wine, black bread and two crisp-skinned, baked fish on a plate.
"Would you like me to break these up for you?" he asked. "It can be awkward till you've got the knack."
He laughed. "I'm rather good at it; or I used to be."
He was plainly in good spirits. She watched as he slit each fish along one side with his knife, took out tail, backbone and head in one piece and threw it out the window.
"And that, too, you eat with your fingers," he said, handing the fish to her. "Makes it taste much better, I assure you."
For the life of her she could not bring herself to take it in good part. The room seemed stifling and her headache, if anything, worse.
"Are the people all so poor?"
"Oh, no, these people aren't poor: they just haven't got any money."
She ate the bread and fish, sucked her fingers and wiped them on the coverlet, which from the look of it was not going to take any harm from a little thing like that. When she had eaten a few figs and swallowed down some of the rough wine, her headache grew duller and she began to feel drowsy again.
He watched her, sitting on his stool. "Poor Maia! How many days is it now since we left Bekla?"
She knew that. "This is the sixth day, my lord."
"Don't call me that anymore. Call me Anda-Nokomis, like everybody else. Six days--so it is. I don't wonder you're tired out. I'm sure there are very few girls who could have done it at all. You'll need at least another day's rest: but don't worry, Maia--I'll leave you in good hands, I promise."
She stared at him, frightened. "Leave me?" He got up and once more stood looking out the win-dow.
After a few moments he replied rather hesitantly, "Well, as far as I'm concerned, you see, it's become very urgent. I've got to get down to Melvda-Rain as soon as I possibly can, and so has Lenkrit. He tells me his son will be there already, with the men from upper Suba. I've no idea what Karnat's planning to do. If he was one of our own people it would be different, but with allies there's always the risk of misunderstanding and ill-feeling. He's got to be able to trust us; he's got to believe that we mean what we say."