"But then there was a lot more than that to the business, grandpa, wasn't there? Later on?"
"Oh, ah, there was a whole lot more to it than that. Ay, that there was--"
49: A CHOICE OF DAGGERS
Seated at supper between Zen-Kurel and Bayub-Otal, Maia was doing her best to appear relaxed and easy. From time to time the king, sitting beyond Zen-Kurel on her left, would lean forward and speak to her through him, and she would answer, not sure how warm or open a response it was fitting for her to make. That he admired her he had made plain enough, but she was used to that and it had already occurred to her that if he thought of her--as no doubt he did--as in some degree belonging to Bayub-Otal-- the girl he had helped to escape from Bekla--he would want to steer clear of any possible ill-feeling. Karnat's reputation was that of a warrior and general, with enormous personal hold over his followers, who were said to regard him almost as a god. At this very moment, indeed, there was about him an air which suggested to her that he never entirely cast aside the burden of this leadership.
Mixed with his friendliness and warmth was a certain restraint--the self-restraint of a commander. He was not acting a part, but he was nevertheless conscious of his position and of the presence of his captains and his Suban allies. Whatever his inward inclinations, he would take care that no remarks were passed behind his back about the general being struck on the Tortildan girl. Besides, he was a king. If he did want her, no doubt he would send for her privately, as Kembri had done. So she gave smiling, neutral answers, complimenting him on the bearing of his soldiers and on all she had heard (which in fact was little enough) of Terekenalt. When he spoke to her of Bekla, she said she had been unhappy there, was delighted to have escaped and very glad to find herself in Suba.
Yet despite the honor being shown to her, this last was no more true now than when she had first crossed the Valderra. After her triumphant arrival at the Star Court that morning, three or four Suban ladies, the wives of notables, had taken her into their care, summoned their maids to bring her food and attend her in the bath, and then put their own wardrobes at her disposal. Two of these ladies had known Nokomis, and Maia once again responded as well as she could to their expressions of incredulous astonishment, assuring them that she was in no way related to the legendary Dragonfly of Suba.
By Beklan standards the dresses were disappointing-- their style dowdy and dull for a girl like her--but she had chosen the best of them, a pale-gray robe with a shower of yellow stars spreading outward from bodice to hem; and in this, with her hair freshly washed and set with combs, and a translucent necklace of Telthearna aquamarines, she felt as confident as was possible without actually seeing herself (for, looking at the Suban ladies, she could place little reliance on their assurances and praises).
The thought of passing the rest of her life in such a society depressed her unutterably. In some respects, so it seemed to her, Melvda--the whole place--was not all that far above her mother's hovel. Most of the servants were dirty (dirtier than ever me or Kelsi was, she thought), but no one seemed to notice this or think it unusual. The bath-water, though hot enough, was brown and smelled muddy. Her thin towel was soaked through before she had nearly finished drying. When one of her hostesses opened a wardrobe door to show her her dresses, there was a scurrying of roaches or beetles, but at this the lady showed no particular surprise or discomposure. Since no one had offered her a mirror, she concluded that there was none in Melvda.
However, she had felt a little comforted when they took her to her own quarters. This time there was no ladder. The small, neat house stood apart from any others, at the top of a short slope of grass and flowering bushes. Beyond, a medley of fields stretched away towards distant woodland. The table, cupboards, stools and benches were well-made and looked almost new. The bed was more than four feet wide--they had given her their best guest-house, they explained, usually allotted to a couple--while the sedge-filled mattress was softer than the one she had praised to Nasada two nights before.
"Would you like the girl who came with you to sleep here?" asked her hostess.
Maia declined, asking only that Luma should bring hot water and breakfast in the morning. She would, she assured the Suban lady, be perfectly happy to sleep alone in the guest-house. After all, there was none but friends all round her.
She was hoping that Nasada might drop in that night for another talk. There was much more she wanted to ask him; and not only that, but she had almost made up her mind to tell him the truth and beg him to advise her. Like most girls, Maia found it next to impossible to keep a secret if she could not disclose it to anyone at all.
That afternoon she had accompanied the king, Bayub-Otal, Lenkrit and Nasada as they walked through the camps speaking to officers, tryzatts and soldiers. Karnat's army, both Katrians and Terekenalters, were encamped along the eastern edge of Melvda-Rain, in meadows divided every sixty or seventy yards by irrigation channels and ditches. Over these the soldiers had thrown narrow, makeshift bridges of planks or tree-trunks, across which Karnat led the way, always turning to offer Maia his hand. Although she had not the least knowledge of soldiering, she was struck by the obvious professionalism of Karnat's men. The camps were clean and tidy. There were trenches for burning or burying rubbish and these, as well as the cooking-fires, always seemed to be down-wind of the nearest huts and shelters. The latter were plainly the work of experienced hands; sound and firm, spaced equally and at this time of day opened up, by the removal of some of their timbers or branches, to let in the breeze.
Karnat seemed to know the faces and names of hundreds of men, and from the way in which they answered him, gathering eagerly round, each man hoping to be noticed, it was plain that they not only respected but liked him. Almost every soldier Karnat spoke to possessed a confidence and alertness which impressed Maia. These, she felt, were real men. Beklan, of course, was not their tongue and in any case it would scarcely have been appropriate for her to converse directly with them, but here and there she made use of Zen-Kurel to ask a question or utter a few words of praise. These Terekenalters, she reflected pleasurably, saw her as herself and not as the ghost of Nokomis, of whom they knew little or nothing.
By contrast the Suban camp, along the edge of which their boat had passed that morning, was a somewhat unattractive spot. To be sure, the men were in good heart-- as lively and ardent as any captain could wish--and Lenkrit and Bayub-Otal met with nothing but eager enthusiasm. There were cries of "How far to Bekla, sir?" "Tell them Terekenalters we'll show 'em the way!" and so on. Yet the whole place was so befouled and the men themselves so dirty and undisciplined that it was hard to think of them as an army. Karnat, for the most part, had received straight, soldierly answers to straight questions, but here, by and large, the men seemed much less dear about where they belonged or what their jobs were. The diversity of weapons, too--many of them nothing but farming or forestry implements, more-or-less adapted for service--made them seem not so much like soldiers as a mob of rough, hardy men, willing enough but lacking any real training or cohesion. Several times Nasada shook his head over the filth and stench. At length, while Bayub-Otal and Lenkrit were at a little distance, talking to five or six men gathered round a grindstone, Maia saw him draw Karnat aside and begin speaking to him earnestly and emphatically. The king listened and nodded with an air of agreement.
"They'll fight well enough, you know, your majesty," said Bayub-Otal, returning. "Of course, they haven't the experience of your soldiers, but they're as keen as rats in a granary. They'll chew up the enemy all right, you'll see."
"Have you met all your officers and talked to them?" asked Karnat courteously but rather gravely.
"Those I'm leading myself I talked to this morning," replied Bayub-Otal. "I haven't met Lenkrit's officers yet-- I've arranged that for tomorrow."
"Well, I'm very glad you're here, Anda-Nokomis," said the king, "and I'll be still more glad when we've won back your inheritance. I only hope you're not going to find that hand of y
ours a personal disadvantage, but whether or not, I know the Subans will follow you and Lenkrit: I've never had the least doubt of that."
"Don't worry, sir," answered Bayub-Otal. "If I can rule Suba left-handed, I can fight for it left-handed."
Karnat laughed, clapped him on the shoulder and began speaking about the arrangements for striking camp. Maia, startled by what she had heard, fell back a step or two and plucked Nasada's sleeve.
"Is he really going to join in the fighting?"
"So he says."
"But, Nasada, how can he, with that hand?"
"He can't be stopped. He's Ban of all Suba, you see. The men know that, and they admire him for not crying off. If he didn't at least try to lead them in battle he'd have no real chance of ruling Suba after Karnat's won."
About the effect of her own appearance in the Suban camp there was no doubt. Before they had been there three minutes a grizzled, gap-toothed man in a torn jerkin and goatskin breeches, who looked well over forty, stopped dead in his tracks, stared at her a moment and then cried out "Lespa's stars!" Behind her, Maia could hear him jabbering excitedly to four or five others, and soon (as there would not have been, she felt, in Karnat's camp, even had her likeness been known there) a rag-tag crowd was following at their heels and men were converging from every side. Again and again came murmurs of "Nokomis!" "Nokomis!"
They seemed less excited than wonder-struck-- almost afraid. No one spoke directly to her or tried to question her. Becoming nervous herself of the unceasing staring, whispering and pointing, she took first Nasada's arm and then, as he turned back to her and offered it, Bayub-Otal's.
"Do they really think I'm Nokomis?" she whispered.
"They're puzzled," replied Bayub-Otal. "They don't know what to think. They can't make it out as yet, but they know you must be a sign from the gods, and that's all that matters. Tomorrow I want to present you a little more formally to the officers."
"How will they take it, d'you reckon?"
"Why, as we all do, of course," he answered. "For the best omen we could possibly have had. And when Suba's free, we'll--"
But now more soldiers were crowding round, and he broke off to speak to them. The continual, muttering excitement, together with the acrid smoke and muddy squalor of the camp, had begun to exhaust and repel her. She did not resume their conversation, and was glad when, soon after, the king called for a boat to take them back to the Star Court.
Here several people, some officers, others older men-- contractors and petitioners--were waiting to speak to Karnat; but after listening to the first for no more than a few minutes, he broke off to ask Bayub-Otal to arrange for supper to be served within the hour. This seemed to surprise the Subans--as indeed it did Maia, since from what little she had seen of this country, the customary time for supper was either sunset or soon after, and to that it still wanted more than two hours. However, no one was going to disagree with the king, whose fine presence and gracious manners gave him a natural authority accepted by everyone; and Maia had hardly had time to wash the mud from her feet and rinse her eyes and mouth (which felt gritty) before Zen-Kurel was outside the door of the ladies' quarters, presenting his majesty's compliments and hoping that the young saiyett would do the king the honor of sitting near him at supper. It was this that had first made her begin to wonder what his personal feelings might be, but by the time the fruit and rather insipid sweetmeats had been served, she had decided that his warmth stemmed from nothing more than diplomacy. She was the luck of Suba and he was treating her accordingly.
The same, however, could certainly not be said of the young staff officer, Zen-Kurel. He was plainly fascinated by her. Throughout supper he had talked to her warmly and freely in his excellent Beklan, partly about his military service and close connection with the king and partly about her night crossing of the Valderra, which he obviously thought showed great courage on her part. If that was what he chose to think, Maia had no wish to disillusion him. She told him nothing of what had really happened and, as soon as she could, led him on to tell her something of himself. His mother, now dead, had been a Beklan girl (a shearna, she somehow suspected) who had married a Katrian baron, Zen-Bharsh-Kraill. They had apparently met in Dari-Paltesh, though he did not say how. He himself had never lived in Bekla, though as a child he had spent several years in Dari. "Of course, that was long before the king occupied Suba."
His father was getting on now. One day he would have to go home and take over the running of the family estate in northern Katria. "But not too soon, I hope," he said. "Soldiering--it's a wonderful life, especially now I'm actually with the king. I don't want to stay at home and breed goats--not yet. Or even get married," he added, smiling.
"No, that's dull," said Maia. "Breeding goats, I mean," she added.
Zen-Kurel laughed. "I'm sure you had something better to do in Bekla than breed goats, hadn't you?"
"Yes, I was a dancer. But I've danced as a goat--well, that's to say, as Shakkarn. Do you know the senguela-- the dance about Shakkarn and Lespa?"
He did not, and listened attentively as she described it and went on to speak of Fordil's extraordinary skill as an accompanist.
"But if you danced in the Palace of the Barons at Bekla, you must be a very good dancer?"
"Well, I don't know. It was just that there was this party, see, and I happened to be there. I was surprised how much they seemed to like it. But then if you're attending on the king, you must be a very good officer."
"Well, not really. It's just that I happen to speak Beklan, you see--"
They both burst out laughing again, thoroughly pleased with themselves and each other. He was an extraordinarily fine-looking young man, possessing both style and charm, and merely to have him seated beside her, hanging on her every word and never taking his eyes off her, was making her feel better and forget the strain and eerie bewilderment of the afternoon. She might not have known how to handle that--who would? she thought--but she knew how to handle this all right. Ah, if only they had been in Bekla!
"I suppose there'll be dancing or juggling and that after supper, will there?" she asked. "Is that why the king wanted it early--to leave time?"
"Nothing so pleasant, I'm afraid," answered Zen-Kurel. "No, the truth is--" dropping his voice and glancing sideways for a moment at Karnat, who was talking to his other neighbor--"the king's called a captains' meeting to be held after supper. I can't imagine what about. I thought we'd finished for today, but with him you never know. He may do anything at all, and he quite often does. Once, for instance, when we were down on the Belishban frontier--"
He was good enough to eat, she thought. He was even better than Elvair-ka-Virrion. His warmth and gallantry, his high spirits, his good manners--Suddenly she knew that if she could possibly help it she wasn't going to waste an opportunity like this.
"I dare say you'll be--er--very busy, then, all the evening?" she said, looking down at the grape she was peeling and slowly laying the strips of skin one by one along the edge of her plate.
"Well, as to that I can't say," he answered ingenuously. "A captains' meeting, you see--that could mean anything--"
Maia, still looking at her plate, let her knee touch his for no more than a moment. "Why?" he went on. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"Well, the thing is, I very much need a new knife--a dagger, really--something with a blade and a point--and I was just wondering whether you could possibly get hold of one for me. Only I lost mine crossing the Valderra, see --it was a good one, too--and these Subans don't seem to have anything that suits me at all."
"I'll bring you four or five to choose from," he said, "and sheaths to go with them. Shall I bring them round to your lodging? I don't know where it is, but if you can give me some idea--"
"Oh, that would be kind of you! I'd be so grateful. Only perhaps we'd better keep it a secret, do you think?--it's only--well, the Subans--they can be so touchy, you know."
"I won't give them the chance."
&nbs
p; "I'll tell you where to come, then. You go--"
But at this moment they were interrupted, as Bayub-Otal broke off his conversation with the Suban lady on his right and once more turned to Maia at the same moment as the king. Soon Zen-Kurel was smoothly putting into Beklan the king's account of how he had once crossed the Telthearna into the wild land of the far north, where for the only time in his life he had seen the great blue eagles; that was in the Shardra-Main, the Bear Hills. Had Maia ever seen these eagles? Never, she replied, and to please him asked what they were like. Looking into Zen-Kurel's eyes as she listened to his smiling description, she felt she could have melted acres of the snowy wastes which they frequented.
Soon after, with supper ended, Karnat apologized to the ladies for the tedious necessity of holding a meeting of captains, both Terekenalt and Suban: however, he assured them smilingly, he would not be long about it--there were just a few trifles that needed discussion, nothing more.
Left among the ladies who had befriended her that morning Maia, after a decent interval of conversation, had no difficulty in pleading sleepiness and fatigue, and eagerly slipped away to her little house on the knoll. A lamp was burning, placed in a bronze basin as a precaution against fire, and three or four more had been left near-by, ready for lighting. She lit the lot, wishing as she did so that she had some pretty night-robe or dressing-gown, like the one she had put on--and then taken off--for Randronoth of Lapan on the night when he had stayed with Sencho. Well, there was no help for it. She would have to remain in the dress she had worn at dinner, and when Zen-Kurel came, pretend that some preoccupation or other had made her forget about changing. If he delayed too long, it wouldn't seem very convincing. Never mind, she thought. He liked her: she liked him; and anyway, for all she knew Katrians cared little or nothing for such niceties.