She could tell now, by the stars, that it was not very late in the night. Perhaps Meris had waited no longer than it had taken herself to fall asleep. Suddenly she caught sight of a sentinel, javelin over his shoulder and shield on the other arm, pacing slowly between the huts. She ran towards him. He stopped, raised his javelin and called sharply, "Stay where you are! Else I'll throw!"
Accustomed to the ways of the upper city, she had not taken into account that these were men who had just undergone a hard campaign. She stood stock-still as the man came up to her.
"You're breaking curfew. Why?"
"What curfew?"
"There's a curfew on women from two hours after sun-set. You've no business to be out of your hut: I can take you in charge for this. What are you doing?"
"I'm sorry: I'm a stranger. I only came tonight. I'm worried about my friend--the girl who's sharing my shelter. I woke up and found her gone and now I'm looking for her. But she may be with a man--I don't know--in one of these huts here."
The sentry remained unsympathetic. "Well, there's a man who was sleeping on his own in there--that one."
He pointed. She was about to leave when he put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll come with you."
As they went towards the shelter he added, "If you've just come here, you'd better understand once and for all that women aren't allowed to go wandering about the camp at night. That's been a strict rule since Orthid. Place'd be like a damn' cat-house else, some of the women we took out of there."
"Well, that's as may be," retorted Maia briskly. "All I want is to find my friend. Neither of us came out of Orthid: we're personal guests of Lord Elleroth."
There were three beds in the hut. Two were empty: Zirek was sound asleep on the one farthest from the entrance. Maia shook him awake with some difficulty.
"Zirek, it's Maia! I woke and found Meris gone. Have you seen her?"
"Oh, Cran and Airtha! That blasted girl! No, I haven't! Who cares, anyway? Let me alone, lass; I want to sleep!"
"Where's Anda-Nokomis and Zenka, then?"
"Aren't they here? Well, then, as far as I know, they can't have come back from Elleroth, that's all."
At this moment all three of them became aware of a kind of muffled commotion somewhere in the distance-- voices both of men and women, together with the piping cries of children and the occasional wail of a baby. As they listened it seemed to be coming nearer.
"What's that, then?" said the sentry.
"If you don't know, I'm sure I don't," replied Maia. Her first thought was that it could only be something to do with Meris.
They went back outside, followed a few moments later by Zirek. In the starlight they could make out a considerable crowd approaching between the shelters. It consisted mainly of women, dishevelled and obviously frightened, many leading children or carrying babies. On either side were soldiers, whom Maia could hear giving encouragement and reassurance in low voices.
"Come along, now, m'dear." "Won't be for long; you'll soon be back." "Only for the kids' safety, you know, that's all." "Sorry, missus, not now, strict orders." "Yes, General's coming directly to tell you all about it himself." "Get in that hut there, Liftil, wake 'em up, get 'em out!" "Keep that kid quiet, lass! Much for your good as everyone else's!" "Come on now, keep moving! Keep moving!"
It was a strange sight in the starlight--the shadowy, ever-growing crowd shuffling along, the women and children stumbling out of the huts by twos and threes, the soldiers hastening hither and thither, the continual, low-voiced injunctions, the quickly-stifled whimpers of the babies, the rustling and soft padding of feet through the dry grass and over the bare-trodden ground.
Suddenly there were low calls of "Wait! Wait there!" and a tryzatt, holding out a spear, butt foremost, ran quickly to the head of the straggling procession. The women stopped, looking about them uncertainly in the gloom and plainly apprehensive. Then Elleroth was among them, smiling and greeting individuals here and there, putting a hand on this shoulder and that, distributing reassurance and encouragement as he made his way to the head of the crowd and then turned to speak to them.
"I've just had word of a band of strangers a little way off, over there." He pointed. "They're camped, but apparently they don't know about us yet. If they don't attack us we're certainly not going to attack them, so don't worry. They may even be friends--we simply don't know: we have to find out. And while we're doing that we mean to make sure you're all safe--even if it means you have a sleepless night, my dear."
He smiled at a woman standing near-by.
"So we want you to go across the river, please. There'll be soldiers to look after you and you'll be in no danger from wild animals or anything like that. You'll probably all be back by morning; but meanwhile, will you all help me and my soldiers by making as little noise as you possibly can? As soon as I know any more myself I'll make sure you're told. So don't worry, and just make yourselves as comfortable as you can."
In the gloom, Maia had made out the unmistakable fig-ure of Bayub-Otal, standing against the wall of a shelter. As the women and children began shuffling on once more towards the river, she went across to him.
"Anda-Nokomis!"
He looked round. She could perceive that in the moment that he recognized her his spontaneous reaction was one of pleasure and relief. "Anda-Nokomis, do you know any more about this? Who are these strangers?"
He hesitated, and she pressed him. "Anda-Nokomis, please tell me as much as you know."
"It's very little, Maia. A patrol's reported that there's a sizable force camped about a mile away over there, upstream. They weren't there yesterday, so presumably they're on the march. That's all we know as yet."
"How many, Anda-Nokomis?"
"I tell you, Maia, we don't know. We've got to find out. It could possibly be Kembri and his whole army. That seems unlikely to me, but we can't rule out that possibility."
"Where's Zen-Kurel?"
"Gone to get hold of some weapons: and so must I."
"What sort of men were these the patrol came on?"
"We think Ortelgans."
"Ortelgans?"
"Maia, I can't stay talking any longer: it's possible we may be attacked, you see. You and Meris must go across the river with the other women. I'll see you tomorrow; and if not, thank you for all you've done for us since Bekla." He paused, and then added, "Er--I think I may have been--er--too hard on you that evening at the farm. I should be very glad to think so--cousin."
He stooped quickly, kissed her cheek and was gone into the gloom, leaving Maia staring after him.
Behind her someone coughed, and she turned to see a man wearing tryzatt's insignia on either side of his corn-sheaves emblem. Before he could speak she said, "I'm a personal guest of Lord Elleroth. I'm waiting to speak to him before I cross the river."
He looked at her uncertainly, but the Serrelinda--even deprived of her upper city splendor--had acquired a certain authority which carried its own weight. After a mo-ment or two he replied, "Very well, saiyett. But please try not to be too long," saluted and left her.
It was during the course of this night that Maia carried out what was, perhaps, when all is said and done, the most remarkable exploit of the legendary Serrelinda; less dramatic, possibly, and to outward appearances less suicidally heroic than the swimming of the Valderra, but nevertheless a deed stamping her quite clearly as a woman no less exceptional (to say nothing of being considerably less nasty) than Queen Fornis. In retrospect, no one was to feel more surprised than herself. Yet she was not surprised at the time, for with Maia impulse was everything.
Often, throughout these past months of the summer, both awake and in dreams, it had seemed to her that the ghost of the wretched Sphelthon had been attendant near her, silently reproachful, wistfully jealous of her youth and beauty on b
ehalf of all those--of all in the world--who had died young. In the dreams he said never a word, merely gazing at her sorrowfully--sometimes a strong lad in his prime, sometimes the poor, blood-battered victim who was all she had seen in reality--and in some strange way making her feel guilty that he should have lost his life while she retained hers to enjoy. Sometimes he came gliding after her down a long corridor which turned into the wa-tery, overhung channel of the Nordesh. Sometimes she was dancing the senguela and, crossing the floor to speak to Fordil, would meet instead his eyes looking up at her above the leks and zhuas. Why she should feel guilty on account of his death she could not tell. Indeed, with her reason she knew that of course no tribunal, whether of gods or men, could conceivably indict her for it. And yet he haunted her, as it were entreating her to perform some deed which would give rest to his ghost, atone for his desolate ruin. In Tharrin's cell she had felt his presence, at Milvushina's bedside and in the room where Randronoth lay slaughtered. Sometimes it had even seemed to her that her own life would be a small price to pay for the placation of this pathetic visitant. Yet he did not come, she knew, simply to make her suffer. No; he had some undisclosed, unspoken purpose. Nor could she pray for release from him, since he came, she was instinctively aware, not by the will of Cran or Airtha, of Lespa or Shakkarn, but from Frella-Tiltheh the Inscrutable, she who has no eyes to see us; no ears to hear us; no being, indeed, that we can comprehend; she who, while infinitely remote and inaccessible, is yet within ourselves, both each and everyone.