- -
- 100%
- +
Nacoya shifted her attention. Buntokapi seemed the only celebrant who truly enjoyed himself; after a drunken hour of repeatedly telling his brothers that they were no better than he, he had shouted across the table to Jiro that now a second son would have to bow to a third son whenever they met. From the pained and frozen smile on his older sibling’s face, those occasions would clearly be few. As evening wore on, Buntokapi had subsided to loud muttering into his plate, nearly immobile from drinking sa wine during dinner and acamel brandy after.
Nacoya shook her head slightly. Jiro had looked long and hard at Mara after his brother’s first pronouncement of superiority; as dinner progressed, it was clear the girl had acquired another enemy. That afternoon, Jiro might have thought he was to be Lord of the Acoma for only a moment, but that brief presumption had been enough for him to feel betrayed, to feel that Buntokapi wore a mantle rightfully his. That Jiro was frustrated by nothing more than unrealized expectations of his own making meant nothing. He blamed Mara. When Tecuma had sent servants to bring the ceremonial sa wine to the guests, Jiro had barely touched his cup to his lips. He had left the first moment he could without insult. Nacoya wearily forced her attentions back to the head table.
Tecuma looked at Buntokapi a long, hard moment, then spoke quietly to Mara, who glanced at her future husband and nodded her agreement. Buntokapi blinked, trying hard to follow the exchange, but obviously too drunk to comprehend. Tecuma spoke to Chumaka, who motioned towards a pair of servants. As the cooling evening air allowed Nacoya to catch her breath, two stout servants carried the future Lord of the Acoma off to bed. Mara waited an appropriate moment, then begged her leave. Tecuma nodded brusquely and the entire company rose in salute to the bride-to-be.
The musicians who had played throughout the evening struck up the appropriate tune while Mara bade the guests good night. As she stood with the rest of the Acoma retainers, Nacoya found Chumaka approaching.
‘You’re leaving soon?’ he inquired.
Nacoya nodded. ‘Tomorrow. My Lady wishes to return at once to our estates so that she may begin preparations for the wedding and the arrival of the new Lord.’
Chumaka spread his hands as if to indicate this was no problem. ‘I shall have a scribe work throughout the night. The betrothal documents will be ready to sign before you depart.’ He made as if to turn away, then said something unusually frank. ‘I hope for the sake of all of us this young Lady of yours hasn’t made a mistake.’
Taken off guard by this, Nacoya chose not to comment directly. Instead she said, ‘I can only hope the gods see fit to bless this union.’
Chumaka smiled. ‘Of course, as do we all. Until the morning, then?’
Nacoya nodded and departed, signalling for the two remaining Acoma retainers to accompany her. As an Anasati servant guided her to her quarters, she thought upon Chumaka’s unexpected words and wondered if he wasn’t right.
Dust rolled under the feet of marching warriors as the Acoma retinue moved slowly to rejoin the balance of their soldiers, who waited in the camp by the bridge that marked the border of the Anasati estates. Nacoya had been quiet since she joined Mara on the cushions of the large palanquin. Whatever the Ruling Lady planned, she kept her own counsel, and Nacoya chose not to ask any questions. Even though she was acting as First Adviser, she could not guide unless asked; but an old nurse could let her doubts be heard. Conjuring up images of Buntokapi’s crudities at the feast the night before, Nacoya spoke sourly to her charge. ‘I hope you can control him, mistress.’
Roused from deep thought, Mara’s eyes focused. ‘What? Oh, Bunto. He’s like a needra bull smelling the cows in season, Nacoya. All his brains are between his legs. I think he is exactly the man to gain us what we need.’
Nacoya muttered under her breath. Once the shock of Mara’s choice of Buntokapi had worn off, the old nurse had come to sense a larger plan. Mara was not simply giving up her family’s control to the Anasati in exchange for preserving the Acoma name. Since the ruse with the bandits in the hills, the girl confided only those things she felt Nacoya needed to know. Almost overnight, it seemed, the sheltered temple innocent had shown she was no longer a child. While Nacoya had doubts, even fears, concerning the girl’s stubborn naïveté about men, Mara had forcefully demonstrated she was an aggressive player of the Game of the Council.
Nacoya reviewed the strengths and weaknesses, patterns and powers of the players in the light of her mistress’s new commitment. And what she had observed in Buntokapi made her convinced that her beloved Mara might have underestimated him. There was something about the Anasati’s third son, something dangerous that Nacoya could put no name to. Dreading how her well-ordered house would fare under such a Ruling Lord, she was drawn from her musing by Mara’s voice. ‘I wonder what’s amiss?’
Nacoya parted the curtains. Squinting against the brilliance of the afternoon sunlight, she saw Acoma soldiers arrayed along the road where they had camped. But none stood ready to march; instead they faced each other in two groups, with some distance between. Softly Nacoya said, ‘Trouble, I’m afraid.’
Mara ordered her own escort to halt. Pulling aside the gauzy hanging cloth, she approved Keyoke’s request to investigate.
With a speed that belied his age, the Force Commander left the head of the procession and hurried into the midst of milling Acoma soldiers. Both groups descended upon him, several men trying to speak simultaneously. Keyoke ordered silence, and instantly all voices ceased. After two orderly questions he called back to Mara, ‘Some difficulty arose while we were gone, mistress. I’ll have the story for you in a moment.’
Heat shimmers danced in the air above the roadway. Keyoke asked questions, received quick replies, and soon had three men stand out. He briskly marched these before their mistress’s palanquin. Even beneath dirt, and shining runnels of sweat, Mara could see the marks of a fight upon their faces.
‘This is Selmon, my Lady.’ Keyoke pointed to a man with a torn tunic and knuckles that still bled.
‘I know.’ Mara’s expression was obscured by the deep shade of the curtains. ‘One of the newcomers.’ She used the term ‘newcomers’ for all who had recently been grey warriors. ‘With only three officers, you left him in command as acting Patrol Leader.’
Keyoke appeared pleased that Mara was conversant with his management of the soldiers, but his attention never strayed from the three soldiers. ‘Selmon seemed able enough, but perhaps I was wrong.’
Mara studied the other two men. One, Zataki, she had known for years; as a boy, he had played with Lanokota and herself. Mara remembered he had a temper, and ventured a guess as to what the problem was. ‘Zataki, Selmon gave you an order and you refused.’
Zataki lifted his chin. ‘My Lady, this Selmon ordered us to stand the first watch while he and his companions rested and ate after the long day’s march.’
Mara regarded the third combatant. ‘You are … Kartachaltaka, another newcomer. You took exception to Zataki’s refusal to obey.’
Now Kartachaltaka stiffened his spine. ‘My Lady, he and the others act superior to us and put the least desirable duties upon us whenever they may.’
Mara returned her attention to Selmon. ‘You took this one’s side?’
Keyoke hastened to answer. ‘No, my Lady. He simply sought to intervene and stop the scuffle. He acted appropriately.’
Mara rose from her cushions. Without awaiting Keyoke’s help, she stepped from her palanquin and faced the two men who had fought. ‘On your knees!’ she commanded. Though a full head shorter than either man, the slight girl in pale yellow robes and sandals left no doubt she was the ultimate authority of the Acoma.
Armour rattled as both men instantly fell into postures of submission. ‘Attend me!’ Mara cried to the other soldiers. ‘All of you.’
Keyoke shouted, ‘Form ranks!’ The entire retinue lined up facing Mara within seconds, the two soldiers on their knees with their backs towards the comrades.
To Keyoke, Mara said, ‘What is fit punishment for such as these?’
Keyoke spoke without regret. ‘Mistress, these men must be hanged, now.’ Mara’s head jerked as she met Keyoke’s eyes. She had not expected the judgment to be so harsh. The Force Commander deliberately scratched his jaw with his thumb.
Warned by Keyoke’s gesture that serious consequences could come of her decision, Mara regarded Papewaio, who looked on, his face an unreadable mask. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded once, indicating his full agreement with Keyoke’s verdict.
Mara felt something go cold inside. She knew that if she did not act at once and without equivocation a breach might be fashioned between those who had served for years and those newly come to Acoma service. Steeling herself, Mara addressed the soldiers. Her voice held barely controlled anger. ‘There are no favoured men in this garrison! There are no longer any “newcomers”. There are no longer any “old guard”. There is no one wearing Acoma green but Acoma soldiers. Each of you swore an oath to obey and to give your lives in service to House Acoma.’
She walked purposefully along the ranks, looked into one rough face after another, until she had locked eyes with each man. ‘Some of you I have known since childhood. Others have been with us only a matter of weeks, but each of you bears equal responsibility to wear Acoma green with honour. I have just promised to give that name to another, to ensure that the Acoma will continue to live, and more than live … someday flourish!’ Now her voice rose to a shout, her fury clearly revealed to each soldier present. ‘Whoever dishonours himself while wearing Acoma green dishonours the Acoma’ – her voice dropped to a soft, deadly sound – ‘dishonours me.’ While the men held their formations, their eyes shifted uneasily as they saw Mara turn suddenly to confront the two combatants. Looking down, she spoke to Zataki. ‘You were given a lawful order by an officer placed over you by your Force Commander. You had no other choice but to obey!’
The man fell forward, pushing his forehead into the acrid dust of the road. He uttered no words in his own defence as his mistress turned to Kartachaltaka and said, ‘And you struck a brother soldier while on duty!’ He duplicated Zataki’s gesture of abject obedience to his mistress. Bracelets chimed on her wrists; wrought of costly metal, these were the betrothal gift of the Lord of the Anasati, and that such wealth should be worn as personal adornment reminded the kneeling men of their station. They grovelled in the sun, sweating, as their mistress addressed their Force Commander. ‘These two men are guilty of betraying Acoma honour. Hang them.’
Keyoke instantly detailed soldiers to carry out the execution. For just an instant, Mara could read something in the two condemned men’s eyes: a flicker of fear. Not a fear of death, for either warrior would have gladly embraced death without hesitation; it was fear of being condemned to the shameful death of a slave: hanging. With the loss of a warrior’s honour, each knew his next turn of the Wheel of Life would be at a lower station, a servant, perhaps even a slave. Then the proper Tsurani mask was returned. Only by bearing up properly in the face of this meanest of all deaths could either man hope for any mercy when next his spirit was tied to the Wheel.
Mara stood motionless before her litter, a statue of iron self-control, as soldiers marched the condemned to a large tree with massive branches. The two men were quickly stripped of their armour and their hands were tied behind their backs. Without ceremony or final prayer, ropes were fashioned into nooses and thrown over the tree limbs. The nooses were placed around the two men’s necks and the signal given. A half-dozen soldiers pulled hard upon each rope, seeking to snap the men’s necks and give them a mercifully quick death. Zataki’s neck broke with an audible crack and he kicked once, quivered a moment, then hung motionless. Kartachaltaka’s death was more painful, as he strangled slowly, kicking and swinging, but in the end he, too, hung motionless like bitter fruit from the tree.
Mara’s voice was flat as she said, ‘Keyoke, home.’
Abruptly, the sun seemed too bright. Overcome by the killing she had commanded to be done, Mara caught the edge of the palanquin canopy, steadying herself without betraying weakness to her soldiers. She motioned one of her slave boys, who brought her a fruit-sweetened drink of water. She sipped it slowly, striving to regain her composure, while Keyoke ordered the men formed into ranks for the march home.
Nacoya had kept her own counsel in the shelter of the litter, but as Mara stood motionless, she said, ‘Mistress?’
Mara handed her empty cup to the slave. ‘I’m coming, Nacoya. We must be off. There is a great deal to be done in the month before the wedding.’ Without further words she climbed back into the litter. As her bearers reached down to resume their burden, she settled into the cushions beside Nacoya and her pensive silence returned. Keyoke gave the order to march, and her soldiers fell into ranks before, after, and on both sides of the palanquin, to outward appearances a single group once again.
Mara began to tremble, her eyes wide and distant. Without words Nacoya slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. The tremors continued as the Acoma retinue began its march, until Mara quivered so violently Nacoya had to gather the shaking girl in her arms. Silently the very young Lady of the Acoma turned her face into her nurse’s shoulder and smothered her sobs.
As they approached the borders of her estate, Mara considered the difficulties she faced. She had only spoken in passing to Keyoke and Nacoya since ordering the execution of the two soldiers. Mara knew that the conflict between the former grey warriors and the survivors of her father’s garrison should have been anticipated.
Blaming herself for failing to do so, Mara pulled aside her litter curtain and called for her Force Commander. As he arrived at her side she said, ‘Keyoke, why did Selmon order the older soldiers to stand first watch, rather than a mix of old and new?’
If he was surprised by his mistress’s question, he showed no sign. ‘Lady, Selmon erred by trying not to antagonize the older soldiers. He thought that by serving first duty they’d have an uninterrupted rest from meal to morning watch, and they’d appreciate it. Zataki was a young hothead, and had any of us been here’ – he motioned to himself, Papewaio, and Tasido, the three officers who had accompanied Mara into the Anasati estate house – ‘none of that would have occurred.’ He paused as he considered his next statement. ‘But Selmon did not do poorly. The conflict bordered upon open fighting between factions, yet he managed to restrain all but the two who were punished.’
Mara nodded. ‘When we are home, promote Selmon to Patrol Leader. Our forces have grown to the point where we need more officers.’
Then Mara made one of the swift, unhesitating decisions that were earning her the respect of those who served her. ‘Promote two of our best men in our old guard as well. Choose the very best of our family’s oldest soldiers, perhaps Miaka, and make him a Strike Leader. Bring one of the new men up as well. That rascal Lujan was a Strike Leader with the Kotai. If you can’t think of anyone more able, give the rank to him.’
Keyoke shrugged, offering no better candidate among the newcomers. Mara conceded her satisfaction at this, then added, ‘I’ll have these cadres and alliances quickly broken; there will be no favourites.’ Keyoke nodded slightly, his leathery face showing the barest suggestion of a smile, as close as he ever came to openly expressing approval. Almost to herself, Mara added, ‘Soon I’ll need men at my side who will obey without hesitation. I cannot afford anything that interferes with my plans.’
Clearly she was occupied with the responsibilities of rulership. Keyoke hurried his pace back to the head of the column, considering how much like her father the girl was becoming.
As Mara’s litter moved through the Acoma needra meadows, she felt optimistic for the first time since leaving Lashima’s temple. Her thoughts churned. She would discuss her ideas with no one, not even Nacoya or Keyoke. For those notions were turning into plots, the beginnings of a master plan that led beyond simple survival into an ambition that turned her mind giddy.
Over time, Mara expected that her planning would have to be amended to deal with change: unanticipated shifts of power and alliances within the Game of the Council. In many ways, resolve came before means and method; she had years of learning before what she inwardly called her grand scheme could reach fruition. But marriage to Buntokapi was the first small step. Since leaving the Anasati lands, she had discovered hope, and the powerful allure of new dreams.
By the time the palanquin swayed up the walk towards the great house, practical matters eclipsed her dreaming. Lights blazed in the gloom of twilight, more than ordinary events might warrant. In their glow, Mara saw perhaps eighty men gathered outside the kitchen, many eating from bowls. Lujan walked among them, speaking and making expansive gestures with his hands. As her duty retinue approached, a few of the strangers set their meal aside and stood. The rest continued eating, though all looked nervous.
Mara glanced to see Nacoya, but the old woman was asleep, lulled by the heat and the rocking of the litter through the afternoon. As the palanquin settled to the ground, Lujan hurried over, bowing politely as Keyoke assisted Mara out. Before she could ask, the former bandit chieftain said, ‘Mistress, these are all worthy men, at least worthy as I am likely to measure such things. All would gladly enter your service.’
‘Soldiers?’ Instantly interested, Keyoke released his hold upon Mara’s hand.
Lujan doffed his helmet, the reflection of the lanterns like sparks in his deepset eyes. ‘Only a few, unfortunately, Force Commander. But the others are armourers, fowlers, cordwainers, wheelwrights, and other skilled craftsmen, as well as two farmers.’
Mara said, ‘Good, I’m running low on land to assign to new farmers. Now, how many soldiers?’
‘Thirty-three.’ Lujan stepped aside with a grace more suited to a dancer than a warrior. He assisted the newly awakened Nacoya from the palanquin. But his attention remained focused on his mistress.
Mara calculated. ‘That will swell our main garrison to over three hundred. Our position is no longer helpless, only desperate.’
‘We need more soldiers,’ Nacoya concluded tartly. She shuffled past to enter the great house, sleepiness making her more cross than usual.
Lujan tossed his helm lightly from his right hand to his left. ‘Mistress, getting more men will prove difficult. We have called in every grey warrior within reasonable distance of your borders. For more, we shall have to leave these lands and travel.’
‘But you know where to look for such,’ stated Mara, her eyes locked upon the hands that toyed still with the helmet.
Lujan returned a rakish smile. ‘Mistress, I suffer from a shortage of humility, I know, but I have lived in every bandits’ stand from here to Ambolina since the fall of the House of Kotai. I know where to look.’
‘How much time do you need?’
A wicked gleam lit his eye. ‘How many men do you wish to recruit, Lady?’
‘One thousand; two would be better.’
‘Aie, mistress, a thousand would take three, four months.’ The helmet stilled as Lujan grew thoughtful. ‘If I could take some trusted men with me, perhaps I could shorten that to six weeks. Two thousand …?’
Mara’s bracelets chimed as she gestured impatiently. ‘You will have three weeks. The recruits must be returned here, sworn to oath, and integrated into our force inside a month.’
Lujan’s smile turned to a grimace. ‘My Lady, for you I would face a horse of Thun raiders without weapons, but what you demand is a miracle.’
Evening shadow hid Mara’s flush, but she showed uncharacteristic animation as she signalled for Papewaio. The moment her Strike Leader completed his bow, she said, ‘Find some good men for Lujan.’ Then she regarded the former outlaw appraisingly. ‘Choose from both old and new soldiers. Perhaps some time on the trail together will convince them they have more in common than not.’ Then she added, ‘Any you think might become troublemakers.’
Lujan seemed unruffled by the proposition. ‘Troublemakers are nothing new to me, my Lady.’ His grin broadened. ‘Before I rose to become an officer, I dare say I was something of a troublemaker myself.’
‘I daresay you were,’ commented Keyoke. Motionless in the darkness, he had all but been forgotten. The former bandit leader started slightly and immediately became more restrained.
‘You must travel as fast and as far as possible for twelve days, Lujan,’ instructed Mara. ‘Gather as many reliable men as you can. Then return here. If you can’t find me two thousand, find me two hundred, and if you can’t find two hundred find me twenty, but make them good warriors.’ Lujan nodded, they bowed with a faultless propriety that earned a return smile from Mara. ‘Now show me the ones you’ve found for me tonight.’
Lujan escorted Mara and Keyoke to where the poorly dressed men were sitting. All stood as soon as the Lady of the Acoma approached, and several knelt. To those who had known the hardships of outlawry, she seemed an imperial princess in her jewels and fine clothes. The roughest among them listened respectfully as Mara repeated the offer she had made to Lujan and his followers upon the trail in the mountains; and like three other bands since then, almost sixty skilled workmen rose to accept quarters and assignments from Jican. Mara smiled to see the light in her hadonra’s eyes as he contemplated how he could turn their handiwork to a rich profit; and armourers would be needed if Lujan successfully recruited her hoped-for new warriors. The crowd thinned, and some of the confusion abated as the workers followed Jican.
Of the others who remained, Lujan said, ‘My Lady, these are thirty-three well-seasoned warriors who would swear before the Acoma natami.’
‘You’ve explained everything to them?’
‘I daresay as well as anyone could, except yourself, of course.’ As Keyoke snorted disapproval, Mara looked to see if the former outlaw chieftain was mocking; he wasn’t, at least not openly. Aware, suddenly, of the strange pull this man seemed to exert on her, she recognized in him the same sly wit she had loved in her brother, Lanokota. His teasing caused her to flush slightly. Quickly she wiped her forehead as if the heat were making her perspire. This man was not her kin, or even a Lord equal in rank to her; unsure how to respond after months of isolation in the temple, she turned firmly to the task at hand. All the men were fit if undernourished, and they seemed eager, except for two who sat slightly apart. One of those exchanged glances with Lujan.
‘You know this man?’ asked Mara.
Lujan laughed. ‘Indeed, mistress. This is Saric, my cousin, who served with the Lord of the Tuscai. Before he left the Kotai estates, he was my closest companion.’
Looking to nettle Lujan in return for her earlier embarrassment, Mara said, ‘Is he an able soldier?’
Lujan grinned and his cousin returned a nearly identical broad smile. ‘My Lady, he is as able a soldier as I.’
‘Well then, that solves a problem.’ Mara tapped the helm that still dangled from Lujan’s wrist, called a soldier’s pot, for its utter lack of adornment. ‘I was going to ask you to give that to him and assume one with an officer’s plume. Keyoke had orders to promote you to Strike Leader, but as you are going to be away for three weeks, he might as well promote your cousin in your stead.’
His grin still in place, Lujan said, ‘Well, almost as able as I, Lady.’ Slightly more serious, he added, ‘With your consent, I’ll take him with me. I mean no disrespect for any other soldier here, but there is no man I would rather have at my side with a sword.’ Then his tone turned light again. ‘Besides, we might as well keep the party composed exclusively of troublemakers.’