ring the gong and admit her?’
The servant glanced uncomfortably at the main entrance, guarded still by the costumed forms of the ceremonial door openers. With a helpless gesture he whispered, ‘She complained of the heat and ordered scented damp towels and cool drinks brought for herself and her retinue so they could all refresh themselves before their appearance, master.’
Chumaka considered the Anasati court, all of whom had been sitting for over an hour in the sweltering heat of midday in a closed room. Inwardly he reconsidered his estimation of Mara. Her tardiness could be a clever manipulation, calculated to goad an opponent to petty anger, gaining her an advantage.
Tecuma said, ‘Well, how long can it take to drink a cup of water?’
The servant said, ‘My Lord, the Lady’s request caught us by surprise. It’s taken time to fetch drink for so large a retinue.’
The Lord of the Anasati exchanged glances with his First Adviser. ‘Just how large is her retinue?’ asked Chumaka.
The servant reddened; uneducated, he could not count reliably past twenty. Still, he did his best to answer. ‘She brought five personal maids, and an old woman of some rank. I saw two officers with plumed helms.’
‘Which means no fewer than fifty warriors.’ Tecuma leaned towards his First Adviser and spoke so low and quickly he almost hissed. ‘I thought you had informed me that her entire home garrison had been reduced to fewer than fifty warriors.’
Chumaka blinked. ‘My Lord, our spy in the Minwanabi household indicated that the battle which killed Sezu and his son also obliterated the main strength of the Acoma.’
The servant looked uncomfortable at being within earshot of this conversation, but Chumaka ignored that fact. Louder he said, ‘Then would the Lady of the Acoma dare bring her entire remaining force with her?’
Obviously wishing to be elsewhere, the servant answered, ‘Sir the hadonra said she brought more. To our shame’ – seeing the Lord of the Anasati tense at the suggestion that this lack of preparation threw dishonour on his house, the servant quickly amended his report – ‘the shame of your poor servants, of course, my Lord – she was obliged to leave another one hundred warriors in camp outside the gates of my Lord’s estates, as we had no ready accommodations for them.’
To the servant’s profound relief, Chumaka waved him away, while the Lord of the Anasati’s mood shifted from umbrage at a servant’s possible slight of honour to alarm at the implication of what he had just been told. ‘The Acoma Force Commander’ – his hand moved in a slight circle as he searched his memory for the name – ‘Keyoke, is a seasoned campaigner, and no fool. If Mara brings a hundred and fifty warriors with her, we must assume that twice that number remain to guard her main estates. Sezu’s reserve garrison must have been far larger than we judged.’ His eyes reflected growing irritation, then narrowed with a hint of suspicion. ‘Our spy is either in the employ of the Minwanabi or incompetent. Since you were the one who convinced me to accept one not born of this house into so sensitive a position of trust, I charge you with responsibility for making enquiries. If we are betrayed, we must know at once.’ The heat and the discomfort were bad enough, but Tecuma recalled the expense and difficulty he had endured to place that spy in the Minwanabi lord’s house. His eyes fixed on his First Adviser. ‘Clearly I see you may have steered us to a bad course.’
Chumaka cleared his throat. He made a show of cooling himself with a decorative fan, to hide his lips from any who might read them. ‘My Lord, please don’t judge hastily. That agent has served us dependably in the past and is remarkably well placed.’ He paused obsequiously and licked his teeth. ‘Far more likely our Lady Mara has found a way to mislead the Minwanabi lord, which would explain why our agent provided bad intelligence. I will dispatch another agent. He will return with verification of what I have surmised, or news that a traitor is dead.’
Tecuma subsided, like an irritable killwing slowly allowing ruffled feathers to return to quiescence. At that moment the fourth gong rang at last. Servants stationed inside the hall slowly opened the doors to the court, while Chumaka intoned the ancient ritual of greeting a suitor. ‘We welcome one to our house, like light and wind, warmth and rain, a bringer of life into our hall.’ The words were an ancient formality, reflecting nothing of the true Anasati feeling toward the Acoma. In the Game of the Council the forms must always be observed. A light breeze stirred the hangings. The Lord of the Anasati almost audibly sighed in relief. Chumaka spoke louder, so his master’s slight lapse of manners would be masked. ‘Enter, suitor, and tell us your desire. We offer drink and food, warmth and comfort.’ Chumaka smiled inwardly at the last. No one needed or desired additional warmth this day, and Mara would certainly find little comfort before the Anasati Lord. He turned his attention to those entering the hall.
Timed to the beat of a single drum, grey-robed bearers entered through the door furthest from the Lord’s dais. The flat, open litter they carried was piled high with cushions; upon these Mara sat motionless. The musicians struck up the entrance song of the suitor. While the irritatingly simple melody repeated itself, the Anasati court studied this slight girl carried at the head of an impressively garbed retinue, a girl who wore the mantle of one of the proudest names in the Empire. Like the Lord who was her host, she was dressed in a fashion dictated by tradition, dark hair bound up high and held with shell- and gem-decorated pins, her face seemingly perched on a stiff, beaded collar. Her formal gown beneath was starched into pleats, with large bows of Acoma green, and floor-length sleeves. Yet for all her makeup and heavy, embroidered clothing, the girl looked unruffled by the pomp or the heat.
On Mara’s left, but one pace behind, walked Nacoya, now wearing the mantle of Acoma First Adviser. On Mara’s right marched three officers, armour gleaming brightly from new lacquer and fresh polish. Their helms were bedecked with magnificent new plumes. With them came a command of fifty warriors. Equally splendid in newly polished armour, they marched on either side of Mara’s litter.
The soldiers paused in a neat array at the foot of the dais, a splash of green amid the scarlet and yellow of the Anasati. One officer remained with the soldiers while the other two accompanied Mara’s litter up three steps to the dais. There the slaves set their burden down, and two rulers confronted each other, one a cord-thin, irritated man and the other a slight girl who bargained for her very survival.
Chumaka continued his formal greetings. ‘The Anasati bid welcome to our most exalted guest, the Lady of the Acoma.’
Nacoya replied as tradition dictated. ‘The Acoma give thanks to our most excellent host, the Lord of the Anasati.’ Despite her age, the old woman bore up well under the weight of the formal costume and the heat. Her voice was clear, as if she had been born to the role of First Adviser rather than nurse.
Now the formal greetings were exchanged, Tecuma pressed on to the point of the meeting. ‘We have your petition before us, Lady of the Acoma.’ A hush fell over the waiting courtiers, for Tecuma’s words offered a slight insult; to name the marriage proposal a petition implied that Mara’s social rank was inferior, and she within his power to reward or punish.
But the girl upon the ceremonial litter answered without a moment’s hesitation. She chose a tone and phrase commonly employed when filling an order with a merchant. ‘I am pleased you have no difficulty in meeting our requirements, Lord Tecuma.’
The Lord of the Anasati straightened slightly. This girl had wits and was unfazed by her welcome. Still, the day was long and hot, and the sooner this ridiculous matter was put behind, the sooner he could take to a cool pool, perhaps with some music while he bathed. Yet even with an avowed enemy the amenities must be observed. He motioned impatiently with his wand of office.
Chumaka
