37: THE SENGUELA

The early afternoon sun, slanting through the trees, shone on the bushes, the long, wet grass and patches of red-brown soil, drawing up a fresh-smelling warmth from the floor of the Tonildan glade. Close by, in a thicket, a greenbreast, with many pauses, was letting fall one slow, clear phrase after another; its song, in the silence, as joyous and untroubled as though there were no harm or danger in all the world. Winged flies, survivors of the previous summer, roused from the bark crevices or subterranean cells where they had sheltered through the rains, glittered in the soft air; many, in their first, unwary flutterings, snapped up by the pouncing sparrows. High above, in the newly-revealed, blue sky, a buzzard hovered, waiting to drop upon any small creature decrepit or injured, slow-witted, or simply deceived into momentary inattention by the benediction of returning spring.

Brown and spare, the young pedlar Zirek, stripped to the waist in the sunshine, stood leaning against a tree-trunk, one knee bent and foot raised as he scraped with a pointed stick at the mud caked on his boot.

His pack lay in the grass near-by and across it he had thrown his white-striped jacket and scarlet leather hat.

"So now you know—well, all there is to know," said he, looking smilingly down at his companion.

Meris, sprawled on his cloak, did not return the smile.

"But you did work for Sencho, all the same? As well as for Santil?"

"Well, I had to," answered the pedlar. "Else it wouldn't have been convincing. Some of the information was useful to him, too, I'm afraid—it had to be. Some of it was misleading, but some of it wasn't. It was a question of how little I could get away with. I've managed to avoid suspicion, anyway."

"And are there many, then, like you? Playing it double, I mean?"

"I don't know," said he. "I don't know anything except what I'm told. Those who don't know can't tell, can they?"

"Is that why you became a pedlar—to do this work for Erketlis?"

"No; I was a pedlar first; it was the Leopards—well, one of Sencho's agents—who first got hold of me, at Khasik, and said Sencho would pay me to work for him. A pedlar, going all over two or three provinces—I'm licensed from Kabin down to Ikat, you see—there's plenty of opportunities to pick up information. I accepted; but then I managed to let Erketlis know what had happened. He's made good use of it since." He broke off suddenly. "Listen! What's that?"

The glade was only a bowshot from the road by which they had come from Thettit-Tonilda. Zirek, following Sencho's instructions of a few weeks before, had called at Lily Pool early that morning and taken charge of Meris, whom Domris had woken and handed over to him before anyone else was about.

Since then they had walked some eight miles, first among fields and hamlets surrounding the city and then through the open forest-land east of Hirdo. Meris had at first supposed that they must be on the Ikat road and going south, for she had been told that the pedlar would be taking her to Chalcon. It was only gradually that she realized by the sun that this could not be their direction.

At last she had asked him directly what his plans were; and at this he suggested that they should turn aside into the trees for a bite and a rest. Meris had supposed that his reason would prove to be the one she was accustomed to; nor did she feel unwilling. She had not in the least been expecting what he had just disclosed to her and it had come as a considerable shock.

They both listened intently. From the direction of the road sounded voices and laughter, followed by crackling sticks and a rustling of the bushes.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" said Meris. "After ail— you and me here—why not?"

The pedlar, without answering, stole away through the trees. He returned a minute later.

"Four or five young fellows with a couple of bullock-carts—no one I've ever seen before on this road. They've gone now, anyway."

"What were you afraid of?"

He sat down on the cloak beside her. "Well, in this game, you see, you never know who might have been put on to watch you; or who by. Sencho doesn't really trust anybody. But I believe Erketlis trusts me, even though I've never seen him in my life."

Meris frowned. "You've never seen him?"

"Oh, great Cran, no; that'd be much too risky! If you're— well, what I am—you don't meet heldro leaders in person. You meet carters along the roads—old women in sweet-shops in the lower city—wood-cutters—whoever you're told to meet. You don't know them; you exchange a password. "Colonna"—"Bakris"; that sort of thing. You may never see them again. No, I've never met Erketlis, but I get his orders all the same."

"D'you think there may be people like you the other way round—working for Sencho?"

"I'm certain of it."

"Enka-Mordet—who gave him away?"

"I don't know," said Zirek, "but it only goes to show you can't trust anyone. Sencho had someone among Enka-Mordet's people; he must have. Or more likely Sencho just had some personal reason to want him dead."

Meris stretched lazily in the sunshine.

"You know what I was told I was going to have to do?"

He laughed. "What you're good at, by all I've heard. Had some practice, haven't you?"

"Plenty: I was looking forward to it. Be like old times, taking men into the long grass again. They said they'd free me if only I could find out what Erketlis is up to."

The pedlar put one arm round her and kissed her bare shoulder.

"Well, you won't be able to do that now, will you? What it comes to is this: you've got a choice. I can leave you with a friend of mine at Hirdo: but of course you realize, don't you, that whether I succeed or fail, they're bound to look for you? All the same, you may think it's your best chance. Kalton—my friend—he'd do all he could for you, I know that."

"And the other?" asked Meris.

"The other's to come along with me and help me. If it fails, I promise I'll kill you quick—this dagger here, see? But I believe myself that if only Occula can pull it off, we'll succeed. It's afterwards is going to be the hardest part." He paused. "Well, how d'you feel? Do you hate them enough to try it?"

"Hate them?" answered Meris. "Hate the Leopards? O Shakkarn, if only you'd seen Latto .hanging upside-down by the road! You couldn't even see his wounds for the flies!" She clenched her fists. "And Yunsaymis—she was in Sencho's household, you know. He had her whipped, like me—he sold her—he—"

"All right, I've got it: you don't like them," said Zirek. "Well, now's your chance; and a better one than working for Sencho in Chalcon, I'd say. Him? When you weren't useful any more, he'd simply get rid of you. He certainly wouldn't free you, whatever he may have promised."

"But how's it to be done?" asked Meris. "If only I thought there was a chance—"

"Why, there's a fair enough chance," answered he. "In a day or two it'll be the New Year festival. There'll be crowds coming into Bekla from all over the provinces, and if only you can walk the distance in two days, we can be in the thick of them. I've got my pedlar's pass into the upper city. Durakkon'll be giving a feast by the Barb that night."

"Well?" said Meris tensely.

"I'm not saying any more," replied the pedlar. "Those who don't know can't tell. But I work to Santil's orders and I trust him. He wouldn't send me there without we had a fair chance."

"But how can we expect to get out of the upper city? There isn't any way out, except through the Peacock Gate."

"And that I'm not telling, either. But you can believe me when I say I believe we shall get out. Else I wouldn't be going." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. "If you don't fancy it—and I shan't blame you if you don't—say so now. It'll certainly be safer for you at Hirdo, with my friend."

Rising to her feet, Meris stood looking down at him. At length she said, "You mean I could really help to kill him, myself? I could actually see the bastard die—see the shit pouring out all over his filthy belly? Hear him choking in his blood—"

She stopped, panting and biting on her fingers.

"Steady, now, steady!" said Zirek, grinning. "Well, perhaps there might not be quite enough time for all that. Once it's done we'll have to be off sharp, you know—no fond farewells like you seem to have in mind. But since you're feeling so enthusiastic—"

"Do you remember," cried Meris, "do you remember what I offered you in Sencho's house, the day you gave that pottery cat to the black girl?"

"I wouldn't be likely to forget it," answered Zirek.

"Well, you needn't give me a flask of kepris today," said Meris. "Arid we don't have to be all that quick about it, either."

As he took her in his arms, she felt for the fastening at the neck of her robe, but his hand had reached it before hers.

"I'll come with you," she whispered, as they sank down together on the cloak. "Oh, yes, I'll come with you! Ah! Ah! Ready, weren't you?"

Afterwards, stretched at ease, she asked, "D'you remember how Occula prevented us, that day? I could have killed her. I wanted you then; much as I've ever wanted a man; more."

"I remember," said Zirek. "Well, whatever you may think of her, everything depends on Occula now, I'll tell you that."

"I was afraid of her," said Meris. "She was—well, like a witch, sort of."

"Just so," said the pedlar. "That's what she is. There's some sort of strange power in Occula: that's why she's there. But now; it's a shame to put clothes back on a body like yours, but we have to get to Hirdo tonight, my lass, and if we want a comfortable bed we'd better be off, for there'll be travelers enough now the rains are over."

"One thing more," he added, as she helped him on with his pack and eased the straps over his shoulders.

"What's mine's yours now. I won't come out of Bekla without you— that I promise. You be straight with me and you'll find me straight enough with you."

The party, when Maia and Milvushina arrived at the Barons' Palace on the evening after Occula's strange turn, proved in fact to be given not by Elvair-ka-Virrion—though he and several of his friends were present—but by U-Sarget, a wealthy wine-merchant who stood well with the younger Leopards and was said to have lent money to several of them. Whatever the truth of such rumors, he evidently intended on this occasion to leave no one in doubt that he was a man of means. One of the smaller halls of the palace had been entirely re-hung with new, woven fabrics dyed in contrasting shades of green. At this early time of year few flowers were yet in bloom, but Sarget had procured banks of ferns, overhung with trailing creepers, and thesei—continually sprinkled with water by pretty little girls dressed as different kinds of birds—gave off a scent of herbage and moisture among the tables. Each guest, upon greeting Sarget, was presented with a bronze wine-cup of Gelt workmanship, which was filled then and there from a cask of Yeldashay, so that he or she might drink the host's health. When all the guests had arrived, a choir of boys and girls sang a song of welcome to the returning spring, composed for the occasion by Sarget himself. This anthem having been warmly applauded (it proved, in fact, a lasting favorite, often performed in after-years) the choir left the hall. The musicians, however, remained, and continued to play throughout supper. These were the best in Bekla, for Sarget, money-lender and place-seeker though he might be, was a wholehearted lover of music and himself a good hinnari player—an accomplishment for which he was sometimes sneered at, behind his back, by people who considered such skills appropriate only to slaves or hired professionals.

If Sarget had spent heavily, he had certainly achieved his object—a striking display of taste and style—and in addition had proved lucky in his choice of the day. It was now virtually certain that the rains were over. At noon Durakkon himself, speaking, in accordance with custom, from the Bronze Scales in the Caravan Market, had proclaimed that the Sacred Queen's ritual congress with the god would take place in two days' time, and be celebrated with the customary festivities throughout the upper and lower cities. Already a spirit of approaching carnival was abroad, even among slaves and beggars, and the guests, as they assembled, were in good humor and wholeheartedly disposed to enjoy themselves. At the outset Sarget, a shrewd judge of what was likely to go down well, improved upon the occasion by personally reconciling, in front of the company, two young men who were known to have been at daggers drawn over a girl, and whom he now begged to honor him by drinking a health to each other before everyone sat down to supper. Amid cheers and acclamation they complied, after which both, having been crowned with flowers, held tapers to either end of a flat, dry reed, on which had been painted the words "Rains" and "Discord."

Maia, laughing and applauding with the rest, looked round to find Nennaunir standing beside her. Smiling rather timidly, she was surprised to be clasped by the shearna in a warm embrace.

"You here as well, you pretty little thing?" whispered Nennaunir in her ear. Then, releasing her and holding her at arm's length by the shoulders, "Not so darned little, either! And you're glad enough to get away from that filthy brute for once, I dare say?"

For a few minutes they chatted, strolling across the room. Maia felt that Nennaunir, like Sessendris, had decided that, slave-girl or no, she had evidently acquired some kind of standing among the Leopards, and that accordingly nothing was to be lost by being pleasant to her. She took the opportunity to introduce Milvushina arid was amused to see that the shearna, with professional shrewdness, at once grasped—and was puzzled to grasp—that this was a young lady of birth. Looking round, she recognized by sight several other shearnas and guessed that in all probability she and Milvushina were the only slave-girls in the company.

Elvair-ka-Virrion had been standing with Sarget at the further end of the hall, but now both he and the wine-merchant—who was wearing a crimson robe magnificently embroidered with a hunting scene in silver—deliberately made their way to where the three girls were talking together. Nennaunir. of course, was already acquainted with Sarget, and at once began congratulating him on his generosity and on the decoration of the hall. Sarget, having replied appropriately, drew Maia into the conversation by admiring her dress. It was one of three or four which Terebinthia had bought in anticipation of the spring festival: close-clinging silk, of a soft, cherry color, the bodice glittering with minute crystals. As soon as he learned that she came from Lake Serrelind, Sarget began telling her about a hunting expedition he had once made to the Tonildan Forest. Maia, who had never in her life been even as far east as the Thettit-Kabin road, and knew no more of the Tonildan Forest than she did of the Deelguy Desert, nodded and smiled and opened her eyes wide; and soon felt in no doubt that Sarget thought her as charming a girl as Elvair-ka-Virrion had no doubt told him she was.

She had some little difficulty, however, in concentrating on this conversation, being distracted by her realization that Elvair-ka-Virrion was deep in talk with Milvushina. Milvushina's voice was always low, and Maia could hear nothing of whatever she might be saying. From time to time, however, she caught a phrase or a few words from Elvair-ka-Virrion. "In Chalcon?" 

"I'd never have believed . . ." and at length, with emphasis, ". . . assure you my father knew nothing whatever about it."

If Terebinthia, thought Maia, had in truth cautioned Milvushina as she herself had been cautioned, it was evidently having very little effect. She could not help feeling some anxiety on her behalf.

After some minutes the guests began moving towards the tables, and at this moment Maia, in the middle of telling Sarget about the fish-charming songs of fishermen in Meerzat, suddenly stopped in amazement, hearing a sound she instantly recognized for what it could only be, even though she had never heard it before. She looked round. Milvushina, walking across the hall beside Elvair-ka-Virrion, had burst into laughter.

"And do they really believe in the magical power of these songs?" asked Sarget with interest.

"What? Oh, ah; yes, they reckon a whole lot to them," answered Maia. She glanced round again, but this time could catch no more than a glimpse of Elvair-ka-Virrion's silver-tasselled shoulders disappearing beyond a tall, fair-haired shearna who rather reminded her of Sessendris.

"I wish you'd sing one of them for us later on," said Sarget, taking her arm to lead her to her place. "We seldom hear country music in Bekla, you know, and when we do it never really sounds genuine—not as it would on Lake Serrelind, I'm sure."

"Oh, but I've no voice, U-Sarget," answered Maia smilingly. " 'Sides, I don't know as I could just remember any of those old songs now; though I dare say if I was swimming in the lake they'd come back easy enough."

"Then we must get you swimming in the lake—or a lake," said Sarget. "The Barb, perhaps—"

"Good evening, Maia," said a voice behind them.

It was Bayub-Otal. Maia had not noticed him among the guests, and it had certainly not occurred to her that he might be a friend of Sarget. However, from the obvious pleasure with which Sarget now greeted him, this was evidently the case. He was wearing a plain, gray robe, without ornament, and round his neck a heavy, silver chain of striking workmanship, the individual links fashioned to resemble reed-clusters, rippling pools, willows, fish, water-fowl and the like. Sarget, smiling, raised a finger to touch it.

"I'm one person who's glad to see you're not afraid to wear a chain like that in Bekla."

"There is no chain like that," replied Bayub-Otal, returning his smile.

"I don't doubt it," said Sarget. "It's an heirloom, I suppose?"

"My father had it made for my mother."

"I never had the luck to see her, but I've often heard tell of her. Well," went on Sarget, "here's the young lady you asked us to make sure of. Elvair-ka-Virrion can usually get what he wants if he puts his mind to it."

"I'm indebted to him—and to you. By the way, your spring hymn was really excellent—too good for the audience, perhaps. You should keep work like that for your friends in private. But we're delaying the others, aren't we?" And indeed those round them were clearly waiting only for their host to take his place. Sarget, bowing to Maia as though she had been a baron's wife, turned and went to his seat, leaving her with Bayub-Otal.

Here was a nice damned state of basting affairs! She thought angrily. Terebinthia had told her that Elvair-ka-Virrion had asked for her and Milvushina to go to a party. She had said nothing about Bayub-Otal. But then, she thought, in all probability Terebinthia had not known herself. Elvair-ka-Virrion would not have said anything. In the ordinary way Occula might have guessed at the likely truth of the situation and pointed it out, but then she, of course, had not been herself last night.

Maia strove to control her disappointment. She had been simple enough to suppose that Elvair-ka-Virrion must want her again for himself. She might have realized that what was in fact going to be required of her was to continue her work on Bayub-Otal. And Nennaunir had remarked that she must be glad to get away from the High Counselor for a while! If only Nennaunir knew! she thought. She would actually have preferred Sencho, restored to his normal appetites and ready for the attentions of his favorite, than an evening with this cold, embittered Urtan who seemed— perhaps because no Beklan ladies of birth would consort with him—only to want to treat her as something she was not. Still, if she wanted to go on making progress in Kembri's good graces she had better get down to her job.

"You asked for me to come here tonight, my lord?" she said, leaning back on her arm and smiling up into his face.

"I hope you're not sorry," he answered. "Between ourselves, it's not the kind of occasion I care for much, but Sarget's one of the few people in Bekla whom I regard as a friend. I didn't want to refuse, and I thought if anyone could help me to enjoy it, it would be you."

"I'm going to see to it as you do, my lord."

It did not, in fact, prove such very hard work. The excellent dinner and wine, the luxurious surroundings, the friendly amiability of Nennaunir and others, Maia's confidence in her own beauty and the desire she obviously excited in everyone, it would seem, except Bayub-Otal: these were more than enough to enable her to feel not unkindly towards him. She'd got the measure of him now, she thought, well enough.

He didn't know what to do with a girl, but none the less—poor, disappointed loser—like anyone else he wanted to be able to show one to the world: and even apart from her own interests with Kembri, her easiest course was to try to get on with him as well as she could. Irritation might come easily to Maia, but her natural good nature did not readily admit of sustained dislike.

From time to time her eyes wandered to the next table, where Elvair-ka-Virrion was sitting near Sarget.

Milvushina was beside him, and it was clear enough that he was enjoying her company. The Chalcon girl had resumed her habitual, grave demeanor and appeared to be doing little more than reply courteously to his remarks and questions. Maia could not help thinking that her somber self-possession became her very well; Elvair-ka-Virrion obviously thought so too, for he continued talking to her almost exclusively, apparently making every effort to suit his manner to her own. Once or twice—half-reluctantly, as it seemed—she smiled in response.

S'pose she reckons she's back among her own sort, thought Maia; and for a time, jealousy and resentment overcame her. Yet soon these, like her earlier annoyance, were at least to some extent dispelled by simple enjoyment and absorption in her surroundings.

The truth was that this evening Maia was beginning for the first time to grasp something of the difference between style and the mere show of opulence. This, not surprisingly, was a matter to which she had never previously given thought, since neither one nor the other had been exactly plentiful along the shores of Lake Serrelind. Now, she unexpectedly found herself contrasting the hall about her with the rooms in Sencho's house. Upon her arrival she had been surprised to see so few obviously precious things displayed. Sencho's two halls, as well as the garden-room, were full of hangings, furniture, statues and ornaments-many from the houses of enemies and victims—the costliness of which was plain enough. It suddenly occurred to Maia to wonder whether he would notice if some of them were stolen; and whether Terebinthia might in fact have sold a few without his knowledge. Be that as it might, it crossed her mind (in the act of gnawing a roast duck leg) that clearly someone—presumably Sarget himself—must have given careful thought to the appearance of this hall as a whole, and that his aim had been a display less of wealth than of restrained and congruent beauty and harmony. Restraint, she now realized, was not necessarily a sign of indigence. The purpose and effect of the moist ferns and varied green wall-hangings—however much or little they might have cost—were simply to provide a relatively unobtrusive yet appropriate setting for the guests' own magnificence—for Elvair-ka-Virrion's black-and-crimson, silver-tasselled abshay, Nennaunir's night-blue robe and Bayub-Otal's unique silver chain.

Even more strongly than the decoration of the hall, however, the music made Maia aware of a difference in quality between Sencho's pleasures and those of Sarget and his friends. The very notion of music was so alien to the atmosphere of the High Counselor's household that it had never before even entered Maia's head to think of it as a deficiency. She would as readily have thought of missing the stars from a cellar. Yet it now struck her that obviously Sencho, if he wished, could well afford musicians as good as .these; and thereupon she realized also, not only that he did not want them—that music meant nothing to him— but also that this insensitivity could not really be attributed solely to the poverty and hardship of his origins; for Tharrin, if he were somehow or other to become rich, would certainly take pleasure in having his own musicians: so, probably, would Zuno. She began to perceive more clearly why so many of these people despised Sencho even while they feared him and perforce afforded him the show of respect.

Smiling and conversing with Bayub-Otal, teasingly or otherwise as the mood took her (for Maia's conversational style knew little of reserve or convention), she was nevertheless almost continuously aware of the softly plangent, bitter-sweet tone of the hinnaris interweaving, darting here and there like swallows, back and forth in a patterned harmony above the dark water of the drums. In her fancy the intermittent flutes became gleams of light, the soft crescendos of the zerda and derlanzel a distant rustling of leaves. The minor, repeated phrases of the Paltesthi rogan which they were playing seemed infinitely vivid and compelling, moving her almost to tears. Bayub-Otal, she sensed, felt this also, and was aware that she felt it too; for gradually his conversation ceased and he sat unspeaking, gazing into his wine-cup and silently—almost imperceptibly—following the rhythm of the drums with his fingertips. Once, turning his head, he caught Maia's eye with a half-smile and she, her task of pleasing him become that much easier, smiled back and for an instant rubbed her shoulder against his.

At this moment, once more catching sight of Milvushina, she was surprised to find herself thinking how beautiful she looked. Her great, dark eyes and delicate, olive-skinned features, which to Maia had always seemed so lacking in vitality and warmth, were now turned towards Elvair-ka-Virrion, if not with animation, at least with alert attention. After a few moments, as he ceased speaking, she smiled and replied a few words, upon which he at once resumed, nodding in corroboration of what she had said. Maia had always thought Milvushina naturally aloof. Now she began to wonder whether the truth might not be that in the women's quarters at Sencho's she had merely been unable to feel interest in anyone or anything around her: whether, even setting aside the natural effect of her misery, she had found no one capable of making her feel inclined to say much more than she had to. Tonight it seemed as though some hitherto-withheld part of her was hesitantly reemerging. Either Elvair-ka-Virrion had been able to make her—at least to some extent—genuinely forget her grief, or else self-respect was impelling her to assume, for his benefit, some semblance of the one-time baron's daughter of Chalcon.

Without going so far as actually to feel selflessly happy on Milvushina's account (bearing in mind her disappointment over Elvair-ka-Virrion, this would scarcely have been natural), Maia, to her credit, was genuinely pleased to see that her frozen grief was apparently capable of being melted, and hoped that more might come of it. To see Milvushina at last showing a little—however little—warmth made her feel that after all they might yet find that they had something in common.

Once more drawn by the music into a delicious oblivion of her surroundings, she closed her eyes, listening with parted lips and even holding her breath in the intensity of her pleasure. With Maia, delight in music had always involved a physical response, at least with her body if not with her voice as well.

Now, without reflection or self-consciousness, she began to sway gently where she sat. Once or twice she nodded her head, as though with inward corroboration that the music had indeed taken that delightful turn which she had expected; and once she spread her hands, as though to represent the gesture of the goddess by whose liberality such beauty was vouchsafed to humankind. Two or three men sitting near-by caught each other's eyes, smiling at the naivete of the pretty child, while one made a facetious pantomime of craning his neck and shaking his head as he looked into her wine-cup.

Supper was nearly at an end. In accordance with Beklan custom some of the guests, in twos and threes, were beginning to get up and stroll out of the hall, either into the corridors or as far as the westward-facing portico of the palace, whence they could look out across the city walls towards the afterglow beyond the far-off Palteshi hills. The rest, either still inclined for eating, or simply for remaining where they were to converse or to listen to the music, relaxed luxuriously, while their shearnas fanned them and the slaves carried round trays of sweetmeats.

Throughout the whole of this gentle disturbance, Elvair-ka-Virrion still sat absorbed in talk with Mirvushina. One or two of his friends, having failed to distract him, gathered about Sarget on their own account, inquiring banteringly—for they knew his somewhat staid reputation—what he had in mind for their entertainment and whether he had ever composed any music for a kura. The fastidious Sarget, though on the one hand wishing to continue to stand well with these young men, on the other hoped to avoid seeing his supper-party take on the tone of the Rains banquet and such-like functions governed by the tastes of men like Kembri or Sencho. As he sat smilingly temporizing and assuring a young man named Shend-Lador, the son of the citadel castellan, that he knew Nennaunir was anxious to get to know him better, Bayub-Otal, appearing quietly at his shoulder, stooped and whispered a few words in his ear.

Sarget, rising, at once took the Urtan's arm and led him out into the corridor, leaving the young Leopards to mutter and shrug their shoulders over what they regarded as an intrusion. A minute or two later, however, the two returned and walked over to where the musicians were squatting together near the center of the hall. The music died away, and as it did so Maia looked up, opening her eyes and giving a little shake to her head, as though awakening.

Fordil, the elder of the two hinnarists, a musician whose name and skill were known from Kabin to Ikat, nodded as he listened to U-Sarget, from time to time looking round at his drummers to make sure that they too had understood the patron. Maia, watching them and wondering what was in preparation—some kind of Urtan music, presumably (why should that wretched Bayub-Otal have gone and interrupted her enjoyment?)—was suddenly puzzled and confused to see them all looking round in her direction.

She dropped her eyes and reddened, wondering what might have been said. The next moment Bayub-Otal was standing beside her.

"Maia," said Bayub-Otal—and now, or so it seemed to the disconcerted Maia, everyone was listening—"U-Sarget wishes you to dance for us."

Maia, a clutch in her stomach, stared at him speechlessly.

"I've told Fordil," added Bayub-Otal, smiling; in earnest or in mockery? she wondered, "that you'd probably like to dance the senguela. I assure you that you'll find him an accompanist of very different quality from that man at "The Green Grove'; and the floor's all that even my mother could have wished. They're sweeping it now, as you can see."

Maia, looking round her in a daze, saw that Sarget himself was personally directing two slaves with brooms.

"My lord, I can't, really I can't—oh, my lord, you must tell him—you must tell U-Sarget, please—"

"Maia," replied Bayub-Otal, scarcely moving his lips, "Elvair-ka-Virrion brought you here at my request. U-Sarget and I wish you to dance."

His manner, following upon his courteous, friendly behavior during dinner, filled Maia with sudden rage.

If ever Occula's dreams were to come true, and the two of them became shearnas with all Bekla at their feet, then first and foremost she would settle accounts with this bloodless, high-handed bastard of an Urtan baron. Meanwhile she could only set her teeth and do her best to show him he couldn't put her out of countenance—for that could only be what he was trying to do. Without another word she stood up, raised her palm to her forehead with a gesture as ironic as she could make it; then turned and walked—steadily, she hoped—across to the musicians.

"I have no money, U-Fordil," she said, pulling up the hem of the cherry-colored skirt and dropping to her knees beside him on the floor. "I'm only a slave-girl as yet. But do your best for me and I promise I won't forget you."

Old Fordil, smiling, inclined his gray head towards her with a fatherly look.

"We don't need to be asked for our best, my lass. We are the best. Lean on us as hard as you like—the rope won't break. You're going to dance the senguela?"

"Yes.."

"Selpe and reppa? The whole thing?"

She nodded.

Fordil smiled again. "Sure you can manage it? If it's just on account of orders and you feel it's too much, I can probably get you out of it. Only it's generally better, you know, to stick to something you're sure of."

"I'm going to dance the whole thing," answered Maia firmly.

"Then Lespa be with you, little säiyett," replied Fordil. "I shall be, anyway."

Maia, leaning over, gave his bristly cheek a kiss. "Thank you, U-Fordil. No one's ever called me 'säiyett' before. I'll remember that."

One of the drummers looked up from tightening the cords round his zhua. "That dress—think it'll fall quick enough?"

Maia nodded again. "It'll fall." Thereupon she rose to her feet, walked a few steps into the middle of the empty floor, turned towards Sarget and stood waiting for the frissoor.

It was customary in Bekla for a dancer or singer to await from her host, initially, a signal of invitation, known as the frissoor. Once this had been received the performer, even if a slave, had the complete right to order everything as she wished—the space about her, the lamps, the music— even, if she insisted, the dismissal of anyone unwelcome to her. Thus, the leader of the Thlela had sought the frissoor from Durakkon at the Rains banquet, and Occula from Elvair-ka-Virrion before her now almost legendary act as the doomed huntress. As soon as Sarget, smiling reassuringly, had extended his left hand and then lowered it to his side, Maia, with the best air of authority she could muster, beckoned to two slaves and, having told them what she wanted, stood impassively while they moved or extinguished sufficient lamps to make one side of the central floor bright and the other shadowy and dim.

The hall seemed to have filled again. Word, it appeared, had got round that she was about to dance, and men and girls had come back, some to their former places, others merely to stand wherever it might suit them—a few near the doors, ready to slip out again if she should prove a disappointment. With a quick smile she gestured to Shend-Lador and a girl with him to move back from the edge of the floor, and felt delighted surprise when they did so at once. Whoever would have thought it? It worked for her, just as for anyone else who had received the frissoor.

Suddenly she knew that Lespa was with her. Kind, merciful Lespa was looking down from the stars at her servant about to honor her—Lespa of the heart's secrets, Lespa, sender of dreams! A few moments more she stood in silence, offering herself to the goddess. Then she spread her hands; and at once the zhuas began the low, throbbing opening of the selpe.

She was Lespa—mortal Lespa, the prettiest village lass that ever walked the earths—Lespa on her way to the green-wood, tripping through the meadows of spring. The grass was cool at her feet, the flowers were springing—ah! and here was a patch of muddy ground she had to cross. Pouting, she stopped and wiped her feet, one and then the other; then stooped to pick a yellow spear-bud and put it in her hair.

Her body was burning with frustrated longing, with desire for her lover, for poor young Baltis gone to the wars.

During this first, opening minute she realized what Bayub-Otal had meant in speaking of Fordil. She had never conceived of any accompaniment of this quality. She would not have thought it possible. The quick, pattering notes of the hinnari seemed actually created by her own movements. They did not follow her; they led her on and bore her forward. It was Fordil who was really dancing, except that she, happening to be young and a girl, was acting on his behalf. She was his reflection, and therefore they could not be out of accord.

A kynat, migrant of spring, purple and gold in the sunshine, flashed suddenly out of the distant trees and she stood entranced, shading her eyes to gaze after it as it flew. Then, recalling her errand, she went on up the course of the little brook towards the watercress-edged cattle-wade on the outskirts of the wood.

When dancing for Occula, Maia, throughout this first episode of the selpe, had always felt, above all, the pathos of a girl left forlorn in spring; intensely aware of the multifoliate burgeoning of the new year all about her, yet separated from it by her loneliness. To stress this sense of loneliness, she knew, was important as a contrast to the excitement to follow. She was a girl sad in springtime: this was what she had to express; and now the hinnari, with a soft sobbing of zhuas beneath, was saying it for her as, in Occula's hands, it had never been able to.

How long should she give it? Not very long, for this was only the prelude to her story. Bending down, she pulled some strands of watercress and nibbled them; then sprawled on the short grass in the sunshine, first picking her teeth with a twig, then rolling quickly over to catch a tiny frog and let it jump off her hand into the water. So clearly did she mime these things and so closely did the drummer follow her, that the frog's leap was represented by a quick, sharp stroke of his thimbled finger on the side of the hollow lek, at which Maia herself, watching the frog, spontaneously gave a little jump. The watchers laughed, not only at the joke but with pleasure in the skill which had enabled them to recognize it. A moment later she got up and, disentangling her skirt from a spray of bramble as she climbed the fence, entered the wood, disappearing into the darkness on the lampless side of the hall.

Almost at once—more quickly than she would have wished, but she guessed that Fordil wanted to forestall any possible outbreak of chatter or restlessness among the audience—the music changed to the quick, light knocking of the two leks, playing alone. Yet she herself must wait a moment; she could not change her role so quickly. This was Shakkarn coming—Shakkarn stolen away in spring from the palace of the gods to wander footloose among the fields and woods of earth. Far off he was as yet, his footsteps faint but coming closer, sending before them the disquiet and apprehension latent in all sounds of approach by someone or something unknown to the hearer. And at this moment, as luck would have it, two of the lamps, their oil exhausted, simultaneously flickered and died. A total silence fell throughout the hall, save for the tapping of the leks answering each other, hoofed footstep and echo, among the rocks high up in the wood.

Occula had told her that sometimes a girl would elect to play Shakkarn masked and horned, and thus disguised as the god would appear in full light as plainly as in the part of Lespa. Yet this was not the true style of the senguela, the tonda and the other great traditional dances. "So often, banzi, a pretty girl wants to show off as Lespa, but she only wants to dress up as Shakkarn. That's not real senguela! You've got to be Shakkarn—make them believe you're another person—well, almost." And had not Maia seen Occula herself perform just such a feat on the night when Ka-Roton had taken phantom knife and stabbed himself?

Here came Shakkam; barely to be seen, a shadow among dark trees; half-brute, peering from side to side, pausing to sniff the air, plunging into the stream and shaking the water from his back as he lurched himself up and out; Shakkam grinning and licking his lips like a hound, pausing to rub himself against the stump of a tree. Then, almost as soon as glimpsed, he had vanished again into the blackness; but it was enough. A noise of running, and on the flutes startled birds flew up in the distance. Something umbral was slinking away, disappearing between the tree-trunks; reemerging for a moment to peer out, round-eyed, slobbering with excitement, kindled by what he had caught sight of in the glade below. Then once again, swift as a lizard, he was gone.

Maia, racing silently round the darkened edge of the hall, reached the opposite side quickly enough to create the effect of surprise she wanted. Hardly, it seemed, had the wanton god been lost to sight in the forest than here came pretty Lespa, gathering sticks, getting together a good, stout faggot to carry home; pausing to listen to the song of a greenbreast from the outskirts of the wood. Still going about her work, she came upon the pool; brown and clear, not too deep and not too cold, for she dabbled one foot in it to try.

As the hinnaris rippled about her in liquid cascades of descending quarter-tones Maia, with a single, swift movement, loosed the halter of the cherry-colored robe, let it fall to her ankles and stepped naked into the pool, giving a quick shudder and clutching her arms about her as she felt the first chill. She was still standing on the floor of the hall, yet now the water was nearly up to her shoulders and her feet were groping on the stones as she waded slowly forward. Cupping her hands, she splashed water into her face, laughed and tossed back her wet hair. She, at all events, knew where she was now; under the falls on the edge of Lake Serrelind.

For a little she made all she could of this most beguiling of scenes, bringing to it every scrap of invention at her command. She had been naked often enough for Sencho. She had been naked for Kembri, for Elvair-ka-Virrion, for Eud-Ecachlon, for Randronoth of Lapan; but never before for the delectation of eighty men and women at once. Under the bravado which she had assumed to Fordil and his drummers she had been very nervous, but had thrust the fear away by telling herself (as might a soldier) that it had simply got to be done and that was all there was to it. Now that it was here, however, she was delighting in it. Intermittently, glancing up through the splashed water and her own wet hair, she glimpsed, on the edge of the surrounding lamplight, the fascinated eyes of watchers, and felt her power over them. "I am Lespa," she thought. "I am Lespa of the inmost heart." Her nakedness was no mere matter of tantalizing young men like Shend-Lador. It was the revelation of womanhood by the goddess. Not to be naked now would have been irreverent and impious.

Ah, but it was heady stuff, this! And here she might have remained, displaying herself in the pool, and well content would they have been to watch on, even until she had dishonored the goddess with her selfish vanity. Some girls did, and so she had been warned. But against this the good Fordil stood her friend. Oh, but one moment, Fordil! Just one more plunge, turning on my back and sliding upward to the bank! I do it so well! But no—she must obey him, must obey the goddess, obey the story and the music.

For here, broken loose, straying aimlessly one might suppose, never a care, no harm in the world, down through the wood and grazing as he wandered, came the goat Shakkarn. Oh, but such a goat, the music said, such a goat as no lout of a farmer ever held on a chain; milk-white, silky-coated, his great, curving horns like the frame of a lyre, his hooves shining smooth as bronze. From the pool Lespa stared in wonder, her eyes following the goat rambling here and there as he cropped the green leaves. Then, as he hesitantly, almost timidly, approached to drink, she rested her two hands on the bank, drew herself out of the water and sat close by him in the sunshine.

Everyone in the hall could see the magnificent creature—not merely because his likeness was carved on the walls of temples all over the empire, not only because he lay in their minds and their dreams as surely as doomsday or the flood, but above all because he was real to the girl sitting beside him, her body seeming to glisten with water-drops as she gently stretched out one hand to touch him, to stroke his back as he stood docile on the margin of the pool. She put her arms round his neck and rubbed her cheek against his ear.

Then followed the slow dawning in Lespa's mind that this paragon of beasts was indeed male: and that she herself—ah! Round-eyed, open-mouthed, she sprang up, fleeing a little way in hot shame: yet still her companion made no move and showed no impatience as the inmost secret stirred in her, revealing to her that she herself, she too—And here Maia stood for long moments down-glancing, trembling, bewildered. At last a little smile came to her lips and she took one single tentative step to return to him whom she herself had summoned unaware.

The mounting excitement as Lespa, of her own accord, began their love-play was conveyed by Maia, as Occula had taught her, shamelessly, in the sense that shame had been discarded, a thing of no meaning to the consort of a god (" 'cos you can be sure of one thing, banzi—whatever goddesses have, it’s not shame: else they'd be liars"). As at length he seemed to draw back, tantalized beyond endurance by the touch of her hands, only next moment to press himself yet more eagerly upon her; and as she rose, laughing, inviting him to go with her into the recesses of the wood, more than one couple followed her example and slipped away out of the hall on their own business.

And now Maia, once again out of sight in the darkness, found herself faced with a dilemma, unforeseen in her agitation at being so suddenly called upon to dance. Now she had to become the prying old woman—and here she was, naked and costumeless, without even a dresser to help her. Fordil himself had not anticipated or remembered this. Whatever was she to do? At all costs things must not go wrong now! In desperation she beat her fist on the wall; and as she did so felt the smooth texture of one of Sarget's panels of green cloth.

The panels, side by side and slightly overlapping, had been hung one above another in two rows. Each woven piece measured about seven or eight feet square, with loops at the upper corners by which it was hung on nails driven between the stones. Standing on tiptoe, she lifted down a square of fabric, wrapped herself in it from head to foot and drew up one corner as a hood. Then, as the zhuas began the comic, shuffling rhythm of the old woman's gait— boom da-da-da, boom da-da-da—she came hobbling once more into the light.

The peering, prurient curiosity of the old woman, her outrage at what she saw, her envious disgust, her hurry-scurry back to the village, her jabbering to her cronies and their setting forth in a body to put paid to the shameless hussy up in the wood—these things Maia rattled through, playing them very broadly, Meerzat festival-fashion, a peasant making fun of peasants. Perhaps, indeed, she overdid it a little, for the old woman in her haste need not really have trodden in a cow-pat and gone hopping about; but it got a laugh. Off they all hurried to the forest, and in the emptiness left behind, the two hinnaris began the reppa—the universally-known song of Shakkarn, hymn of Lespa's humility and acceptance of the inmost longing revealed. The audience began a low clapping to the rocking, thrusting rhythm—for it was impossible not to reciprocate—and all eyes were turned once more towards the dim glade whither Lespa had stolen away with her divine companion.

But Maia was not where they had expected. Exercising the privilege of the frissoor, she had taken possession of the dais behind their backs; and here she was lying on the great table, all among the scattered flower-garlands, her parted legs, bent at the knees, clasped about her invisible lover as Lespa writhed in her joy. No one saw her until, she gave a swift, inarticulate cry of pleasure—the only sound she had uttered all through the story—they turned in surprise, pressing forward, all of them consumed to look at her once again as she lay striving in the half-light, head flung back and hair streaming.

So now they themselves had involuntarily assumed the part of the villagers—the mean-minded louts and harridans come to besmirch her bliss, to rub the butterfly's wings between their dirty fingers and thumbs.

Lespa, suddenly aware of them, buried her face in her hands, rolled quickly over and dropped off the table into the shadow beneath.

Following the tradition of the senguela, the climax of the reppa—the apotheosis of Lespa through the celestial love of Shakkarn—could be represented in various ways, according to the resources of the occasion and the temperament of the dancer. Sometimes, when her surroundings made this practicable, the girl would pace, divine and unheeding, straight through the audience, ascend a staircase and so be gone; or again, she might be escorted by children dressed as cherubs to a goat-horned throne set among clouds and stars. But no such help was available to Maia. Neither could Fordil help her. Yet on the music went, an audible expression of that ineffable harmony forever sounding in the ears of the gods, and on she must go with it. Slowly she stood up, her face radiant (and goodness knows I got something to be happy about, she thought, else I'm very much mistook), and began, on the level floor of the dais, to climb easily upward, her limbs unhindered by the least weight from her body—for had she not become a goddess?—first through the trees (she parted their branches before her), then through the clouds and at last among the glittering aisles of the stars. Once or twice she stretched out a hand—the graceful, sturdy girl—to that of her divine lover, manifest now as the god Shakkarn, he whose animal nature she had accepted in herself and embraced in her erstwhile humanity. He ascended with her until, among the last whisperings of the hinnaris and the lightest breath-ings of the flutes, she stood motionless, arms outspread, head down-bent in blessing, to take up her eternal, nightly task of scattering truth in dreams to all the dwellers upon earth. And thus she remained, aloft upon the table and gazing gravely downward as the music at last died away and ceased.

For long seconds there was silence throughout the hall. Then a murmur like a sigh rose from her audience. As it died away a man in a blue robe, standing a few feet from Sarget, asked him, "Who is the girl?" Before Sarget could reply, however, Elvair-ka-Virrion, looking quickly round, answered "She's Maia—from Serrelind!" At this others, laughing, began teasing the blue-robed man, turning towards him and echoing, "Maia! She's Maia!"

Gradually this took on the nature of an ovation. "Maia!" called Elvair-ka-Virrion again, raising his hand in the traditional sign of salute to the winner of a contest. Shend-Lador and several other young men took it up. One, pushing his way forward, climbed the steps of the dais and fell on his knees before the table.

From all sides came cries of "Maia! Maia!" as the company, both men and women, raised their hands, fingers outspread, in the gesture of acclaim.

Maia, bewildered now and uncertain what it would be best for her to do, still made no response, even with a glance or a smile. During the close of the reppa she had become virtually oblivious of being watched. Self-forgotten as a child in play, to herself she had been Lespa, and had even seen the dreams drifting like snowflakes from her down-turned fingers upon the sleeping earth below. She had not forsaken her audience; she had transcended them. She had, in fact, been not far from the presence of the goddess; and was seldom to feel herself so close again (such moments, not to be commanded even through the greatest skill or experience, being a matter of grace and coming when they will). At no time, of course, had she ceased being to some extent aware of her real surroundings, but during the dance their aspect and her relation to them had become transformed. Now they slowly resumed once more their normal, mundane properties. The effect was a kind of shock. As everyone round her was noisily affirming, she was Maia, standing naked on a table before the eyes of some eighty men and women whom she had just excited to fever-pitch. What should she do now? Climb down from the table, scramble back into her dress and accept a drink? This struck her as less than seemly. Yet for the life of her she could not think of any truly fitting way to conclude what she had accomplished.

So there she stood, unmoving. It was Sarget himself— probably the most sensitive man in the room—who, discerning her predicament, came to her rescue. A slave had already retrieved her dress from where she had shed it and was now standing near the doors, holding it over his arm. Sarget, however, ignored him, went quickly out into the corridor and, before the ovation had subsided, returned carrying a fur cloak. Climbing onto the table, he stood for a few moments beside the still-rapt Maia, smiling and waving acknowledgment on her behalf. Then, wrapping the cloak round her shoulders, he helped her down and gave her his arm out of the hall.

Sarget, having led her to a room along the corridor, remained only to speak a few words of praise—Maia could do no more than smile in reply—before leaving her alone. What he might be going to arrange she had no idea and felt too much exhausted even to wonder.

A minute later Nennaunir came in, carrying the cherry-colored dress.

"Do you know what you've done, my dear?" she asked. "They've all gone mad for you! There are forty goats out there, not just one—and if they're not gods, at least they're real. Gods don't give lygols, either. If you want your pick I shouldn't leave it too long, 'cos you've put all the girls in heat as well."

"The girls?" answered Maia vaguely. "How's that, then?"

"Oh, really, my dear, surely you know—women get al-most more excited than men when they watch that sort of thing. Every woman fancies it's herself up there, driving all the men out of their minds. But you were splendid, you know. Wherever did you learn?"

"Occula taught me—just to pass the time, kind of style."

"Really? Then, Maia dear, all I can say is you've got great talent: you certainly mustn't waste it. I'll gladly help you. I'll—" She broke off. "But how can I, while you belong to that pig? Does he know you can do that?"

Maia laughed. "Didn't know it myself. No, he don't; nor he wouldn't care if he did."

Suddenly there rose before her mind's eye the face of Chia, the cast-eyed girl whom she and Occula had met at Lalloc's. What sort of luck might Chia have had since then? Little enough, most likely. How strange, she thought, to find myself sorry to belong to the High Counselor of Bekla! Don't know when I'm well off, do I?

"Whose is this cloak, d'you suppose?" she asked, to change the subject; for Nennaunir would not want to continue talking about Sencho. "What a beauty, isn't it?" She slipped it off and began getting dressed.

"It's mine," said the shearna. "I told Sarget to take it for you. The governor of Kabin gave it me last time he was here. It cost eight thousand meld."

"Eight thousand meld?" Maia stared.

"Governors collect taxes; didn't you know? Otherwise why be a governor? Don't worry, pet—you go on as you've started and you'll be getting as good before long, take my word for it. Anyway, I'll give you a hand with your dress if you like: and here's a comb. You ought to go back while they're still asking for you, you know. Who's the girl who came with you, by the way? Pretty, isn't she? Does she belong to filthy Sencho, too?"

"Yes; he got her after Meris was sold."

Nennaunir waited, clearly expecting more. After a few moments, as Maia added nothing, she said, "She's no peasant: anyone can see that. Father ruined, or something?"

"I'm not just too sure about the rights of it, tell you the truth." Maia had no intention of risking the punishment which Terebinthia had threatened.

"Aren't you?" replied Nennaunir rather curtly. "Oh, well, if you don't— Anyway, she's evidently made a great impression on Elvair. They've been together all the evening. Sarget brought a girl for Elvair but in fact he's hardly spoken to her. Never mind—I hope it does your friend some good, the poor banzi. She's lost more than most, if I'm any judge."

There was a tap at the door. Maia, a slave with no claim to privacy and in any case unaccustomed to such niceties, made no response, but Nennaunir called "Come in!"

Bayub-Otal entered, followed by a servant with wine, fruit and biscuits. Maia, rather taken aback, was slower than she should have been to look delighted, but her lapse was expertly covered by the more experienced Nennaunir, who was on her feet in a moment, all smiles.

"Come to congratulate her, my lord, or to get ahead of the others—or both? U-Sarget told me it was your idea for her to dance. You knew then, did you, how good she was?"

"She may become very good, I think," replied Bayub-Otal composedly, "in time." He crossed over to the table, poured some of the wine and handed a goblet to each girl. "And with more practice."

Nennaunir was far too adept to be provoked or to take up cudgels. "Well, if you think that, my lord, I'm sure she can feel really proud. There's plenty of girls who'd like to have been standing on that table tonight, but none I know who'd have got the acclaim she did."

Bayub-Otal made no reply and after a moment Nennaunir, murmuring something about needing to have a word with U-Sarget, slipped out of the room.

Maia went on combing her hair, which crackled and floated above her bare shoulders. She wondered in what manner this strange man would embark on the business of expressing his desire—for this was obviously what he must have come for. In a way, she reflected, he had already begun to do so, by compelling her to perform the senguela. He had clearly been determined to see her dance again. He had placed confidence in her. However slight her natural inclination towards him, she could only feel deeply grateful for that. It was entirely to him that she owed this outstanding success, which might very possibly lead on to—who could tell what? Well, she would certainly pay her debt to him, and warmly and bountifully at that, even though he might not be exactly her idea of Shakkarn incarnate. Her beauty, her body, was all she had to give him, and her gratitude was as sincere as it could be. Indeed, at this moment Maia had quite forgotten her ulterior, secret purpose—Kembri's purpose. Why, now she came to think about it, she would positively enjoy giving herself to him— yes, really! She'd no doubt be able to help him—teach him a thing or two. Oh, yes, he had a funny way with him, but then he'd had a funny life—and his poor hand and all. After this evening she really couldn't find it in her heart to deny him. He deserved a nice time, he really did.

He had still done nothing to break the silence. Why not a hand on her shoulder? Or better still, his lips to her shoulder; then her cheek could turn just a little and touch his. What a pity he seemed never to have learned any such ways! Well, but even so, he could at least speak, surely? He'd had time enough now, in all conscience, to think of something to say.

She turned round on her stool. Bayub-Otal was sitting on a bench, his back against the table, gazing absently down into his wine-cup with the air of one waiting without impatience. He certainly didn't look nervous or tense; not in the least like a man wondering what best to say or how to say it. Glancing up, his eye met hers, whereupon he smiled slightly, nodded and sipped his wine.

"Nearly ready?"

Perplexed, she frowned a moment. "Oh, yes, I'm quite done, my lord."

She stood up, turning one way and the other to make sure her skirt swung freely. "Were you waiting for me? I'm ready all right!"

She crossed over and sat beside him on the bench. "My lord—I can't thank you enough for making me dance tonight. I was nervous—I was real scared—when you first told me; but you knew better than I did, didn't you?"

"I thought you ought to have the opportunity. One can't always expect to have Fordil, you see."

"Oh, he was wonderful! I never knew—I couldn't have imagined—and the drummers, too—I mean, I couldn't have gone wrong if I'd tried."

"I've paid him for you, by the way. I gave him what he'd have got from a shearna."

This was her cue—all the cue she seemed likely to get, anyway. She flung her arms round his neck, and would have kissed him; but he turned his face aside.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my lord! And did you like it? Did I do as well as you'd hoped?"

"You weren't bad as Shakkarn." He paused, considering. "And you were most resourceful, I admit. It hadn't occurred to me—it should have, of course—that without a costume or a dresser you'd be in difficulties over the old woman. I blame myself for that. But you certainly got over it very neatly."

"You've been marvelously good to me, my lord, really you have. I'm so grateful! What can I do to show it to you?"

He shrugged. "Practice, I suppose."

She waited for him to go on, but he was silent. Elated and full of her triumph, she was now consumed with sheer, raw desire. For him? she wondered. For a man, anyway. Then, Yes! yes! certainly for him! Yes, of course, for him! Come on, then!

She rose, put her wine-cup on the table and sat down on his knee. After a moment, since he made no move to support or embrace her, she once more put her arm round his neck. Her other hand, finding his, drew it up to her bosom and fondled it back and forth.

"You're the kindest man I've ever known. I mean it, truly. Oh—" She looked impatiently about the room— "isn't there somewhere we can go—?"

Rather absently, he drew his hand away. "Well, I came to take you—I can't call it 'home,' unfortunately for you— but to where you live, anyway."

"To take me home, my lord?"

"Well, you see, there are a great many people in the hall who want to—well, give you money and so on. Here's Sarget's lygol, by the way. I asked him to give it to me, so that you wouldn't have to go back. That'll keep your säiyett happy, I suppose. And Elvair-ka-Virrion will be seeing to your friend, I'm told."

Maia stood up, and at once he did so too.

"What do you mean, my lord, 'I won't have to go back'?"

"There's a jekzha waiting for you in the courtyard," replied Bayub-Otal, "just along the corridor."

Before she could control herself, Maia had hurled her bronze wine-cup across the room. Dented on one side, it leapt, rolled a few feet and came to rest in a corner.

"And suppose I happen to want to stay here, my lord?"

Bayub-Otal picked up the goblet and put it back on the table.

"There seems little point in staying in this room."

"I mean, suppose I happen to want to go back into the hall?"

"I'm afraid you can't: I don't wish it."

"And I do!"

"As I've already told you once before this evening, Maia, you were brought here at my request. It would be a pity if Elvair-ka-Virrion had to tell your säiyett that you wouldn't do what you were told."

Maia walked over to the window and stood staring out into the moonlight. Tears' of mortification filled her eyes. Yet there was no point in saying more: Bayub-Otal, she knew, would be immutable. But what could he want? What did he mean by subjecting her to this motiveless, pointless humiliation, involving no gain to himself?

"Just as you wish, my lord. But perhaps you'd kindly allow me to go back alone to the High Counselor's. It's only a mile through the upper city, so there's no danger."

"I'll fetch your cloak," replied Bayub-Otal.

Maia, left alone, stood with closed eyes, gripping the edge of the table. Gradually she sank down until she was kneeling, her forehead resting on the wood.

"O Cran and Airtha, curse him! Lespa, darken his heart! Shakkarn, send down on him the Last Evil!"

Realizing that she was kneeling in the spilt wine, she got up. Anyway, where was the sense? She was no priestess; she hadn't the power of cursing. She had no power at all—yet. Ah! but she'd a fair taste of it tonight, before he'd gone and spoilt everything.

"To be desired," she said aloud—and now she spoke calmly—"to be desired by everyone—that's power! To be desired, that's—an army of soldiers. If ever I can harm him—oh, if ever I can harm him, I will!"