29: THE URTANS

Maia lay easy and relaxed beside Elvair-ka-Virrion. She was feeling, at this moment, as fully content as at any previous time in her life; and not only in respect of physical satisfaction, or even of pride in the power of her beauty— of which she had just received the amplest proof. Even more than with these, she was filled with a sense of success and of having attained to a new level in her fortunes. It was as though until today, with Occula to guide her, she had been climbing arduously towards a ridge rising above her.

Now she was standing on the ridge. Whatever lay in the future, she was no longer—would never again be— that plodding girl. Dangers there might be, but no more clambering. Serene in her beauty, energy and health, she felt equal to any future uncertainty; capable, even, of turning it to account. Stretching lazily, she rubbed her cheek against Elvair-ka-Virrion's shoulder.

Upon her arrival with Occula—and before she had even seen any of the other guests—she had at once been taken upstairs to Elvair-ka-Virrion's room, where he joined her after a few minutes. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her passionately and at once set about giving expression to the feelings he had declared so ardently at the Rains banquet. He had certainly proved himself no liar, she thought.

And something else he had shown her, too—the difference between a nobleman and a tavern-stroller.

Sencho, of course, did not enter into this. All that she had ever done with Sencho had been the work of a slave-girl, and her only satisfaction had come from doing a thorough job and climbing into her master's good graces. Neither did she count Kembri, for plainly almost any girl would do for him. She now believed only too well that when he had told her that he had not sent for her primarily because he wanted to bed with her, he had been speaking no more than the truth. Throw almost anything you like in the water, she thought, and a pike'll take it if he's on the feed. No, it was Tharrin whom Elvair-ka-Virrion had put in the shade, and not merely by wealth, or even by youthful virility. Tharrin's playfulness, she now realized, though it had amused and pleased her at the time—oh, he wasn't a bad sort—was all of a piece with his weakness. He wasn't—he never had been—a man who picked life up and shook it. He was footloose, fugitive, a stray cat round a back door. He had no real dignity—no, not even in a girl's arms. He was a born scrumper of apples, a pinch-and-run exponent—"What, me, sir?"—one who had always preferred to nibble and move on rather than stay to make a job of anything. And this had shown—oh yes, very much—in his love-making—light-hearted, trivial, what's a bit of fun between friends? As she lay here now, with Elvair-ka-Virrion's arm under her head, she was not even thinking of Tharrin's responsibility for what had happened to her, but simply of how much more satisfaction she had just received than ever she had from him. From all she had heard, Tharrin's whole life had been precarious. He was precarious by nature, and unconsciously she had felt precarious as his lover. Events had proved her right. By contrast, Elvair-ka-Virrion had taken her with a kind of smooth, natural mastery in which there seemed no hint of weakness: and (unlike his father) he had shown consideration for her as well as himself. She felt respect for him. Although she knew that he must have had many girls, she believed what he had said to her—that since he had first seen her he had felt more desire for her than for any other girl in the city. She had had no choice in the business, of course, but that did not matter, for the truth was that she had gone along with it altogether. In fact, she had never enjoyed anything so much. To be with a handsome, warm-hearted, well-mannered man not many years older than herself, who behaved unselfishly, yet took what he wanted with an ardor which she knew to be the effect of her own beauty—this, for Maia, was a new and wholly delightful experience. As a Beklan slave-girl, with a long road still ahead of her to freedom and fortune, she should no doubt have been thinking less of pleasure than of how she could best turn this highly-placed young man's favors to advantage. But Maia still lacked professional detachment; and it was, of course, this very deficiency which made her so attractive to Elvair-ka-Virrion.

She was still brim-full of unfeigned spontaneity, and he, perceiving this, had been seized with a very natural desire to make the most of it.

Lying beside him now, Maia had no least thought of how much money he was going to give her, or even of what advancement she could hope for. In point of fact she was simply hoping that next time they might be able to spend rather longer together. Nice as it was, it had been over too quickly. But then what else could you expect, just before a party of which Elvair-ka-Virrion was the host? He had simply taken his opportunity. She would have been disappointed if he had not; but at any moment he was likely to be missed. Outside, not far away, she could hear his merry-making guests; voices raised in song, and then a burst of laughter which broke off in shouts and cheering.

"Ought you to go back, my lord?"

He had been so charmingly self-forgotten that she felt obliged to ask. It did not, of course, occur to her that from his point of view, good manners might all be part of the game: a subtle way of gratifying himself still further, to treat a little Tonildan slave-girl like a princess; just as it excited Sencho to degrade a celebrated shearna.

"Why, you don't want to leave me, do you?"

"Oh, no, my lord. I was only afraid they may be missing you."

"Never mind: we have to talk, you and I."

"About Nennaunir?" This was impertinence, but if Maia had been a mere professional she would never have troubled to taunt him at all.

He felt enough respect for her, it seemed, to give her a serious reply.

"I've never made love with Nennaunir. If you don't believe me, you can ask her yourself."

Still she teased him. "Wonder why not?"

"I just don't fancy her: I told you, I've not fancied any-one else since that day when I first saw you in the Khalkoornil."

"But Nennaunir was with you yesterday when you came to the High Counselor's?"

"I'd taken her with me to see Eud-Ecachlon, the heir of Urtah, and ask him to come tonight with his friends. But that was only to help him make up his mind. He fancies her very much, you see; only he's never been able to persuade her. She's a self-willed girl, Nennaunir—she picks and chooses. She's so much sought after that she can afford to, and of course that adds to her attraction in a lot of people's eyes. I asked her to promise Eud-Ecachlon that she'd be nice to him if he came to this party. That decided him all right: otherwise he might not have come. The Ur-tans only pretend to like us, you see; and can you wonder? My father sold Suba to Karnat—he and Fornis."

"Why d'you reckon Nennaunir agreed, then? I mean, if she doesn't really fancy him?"

"Why, because she—knows."

"What does she know, my lord?"

"She knows how much Bekla needs her help. And Bekla needs your help, too, Maia."

"My help?"

"Well, you told my father you were ready to help us, didn't you?"

She drew in her breath sharply, and for an instant shrank down where she lay in his arms. In her simplicity, it had not for one moment occurred to her that her undertaking to the Lord General would be required of her tonight.

He smiled. "You weren't expecting me to say anything like this?"

"No, my lord!" She was close to tears. "I thought—I thought you'd asked me here because—because you wanted me—because of what you said to me at the banquet—"

"Oh, Maia, I meant every word I said at the banquet! I still mean it. You're wonderful! You're not like—well, you're not like that hard-faced Belishban girl you were with that night, for one. Don't ever stop being yourself. Don't ever stop talking like a Tonildan girl; promise me!"

She laughed. "That's easy to promise, I reckon."

But now he was grave again. "What do you want most in all the world, Maia? To be free? To be rich—as fine a shearna as any in Bekla? Or would you rather go back to Tonilda—live in your own house, with servants to wait on you and tenants to work on your land? All those things are possible."

"Oh, now you're just making fun of me, my lord."

"By Cran and Airtha, I'm not! You don't understand, do you? If only you can succeed in doing what we want, no reward will be too great."

Maia was silent. At length she said, "I must believe you, my lord. Only 'tain't easy for me to take it all in, see? Seems only just the other day as I was back home, wearin' sacking and glad of a bit of black bread."

"But my father told you, didn't he? A girl who really is a banzi straight from the back of beyond, that's a thing that can't be faked; not day in day out. We've got to have someone who really is what she seems to be."

She slipped out of his embrace, sitting up in the bed and tossing back her hair. He reached up and gently fondled one breast.

"What is it, then, my lord, that you want me to do?"

"All we want you to do tonight is to turn someone else's head as thoroughly as you've turned mine. No more than that. Don't, whatever you do, give him what you've just given me. Just make him very much want to see you again. Can you do that?"

"All depends, my lord, doesn't it, whether he's goin't' fancy me?"

"He'll fancy you all right. Just pretend you're back home in your own village and be yourself. Listen: I'll tell you a story. When Durakkon's wife went into labor a year or two ago, the doctor was very nervous to think he was attending the wife of the High Baron. Durakkon told him to imagine he was delivering a girl in the lower city. It worked like a charm. I bet you had one or two lads on their toes in Tonilda, didn't you, before you came here?"

"But this man, my lord—he'll know I've been with you."

"He won't: I took the greatest care. They'll just be starting supper now. Come with me and I'll show you your man without him seeing you. Then we'll go down to the hall separately."

Obediently, Maia got out of bed and dressed. Picking up a lamp, Elvair-ka-Virrion guided her along an empty corridor and up a steep flight of steps. At the top he blew out the lamp and opened the door of a small, unlit room. She could hear the rain drumming on the roof overhead.

The opposite wall consisted of nothing more solid than decorative wooden tracery, through which lamplight was shining. From below rose sounds of talk and laughter and the clatter of plates and goblets.

Elvair-ka-Virrion, turning to her with a finger on his lips, led her across to the tracery wall.

Through this Maia, from a height of perhaps thirty feet, found herself looking down into the Lord General's dining-hall. It was less crowded than on the night of the Rains banquet, for Elvair-ka-Virrion had invited no more than sixty or seventy people altogether, men and girls. The serving-tables were spread with food—the mere sight of them, together with the smells of roast meat, vegetables, herbs and sauces, aroused Maia's appetite—and the flower-crowned guests were moving among them for slaves to fill their plates and goblets. Several men had already seated themselves at tables on the dais itself, while others, accompanied by their girls, had strolled further down the hall, forming casual groups. Maia could see Nennaunir, in a saffron robe and a necklace of what looked like real rubies, talking with two young men who were obviously competing for her favors. As she watched, one of them suddenly turned towards the other with a quick look of anger, whereupon Nennaunir burst out laughing, slapped his hand and held out her goblet for him to go and refill.

Elvair-ka-Virrion pointed towards the right-hand side of the dais. Here a little knot of five men were talking among themselves as they sat together round the end of one of the tables. All had long hair gathered behind their necks in the Urtan style, and wore daggers at their belts. In guests from any other part of the empire this last would have been regarded as an insult to their host, but among the Urtans wearing daggers at all times was a custom so obstinately retained that it had become tolerated, so that shearnas were sometimes asked jestingly whether they wore them in bed.

Although the group included no girls, they were plainly enjoying themselves, laughing and talking animatedly and sometimes turning their heads to call out to passers-by or guests at other tables. Suddenly Maia saw Occula (to whom Terebinthia had given a tunic made entirely of overlapping, scarlet feathers, which left her oiled limbs bare except for a pair of belled anklets and a serpentine brass torque on one arm) saunter across to where they were sitting and offer one of them—an older man who looked to be in his mid-thirties—a dripping rib of beef. As she bent and whispered something in his ear he laughed, whereupon she sat down on his knee and, with one arm around his neck, shared the meat with him, from time to time putting her hand on his to turn the bone for the next bite of her gleaming teeth.

Maia, eyebrows raised, turned inquiringly toward Elvair-ka-Virrion, but he shook his head, whispering, "No, that's Eud-Ecachlon, the heir of Urtah."

"Then which?"

"The man on his right; his half-brother."

Maia looked down once more. Beyond Occula's be-feathered, red shoulder she now observed a thin, dark man; rather tall, it seemed. Half a fowl was lying on the dish before him, and as she watched he put down the drumstick he had been gnawing and turned for a moment to speak to Occula. Maia, quick as always to form a first impression, thought she perceived in his manner a kind of detachment, almost distaste. As he looked at the black girl where she sat on Eud-Ecachlon's knee, his rather narrow, unsmiling face had an expression she could only describe to herself as haughty. A clever but humorless man, she thought: tense, highly-strung yet tenacious, not altogether at ease among his companions; for that matter not at ease, perhaps, in the world itself, yet determined to hold his own. He might be twenty-four or twenty-five, but the lamplight and the distance made it hard to judge.

As she watched him talking to Occula—the black girl leaning across to answer him, so that her necklace of teeth hung forward like a row of tiny, curved knives—she noticed something odd. The Urtan sitting on his further side— a big, good-natured-looking fellow with a fair beard and gold earrings—leant across, took the fowl in one hand and proceeded to slice it with his knife. The dark man glanced towards him with a nod of thanks, then stuck the point of his knife into a piece of the cut-up meat, dipped it in the sauce beside his dish and ate it.

Elvair-ka-Virrion, his face dappled by the light shining through the tracery, again caught her eye, nodded and led her back into the corridor, closing the door silently behind them.

"You'll know him again?"

"Yes, my lord; who is he?"

"His name is Bayub-Otal: he's a natural son of the High Baron of Urtah."

"A natural son?"

"He might very well have had no standing in Urtah at all. He might have been sent away—brought up as a peasant—and no wrong would have been done either to his mother or himself. But she was a great beauty and a much-admired and very charming woman—to say the least. The High Baron loved her passionately—more than he loved his wife, for that was nothing but a political marriage between baronial families. Bayub-Otal's mother was a Suban dancing-girl. When she died—well, never mind how she died—the High Baron was heart-broken. That's why Bayub-Otal's always been treated as though he were a legitimate son. And if it had remained under Urtan dominion, he'd have stood to inherit Suba. He'd been promised Suba: that was what his father intended for him."

This last was of little interest to Maia: but what she had actually seen was.

"That other man—he was cutting up his meat for him?"

"Bayub-Otal has a withered hand. It was—injured, when he was a boy."

As they walked back down the corridor Maia was silent. At length she asked, "What—what sort of a man is he?"

"That I can't tell you, Maia: I've had very little to do with him. They say, though, that he's full of resentment and that he's no fool."

"And I'm to deceive him?"

Elvair-ka-Virrion stopped short and turned to face her.

"Who said that? Not I!"

Half-child as she was, she gave way to a touch of impatience.

"Reckon you did!"

"I did not. Maia, understand, you're simply to make him like you, talk to you, want to see you again—nothing more than that."

"But why, my lord? I mean, what for?"

"Never mind. Trust me, it'll all turn out very much to your advantage. Now I'm going to leave you. Wait here a minute or two, then go down this staircase and Sessendris—you know, my father's säiyett—will be waiting for you. Go in and have supper with the Urtans. Remember, I hardly know you—I've only seen you at Sencho's. Sail your boat well, pretty Maia! I'm sure you can. Thank you for my pleasure. It was much the best I've ever had in my life! I'm not going to spoil it by giving you a lygol, but believe me I'll do far more for you than that one day."

He kissed her unhurriedly, tilting her face between his hands, smiled and was gone.

Sessendris, seated in a cushioned recess opposite the foot of the staircase, looked up at her as she came down the stairs.

"You're becoming quite a regular visitor, Maia."

"Thank you, säiyett. Come to that, I'm beginning to feel quite at home."

She'd best start acting her part directly, she thought. For all that this woman was supposed to know, she had no reason to feel nervous. Rather, indeed, the reverse, for had she not just received a favor with which any slave-girl in Bekla would have been overjoyed?

Sessendris evidently felt this too, for she showed every intention of keeping on the right side of a girl who was so clearly on the way up.

"Is there anything you need before you go in? There's a nice, big mirror in that room over there; and you're welcome to use this comb, if you like—it's my own."

As they walked across the lobby together she went on rather archly, "Well, and which do you like best—the son or the father?"

Maia, turning her head for a moment to look her in the eye, gave her a smile which meant "You surely don't expect me to answer that?"

"No preference?" persisted Sessendris teasingly.

Maia tossed her head. "Spring's nice. So's summer, isn't it?"

The polished silver wall-plaque was, if anything, bigger than the one at the High Counselor's. She surveyed herself in it with no little satisfaction. She was wearing a dress of soft, fine wool—blue flecked green, with an open weave. The effect of the pale-green satin under-skirt was to make the wool above it appear of a different shade, lighter and greener than the bodice. Her only jewelry was a necklace of the creamy, dusky-streaked beads of semiprecious stone called eshcarz, which the Ortelgans dived for in the Telthearna and traded in Bekla, together with their rope and feathers.

Sessendris obligingly held a towel for Maia to dry her hands.

"I expect you're feeling pleased, aren't you? I wouldn't be surprised if you received some more favors tonight."

"I'll need to eat something first, säiyett," answered Maia.

"I'm that sharp-set, I'd say no to Shakkarn himself until I've had some supper."

"Of course: you're used to plenty of that at the High Counselor's, I dare say." Sessendris spoke as pleasantly as ever. "I notice your black friend's putting on a little weight, isn't she?"

"Urtans seem to like her, anyway," replied Maia.

"Really?" Sessendris seemed surprised. "How do you know?"

Maia bit her lip. Here was a fine start to a career of adroit deception! And Sessendris must, of course, know of the existence of the upstairs room overlooking the hall.

"Well, Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion said to me as the Urtans had told him they'd heard of her from someone in Thettit, that's all. That's why he asked the High Counselor to let her come tonight."

To this the säiyett replied with a nod, and Maia could only hope that it had sounded convincing.

Strolling unhurriedly through the colonnade and down the steps, she helped herself to a crown of jasmine from a tray held by a slave. Several young men turned to stare at her, but Elvair-ka-Virrion, who was talking with Nennaunir and another girl, did not give her a glance. Going across to the supper tables, she stood demurely on the carpeted dais, letting another slave make her up a plate as he thought fit. Holding this in one hand and a full goblet in the other, she glanced around her, pretended to notice Occula for the first time and went towards the table where the Urtans were sitting.

She walked slowly, for she was feeling rather nervous and wanted to begin by observing the Urtans at closer quarters and if possible weighing them up a little. She noticed at once that of the five, the two older men—Eud-Ecachlon and the dark, detached Bayub-Otal—were obviously of higher rank. Not only were their clothes finer, but there was about them an unmistakable air of accustomed authority, of which the three others were clearly sensible even in the midst of their merriment and high spirits.

Eud-Ecachlon, a man already, to Maia's eyes, middle-aged, was of medium height, rather thick-set, with touches of gray in his hair and beard. Something in his rather slow movements and the steady gaze with which he sat listening to one of the younger men suggested to her someone of stolid dependability—even, it might be, a shade slow; not a quick mind or a natural leader. Without giving the impression of being a fool or not up to his position, he nevertheless had the air of a conventional, perhaps rather uninteresting person, content with and even preferring things as he had always been used to them.

Still, never mind 'bout him, she thought as she drew nearer to the table. It's t'other as matters to me.

Bayub-Otal had also turned towards the young man who was speaking. The sight of him at closer quarters confirmed the notion she had already formed. This was a keener, tenser, more restless character altogether; and also, in some way or other, a man apart. There was, or so she vaguely sensed, something in him awry; a kind of estrangement from natural, spontaneous life, as though if he were to laugh it might be because he thought it appropriate to do so rather than because he could not help it. A kind of invisible veil or screen seemed to lie between himself and his companions. Energetic and clever he certainly looked, yet somehow clouded with—with what? She could not tell, yet her spirits faltered. She knew nothing, she felt, about such men as this. Was he really at all likely to fancy her? She rather doubted it. If he did not, she had no idea of how to go about inclining him to do so.

At this instant Bayub-Otal looked up and saw her. His immediate reaction was so extraordinary and unexpected that she felt actually alarmed. He started violently—though this, as the young fellow opposite reached the riotous cli-max of his anecdote, went unnoticed by his companions— and then, with one hand gripping the edge of the table, stared at her open-mouthed, with a look not unlike fear— almost as though he were about to leap up and run away. She, for her part, came to a dead stop, quite disconcerted and not knowing what in the least to do. Gradually, though he continued to stare at her, his features became composed. He looked away for a moment, then once more looked back, slightly shaking his head. Whatever had dismayed him, he evidently now had it under control. She was the one who remained dismayed. Could there be something wrong with her dress or her hair? Had she unknowingly done something indecorous? She couldn't think of anything. Could he be some kind of nervous eccentric— perhaps even afflicted with fits? If so, why hadn't Elvair-ka-Virrion warned her?

Well, there was no time to wonder. She could only pretend to have noticed nothing and go on. To cover her confusion she greeted Occula first, smiling and embracing her where she sat on Eud-Ecachlon's knee.

"And who's this?" asked Eud-Ecachlon, clearly pleased.

"Maia, from Serrelind. She puts me in the shade," answered Occula. "Doan" you see how dark I've gone? That's with blushin'."

Eud-Ecachlon rubbed his hand along her bare arm. "You must be right. Nothing's come off on me."

"How do you know?" asked Occula, stroking his cheek. She held out her pink palm. "See? It's on you now."

There was a general laugh. "Well, why don't you let Maia from Serrelind sit down?" said Eud-Ecachlon to the rest. "Come on, Haubas," he added, to the big young man sitting on the further side of Bayub-Otal, "move up and make room for her."

Haubas obediently moved along the bench, whereupon Bayub-Otal—perhaps, thought Maia, because he wanted to remain next to the man who Cut up his food—did the same. She sat down between him and Eud-Ecachlon and without more ado fell to work on her supper. She was so hungry that the first gulped mouthful stuck rather uncomfortably in her throat.

"You seem to be ready for that," said another of the young Urtans sitting opposite her. She smiled and nodded, swallowing another large piece of partridge.

"You've only just arrived, haven't you?" asked the man on his left, hardly raising his eyes from her breasts even as he spoke. "I saw you come in."

Soon they were both talking to her with so much animation that she had nothing to do but listen, smile and answer an occasional word. The effect of her beauty was not only to excite them but to make them rather self-conscious and coltish. They laughed a great deal, paid her compliments, teased and contradicted each other, often asked her to corroborate them and continually called the slaves over to serve her with food and wine for which she had not asked. Meanwhile Bayub-Otal, seated on her right, remained silent. Yet it struck Maia that although he was not by nature the sort of man to let himself go, he was nevertheless taking good care not to appear entirely out of accord with the younger men's brash high spirits. It was clear that they respected him and accepted his watchful, attentive manner as his own way of being in their company. Whenever someone addressed a remark to him, he replied readily and pleasantly enough, once turning a sally against the man who had made it. Maia noticed, however, that he said almost nothing except in answer to somebody else; nor did he speak directly to either Occula or herself.

"He's sharp enough to hold his own," she thought, "but far as I can see he's kind of got something on his mind. Reckon Kembri's picked the wrong girl. Don't seem like he's one to have his head turned in a hurry. All same, I'll have to have a go."

At this moment, however, Bayub-Otal asked her quietly, "How old are you? Young enough not to mind being asked—I can see that."

In point of fact Maia was, of course, so young as to resent being asked. Just in time she choked back the kind of retort she would have made in Meerzat. Leaning towards him and speaking as though she were telling him something confidential, she replied in an equally low voice, "I'm fifteen, my lord."

"Fifteen?" He paused. "You're sure of that?"

She laughed. "Well, of course. I'll be sixteen in a few days, actually."

"And how long have you been in Bekla? You come from Tonilda, your friend said?"

"Not very long. Yes, I come from Lake Serrelind."

"I was there once: I went sailing on the lake with a friend."

"Then I may have seen you, my lord. I used to swim in the lake a fair old bit."

"I should certainly remember if I'd seen you."

Yet it was said without a smile or any particular warmth, and Maia felt puzzled. A moment later he had turned to Haubas on his other side and the two men opposite were at her again. Occula had slid off Eud-Ecachlon's knee and was now sitting beside him, eating grapes and wiping the pips with the back of her hand from between her soft, thick lips.

It was plain that one of the young men was growing tipsy and not altogether pleasant with it.

"Where do you come from?" he asked suddenly, grinning at Occula in a provocative, taunting manner.

"Nowhere in the empire, I'll bet: unless it's Zeray."

"No, a bit further than Zeray," replied Occula. "I shan't be endin' up there, either. Will you?"

"Taken in war, then, were you?" asked the young man. "Your lot ran away, did they, and left you for the Beklans? Any regrets?"

Eud-Ecachlon, shaking his head, seemed about to remonstrate, but as he hesitated Occula spoke first.

Her voice was conciliatory, low and pleasant, but Maia, knowing her so well, could sense her controlled anger, like the twitching of a cat's tail.

"People always regret leavin' me. Sometimes they regret teasin' me, too; but only when I decide I've had enough."

"Hoo, what a lot of words!" answered the young man, with a kind of sneering laugh. "That supposed to be clever?"

"Ka-Roton," interjected Bayub-Otal quickly, "don't be stupid!" His tone contained no surprise, and Maia wondered whether Ka-Roton commonly gave this kind of trouble after a few cups of wine.

"Well, hardly, I should say," replied Occula, smiling. "Why doan' we—"

"You should say!" interrupted Ka-Roton. "A black girl! Cran preserve us!"

As he spoke he swirled the wine in his goblet, and by mischance a few drops spattered over Occula's bare arm. Eud-Ecachlon, bending forward, grasped him by the wrist, but Ka-Roton jerked it away.

"How d'you keep her in order, this black leopard?" he asked Maia. He had, she now noticed, a gap between his top front teeth, in which a shred of meat had remained stuck.

"I don't," answered Maia. "She keeps me in order."

"You look much less of a savage. You're the one I fancy." He picked his teeth for a moment, then leant forward and squeezed one of her breasts.

"You're right: I'm the savage one," said Occula suddenly and sharply. "If I wanted to I could make you stab yourself to the heart!"

Ka-Roton slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. "I'd like to see you try!"

"Would you really?" replied Occula. "Like to bet two hundred meld on it?"

"Have you got two hundred meld?" asked the young man contemptuously.

Both Eud-Ecachlon and Bayub-Otal seemed to have abandoned any further notion of controlling the conversation, though they were listening intently.

Occula's manner had compelled everyone's attention.

"Yes, I have," answered Occula. "You accept, then, do you?"

"Certainly, if you're such a fool as to want to throw your money away," said the young man. "I don't know what you've got in mind, but I warn you—"

Occula laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well, doan' run away, then, will you?"

Thereupon she stood up and made her way across the hall to where Elvair-ka-Virrion was sitting. Maia could see them in conversation, Occula smiling and gesturing, Elvair-ka-Virrion evidently asking several questions and nodding at her replies. At length he beckoned to a slave, gave some instructions and then, as the latter accompanied Occula out of the hall, resumed his conversation with the man beside him.

A minute or two later the slave returned and, helped by two others, began putting out several of the lamps.

Throughout supper the hall had been bright with lamplight—brighter, indeed, than was customary at the High Counselor's. Now, as the lamps went out by ones and twos until only about a quarter of those in the hall were left burning, Maia felt a tremor of apprehension; half exciting, as though someone were about to begin a tale of ghosts or demons; but half disturbingly real—an onset of anxiety and foreboding. What had Occula arranged with Elvair-ka-Virrion? The young Urtan had angered her; and Maia knew her well enough to feel trepidation. She remembered the previous occasions when she had seen Occula angry—at Puhra, and in Lalloc's depot on the night when they had arrived in Bekla. Yet what possible scope for violence could she have here, a slave-girl among the aristocracy of the upper city? That Occula could be both impulsive and tempestuous she had seen: so far she had always got away with it; had always just skirted the brink of self-destructive rashness. Part of the admiration and affection which Maia felt for her stemmed from the knowledge that she had always been ready to run real risks whenever she felt herself to have been slighted; and from the fear that one day, doing it once too often, she might herself be swept away in the fury welling up like blood from the wound still unhealed in the daughter of Silver Tedzhek enslaved among barbarians.

She felt herself on the point of getting up to go and beg Elvair-ka-Virrion to call Occula back, to tell her not to go on with it—whatever it might be. Yet she did not. Even now, in her absence, Occula's ascendancy prevailed. It wasn't for the likes of her to interfere with Occula. If Occula was about to destroy them both—for what would become of herself without her?—then it must be so. She remained seated among the Urtans, saying nothing, yet full of uneasy misgiving.

She looked up quickly as Nennaunir appeared beside them; Nennaunir came, as it seemed, to take Occula's place. Probably Elvair-ka-Virrion had sent her. "I asked her to promise Eud-Ecachlon she'd be nice to him." Eud-Ecachlon, hands spread wide and mouth open with delight, made as though to draw her, too, down upon his knee; but Nennaunir, smiling graciously, seated herself on his left, opposite Maia, the two younger men sliding down the bench to make room for her. She seemed about to speak, but before she could do so the knock and boom of drums began to sound from the corridor on the other side of the colonnade.

Conversation ceased. Everyone became attentive, waiting. From the dimmed light and the mounting throb of the drums it was plain that some kind of show was about to begin. Most of the central floor was now in shadow, tracts of near-darkness or dappled gloom separating small islands of brighter light. The pool, too, lay dark, for the lamps below its floor were all out.

From the colonnade, however, light still showed, and here the drummer now appeared, a black silhouette between two pillars, his hands, the fingers tipped with bronze thimbles, rising and falling as they beat here and there upon the long, curved drums hung at his waist.

At this time in Bekla's history, five or six different styles of drumming were practiced in various parts of the empire, as accompaniments to as many kinds of dance. The drummer was using lembas-a pair of drums usually played by a single musician; one, the zhua, made of skin stretched over a deep bronze bowl; the other, the lek, a hollow cylinder of bola wood, thin in some parts, thicker in others, capable, in skilled hands, of producing many different tones—hollow knockings, rattlings, sharp tappings, quick, pattering sounds, wooden susurrations and light scrapings like those of branches in the wind. A skilled player could lull his hearers like a stream in summer, or fill them with the frenzy of men eager to storm and loot a burning town.

The drummer, his lembas swinging slightly on his heavy belt as the upper part of his body swayed between one and the other, was beating out a deep, unvarying rhythm on the zhua, while from the lek came abrupt, intermittent sounds, like pecking or the snapping of sticks. The effect, in the darkened hall, was as though the quiet of some shadowy place—a ravine or forest—was being broken, at irregular intervals, by creatures moving unseen; concealed perhaps, yet not far away.

Slowly the drummer descended the steps and, keeping among the shadows, moved away into a recess of the hall, where he remained invisible, the sound of his lembas continuing to act like a spell upon his audience. Nennaunir leant across the table towards Maia.

"What is it—a kura? No one said anything to me about a kura."

"I don't know," answered Maia. The wine, the half-darkness and the unrelenting, rhythmic drumming were combining to intensify her disquiet. She found that unconsciously she had taken hold of something unnaturally cold and limp, and then realized that it was Bayub-Otal's withered hand. However, he did not remove it, and to spare him possible embarrassment she let it remain lightly in her own for some moments before gently relinquishing it and resting her chin on her fingers.

And now Occula was among them: Occula, a dark, lithe shape against the light at the top of the steps, the feathery tunic devoid of color, its outline like a shaggy cape, like a pelt stripped from a beast. As Maia stared up at her she turned quickly to one side, glanced down and gave it a little twist and tug, as though releasing it from invisible briars. Surrounded by the all-enveloping shadows and the throbbing beat of the zhua she came limping slowly, wearily down into the forest glade of the hall, picking her way between clumps of tall weeds, ducking under low branches, momentarily shading her eyes from a quick dazzle of last light falling between the trees. She was tired out—exhausted: they could all see that. She must have come miles: and the spear she seemed to be carrying, though only a light, throwing javelin, would weigh heavy after so many hours afoot.

The light was fading. The drums said so. Yet as the day-time forest sank to sleep, another forest began to stir, rousing itself to people the falling night. The girl, it was clear, was unsure of her way. She hesitated, listening and gazing, once or twice retracing her steps to seek another track. The rustlings and whisperings about her were growing more numerous; yes, and more purposeful—sounds of night and active movement, no longer sounds of evening. Yet she herself stole among the trees without a sound, in and out of the last light; pausing to rest, raising one forearm to lean upon a tree-trunk, round which she peered fearfully into the dark, empty stillness beyond.

The rhythm of the zhua was changing—slower, more ponderous as the light ebbed. In the darkness, some larger creature was moving. The girl could hear it. Noiselessly she vanished between the hanging creepers, laying down her spear to part them with both hands and drawing it after her into the recesses of the undergrowth. Not a soul present but could feel, now, her dread as the unknown beast came nearer.

Was it only by chance that it approached, or had it scented what it was seeking?

When the girl reappeared it was unexpectedly; from a different place, to which she must have crept, smooth as a serpent, through the close cover. She had shed her cloak now and stood naked, a black shadow in the forest agile and wary as a hunting cat. Her spear was raised, balanced in one hand. This was kill or be killed; and she, perforce, must become savage as her pursuer. She sniffed at the dark air, teeth bared, sweat gleaming on her bare shoulders. As she stole on through the gloom, the onlookers felt themselves brushed by the wing of fear—that fear which springs from the knowledge that sight and hearing are bewitched and playing false. Eud-Ecachlon, staring fascinated at the padding, prowling girl, suddenly started and turned, clapping one hand to his shoulder as though he felt the prick of thorns or the bite of an insect. A warm air seemed moving, foetid with the odor of swamp-mud and decaying leaves.

The rapid, tremolo chattering of the lek had become the croaking of frogs.

But was this the huntress or the beast that came forth at length from the blackness at the foot of the steps? Its savage eyes, in a brief glimmer of lamplight, were bloodshot, its wide nostrils dilated, lips parted and speckled with beads of foam. It slunk on and disappeared.

Then, not ten seconds after, out of the same shadow emerged a different being—the huntress, wild with terror, tripping and falling, clambering up again, dropping her spear as she staggered and rocked on the brink of the dark pool. The drums closed in upon her as in desperation she slid into the water, slipping under without a sound, reappearing on the further side as a glistening shape which dragged itself through the reeds and was gone once more between the trees.

Now there were only the drums in the dark—the ripple of the water, the heavy, squelching tread of the pursuing beast in the swamp-shallows. Maia felt ready to scream with terror. If only this dread had been disclosed in a picture, or at a distance—if only it had not been spread like a net round one's feet, if the very walls had not been dissolved, in the gloom, by the ceaseless booming and knocking of the drums—if only the drums would stop! From behind her came the quick, frightened sob of some other girl.

Nennaunir was sitting still as stone, her knuckles white against the table.

Yet it was no beast or huntress who finally reappeared, but a third being, neither brute nor human; one the very sight of whom was enough to wither the hearts of any encountering her in that solitude. Like a snake she rose up from the forest floor, swaying and ghastly. Blood dribbled from her mouth. Her unblinking eyes, fixed and staring like those of a corpse, yet held in them a malevolent intelligence more dreadful than any human hatred. The rolling of the drums poured from her outstretched hands, from her shuddering loins and thighs. She quivered, exultant with the power of evil. As she slowly raised one black arm they saw—they all saw—in her hand the gleam of a knife, reflective yet transparent; a horrible, spectral knife, which she tossed and caught, plunged into her arm and left hanging there as she bobbed and nodded grotesquely, bent-kneed and grinning. She drew it out bloodless and it disappeared in her hand; yet an instant later, as she stretched out her arm, it seemed to leap towards her out of the dark, out of the stench and blackness of the swamp.

And now she was advancing, step by silent step across the floor, and as she did so the young Urtan Ka-Roton, powerless to resist, stood up to meet her; the bridegroom of death, his lips smiling, his arms outstretched towards her arms. Onward he moved in a trance, pace by pace, never taking his eyes from hers. Coming to the edge of the pool, he received the knife from her hand. Yet in the very moment that he plunged it into his breast, it once more vanished and he fell forward, prone on the ground as the drums at last faded and ceased.

Eud-Ecachlon, leaping to his feet, ran forward, knelt and lifted Ka-Roton's head on one arm. All across the hall men and girls were crying out and starting from their places. The slayer had disappeared in the tumult, by the very act of her departure dissolving her own spell. The drums were a quenched fire. By the pool there was no one to be seen but Eud-Ecachlon, dashing water into his friend's face as he repeated his name again and again.

Elvair-ka-Virrion called for lights and little by little the secure, familiar hall was disclosed. Supported by Eud-Ecachlon, Ka-Roton stood up, wiping the sweat from his face and gazing about him dazedly. It was obvious that he could recall little or nothing of what had happened. Slowly he walked back to his place and sat down, but seemed either not to hear or not to comprehend the questions of his friends. After a few minutes Elvair-ka-Virrion came over to inquire after him and, seeing how matters stood, suggested to Eud-Ecachlon that someone had better take him home. Then, turning to Maia and speaking as though he were angry, he said, "Where's your friend?"

"I don't know, my lord."

"Did you know she meant to do this?"

"No, my lord: I thought as she'd spoken to you about it. Didn't she say—"

But as Maia uttered these last words, Elvair-ka-Virrion simultaneously began, "Didn't she say—": whereupon neither of them was able to suppress a smile. He, turning quickly back to Eud-Ecachlon, said, "I'm sorry: I hope your friend'll soon be feeling himself again. I assure you I had no idea beforehand how this was going to turn out."

Eud-Ecachlon nodded, murmuring a few polite words, and Elvair-ka-Virrion returned to his own table.

Maia was feeling sick, as much with nervousness on Occula's account as with the fear and excitement which she herself had undergone. Wiping her sweating forehead, she leaned forward and closed her eyes. As she remained thus, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, Bayub-Otal's voice beside her said, "Perhaps you'd be the better for some fresh air. Shall we stroll outside for a minute or two?"

She stood up, and they walked side by side through the colonnade and out into the empty corridor. At the far end, near the foot of that same staircase which she had descended earlier in the evening, they came upon a doorway leading outside, into a covered gallery overlooking the courtyard, where two or three lamps were burning. The outer rails, no more than waist-high, supported an arcade open upon the night, and here, in the cool, rain-scented air, they took a few turns. The light wind was blowing westward, away from them. Maia, stretching out one arm, could not feel the rain under the lee of the wall.

"Better?" asked Bayub-Otal.

"Oh, 'twas nothing, really, my lord. Just give me a turn, that's all. Reckon I wasn't the only one, either."

"I thought that girl was a friend of yours?"

"She's my closest friend."

"But you've never seen her do that before?"

"No, I never. Nor I never knew she was going to, neither."

"Was that why it frightened you?"

"Well, didn't it you?"

"Not particularly."

"Oh, go on with you!" said Maia, unthinkingly. "Can't have been no one in the hall as wasn't frightened! Not when she—you know, the knife?"

"What knife?"

"The knife she give your friend—at the finish—and her mouth all over blood—"

"I saw the blood. That's an old stage trick—they keep it in a little bladder in their mouths. But I didn't see a knife."

"Well, I did. And your friend must have, 'cos he took it from her and stabbed himself."

After a few moments' reflection Bayub-Otal replied, "Well, as to that, we can ask him, I suppose."

"That wouldn't signify. Like enough he won't remember. He looked that way to me."

Again Bayub-Otal was silent. At length he said, "Well, Maia—it is Maia, isn't it?—I'll tell you what I say, and you can believe me or not as you please. Your friend performed a very original act, which led up to her being able to hypnotize Ka-Roton. He's young, of course, and not terribly clever; it's always easier with that sort of per-son. The darkness and the drums, and that trick of being able not to blink—it's very effective. Quite possibly he did think he saw a knife. But I'm surprised to hear you did."

Maia was nettled. "There was plenty more than me saw it, my lord."

He half-turned towards her where he sat on the stone parapet. Below them, the surface of the wet courtyard glistened for a few moments as a door was opened and shut. "So your friend's a sorceress?"

"Occula? Never!"

"Well, what I'm really asking is whether she often makes people—people like Ka-Roton, I mean—think they see what isn't there?"

"I told you; I've never seen her do anything like that before."

"Other things?"

"Why don't you ask her, my lord?"

She half-expected a sharp rebuke, but to her surprise he only replied, "Well, perhaps I will. Shall we go back now? Someone ought to pay the girl her two hundred meld. In fact, I will. She certainly won them."