The Complete Empire Trilogy (14 page)

Tecuma looked at Buntokapi a long, hard moment, then spoke quietly to Mara, who glanced at her future husband and nodded her agreement. Buntokapi blinked, trying hard to follow the exchange, but obviously too drunk to comprehend. Tecuma spoke to Chumaka, who motioned towards a pair of servants. As the cooling evening air allowed Nacoya to catch her breath, two stout servants carried the future Lord of the Acoma off to bed. Mara waited an appropriate moment, then begged her leave. Tecuma nodded brusquely and the entire company rose in salute to the bride-to-be.

The musicians who had played throughout the evening struck up the appropriate tune while Mara bade the guests good night. As she stood with the rest of the Acoma retainers, Nacoya found Chumaka approaching.

‘You’re leaving soon?’ he inquired.

Nacoya nodded. ‘Tomorrow. My Lady wishes to return at once to our estates so that she may begin preparations for the wedding and the arrival of the new Lord.’

Chumaka spread his hands as if to indicate this was no problem. ‘I shall have a scribe work throughout the night. The betrothal documents will be ready to sign before you depart.’ He made as if to turn away, then said something unusually frank. ‘I hope for the sake of all of us this young Lady of yours hasn’t made a mistake.’

Taken off guard by this, Nacoya chose not to comment directly. Instead she said, ‘I can only hope the gods see fit to bless this union.’

Chumaka smiled. ‘Of course, as do we all. Until the morning, then?’

Nacoya nodded and departed, signalling for the two remaining Acoma retainers to accompany her. As an Anasati servant guided her to her quarters, she thought upon Chumaka’s unexpected words and wondered if he wasn’t right.

Dust rolled under the feet of marching warriors as the Acoma retinue moved slowly to rejoin the balance of their soldiers, who waited in the camp by the bridge that marked the border of the Anasati estates. Nacoya had been quiet since she joined Mara on the cushions of the large palanquin. Whatever the Ruling Lady planned, she kept her own counsel, and Nacoya chose not to ask any questions. Even though she was acting as First Adviser, she could not guide unless asked; but an old nurse could let her doubts be heard. Conjuring up images of Buntokapi’s crudities at the feast the night before, Nacoya spoke sourly to her charge. ‘I hope you can control him, mistress.’

Roused from deep thought, Mara’s eyes focused. ‘What? Oh, Bunto. He’s like a needra bull smelling the cows in season, Nacoya. All his brains are between his legs. I think he is exactly the man to gain us what we need.’

Nacoya muttered under her breath. Once the shock of Mara’s choice of Buntokapi had worn off, the old nurse had come to sense a larger plan. Mara was not simply giving up her family’s control to the Anasati in exchange for preserving the Acoma name. Since the ruse with the bandits in the hills, the girl confided only those things she felt Nacoya needed to know. Almost overnight, it seemed, the sheltered temple innocent had shown she was no longer a child. While Nacoya had doubts, even fears,
concerning the girl’s stubborn naïveté about men, Mara had forcefully demonstrated she was an aggressive player of the Game of the Council.

Nacoya reviewed the strengths and weaknesses, patterns and powers of the players in the light of her mistress’s new commitment. And what she had observed in Buntokapi made her convinced that her beloved Mara might have underestimated him. There was something about the Anasati’s third son, something dangerous that Nacoya could put no name to. Dreading how her well-ordered house would fare under such a Ruling Lord, she was drawn from her musing by Mara’s voice. ‘I wonder what’s amiss?’

Nacoya parted the curtains. Squinting against the brilliance of the afternoon sunlight, she saw Acoma soldiers arrayed along the road where they had camped. But none stood ready to march; instead they faced each other in two groups, with some distance between. Softly Nacoya said, ‘Trouble, I’m afraid.’

Mara ordered her own escort to halt. Pulling aside the gauzy hanging cloth, she approved Keyoke’s request to investigate.

With a speed that belied his age, the Force Commander left the head of the procession and hurried into the midst of milling Acoma soldiers. Both groups descended upon him, several men trying to speak simultaneously. Keyoke ordered silence, and instantly all voices ceased. After two orderly questions he called back to Mara, ‘Some difficulty arose while we were gone, mistress. I’ll have the story for you in a moment.’

Heat shimmers danced in the air above the roadway. Keyoke asked questions, received quick replies, and soon had three men stand out. He briskly marched these before their mistress’s palanquin. Even beneath dirt, and shining
runnels of sweat, Mara could see the marks of a fight upon their faces.

‘This is Selmon, my Lady.’ Keyoke pointed to a man with a torn tunic and knuckles that still bled.

‘I know.’ Mara’s expression was obscured by the deep shade of the curtains. ‘One of the newcomers.’ She used the term ‘newcomers’ for all who had recently been grey warriors. ‘With only three officers, you left him in command as acting Patrol Leader.’

Keyoke appeared pleased that Mara was conversant with his management of the soldiers, but his attention never strayed from the three soldiers. ‘Selmon seemed able enough, but perhaps I was wrong.’

Mara studied the other two men. One, Zataki, she had known for years; as a boy, he had played with Lanokota and herself. Mara remembered he had a temper, and ventured a guess as to what the problem was. ‘Zataki, Selmon gave you an order and you refused.’

Zataki lifted his chin. ‘My Lady, this Selmon ordered us to stand the first watch while he and his companions rested and ate after the long day’s march.’

Mara regarded the third combatant. ‘You are … Kartachaltaka, another newcomer. You took exception to Zataki’s refusal to obey.’

Now Kartachaltaka stiffened his spine. ‘My Lady, he and the others act superior to us and put the least desirable duties upon us whenever they may.’

Mara returned her attention to Selmon. ‘You took this one’s side?’

Keyoke hastened to answer. ‘No, my Lady. He simply sought to intervene and stop the scuffle. He acted appropriately.’

Mara rose from her cushions. Without awaiting Keyoke’s help, she stepped from her palanquin and faced the two men who had fought. ‘On your knees!’ she
commanded. Though a full head shorter than either man, the slight girl in pale yellow robes and sandals left no doubt she was the ultimate authority of the Acoma.

Armour rattled as both men instantly fell into postures of submission. ‘Attend me!’ Mara cried to the other soldiers. ‘All of you.’

Keyoke shouted, ‘Form ranks!’ The entire retinue lined up facing Mara within seconds, the two soldiers on their knees with their backs towards the comrades.

To Keyoke, Mara said, ‘What is fit punishment for such as these?’

Keyoke spoke without regret. ‘Mistress, these men must be hanged, now.’ Mara’s head jerked as she met Keyoke’s eyes. She had not expected the judgment to be so harsh. The Force Commander deliberately scratched his jaw with his thumb.

Warned by Keyoke’s gesture that serious consequences could come of her decision, Mara regarded Papewaio, who looked on, his face an unreadable mask. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded once, indicating his full agreement with Keyoke’s verdict.

Mara felt something go cold inside. She knew that if she did not act at once and without equivocation a breach might be fashioned between those who had served for years and those newly come to Acoma service. Steeling herself, Mara addressed the soldiers. Her voice held barely controlled anger. ‘There are no favoured men in this garrison! There are no longer any “newcomers”. There are no longer any “old guard”. There is no one wearing Acoma green but Acoma soldiers. Each of you swore an oath to obey and to give your lives in service to House Acoma.’

She walked purposefully along the ranks, looked into one rough face after another, until she had locked eyes with each man. ‘Some of you I have known since childhood.
Others have been with us only a matter of weeks, but each of you bears equal responsibility to wear Acoma green with honour. I have just promised to give that name to another, to ensure that the Acoma will continue to live, and more than live … someday flourish!’ Now her voice rose to a shout, her fury clearly revealed to each soldier present. ‘Whoever dishonours himself while wearing Acoma green dishonours the Acoma’ – her voice dropped to a soft, deadly sound – ‘dishonours me.’ While the men held their formations, their eyes shifted uneasily as they saw Mara turn suddenly to confront the two combatants. Looking down, she spoke to Zataki. ‘You were given a lawful order by an officer placed over you by your Force Commander. You had no other choice but to obey!’

The man fell forward, pushing his forehead into the acrid dust of the road. He uttered no words in his own defence as his mistress turned to Kartachaltaka and said, ‘And you struck a brother soldier while on duty!’ He duplicated Zataki’s gesture of abject obedience to his mistress. Bracelets chimed on her wrists; wrought of costly metal, these were the betrothal gift of the Lord of the Anasati, and that such wealth should be worn as personal adornment reminded the kneeling men of their station. They grovelled in the sun, sweating, as their mistress addressed their Force Commander. ‘These two men are guilty of betraying Acoma honour. Hang them.’

Keyoke instantly detailed soldiers to carry out the execution. For just an instant, Mara could read something in the two condemned men’s eyes: a flicker of fear. Not a fear of death, for either warrior would have gladly embraced death without hesitation; it was fear of being condemned to the shameful death of a slave: hanging. With the loss of a warrior’s honour, each knew his next turn of the Wheel of Life would be at a lower station, a
servant, perhaps even a slave. Then the proper Tsurani mask was returned. Only by bearing up properly in the face of this meanest of all deaths could either man hope for any mercy when next his spirit was tied to the Wheel.

Mara stood motionless before her litter, a statue of iron self-control, as soldiers marched the condemned to a large tree with massive branches. The two men were quickly stripped of their armour and their hands were tied behind their backs. Without ceremony or final prayer, ropes were fashioned into nooses and thrown over the tree limbs. The nooses were placed around the two men’s necks and the signal given. A half-dozen soldiers pulled hard upon each rope, seeking to snap the men’s necks and give them a mercifully quick death. Zataki’s neck broke with an audible crack and he kicked once, quivered a moment, then hung motionless. Kartachaltaka’s death was more painful, as he strangled slowly, kicking and swinging, but in the end he, too, hung motionless like bitter fruit from the tree.

Mara’s voice was flat as she said, ‘Keyoke, home.’

Abruptly, the sun seemed too bright. Overcome by the killing she had commanded to be done, Mara caught the edge of the palanquin canopy, steadying herself without betraying weakness to her soldiers. She motioned one of her slave boys, who brought her a fruit-sweetened drink of water. She sipped it slowly, striving to regain her composure, while Keyoke ordered the men formed into ranks for the march home.

Nacoya had kept her own counsel in the shelter of the litter, but as Mara stood motionless, she said, ‘Mistress?’

Mara handed her empty cup to the slave. ‘I’m coming, Nacoya. We must be off. There is a great deal to be done in the month before the wedding.’ Without further words she climbed back into the litter. As her bearers reached down to resume their burden, she settled into the cushions
beside Nacoya and her pensive silence returned. Keyoke gave the order to march, and her soldiers fell into ranks before, after, and on both sides of the palanquin, to outward appearances a single group once again.

Mara began to tremble, her eyes wide and distant. Without words Nacoya slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. The tremors continued as the Acoma retinue began its march, until Mara quivered so violently Nacoya had to gather the shaking girl in her arms. Silently the very young Lady of the Acoma turned her face into her nurse’s shoulder and smothered her sobs.

As they approached the borders of her estate, Mara considered the difficulties she faced. She had only spoken in passing to Keyoke and Nacoya since ordering the execution of the two soldiers. Mara knew that the conflict between the former grey warriors and the survivors of her father’s garrison should have been anticipated.

Blaming herself for failing to do so, Mara pulled aside her litter curtain and called for her Force Commander. As he arrived at her side she said, ‘Keyoke, why did Selmon order the older soldiers to stand first watch, rather than a mix of old and new?’

If he was surprised by his mistress’s question, he showed no sign. ‘Lady, Selmon erred by trying not to antagonize the older soldiers. He thought that by serving first duty they’d have an uninterrupted rest from meal to morning watch, and they’d appreciate it. Zataki was a young hothead, and had any of us been here’ – he motioned to himself, Papewaio, and Tasido, the three officers who had accompanied Mara into the Anasati estate house – ‘none of that would have occurred.’ He paused as he considered his next statement. ‘But Selmon did not do poorly. The conflict bordered upon open
fighting between factions, yet he managed to restrain all but the two who were punished.’

Mara nodded. ‘When we are home, promote Selmon to Patrol Leader. Our forces have grown to the point where we need more officers.’

Then Mara made one of the swift, unhesitating decisions that were earning her the respect of those who served her. ‘Promote two of our best men in our old guard as well. Choose the very best of our family’s oldest soldiers, perhaps Miaka, and make him a Strike Leader. Bring one of the new men up as well. That rascal Lujan was a Strike Leader with the Kotai. If you can’t think of anyone more able, give the rank to him.’