Daughter of the Empire

‘That is all.’ Mara waved in dismissal, then stood thoughtfully, racking her mind for other matters that needed to be called to her husband’s attention. Yet as she plotted, she feared. The path she had chosen was perilous; no law and no person could protect her if she stepped wrongly. The sunlight upon the painted screen suddenly seemed very dear. Mara closed her eyes and recited the teachings of the sisters of Lashima to herself for what seemed a very long time.

 

Mara winced at the sound of Buntokapi’s huge hand striking flesh. Another slave would sport a bruised cheek or black eye in the morning. Braced for the inevitable onslaught, she was unsurprised when the screen to her quarters slid open with no knock in warning. Even when he was not angry, Buntokapi seldom employed the courtesy her rank normally entitled.

 

‘Mara,’ he began, his fury near the point of explosion; and Mara cursed inwardly as he strode in, his battle sandals carving up the floors for the second time that week. Fortunately, the slaves who repaired the damage lacked the right to complain.

 

Buntokapi stopped, sweating under his heavy armour. ‘I have spent days with these important business matters Jican claims I must personally attend to! I go out to drill my soldiers for the first time in a week, and when I am tired from the sun, the first thing I find is more . . . of these!’ He threw down a heavy sheaf of documents. ‘I grow bored! Who oversaw all this before I came here?’

 

Modestly Mara lowered her eyes. ‘I did, husband.’

 

Buntokapi’s anger dissolved into astonishment. ‘You did?’

 

‘Before I asked for you in marriage, I was Ruling Lady.’ Mara spoke lightly, as if the matter were of small importance. ‘The running of the estate was my duty, as it is now yours.’

 

‘Aie!’ Buntokapi’s frustration was palpable. ‘Must I oversee every tiny detail?’ He yanked off his helm and shouted for assistance. A servant appeared at the door. ‘Bring a robe,’ Buntokapi commanded. ‘I’ll not stand in this armour another moment. Mara, help me.’

 

Mara rose awkardly and came to her husband, who stood with arms held out straight. Touching him as little as possible, for he was dirty, she unfastened the buckles that held the breast and back plates together. ‘You may, if you choose, delegate some of these tasks. Jican is capable of taking care of the daily operations of the estates. I can give him the benefits of my opinion if you’re too busy.’

 

Buntokapi shrugged the lacquered plates off over his head and sighed in relief. Unaccustomed to lifting, Mara struggled with the weight, until her husband reached one-handed and tossed the heavy armour to the floor. He tugged the light gambeson over his shoulders, and spoke through a muffling layer of cloth. ‘No. I want you looking after our son.’

 

‘Or daughter,’ Mara shot back, nettled that a wife might do a body servant’s chores but not tally accounts. She knelt and unbuckled the green leather greaves from her husband’s hairy calves.

 

‘Bah, it will be a boy. If not, we shall have to try again, heh?’ He leered down at her.

 

Mara showed none of her revulsion, but untied the cross-gartered sandals, which were as crusted with filth as the broad feet they protected. ‘As my Lord wills.’

 

Buntokapi peeled away his short robe. Nude except for a loincloth, he unselfconsciously reached under to scratch his groin. ‘Still, I will allow Jican to make decisions about the business matters he has been in charge of since your father’s death.’ The servant arrived with the clean robe, and the Lord of the Acoma quickly donned it without calling for a bath. ‘The hadonra is competent. And he can still come to me for important decisions. Now I plan to spend some time in Sulan-Qu. Several of my friends are-‘

 

He paused, puzzled, as Mara suddenly clutched at the cloth of her dayrobe. She had been having mild contractions all morning, but this was strong, and her face drained of colour. At last her time had come. ‘Bunto!’

 

The usually violent-tempered man was suddenly both delighted and alarmed. ‘Is it time?’

 

‘I think so.’ She smiled calmly. ‘Send for the midwife.’

 

Solicitous for the first time in his life, Buntokapi was furiously patting Mara’s hand to the point of inflicting bruises when the midwife came, followed in an instant by Nacoya. The two of them chased him away with a briskness no husband in the Empire could withstand. Buntokapi left like a whipped dog, looking over his shoulder as he disappeared through the screen.

 

Raymond E. Feist's books