Still, the man had no subtlety. Hearing his booming laugh in the mustering yard as he gathered the warriors for his escort, Mara wondered what prompted his clumsy effort at subversion. Boredom might be taking him to Sulan-Qu in the heat of high noon, to bathe with other soldiers and exchange stories, and perhaps to wrestle or gamble . . . or to sport with a woman of the Reed Life.
Buntokapi had returned to Mara’s bed soon after childbirth, but now that the Acoma had a living heir, she had no reason to play the dutiful wife. Buntokapi’s clutching, slobbering embrace revolted her, and she had lain still, sharing none of his passion. The first night he seemed not to notice, but on the second he became angry.
The third night he complained bitterly of her lack of enthusiasm and the fourth night he beat her, then slept with one of her maids. Since then she had met his advances with no response at all, and at the last he had fallen to ignoring her.
But now Buntokapi set off for the city for the third time in ten days, and Mara was intrigued about the reason. She called Misa to open the screen, and the moment her husband’s litter and his small escort of warriors jogged smartly down the lane to the Imperial Highway, she sent her runner for Nacoya.
The old woman answered her summons tardily, but there seemed no lack of respect in her bow. ‘My mistress requires?’
‘What takes our Lord Bunto into the city so much of late?’ asked Mara. ‘What gossip do the servants tell?’
Nacoya glanced significantly at Misa, who awaited her mistress’s wishes by the screen. Warned that the nurse’s answer might be best not shared with servants, Mara sent her maid to fetch the noon meal. As Misa hurried off, Nacoya sighed. ‘As you would expect. Your husband has taken an apartment in the city so he may visit a woman.’
Mara sat back. ‘Good. We must encourage him to stay in the city as much as possible.’
Nacoya brightened with curiosity. ‘Daughter of my heart, I know some things have passed, never to be regained, but I am still the only mother you have known. Will you not tell me what you are planning?’
Mara was tempted. But her scheme to regain control of her house bordered on treason to her Lord. Although Nacoya had already deduced Mara’s intent to dispose of Buntokapi, the plan was too risky to confide. ‘That is all, old mother,’ Mara said firmly.
The nurse hesitated, then nodded, bowed, and departed, leaving Mara staring at the baby, who had begun to stir in his crib. But Ayaki’s well-being was far from her thoughts. That her Lord had a woman in the city might provide exactly the opportunity Mara required. Hoping the gods were looking after her at long last, she had begun to ponder the options of this new development when Ayaki’s healthy wail spoiled thought. Mara lifted the fussy baby to her breast and winced as the little boy bit hard upon her nipple. ‘Ow!’ she said in surprise. ‘You are your father’s son, no doubt.’ The baby quieted as he began to suck, and Misa returned with a tray. Mara ate the foot without interest, her mind busy with a plan more risky than anything her old nurse might have guessed. The stakes were high. One misjudgement, and she would lose all chance of regaining the title of Ruling Lady; indeed, if she failed, the sacred honour of her ancestors might be shamed past hope of expiation.
Mara poured a cup of chocha and sat back upon her heels as Gijan, son of Lord Detsu of the Kamaiota, nodded politely. His gesture concealed biting impatience, but even his critical nature could not fault the young wife’s hospitality. She had seen him comfortable in the finest cushions, brought him refreshment, and sent immediate word to her husband that an old friend had arrived unexpectedly and was waiting to greet him.
Gijan lounged back, admiring the rings on his hands. His nails were clean to the point of fussiness and his jewellery ostentatious, but the rest of his dress showed restraint. ‘And where might Lord Buntokapi be?’
‘On some matter of busines in the city, I expect.’ Mara displayed none of the pique a young, pretty wife might feel at a husband’s absence. Aware that Buntokapi’s guest held her under closest scrutiny, she fluttered one hand offhandedly. ‘You know these things are beyond me, Gijan, though I must say he spends a great deal of time away from home.’
Gijan’s eyes narrowed, his self-absorbed admiration of his jade now an obvious act. Mara sipped her chocha, certain now that this guest had come to spy for the Anasati. No doubt Lord Tecuma wished information on how his third son fared as Lord of the Acoma. He had sent a handsome messenger, perhaps hoping the contrast to Buntokapi would entice a young wife to speak freely. After the barest interval the young noble said, ‘Is that rascal neglecting his affairs then?’
‘Oh no, Gijan.’ To avoid giving her father-in-law an excuse to pry further into Acoma affairs, Mara qualified expansively. ‘If anything, Lord Buntokapi is too rigorous in his attention to details. He spends long hours at his desk.’