The baby began to wail. Mara’s brow knitted slightly as she said, ‘But of course you don’t mean your father?’
‘Send that child off with a servant!’ Buntokapi raged. He gestured furiously at Misa, who ran to take the infant from Mara’s arms. Buntokapi kicked a pillow hard, sending it sailing into the fish pool in the garden beyond the screen. Then he resumed as if no interruption had occurred. ‘My father thinks I am stupid, and that I’ll do whatever he asks. He can go piss in the river! The Acoma are not his to command!’ Buntokapi paused, his face dark purple. ‘No, I don’t want him soiling my fish. Tell him to go downstream off my lands, then he can piss in the river!’
Mara hid her hands in the fabric of her robe. ‘But surely if the Warlord – ‘
Buntokapi cut her off. ‘If the Warlord himself arrives here, do not send even him along to my town house! Is that understood?’ Mara regarded her husband in shocked amazement. Bunto’s rage redoubled. After being repressed for two days with the Lord of the Jandawaio, his tantrum was impressive. ‘Even Almecho can damn well wait upon my pleasure. If he does not wish to wait here, he can sit in the needra pens, if he prefers. And if I don’t get back the day he arrives, he can sleep in the needra shit, for all I care, and you can tell him I said so.’
Mara pressed her forehead to the floor, almost in the bow of a slave.’Yes, my Lord.’
The obeisance forestalled her husband, who longed to strike out with his fists now that his anger had found a focus. ‘And another thing. All these messengers you keep sending. I want them stopped. I come home enough to oversee the running of my holdings. I do not need servants disturbing me throughout the day. Is that understood?’
He bent swiftly, snatching his wife upright by the collar. She replied stiffly, her breathing hampered by his knuckles. ‘You do not wish to be disturbed, and all messages are to stop.’
‘Yes!’ Bunto shouted into her face. ‘When I am resting in town, I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason. If you send a servant to me, I will kill him before he can tell me what you say. Is that understood?’ He shook her slightly.
‘Yes, my Lord.’ Mara struggled feebly, her slippers all but lifted clear of the floor. ‘But there is one matter here -‘
Buntokapi pushed her roughly backward, and she tumbled into the cushions. ‘Enough! I will hear nothing more.’
Mara raised herself valiantly. ‘But, husband -‘
Bunto lashed out with one foot, catching the hem of Mara’s gown. Cloth ripped, and she cowered, her hands protecting her face. He shouted, ‘I said enough! I will not listen to another word! Have Jican take care of any business. I am returning to town immediately. Do not disturb me for anything!’ With a last kick in Mara’s direction, he spun and stalked from her quarters. As his footsteps faded, distantly Ayaki could be heard crying.
After the barest of prudent intervals, Nacoya rushed to her mistress’s side. Helping her upright, and shaking with fright, she said, ‘Mistress, you said nothing to your husband about the message from his father.’
Mara rubbed the reddening bruise on her thigh. ‘You saw, Nacoya. My Lord husband granted me no chance to relay his father’s message.’
Nacoya sat back on her heels. Grimly she nodded. ‘Yes, that is true, my Lady. My Lord Buntokapi did indeed not give you the opportunity to speak.’
Mara straightened her torn robe, her eyes fixed significantly on the ornamented scroll that had arrived that morning, announcing the impending arrival of her father-in-law and his most august travelling companion, Almecho, the Warlord of Tsuranuanni. Then, her bruises forgotten beside the enormity of her husband’s commands, she smiled.
10 – Warlord
The servants hurried.
As anxious as the rest of the household staff in the face of the coming visit, Nacoya sought her mistress through hallways crowded with last-minute activity. Artists blotted brushes after refurbishing the screens, and slaves trooped to and from the kitchens with foods and drink especially imported to please the tastes of guests. Nacoya wove through the confusion, muttering. Her bones were too old to take kindly to haste. She dodged a bearer carrying an immense load of cushions and finally found her mistress in her private gardens. Mara sat beneath a jo fruit tree, her son asleep in a basket by her side, and her hands at rest in the fabric of a blanket she had been sewing with embroidered animals for Ayaki. By the work still left to be done, Nacoya judged the Lady had not minded her needlework for most of the afternoon. Not for the first time, the old nurse wondered what the girl might be planning; and as had become her habit since Buntokapi’s assumption of the lordship, she bowed without asking.