Tecuma thumped his hands upon the table, and the plates all jumped with a clink. ‘Exactly!’
Belatedly alerted to his master’s tension, Chumaka sat blinking like a night bird caught in bright light. Even inebriated, he sensed something amiss. His instincts came to the fore. Levering himself forward, he attempted to reach for his master’s sleeve. The manoeuvre overbalanced him; he caught himself short of a fall with an undignified whoosh of breath. ‘My Lord – ‘
Tecuma’s eyes remained locked upon his daughter-in-law.
The image of nervous innocence, Mara said, ‘My Lord husband said, “If the Warlord arrives, he can damn well wait upon my pleasure.”’
Chumaka sank his fist to the wrist in embroidered pillows, frozen in the act of reaching for Tecuma’s dangling sleeve. Helpless now to intervene, he watched Tecuma’s face drain slowly of colour. Chumaka looked across a room that held no movement, and through the delicate steam rising from a dozen rare dishes he regarded the reaction of Almecho.
The Warlord of all Tsuranuanni sat motionless, his still features deepening to red. All his inclination towards tolerance vanished as his eyes became burning coals of barely managed rage, and his reply cut like sharpened flint. ‘What else did my Lord of the Acoma say of me?’
Mara gestured helplessly, and directed a desperate glance at Nacoya. ‘My Lords, I . . . I dare not speak. I beg that you wait for my husband, and let him answer for himself.’ Straight, small, and pathetically fragile in her formal robes, the girl seemed lost in the cushions she sat upon. Hers was an image to evoke pity; except that the Game of the Council allowed none. As a maid with a basin hurried to her side to dab her forehead with a damp towel, the Warlord glared at Tecuma of the Anasati.
‘Ask her the whereabouts of your son, Lord, for I require a messenger sent at once to summon him into our presence. If he intends insult, let him speak in my presence.’
Mara dismissed her maid. She rallied with the formality of a Tsurani warrior facing a death sentence, though such control taxed her visibly. ‘My Lord, Buntokapi is in his town house in Sulan-Qu, but no messenger may go there, by his explicit command. He vowed to kill the next servant sent to trouble him.’
The Warlord heaved to his feet. ‘The Lord of the Acoma is in Sulan-Qu? While we wait upon his pleasure? And what, will you tell us, does he expect us to do in the meantime? Speak, Lady, and leave nothing out!’
Tecuma rose also, a serpent ready to strike. ‘What nonsense is this? Surely my son . . . not even Bunto could be so rude.’
The Warlord silenced him with a gesture. ‘Let the Lady of the Acoma speak for her husband.’
Mara bowed. Her eyes seemed too bright, the delicate shades of her makeup harsh against her pallor. With stiff ceremony, she formed a triangle with her thumbs and fingers, the ancient gesture which signified that honour must be compromised by the command of a superior. All present in the room knew that her news would bring shame. The priests who had blessed the repast silently arose and departed. The musicians and servants filed out after them, and soon the chamber held only the guests, their advisers, and the Warlord’s honour guard. Papewaio stood immobile as a temple icon behind the Lady of the Acoma’s shoulder, and Nacoya, equally still, waited by her side. Quietly Mara said, ‘My tongue will not compromise the honour of this house. My First Adviser was present when Buntokapi delivered his orders. She will answer for him, and for me.’ She waved weakly towards Nacoya.
The old woman arose, then bowed with extreme respect. Servants had helped her dress for this occasion, and for the first time Mara could recall, the pins that held her white hair were set straight. But the incongruous humour of that observation fled as the old nurse spoke. ‘My Lords, by my oath and honour, what the Lady says is true. The Lord of the Acoma did say those words as she repeated them.’
Out of patience with delays, even ones of courtesy, the Warlord of Tsuranuanni focused his irritation upon Nacoya. ‘I demand once more: what else did the Lord of the Acoma say?’