Papewaio stepped away from the others, then dropped to one knee in the grass. The shadow of the ceremonial gate darkened his face, utterly hiding his expression as he drew his sword and reversed it, offering the weapon hilt first to Mara. ‘Mistress, I beg leave to take my life with the blade.’
For a long moment Mara stared uncomprehendingly. ‘What are you asking?’
‘I have trespassed into the Acoma contemplation glade, my Lady.’
Overshadowed by the assassination attempt, the enormity of Papewaio’s act had not registered upon Mara until this instant. He had entered the glade to save her, despite the knowledge that such a transgression would earn him a death sentence without appeal.
As Mara seemed unable to respond, Keyoke tried delicately to elaborate on Pape’s appeal. ‘You ordered Jican, Nacoya, and myself not to accompany you to the glade, Lady. Papewaio was not mentioned. He hid himself near the ceremonial gate; at the sound of a struggle he sent the gardener to fetch us, then entered.’
The Acoma Force Commander granted his companion a rare display of affection; for an instant the corners of his mouth turned up, as if he acknowledged victory after a difficult battle. Then his hint of a smile vanished. ‘Each one of us knew such an attempt upon you was only a matter of time. It is unfortunate that the assassin chose this place; Pape knew the price of entering the glade.’
Keyoke’s message to Mara was clear: Papewaio had affronted Mara’s ancestors by entering the glade, earning himself a death sentence. But not to enter would have entailed a fate far worse. Had the last Acoma died, every man and woman Papewaio counted a friend would have become houseless persons, little better than slaves or outlaws. No warrior could do other than Papewaio had done; his life was pledged to Acoma honour. Keyoke was telling Mara that Pape had earned a warrior’s death, upon the blade, for choosing life for his mistress and all those he loved at the cost of his own life. But the thought of the staunch warrior dying as a result of her own naivete was too much for Mara. Reflexively she said, ‘No.’
Assuming this to mean he was denied the right to die without shame, Papewaio bent his head. Black hair veiled his eyes as he flipped his sword, neatly, with no tremor in his hands, and drove the blade into the earth at his Lady’s feet. Openly regretful, the gardener signalled his two assistants. Carrying rope, they hurried forward to Papewaio’s side. One began to bind Papewaio’s hands behind him while the other tossed a long coil of rope over a stout tree branch.
For a moment Mara was without comprehension, then understanding struck her: Papewaio was being readied for the meanest death, hanging, a form of execution reserved for criminals and slaves. Mara shook her head and raised her voice. ‘Stop!’
Everyone ceased moving. The assistant gardeners paused with their hands half-raised, looking first to the head gardener, then to Nacoya and Keyoke, then to their mistress. They were clearly reluctant to carry out this duty, and confusion over their Lady’s wishes greatly increased their discomfort.
Nacoya said, ‘Child, it is the law.’
Gripped by an urge to scream at them all, Mara shut her eyes. The stress, her mourning, the assault, and now this rush to execute Papewaio for an act caused by her irresponsible behaviour came close to overwhelming her. Careful not to burst into tears, Mara answered firmly. ‘No . . . I haven’t decided.’ She looked from face to impassive face and added, ‘You will all wait until I do. Pape, take up your sword.’
Her command was a blatant flouting of tradition; Papewaio obeyed in silence. To the gardener, who stood fidgeting uneasily, she said, ‘Remove the assassin’s body from the glade.’ With a sudden vicious urge to strike at something, she added, ‘Strip it and hang it from a tree beside the road as a warning to any spies who may be near. Then cleanse the natami and drain the pool; both have been defiled. When all is returned to order, send word to the priests of Chochocan to come and reconsecrate the grove.’
Though all watched with unsettled eyes, Mara turned her back. Nacoya roused first. With a sharp click of her tongue, she escorted her young mistress into the cool quiet of the house. Papewaio and Keyoke looked on with troubled thoughts, while the gardener hurried off to obey his mistress’s commands.
The two assistant gardeners coiled the ropes, exchanging glances. The ill luck of the Acoma had not ended with the father and the son, so it seemed. Mara’s reign as Lady of the Acoma might indeed prove brief, for her enemies would not rest while she learned the complex subtleties of the Game of the Council. Still, the assistant gardeners seemed to silently agree, Such matters were in the hands of the gods, and the humble in life were always carried along in the currents of the mighty as they rose and fell. None could say such a fate was cruel or unjust. It simply was.