If it goes to market, Mara thought pointedly. She sat back. ‘The chocha-la harvest is not due for another three months, Lord Jidu. You expect me to wait until then for two thousand centuries of metal – and my indemnity?’
‘But you must,’ the Lord of the Tuscalora exclaimed miserably. He motioned in distress to the short, thin man who sat at his master’s side. Sijana, the Tuscalora hadonra, shuffled scrolls in a hasty review of the estate’s finances. He whispered furiously in his master’s ear and paused, expectant. Lord Jido patted his^ stomach with renewed confidence. ‘Actually, Lady, two thousand centuries can be paid now – plus another five hundred to repair the damage you’ve suffered. But a single payment of that size would prevent me from expanding the planting for next year. Lord Buntokapi understood this and promised to allow a favourable repayment schedule, five hundred centuries a year for the next four years – five years to cover the restitution.’ The hadonra’s nod of satisfaction turned to dismay; a deep flush rose from Jidu’s collar as he realized his words had contradicted his earlier insistence that his debt was to be left to wait upon the outcome of future wagers. Since Mara was certain to seize upon this small but shameful lie, he quickly added, ‘I’ll pay interest, of course.’
Heavy silence fell, punctuated by Jidu’s heavy breathing and a near-imperceptible creak of armour as Papewaio shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Mara used her good hand to open her fan, her manner poisonously sweet. ‘You argue like a moneylender, while Acoma soldiers lie dead outside your door? If my late Lord chose to offer terms on the debt, so be it. Produce the document and we shall abide by the terms.’
Jidu blinked. ‘But our agreement was spoken, Lady Mara, a promise between noblemen.’
The fan vibrated in the air as Mara reined back rage. ‘You have no proof? And yet you haggle?’
With his field held hostage, Jidu shied from bringing up matters of honour again. ‘You have my word, my Lady.’
Mara winced. The Lord of the Tuscalora had created a situation where she could only call him forsworn, an insult no ruler could ignore. Etiquette demanded that the Lady of the Acoma accept the agreement, thereby gaining nothing for the next three months, and then only a fifth of what was due, or resume the useless slaughter.
The fan poised motionless in her hand. ‘But this debt is overdue already, Lord Jidu,’ she said. ‘Your hadonra’s failure to acknowledge inquiries in timely fashion brought about this impasse. I will brook no more delays, or your fields will be put to the torch.’
‘What do you propose?’ he asked weakly.
Mara rested her pretty fan on her knee. Though her wound obviously taxed her, she judged her moment perfectly, offering a counterbargin before Jidu’s wits could recover. ‘My Lord, you own a small strip of land between my northern and southern needra fields, cut down the middle by the dry stream bed.’
Jidu nodded. ‘I know the land.’ He had once offered to sell that same acreage to Mara’s father; Sezu had declined, because the land was useless. The banks of the dried stream were rocky and eroded and much too steep to cultivate. A crafty expression crossed the features of the Lord of the Tuscalora. ‘Have you a need for that land, my Lady?’
Mara tapped her fan, thoughtful. ‘We recently gave the use of our upper meadow to the cho-ja. Now, Jican might find it useful for those lower fields to be connected, perhaps with a plank bridge so the needra calves can cross without injuring their legs.’ Recalling the stray note Sezu had left penned in one corner of a very tattered map, Mara stifled a smile. As if conceding a favour, she added, ‘Lord Jidu, I am willing to cancel your debt in exchange for the land and all privileges granted along with it. Also, you will vow not to oppose the Acoma for the remainder of your life.’
The wizened hadonra stiffened in poorly hidden alarm; he whispered in his master’s ear. The Lord of the Tuscalora heard him, then smiled unctuously at Mara. ‘As long as the Tuscalora are allowed access to the Imperial Highway for our wagons, I’ll agree.’
The Lady of the Acoma returned a gracious wave of her fan. ‘But of course. Your workers may drive your wagons down the gully to the highway anytime they wish, Lord Jidu.’
‘Done!’ Lord Jidu’s cheeks bulged into a smile. ‘My word upon it! And gladly.’ Then in an attempt to reduce tensions, he bowed low. ‘I also salute your courage and wisdom, Lady, that this unfortunate confrontation has brought a closer bond between our two families.’