Beyond the opened screens, dusk shadowed the shoreline, and the lake gleamed like a sheet of hammered silver in the afterglow. Stars pricked the zenith one by one, while slaves with wicks and oil jars made their rounds to light the lamps. Soon full darkness would fall, and then the danger would increase. Mara followed the other guests to the banquet hall, doing her best to match their mood of gaity and enjoyment. But with all her heart she wished for a warrior’s role, to fight with armour and sword until death found herself or her enemies; to walk in fear through a crowd who smiled and laughed was to be undone one strand at a time, until dignity became a mask to concealmadness.
The repast served by Jingu of the Minwanabi to honour the Warlord was prepared by some of the finest cooks in the Empire; yet Mara ate without tasting what she took from dishes ornamented with rare metal rims. She strove throughout the meal to ease Nacoya’s strained nerves, all the while aware that Papewaio struggled not to fall asleep in his tracks. Without asking, she knew that he had stood guard the past night without rest, and though he was a strong man, keen of mind and determined of will, he could not be expected to maintain his facade of vigilance much longer. Mara excused her party from the festivities at the earliest opportunity.
Black shadows thrown by deep hoods made the expressions of the Great Ones unreadable, but their eyes followed Mara as she rose. To their right, Almecho smiled broadly, his elbow digging the Lord of the Minwanabi in the ribs. And from every part of the hall eyes watched with contempt as the Lady of the Acoma helped her aged First Adviser to her feet.
‘I wish you pleasant dreams,’ murmured Desio of the Minwanabi as the small party moved off towards the hallway.
Mara was too weary to respond. A moment later, when the Lord of the Ekamchi detained her in the doorway for one last jab at her expense, Papewaio saw her shoulders stiffen. The idea that his mistress should suffer even one more slight from this fat little man ignited the tall warrior’s temper. Before Mara could speak, and before the other guests could become aware of the situation, Papewaio grasped the Lord of the Ekamchi by the shoulders and moved him forcibly through the doorway, out of view of the diners.
The Lord of the Ekamchi gasped in astonishment. Then his plump cheeks quivered from outrage. ‘Wrath of the gods!’ he swore as the tall warrior towered over him. ‘You ignorant oaf, do you think you can handle me without penalty?’
Behind him, his own bodyguard rattled weapons, but they could not strike past their master’s fat bulk to reach Papewaio.
To all this bluster the Strike Leader of the Acoma returned a bland indifference. ‘If you trouble my Lady any more, I will do more than handle you,’ he warned. ‘I will handle you with violence!’
Ekamchi spluttered. His guards half drew their swords, restrained only by the fact that Papewaio could harm their master long before they could move.
‘Step aside,’ said Mara clearly to the Lord who blocked the passage. ‘Even you would not dare to mar the Warlord’s birthday celebration with bloodshed, Techachi of the Ekamchi.’
The fat Lord reddened further. ‘For a servant to lay hands on a man of my rank carries a death sentence,’ he carped.
‘I see,’ said Mara, nodding sagely.
Papewaio raised his helmet, revealing the black rag of shame already tied to his brow. He smiled.
The Lord of the Ekamchi paled and stepped aside, mumbling a hasty excuse. He could not demand the execution of a man already condemned; and if he ordered his guards to attack, he only granted the wretch an honourable death by the blade. Caught in his quandary, and hating Mara the more for it, he stalked back into the banquet.
‘Hurry along, old mother,’ Mara whispered to Nacoya. ‘The corridors are not safe for us.’
‘Do you think our suite is any less of a trap?’ the old woman returned, but she hastened her steps according to her mistress’s wishes.
Yet as Mara had guessed, privacy and quiet did much to restore Nacoya’s wits. Changed into more comfortable lounging robes, and seated upon cushions, the old woman began dryly to instruct her mistress irrthe ways of survival in a hostile court.
‘You must set lamps outside, opposite each of the screens,’ she insisted. ‘This way, an assassin trying to enter will throw a shadow against the paper, and you will see him coming. Also, lights inside should be placed between you and the windows, so that your own form will not show up as a silhouette to anyone lurking outside.’
Mara nodded, wisely allowing Nacoya to ramble on. The tricks with the lamps she had learned from Lano, and upon entering her suite she had detailed one of her maids to arrange things accordingly. Soon she and the old woman sat bathed in light, the stolid bulk of Papewaio on guard at the entrance.
With nothing else to distract her, Mara felt the pressure of her own concerns. She confided those worries to her First Adviser. ‘Nacoya, what of the fifty warriors stationed at the barracks? The Minwanabi oath of surety does not include our retinue and I fear their lives may be threatened.’
‘I think not.’ The old woman’s confidence was unexpected after her day-long siege of insecurity.