The statement caused Mara to blush. During her time at the temple, she had been instructed to put things of the flesh aside. Nacoya’s concern that the girl might be unable to deal with this question was unfounded, for within Mara the struggle to forget had been difficult. She had often caught herself daydreaming of boys she had known during childhood.
Mara rubbed nervously at the bandage that covered her injured palm. ‘Mother of my heart, I am still a maiden. But I understand what is between a man and a woman.’ Abruptly, as if piqued, she formed a circle with thumb and forefinger of her left hand and inserted her right forefinger with a thrusting motion. Herdsmen, farmers, and soldiers used such a mime to indicate fornication. While not obscene – sex was an unselfconscious fact of Tsurani life – her gesture was common and ill became the Lady of a great house.
Too wise to rise to such provocation, Nacoya said, ‘Mistress, I know you played with your brother among soldiers and herdsmen. I know you have seen the bulls mount the cows. And more.’ Given the close proximity of Tsurani living, many times over the years Mara and her brother had been within earshot of passion, or occasionally had blundered upon an encounter between slaves or servants.
She shrugged, as if the matter were of little account.
‘Child, you understand what passes between men and women, here.’ The nurse raised a forefinger to her own head. Then she pointed to her heart. ‘But you do not understand here,’ and she pointed toward her groin, ‘or here. I may be old, but I remember.
‘Mara-anni, a Ruling Lady is also a warrior. You must master your body. Pain must be conquered.’ The nurse grew reflective with remembrance. ‘And at times passion is more pain than any sword wound.’ Low sunlight through the screen underscored the firmness of her features as she focused once more upon Mara. ‘Until you learn your own body, and master its every need, you are vulnerable. Your strengths, or your weaknesses, are those of House Acoma. A handsome man who whispers sweetly in your ears, whose touch rouses fire in your loins, might destroy you as easily as the Hamoi tong.’
Mara flushed deeply, her eyes ablaze. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘A Ruling Lady must be free of doubt,’ Nacoya said. ‘After your mother’s death, Lord Sezu took steps to ensure that the desires of the flesh would not tempt him to act foolishly. Lust for the daughter of the wrong house could have destroyed the Acoma as surely as if he had lost a battle.
‘While you were at the temple, he had women of the Reed Life brought to this house – ‘
‘Nacoya, he had such women stay here when I was younger. I remember.’ Mara drew breath impatiently and, by the heavy scent of akasi, realized that slaves were trimming the gardens beyond the screens.
But the cloying air seemingly had no effect upon Nacoya. ‘Lord Sezu did not always act for himself, Mara-anni. Sometimes the women came for Lanokota, that he might learn the ways of man and woman, and not fall prey to the ambitions of wily daughters and their fathers’ plots.’
The idea of her brother with such women unexpectedly offended Mara; yet the proximity of slaves forced her to maintain propriety. ‘So, again I say what do you suggest?’
‘I will send for a man of the Reed Life, one skilled in-‘
‘No!’ Mara cut her off. ‘I will not hear of this!’
Nacoya ignored her mistress. ‘ - ways of pleasure. He can teach -‘
‘I said no, Nacoya!’
‘ – all you need to know, that soft touches and sweet words whispered in the dark will not beguile you.’
Mara verged upon outright rage. ‘I command you: say no more!’
Nacoya bit back her next words. The two women locked eyes and for a long, silent minute neither moved. At last the old nurse bowed her head until her forehead touched the mats upon which she knelt, a slave’s sign of supplication. ‘I am ashamed. I have given offence to my mistress.’
‘Go! Leave me!’
The old woman rose, the rustle of her clothing and her stiff old back reflecting disapproval as she departed. Mara waved away the servant who appeared to inquire after her needs. Alone, surrounded by the mannered and beautifully calligraphed scrolls that honourably masked what actually constituted a cruel and deadly mesh of intrigue, Mara attempted to sort out the confusion created by Nacoya’s suggestion. She could put no name to the fear that rose up to engulf her.
Holding herself, Mara sobbed silently. Bereft of her brother’s comfort, surrounded by conspiracy, threat, and the unseen presence of enemies, the Lady of the Acoma bent her head, while tears soaked the bandage on her hand, stinging the scabs underneath.