Afternoon cast long shadows across the grass by the spring where the needra grazed, their tails switching insects. Perched atop the wagon, Mara regarded the ragged band of outlaws who sat on the ground at the fringes of the forest eagerly finishing the meat, fruit, and thyza bread her cooks had distributed among them.
Although the meal was better than many had seen in months, the Lady of the Acoma observed a pervasive discomfort among the men. To be taken in battle was to become a slave, that was an incontrovertible way of life. The fact that Acoma honour guaranteed their status as free men, and the generous hospitality that had fed them, earned a guarded if tenuous trust. Yet this strange young Ruling Lady had not spoken of why she had contrived this odd meeting, and the outlaws remained suspicious.
Mara studied the men and found them much like the soldiers, workers, and slaves of her estate. Yet one quality seemed absent; had these men stood dressed in nobles’ robes, still she would have known them for outcasts. As the last crumbs of the meal were consumed, she knew the time had come to speak her offer.
With Papewaio and Keyoke stationed by the wagon at her side, the girl drew a resolute breath and raised her voice. ‘You outlaws, I am Mara, Lady of the Acoma. You have stolen from me, and for that are in my debt. To discharge that obligation honourably, I ask that you listen to my words.’
Seated in the front ranks, Lujan set aside his wine cup and answered. ‘The Lady of the Acoma is gracious to concern herself with the honour of outlaws. All in my company are pleased to agree to this.’
Mara searched the face of the bandit chief, seeking any sign of mockery; instead she found interest, curiosity, and sly humour. She found herself liking this man. ‘You here are counted outcasts for many reasons, so I have been told. All are considered marked unkindly by fate.’ The man with the scarred leg called out in agreement, and others shifted position, leaning raptly forward. Satisfied she had their attention, Mara added, ‘For some of you, misfortune came because you outlived the masters you served.’
A man with bark wristbands shouted, ‘And so we are dishonoured!’
Another echoed him. ‘And so we have no honour!’
Mara raised her hand for silence. ‘Honour is in doing one’s duty. If a man is sent to guard a distant holding and his master dies beyond his capacity to defend him, is he without honour? If a warrior is wounded in battle and lies unconscious while his master dies, is it his fault that he lives and his master does not?’ Mara lowered her arm with a brisk clash of bracelets, her tone changed to command. ‘All who were servants, farmers and workers, raise your hand.’
A dozen or so men complied without hesitation. The others shifted uncertainly, eyes flicking from the Lady to their comrades as they waited to see what she proposed.
‘I have need of workers.’ Mara made an encompassing gesture and smiled, ‘I will allow you to take service with my hadonra.’
Order vanished. All the bandits began speaking at once, from mutters to shouts, for the Lady’s offer was one unprecedented within the Empire. Keyoke waved his sword for silence, even as an emboldened farmer leaped to his feet. ‘When the Lord of the Minwanabi slew my master, I ran away. But the law says I am slave to the conquering Lord.’
Mara’s voice cut clearly over the confusion. ‘The law says no such thing!’ Stillness fell, and all eyes turned towards her. Poised, angry, yet seeming beautiful in her rich robes to men who had known months or even years of deprivation in the wilderness, she resumed with firm encouragement. ‘Tradition says a worker is a spoil of war. The conqueror decides who is more valued as a free man, and who is to be a slave. The Minwanabi are my enemies, so if you are a spoil of war, then I will decide your status. You are free.’
The silence at this point became oppressive, charged like the shimmer of heat waves above sun-baked rock. Men shifted restlessly, troubled by the upset of order as they knew it, for social subtleties dictated every walk of Tsurani life. To change the fundamental was to sanction dishonour and risk the unbinding of a civilization that had continued unbroken for centuries.
Mara sensed the confusion among the men; glancing first to the farmers, whose faces wore transparent expressions of hope, then to the most sceptical and hardened of the grey warriors, she borrowed from the philosophies learned at Lashima’s temple. ‘The tradition we live by is like the river that springs from the mountain lands and flows always to the sea. No man may turn that current uphill. To try would defy natural law. Like the Acoma, many of you have known misfortune. Like the Acoma, I ask you to join in turning the course of tradition, even as storms sometimes cause a river to carve a new bed.’