‘Of course, my Lord. Your wish is my desire. I have conceived of several appropriate insults to answer the Acoma bitch’s presumption.’ The adviser licked his lips and added, ‘To ask for your son Jiro as consort . . . well, that would be brilliant’ – the Lord of the Anasati shot his adviser a curious look, which caused his ritual gown to list left. Servants flocked to him and fussed until it was properly adjusted once again. Chumaka continued his comment – ‘Brilliant, if it had even the remotest hope of success. A marriage with any of your sons would bind you to the Acoma in an alliance. Not only would that deplete your resources to protect them, but then the witch could turn her full attentions to the Lord of the Minwanabi.’
The Lord of the Anasati curled his lips with thinly disguised distaste for the man just named. ‘I’d marry her myself if I thought she had even the remotest possibility of defeating that jaguna in the Game of the Council.’ He frowned at mention of the foul-smelling carrion eater; then his knuckles tightened on his wand as he thought aloud, ‘But what does she hope to gain? She must know I would never allow her to take Jiro as consort. The Acoma is the only family older than mine, after the Five Great Families. If it falls, and by some chance one of the Five Greats falls . . .
Chumaka finished the often repeated wish of his Lord ‘. . . then the Anasati becomes one of the Five Greats.’
Tecuma nodded. ‘And someday one of my descendants might rise to be Warlord.’ He cast a glance to the left, where his three sons waited upon a slightly lower dais.
Closest to his father sat Halesko, heir to the Anasati mantle. Beside him was Jiro, the most clever and able of the three, already likely to marry any one of a dozen great Lords’ daughters, perhaps even a child of the Emperor’s, bringing the Anasati another powerful political tie. Next to him slouched Buntokapi, intently picking dirt from under his thumbnail.
Studying the lumpish visage of his youngest, the Lord of the Anasati whispered to Chumaka, ‘You don’t suppose by some act of providence she’d take Bunto, do you?’
The counsellor’s thin eyebrows rose. ‘Our intelligence indicates she may be a bright girl, if unseasoned, but for her to ask for Bunto as consort would . . . show a little more cleverness than I’d expect, Lord.’
‘Cleverness? In asking for Bunto as consort?’ Tecuma twisted around in disbelief, causing his bows to droop and a second flurry of fussing from his servants. ‘Are you bereft of your senses?’
Regarding the stolid third son, the counsellor said, ‘You might be tempted to say yes.’
With a look close to open regret, the Lord of the Anasati sighed. ‘I would have to say no, I suppose, wouldn’t I?’
The First Adviser clicked his tongue through his teeth. ‘Even Bunto would bring her too much political power.
Consider, if the Minwanabi dog accidentally killed Bunto while obliterating the Acoma . . . don’t forget the mess he made by sending that Hamoi assassin.’
The Lord of the Anasati nodded. ‘Yes, I’d be forced to see his family suffer vengeance. It’s a shame Minwanabi bungled Mara’s assassination, but I guess that was to be expected: the man’s worse than a jaguna; he has the subtlety of a needra bull in a breeding pen.’ Tecuma shifted in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, and his bows teetered. As servants began their approach, he froze, keeping his costume in place. ‘I didn’t mind humbling her father – Sezu was certainly eager to get the best of me whenever he could. But that was certainly within the rules of the game. This business of blood feuds . . .’He shook his head, and the heavy headdress slipped almost beyond his ability to prevent its fall. Chumaka reached out and gently steadied it while Tecuma continued. ‘And going to all this trouble to humiliate his brat seems a waste of time.’ Looking around the hot chamber, he said, ‘Gods, all these musicians, and not one note of entertainment.’
Fussy with detail to the point of being pedantic, Chumaka said, ‘They must remain ready to play the formal entrance music, Lord.’
The Lord of the Anasati sighed in exasperation, his frustration only partly due to the droning of his counsellor. ‘I was enjoying that series of new compositions the musicians had prepared this month. Now the entire day is wasted. Perhaps they could play something until Mara arrives?’
Chumaka shook his head slightly as perspiration rolled over the bulb of his nose. ‘Lord, any breach of etiquette and the Lady of the Acoma gains from the insult.’ Though by nature more patient than his master, even he wondered why the girl’s retinue was taking so long to cross the central court. To the nearest servant he whispered, ‘Find out what’s causing the delay.’
The man bowed and slipped unobtrusively through a side door. He returned to the First Adviser within moments with his report. ‘The Lady of the Acoma sits before the doors, master.’
Short-tempered at last, Chumaka whispered, ‘Then why doesn’t someone ring the gong and admit her?’
The servant glanced uncomfortably at the main entrance, guarded still by the costumed forms of the ceremonial door openers. With a helpless gesture he whispered, ‘She complained of the heat and ordered scented damp towels and cool drinks brought for herself and her retinue so they could all refresh themselves before their appearance, master.’