‘Child, the Empire is vast, and many are the lords and masters whose ambitions turn their hearts hard with cruelty. Hapless servants often suffer beneath the rule of such men. But from such adversity wisdom springs. The servants have learned, as you shall, that the codes of honour can be two-edged as a weapon. Every word has two meanings, and every action, multiple consequences. Without compromising loyalty or honour, a servant can make the life of a cruel overlord a living hell.’
Mara regarded the leaves of the ulo, dark, serrated patterns notching small windows of sky. ‘Like you and Keyoke and Jican, the day Papewaio rescued me from the Hamoi tong,’ she murmured dreamily.
To answer would border upon treason. Stony-faced and silent, Nacoya only bowed. Then she said, ‘I will summon the midwife for you, Lady. She owns the wisdom of the earth and will tell you how to conceive with all possible speed. Then your Lord need not trouble your sleep with his lust, and the Acoma name will be secured by an heir.’
Mara straightened upon her cushions. ‘Thank you, Nacoya.’ She patted the old woman’s hand and rose. But before she turned to go, the nurse looked deep into the girl’s eyes. She saw there the same pain, and a measure of fear; but also she saw the bright spark of calculation she had come to know since Lord Sezu’s death. She bowed then, swiftly, to hide an upwelling surge of emotion; and as she watched Mara walk with a straight back to her quarters, Nacoya blinked and wept.
The ashes of the marriage hut cooled and dispersed in the wind, and dust rose, for the weather turned hot and dry. The days lengthened, until the summer had passed its peak.
Needra were slaughtered for the feast of Chochocan, and the freemen dressed in their best for the ritual blessing of the fields, while priests burned paper effigies to symbolize sacrifice for bountiful harvests. Buntokapi remained sober for the ceremony, largely because Mara had the servants add water to his wine. If the company of her loud-voiced husband wore upon her, no strain showed in her bearing. Only her personal maids knew that the hollowness around her eyes was hidden by makeup, and that the clothing on her slender body sometimes concealed bruises.
The teachings of the sisters of Lashima sustained her spirit. She took comfort from the counsel of her midwife and learned to spare herself some of the discomfort when her husband called her to his bed. Sometime between the midsummer feast and the next full moon, Kelesha, goddess of brides, blessed her, for she conceived. Buntokapi’s ignorance of women served well, as he accepted the news they could no longer join as man and wife until after the baby’s birth. With a minimum of grumbling he let her move into the quarters that had once been her mother’s. The rooms were quiet, and surrounded by gardens; Buntokapi’s loud voice did not carry there, which was well, because she fell ill several hours each morning and slept odd times of the day.
The midwife smiled widely and rubbed sweet oil over Mara’s belly and breasts to soften the skin as she swelled with child. ‘You carry a son, my Lady, I swear by the bones of my mother.’
Mara did not smile back. Denied a part in Buntokapi’s decisions, and shamed by the way he treated some of the servants, the Lady of the house seemed to retreat within herself. But her resignation was only on the surface. Daily she spoke with Nacoya, who gathered the gossip of the servants. While out in her litter to enjoy the fresh early autumn air, Mara questioned Papewaio until he mockingly complained he had no air left to answer. But as she adjusted to the submissive role of wife, no detail of Acoma affairs missed her grasp.
Tired of the massage, Mara rose from the mat. A servant handed her a light robe, which Mara donned, fastening it about a belly beginning to round. She sighed as she considered the baby’s father and the changes his rule had wrought in the estate. Buntokapi commanded the respect of the warriors through brutish displays of strength, and an occasional turn of cleverness that kept them wary to a man. By suddenly deciding to have battle practice or grabbing whichever soldiers were in sight to accompany him to the city without regard to what duty they had previously been assigned, he reduced the garrison to shambles on a regular basis. His habit of rearranging standing orders had Keyoke running ragged to compensate. Jican spent increasingly long hours in the outermost needra fields with his tally slate. Mara knew the hadonra well enough to interpret his growing dislike of the new Lord. Clearly, Buntokapi had little head for matters of commerce. Like many sons of powerful Lords, he thought wealth was inexhaustible, readily available for his every need.