‘Lady,’ the tall barbarian scolded gently. ‘Lujan is waiting with a message.’
‘What?’ Now fully wakened, Mara sat up. Loose hair spilled like ribbons over her shoulders as she clapped sharply for a servant to bring a robe. Across the command tent, seen as a shadow against the lamplit antechamber, Lujan stalked the breadth of the carpet in long strides, his officer’s helm crooked in his elbow. Quickly the Lady of the Acoma shoved her hands into waiting sleeves. She rose, leaving Kevin fumbling for his trousers, and hurried through the fringed partition between the rooms.
‘What’s amiss?’ she said in response to Lujan’s agitation.
The Acoma Strike Leader completed a swift bow. ‘Lady. Come quickly. I think the best thing would be for you to see for yourself.’
Made tolerant by curiosity, Mara followed her officer, pausing only to slip on the sandals brought to her by a servant as she stepped into the thin light of dawn.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and she halted very quickly, colliding with Kevin, who hurried less gracefully after her. Involved with fastening his buttons, and still barefoot, he had not seen her stop.
Yet his clumsiness raised no imprecations. Mara was utterly absorbed by the sight of seven motley figures who descended the dunes just beyond the perimeter of her camp. They were short, almost dwarf-like in stature. Their robes were fringed with beads of glass, horn, and jade, and their hair was braided. The ends were tasselled in colours, though the rest of their clothing was drab. And around the wrist of each, in varied and elaborate patterns, were blue tattoos like bracelets.
‘They look like tribal chiefs,’ Mara said in wonderment.
‘So I thought,’ Lujan replied. ‘And yet they come alone, and unarmed.’
‘Fetch Lord Chipino,’ Mara ordered.
Her Force Commander inclined his head in his usual wry fashion. ‘I have already taken that liberty.’
Then, acting purely on instinct, Mara added, ‘Ask our sentries to disarm. Now. At once.’
Lujan directed a suspicious glance at the approaching figures, then shrugged. ‘Let us pray the gods are with us. After Tasaio’s performance yesterday, the clan chiefs will have small cause to love us.’
‘That’s just what I am hoping,’ Mara said quickly.
She stood, a frown on her face, while Lujan carried out her wishes. All around the camp, Acoma soldiers removed their sword belts and laid their weapons flat upon the sand.
‘You think these chiefs come as peace emissaries?’ said a voice, Chipino’s, still gruff from sleep. The Lord of the Xacatecas stepped up to Mara’s side, his robe sash half-tied in his haste.
‘That’s what I am counting on,’ Mara murmured.
‘And if they are not?’ Chipino prompted. He sounded dryly interested rather than worried.
And Mara smiled back. ‘You guess right, my Lord, I am not without reservations. Lujan was told only to ask the sentries to disarm. The reserve troops, no doubt, are even at this moment being mustered into armour behind the cover of the command tent.’
Lujan stepped back into view from that very quarter, looking faintly sheepish. ‘Someone has to keep a weather eye open for trouble,’ he said cheerfully.
Then his levity faded, and he, too, looked southward, to where the seven small visitors paused by the still rows of sentries. The one in the lead, who wore the most beads, performed a flourishing salute.
‘Let them pass,’ called Lord Chipino. ‘We are willing to parley.’
The sentries obediently parted, and without speech the desert men came through. They walked on short, bandy legs across the camp, looking neither to the right nor to the left. Unerringly they proceeded until they reached the Lord and the Lady before the tent. They stopped, arrayed in a semicircle, and stared without speaking like sand-carved wooden icons, their beads swinging gently in the breeze.
‘Send for an interpreter,’ Lord Chipino said softly to one of Mara’s servants. Then, taking the Lady’s hand, he led her forward two measured paces. Together Lord and Lady inclined their heads. In the sign language of the desert tribes, they held forth opened hands, signifying suspension of hostilities.
At once the lead chieftain repeated his salute, which involved a series of gestures that framed his nose, mouth, and ears. He bowed, Empire style, his beads jouncing briskly on their fringes. Then, quite at odds with his precise movements, he broke into excited speech.
The interpreter, a rotund little fellow hired out of llama, had to hustle to arrive in time to catch the gist, for the desert man’s onrushing babble abruptly ceased.