Kevin also watched the dock workers, fishermen, and labourers, the occasional beggar and street child interrupting the organized flow of commerce. ‘The common folk are never caught up in the affairs of the powerful — unless they have the misfortune to find themselves in the way. Then they die. Otherwise, their lives go on, each day of work like the next.’
Troubled by an undercurrent of bitterness in his tone, Mara studied the man she had come to love. The breeze ruffled his red hair, and the beard she could never quite become accustomed to. He leaned intently against the rail, the set of his shoulders stiff, the result of the scabs left by battle. The wrist beneath her hands was still bandaged, and the look in his eyes held a bleakness, as if he saw sorrow in the sunlight. She wanted to ask him his thoughts, but a shout from the shore distracted her.
The boatman cast off lines. Polemen began their chant, and the craft slipped away from Kentosani and turned downriver on the seaward pull of the Gagajin. Afternoon breezes snapped the pennons above the canopy, and Mara felt her heart lift. Tasaio had been defeated, and she was returning safely home. ‘Here,’ she said to Kevin. ‘Let us sit with a cool drink.’
The boats passed beyond the lower boundary of the Holy City, and the banks showed the green of land under cultivation. . The smell of river reeds mixed with the rich aroma of spring soil and the pungency of ngaggi trees. The towers of the temples receded, and Mara drowsed contentedly, her head against Kevin’s thigh.
A cry from the shore aroused her. ‘Acoma!’
Her Force Commander hailed back from the prow of the first boat, and presently the servants were all pointing to a cluster of tents at the river’s edge. A war camp of impressive size spread over the meadow, and from the highest pole a green banner with a shatra bird emblem blew in the wind. At Mara’s signal the steersman changed course for the bank, and by the time the boat reached the shallows a thousand Acoma soldiers waited to greet their mistress. Mara marvelled at their number, and her throat tightened with emotion. Scarcely ten years before, when she had assumed the mantle of Ruling Lady, there had been but thirty-seven left to wear the Acoma green . . . .
Three Strike Leaders greeted her litter and bowed as Kevin assisted her out onto firm soil. ‘Welcome, Lady Mara!’
The warriors cheered as one to see their mistress again. The three officers formed ranks and escorted her through the troops to the shady awning of the command tent.
There Keyoke waited, standing tall upon his crutch. He managed a formal bow ana said, ‘Mistress, our hearts are joyous at the sight of you.’
Fighting a sudden rush of tears, Mara answered, ‘And my heart sings for the sight of you, dear companion.’
Keyoke bowed at the kindness, and moved aside so she might enter and settle in comfort on the pillows piled upon the thick carpets. Kevin sank to his knees beside her. He kneaded her back with the hand that had sustained no injury, and under his touch he felt her tension dissolve into quiet contentment.
Still at his post by the entrance, Keyoke saw the calm that settled over his mistress’s face. As he had in the past for Lord Sezu, he faced the outer world, where Lujan approached with Arakasi, Strike Leader Kenji, and the few hale survivors from the night of the bloody swords. A secret smile twitched the old retainer’s lips as he held up a hand in restraint.
‘Force Commander,’ said the former holder of that office, ‘if I may presume. There are times when it is best to let matters wait. Return to your mistress in the morning.’
Lujan bowed to Revoke’s experience and called to the others to share a round of hwaet beer.
Inside the cool tent, Kevin glanced questioningly at the old man, who nodded his head in approval, then slipped the ties on the door curtains and let them slap gently closed. Outside the door now, Keyoke faced the sunlight. His craggy features remained impassive, but his eyes held a clear light of pride for the lover of the woman he counted the daughter of his heart.
Arakasi’s messenger had made very plain what the Acoma owed to Kevin’s courage with a sword. Keyoke’s grim face softened a fraction as he considered the stump that had been his right leg. Gods, but he was getting soft in his dotage. Never had he thought to see the day when he would be grateful for the impertinence of that redheaded barbarian slave.
Evening shadows dimmed the great hall of the Minwanabi in the hour Lord Tasaio returned. Still clad in the armour he had worn on his trip upriver, his only concession to formality the silk officer’s cloak he had tossed over his shoulders, he strode through the wide main doorway. The chamber was filled. Every member of the household stood arrayed to meet him, and behind them, every second cousin and vassal that had serviced the years of warfare and conflict. Tasaio strode between their still ranks as though he were totally alone. Only when he reached the dais did he stop, turn, and acknowledge the presence of others.