Daughter of the Empire (36 page)

Turning her mind to the tasks before her, Mara dismissed Lujan and his warriors. With Keyoke and Papewaio at her side, she returned to the cool and the comfort of her chamber. First upon her agenda the next day was a journey to Sulan-Qu, for if Arakasi’s information was correct, a Minwanabi spy resided in the town house owned by the Acoma. Buntokapi’s concubine, Teani, must be dealt with at the earliest opportunity.

The erstwhile Lord of the Acoma had avoided the fashionable quarter of town for his dwelling. The side street where it lay was tidy and quiet, removed from the noisy thoroughfares of commerce, but still an easy walk to the public wrestling arenas. Mara stepped from her litter, sandals crunching gently over ulo leaves, which shed seasonally during the dry months. Accompanied by a retinue that included both Papewaio and Arakasi, she stepped up to the wide doorway whose posts were carved into the decorative forms of warriors in battle array. A strange servant opened the screen.

He bowed deeply. ‘I bid the Lady of the Acoma welcome.’

Mara acknowledged the greeting with the barest wave of her hand and stepped across the threshold into shadow tinged scarlet by the sunlight that filtered through the hangings. An aroma of sweet spices filled the air, mixed with furniture oil and a woman’s perfume. The house staff, numbering four, sank to their knees, awaiting
Mara’s command as she surveyed the fine rugs, a shell-inlaid weapons rack, and chests enamelled and set with red gems. Her husband’s town house was a cosy enough nest, she decided. But the taste and the decor of the place were influenced by a mind other than that of her late husband. Buntokapi would never have set marble statues of nymphs by the doorway, and the paintings on the screens were of flowers and graceful birds, not the battle scenes he invariably chose for himself.

Mara waited until Papewaio and Arakasi reached her side. The sword carried by the former was not for show, and the latter wore an officer’s plumes, to disguise his true purpose; but in the end Mara did not require the Spy Master’s guidance to spot the woman who had won her husband’s heart, all for the motive of spying for the Minwanabi. Though Teani bowed submissively with the other servants, she could never be mistaken for other than Buntokapi’s mistress.

Mara studied her profile and understood her husband’s obsession. The concubine was a truly beautiful woman, with unblemished skin and hair touched by sun-gold and red – though Mara suspected that effect might have come from artifice rather than nature. Even though she was kneeling, the light silk of the concubine’s robes draped a ripe, soft figure with breasts that were high and well formed despite being large, a small waist, and flaring hips. Mara’s own body seemed boyish in comparison, and for no good reason the fact rankled. For every minute Buntokapi had been gone from the estate, his wife had thanked the gods; yet now the stunning beauty of the woman he had preferred irked Mara. A voice remembered from the temple warned, ‘Beware vanity and false pride.’ Mara almost laughed. Yes, she was feeling wounded vanity and injured pride. And yet fate had been kind in an odd and unexpected way.

Jingu of the Minwanabi had sent this woman to further his plot to destroy the Acoma. But instead, Teani only managed to distract Buntokapi, enabling Mara to realize her plans more quickly. And the ultimate aim of those plans was the strengthening of House Acoma … and the destruction of the Minwanabi. Mara savoured the irony in silence. Teani must go back to her master ignorant that her true role had been uncovered. Let Jingu think this woman had been banished by a jealous wife.

Prudently, Mara motioned for two of her soldiers to stand guard by the door. Then, stepping ahead of her bodyguards, but keeping carefully beyond reach of a knife thrust, she spoke to the kneeling concubine. ‘What is your name?’

‘Teani, mistress.’ The woman kept her eyes cast downward.

Mara distrusted her subservience. ‘Look at me.’

Teani raised her head, and Mara heard a slight stir from the warriors who looked on. The concubine’s golden, heart-shaped face framed lovely eyes, almost amber in colour. Her features were perfect, and sweet as the honey in the hives of the red-bee. But beyond beauty, Mara saw something that made her hesitate. This woman was dangerous, as much a threat as any player in the Great Game. Yet the Lady of the Acoma spoke no hint of her conclusion aloud. ‘What are your duties?’

Still upon her knees, Teani said, ‘I served your husband as a maid, mistress.’

The Lady of the Acoma almost laughed at the woman’s brazen act. To call herself a maid while sitting upon her heels in a robe more costly than any Mara owned save for her ceremonial attire was an insult to human intelligence. Brusquely Mara said, ‘I think not.’

Teani’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing. Then Mara understood: for the briefest instant the concubine
had wondered whether her role as spy was discovered. To disarm any suspicion, Mara enquired after the other servants. ‘What are your duties?’

The staff identified themselves as a cook, a gardener, and a maid, facts Mara already knew from the intelligence given her by Jican. She ordered the three of them to the estate and told them to ask the hadonra for new duties. They left quickly, glad to be avoiding the coming confrontation between their late Lord’s wife and his mistress.

When the room was empty save for Mara, Teani, and the soldiers, Mara said, ‘I think we shall have no need for your services at the estate house.’

Teani’s poise remained admirably unbroken. ‘Have I displeased my mistress?’

Mara stifled an urge to smile. ‘No, on the contrary, you spared me a great deal of pain, inconvenience, and irritation over the last few months. Yet I am not as adventuresome in my tastes as some ladies of great houses; my appetites do not turn towards members of my own sex.’ She glanced at the fading bruise that mottled the skin over Teani’s collarbone. ‘You seem to have shared my husband’s taste for … rough sport. Your talents would go to waste on my estates – unless you think you would care to entertain my soldiers?’

Teani’s head jerked, ever so slightly; she managed not to expel her breath in a hiss of anger, and Mara was forced to admiration of her action. The insult was great; as a courtesan or mistress, Teani would have a certain legitimacy in Tsurani society. In ancient times there had been little difference between a lord’s courtesan and wife in Tsurani culture. Had Mara died before her husband, any real courtesan of Buntokapi’s might have been permanently installed in the Acoma house. And if Teani survived both wife and master, a Ruling Lord’s resident mistress had certain legal rights and privileges of inheritance.
A woman of the Reed Life was considered a craftsperson or even an artist in the ways of pleasure. But a camp follower was a woman of the meanest class. Anywhere but in a camp of war, the women who followed the armies of the Empire were shunned and despised. And they had no honour. Teani had been named a whore, and if the women had been warriors Mara would now be fighting for her life.

The concubine only glared at Mara. Struggling with her self-control just enough to convince, she pressed her forehead to the floor, red-gold hair almost brushing the toes of her mistress’s sandals. ‘My Lady, I think you misjudge me. I am an accomplished musician and am skilled in the arts of massage and conversation. I know the seven ways to rid the body of aches and pain: by pressure, by stroking, by rubbing, by herbs, by smoke, by pins, and by realignment of the joints. I can quote passages of the sagas from memory and I can dance.’

No doubt the woman was capable in all the named skills, though Buntokapi had probably availed himself of little other than an occasional massage, or a song before indulging in sex. But Teani was also an agent and, likely as not, a trained assassin. With Buntokapi dead, she needed only one opportunity to rid her Minwanabi master of both Mara and Ayaki, ending the Acoma forever.

Dread of Jingu’s plots caused Mara to respond sharply. Not allowing Teani the courtesy of rising from her knees, she said, ‘You’ll have little difficulty finding yourself another position. A maid blessed with such talents as yours should easily catch the fancy of some great Lord, one who would be eager to have you at his side. Within the hour a factor will arrive to close down this house in preparation for selling it and all the furnishings. Take whatever gifts my husband left you and depart, for nothing of the Acoma shall remain here.’ She paused and
regarded Teani’s ripe curves with contempt. ‘And of course no trash shall be left behind for the new owner.’

Mara spun and walked through the door, as if the concubine she had dismissed were now beneath her notice. Only the observant eyes of Arakasi saw Teani release the iron control she had exercised for the deception of her mistress. An expression of naked hatred settled upon the young woman’s face; her beauty became a cruel thing, black and twisted and murderous to behold. And in that moment Arakasi observed that the insults of Mara of the Acoma would be carefully remembered, that each might be separately avenged.

Borrowing the authority of his officer’s plumes, the Spy Master seized the initiative and assigned two warriors to remain on the premises to see his Lady’s orders carried out. Then, before Teani had bridled her rage enough to remember his face, he slipped swiftly through the door.

Outside, as he hurried into place beside his mistress, Mara said, ‘Is she the one?’

Arakasi unhooked the chin strap of his helm so he could speak without being overheard. ‘Indeed, my Lady. Teani is the spy. Until she arrived in the city, she was a favourite with the Lord of the Minwanabi and shared his bed on a regular basis. Why she was chosen to spy upon Lord Buntokapi is not clear, but she must have convinced her master she could serve his interests.’ They reached the litter, dead leaves obscuring the conversation from chance eavesdroppers. Even on the quietest side street, Arakasi exercised his customary caution. As he helped Mara onto her cushions, he whispered, ‘What Teani did before she came to Minwanabi service our agent cannot say.’ He directed a meaningful glance at the town house. ‘I will rest easier when my men have had the chance to discover more about her, for I think you have made an
enemy, Lady. Only I saw the expression in her eyes as you left. It was murder.’

Mara rested her head back, eyes half-closed. Wisely or not, she dismissed the issue, for the next step in her plans demanded all of her attention. ‘Kill me for duty, kill me for personal reasons, the risk is no more.’

Her slender body stiffened against the jostling motion as the slaves lifted the litter. Arakasi fell into step, with Papewaio on the other side. Over the tramp of marching feet he murmured, ‘There you are wrong, mistress. Some might falter in their resolve if they are motivated solely by duty. But to avenge a personal slight, many care nothing if they perish, as long as their foe dies with them.’

Mara opened angry eyes. ‘You are saying I acted the fool?’

Arakasi did not flinch from her regard. ‘I suggest that in future my Lady weighs her words with more caution.’

Mara sighed. ‘I shall take your advice to heart. If Keyoke had been with me, he would probably have been frantically scratching his chin with his thumb.’

‘That’s Papewaio’s habit,’ said Arakasi, obviously puzzled.

His mistress smiled. ‘Your observation is very keen. One day I shall have to explain that warning sign to you. Now let us go home, senior officer, for the heat grows even as we speak, and much business remains to be attended to.’

Arakasi saluted smartly. Playing the part of an Acoma Strike Leader brazenly, for all present knew of his inept swordplay, he ordered the guards to surround the litter bearing the Lady of the Acoma during her return to the estates.

As late afternoon painted purple shadows across the paving, another litter set out through the north gate of
Sulan-Qu. Once on the Imperial Highway, the bearers wearing the badge of the Guild of Porters turned towards the Holy City. They maintained a leisurely pace, as if the client behind the curtains wished their services for sightseeing and a breath of fresh air in the countryside. When, after two hours, she ordered a stop for rest, the bearers gathered by a roadside well a short distance off. They were all freemen, members of the Commercial Guild of Bearers, hired by those who needed to travel but without a retinue of slaves to carry them. Granted rest an hour ahead of contract, they munched upon the light fare carried in their hip bags and whispered admiringly of the woman who had commissioned them for this journey. Not only was she stunningly beautiful, but she had paid them fine metal for what so far had proved an exceedingly easy job.

Presently a pot seller stepped out of the general flow of traffic, his wares dangling from throngs that affixed them to a long pole balanced across his shoulder. He halted beside the litter, apparently to catch a breather. His angular face was red from exertion, and his eyes beady and quick. Attracted by the rattle of his crockery, the woman behind the curtains motioned him closer. Pretending to examine a pot, she said, ‘I am glad you had not reached Sulan-Qu yet. It would have complicated things.’

The trader mopped his brow with a fine silk cloth. ‘What has passed?’

The woman curled her pretty lip and let the pot fall with a sour clank. ‘As I suspected. The Acoma bitch would not allow me into her household. Jingu was a fool to think she might.’

The pot seller who was not a merchant exclaimed in annoyance and examined his piece for chips. When he found none, his manner appeared to ease. ‘The Lord of the Minwanabi listens to his own counsel first.’

The woman traced the fancy enamel ornamenting a slop jar with an exquisitely manicured nail. ‘I will return to Jingu’s side. He will regret this setback in getting an agent into the Acoma house, but he will have missed me.’ Her lips shaped a dreamy smile. ‘I know there are things he misses about me. None of his other girls have my … skills.’