The Complete Empire Trilogy (13 page)

Chumaka continued his formal greetings. ‘The Anasati
bid welcome to our most exalted guest, the Lady of the Acoma.’

Nacoya replied as tradition dictated. ‘The Acoma give thanks to our most excellent host, the Lord of the Anasati.’ Despite her age, the old woman bore up well under the weight of the formal costume and the heat. Her voice was clear, as if she had been born to the role of First Adviser rather than nurse.

Now the formal greetings were exchanged, Tecuma pressed on to the point of the meeting. ‘We have your petition before us, Lady of the Acoma.’ A hush fell over the waiting courtiers, for Tecuma’s words offered a slight insult; to name the marriage proposal a petition implied that Mara’s social rank was inferior, and she within his power to reward or punish.

But the girl upon the ceremonial litter answered without a moment’s hesitation. She chose a tone and phrase commonly employed when filling an order with a merchant. ‘I am pleased you have no difficulty in meeting our requirements, Lord Tecuma.’

The Lord of the Anasati straightened slightly. This girl had wits and was unfazed by her welcome. Still, the day was long and hot, and the sooner this ridiculous matter was put behind, the sooner he could take to a cool pool, perhaps with some music while he bathed. Yet even with an avowed enemy the amenities must be observed. He motioned impatiently with his wand of office.

Chumaka responded with an unctuous smile and a barely perceptible bow. ‘What, then, does the Lady of the Acoma propose?’ Had Mara’s father lived, Sezu would have conducted negotiations for his son’s or daughter’s hand. But as Ruling Lady, she must contract all marriages within her house, even her own, from employing the marriage brokers who initiated the contact, to the formal meeting with the Lord of the Anasati.

Nacoya bowed, so shallow a movement that the returned insult was apparent. ‘The Lady of the Acoma seeks –’

‘A husband,’ interrupted Mara.

A stir rippled across the room, quickly stilled to a state of keen attention. All had expected to hear this presumptuous Acoma ruler request a consort, one who by law would not share in her rule.

‘A husband?’ Chumaka raised his brows, openly curious at this turn of events. Evidently this proposal surprised the Acoma First Adviser as well, for the old woman shot a glance of astonishment at the girl for an instant before regaining her formal composure. Chumaka could almost see where this unexpected turn might lead, but not quite, causing him the discomfort of an unreachable itch.

Mara responded in her own behalf, her voice sounding small in the spacious hall of the Anasati. ‘I am too young for this weighty responsibility, my Lord. I was to have been a sister of Lashima scant moments before this terrible honour was thrust upon me. My ignorance must not become a danger to the Acoma. With full knowledge of what I do, I seek a son of the Anasati to return with me. When we are wed, he shall be Ruling Lord of the Acoma.’

The Lord of the Anasati was caught speechless. Of all possible requests, this one had not been anticipated. For in one breath this girl not only had removed herself from power, but had also effectively given over control of her family to the Anasati, who numbered among her father’s oldest political enemies. So unexpected was this request, a chorus of whispers broke out among those assembled in the hall. Quickly recovering his poise, the Lord of the Anasati silenced his courtiers with a sharp glance and the barest wave of his ceremonial wand.

He stared hard at the face of this girl who had come to
seek the hand of one of his sons, then said bluntly, ‘You seek to cast your honour to my house, Lady. May I know why?’

The Anasati courtiers waited motionless for the reply. The only movement in the room was a sudden, sparkling reflection as sunlight through the doorway caught on gem-decorated costumes. Ignoring the dazzle, Mara lowered her eyes as if ashamed. ‘My position is weak, Lord Tecuma. The Acoma lands are still strong and rich, but I am only a girl, with few resources. If my house is to become a lesser power, then at least I may choose allies. My father’s greatest enemy was the Lord of the Minwanabi. This is no secret. That he and you are presently at peace is only a matter of the moment. Sooner or later you must clash.’ Her small hands clenched in her lap, and her voice rose with resolve. ‘I would ally with anyone who might one day crush the man responsible for my father’s death!’

The First Adviser to the Lord of the Anasati turned so none in the hall could see his face – it was a given that at least one of the Acoma guards would prove to be a spy who could read lips. He whispered into the ear of the Lord Tecuma, ‘I don’t believe a word of this, my Lord.’

Lord Tecuma inclined his head and answered through clenched teeth. ‘I don’t either. Yet if this girl takes Jiro as Lord of the Acoma, I gain a great house as a lifetime ally, my son rises to a rank above any I could hope for, and she’s right: sooner or later we shall have to have a final accounting with Jingu of the Minwanabi. And if we destroy the Minwanabi, a son of mine will be Lord of one of the Five Great Families.’

Chumaka shook his head in the barest motion of resignation. His Lord would be thinking that someday descendants of his in two houses might contend for the office of the Warlord. Tecuma continued his reasoning.
‘Besides, she will be but the wife of the Ruling Lord. Her husband will dictate Acoma policy. No, Chumaka, whatever Mara may plot, this is too good an opportunity to pass by. I do not think this girl clever enough to outwit us once Jiro rules the Acoma.’

Tecuma glanced at his three sons and found Jiro studying Mara with interest. By the intensity of his expression, the second son found both the rank and the girl intriguing; a sensible youngster, he should welcome the marriage. Presently the boy sought his father’s gaze and nodded yes. Jiro’s expression was a little too avid and his nod too emphatic for Tecuma’s liking. The boy knew power was a hairsbreadth from his grasp and was openly coveting it. Tecuma almost sighed; Jiro was young and would learn. Still, there was a discordant note in all this the old man didn’t like. For an instant he considered sending the girl away, leaving her to the not too tender mercies of the Minwanabi. Ambition prevented him. For his son to reach a heretofore unreachable rank, combined with the pleasure of seeing the daughter of an old enemy brought firmly, and finally, to heel, overturned his last vestige of doubt. Motioning his hovering counsellor aside, the Lord of the Anasati turned to face Mara and said, ‘You have chosen wisely, daughter.’ By naming her ‘daughter’, he irrevocably sealed his acceptance of her offer of marriage before witnesses. ‘Whom to you seek to wed?’

Nacoya barely concealed her outrage, the vigorous twitch of her fan being less to cool her face than to hide the angry shaking of her hand at this betrayal. Mara smiled. Looking nothing so much as a child whose parents had banished dreams of demons in the night, she allowed two officers to aid her in rising. According to tradition, she must now pick the bridegroom. Tecuma of the Anasati had no misgivings as his future daughter-in-law
stepped from her litter. He disregarded the sudden agitation of his First Adviser as the girl moved towards Jiro, mincing steps being all her voluminous ceremonial costume would allow. Light caught in her jewelled headdress as she passed before cushions upon which the three sons sat in full court raiment. Halesko and Buntokapi watched their brother Jiro with different expressions, Halesko’s being something close to pride, while the youngest showed open indifference.

Mara completed the formal bow of a girl to her betrothed and stepped forward. Without hesitation her hand fell upon the shoulder of the Anasati’s third son and she said, ‘Buntokapi of the Anasati, will you come and be Lord of the Acoma?’

Chumaka muttered, ‘I knew it! Just as she stepped from the litter, I knew it would be Bunto.’ He turned his attention to Nacoya, who still hid behind her fan, but whose eyes had changed from showing rage to showing nothing. Chumaka felt a sudden stab of uncertainty. Could they all have so grossly underestimated this girl? Recovering his poise, he returned his attention to his Lord.

In the Lord’s place of honour, perched above the silent, stunned ranks of the Anasati court, Tecuma sat at a loss. His bullnecked third son rose and stepped awkwardly to Mara’s side, a smile of smug self-congratulation on his face. The Lord of the Anasati urgently motioned for Chumaka to attend him and, as the First Adviser did so, whispered into his ear. ‘What is this? Why Bunto, of all my sons?’

Chumaka kept his voice low. ‘She seeks a husband she can control.’

Tecuma frowned with stormy displeasure. ‘I must stop her.’

‘Lord, you cannot. The ritual has gone too far. If you
recant your formal acceptance, you must kill the Lady and all her warriors here and now. I must remind you,’ he added, looking as though his collar had suddenly grown too tight as he surveyed the fifty Acoma guards only a half-dozen steps away, ‘your own soldiers stand
outside
this building. Even if you survived such a bloodletting – which seems unlikely – you will forfeit all honour.’

The last remark stung, for Tecuma recognized the truth. Even if he ended Mara’s existence now, he would have no moral position left; his word within the council would be meaningless, and his considerable power wasted to nothing. Flushed with ire, he whispered waspishly, ‘If only that idiot Minwanabi had killed the bitch last month!’ Then, as Mara glanced with apparent innocence in his direction, he forced himself to regroup. ‘We must turn her cleverness against her and seize the advantage, Chumaka. Jiro is still free to make a strong alliance, and Bunto …’ his voice fell silently. ‘I have never thought he would amount to much. Now he will be Lord of a great house. A malleable husband this girl may have gained, but she is an inexperienced virgin from Lashima’s order. Buntokapi shall become her overlord, the Ruler of the Acoma, and he is
my
son. For the honour of the Anasati, he will do as I require.’

Chumaka watched the unlikely couple return across the dais. He did his utmost to mask his own displeasure as Buntokapi bent his bandy legs and settled awkwardly beside Mara on the Acoma litter. Already his blunt and bored expression had changed to one none present in the hall had ever seen; the boy’s lips curled with pride that bordered upon arrogance. Something long dormant in Buntokapi was now awake, that same desire for power which Jiro had shown but a moment before. Only for Buntokapi this was no dream but a thing now in his grasp. From the set of his eyes and the sudden self-assurance in
his smile, he would clearly die before he let that power escape him. To Tecuma the First Adviser whispered, ‘I hope you are right, my Lord.’

Looking rumpled under the elaborate layers of his costume, the Ruling Lord of the Anasati did not acknowledge the comment. Yet all through the formalities, as Mara’s retainers completed the betrothal ritual and left the hall, Chumaka watched the bows on the back of his master’s elaborate robes quiver with outrage. The Anasati First Adviser knew that even if the killwing was wrapped in stifling cloth, it was no less deadly.

Nacoya fought against fatigue. Age and tension had made the day impossibly long. The lengthy, strenuous journey, added to the heat of the great hall and the shock of Mara’s unexpected behaviour, had brought the old nurse to the limit of her strength. Yet she was Tsurani, and Acoma, as well as acting First Adviser; she would be carried from the hall unconscious before she would shame her house by asking permission to retire.

The traditional betrothal feast was sumptuous, as befitted a celebration for an Anasati son. Yet this occasion was oddly restrained, with no one quite sure what was really being celebrated. Mara had been quiet through the early part of the feast, saying nothing of consequence to anyone. Her officers, Keyoke, Papewaio, and Tasido, sat stiffly formal, imbibing little or no sa wine. At least, thought Nacoya, the evening breeze had come up. Now the great hall was only warm, not roasting as it had been throughout the day.

Attention centred upon the table where the Acoma sat. Every guest in the house was an Anasati retainer or ally, and all attempted to discern the implications of Mara’s choice of husband. To all outward appearances the Acoma girl had traded control of her house for guarantees of security, a move none would applaud, but one not
entirely lacking in honour. While the Acoma would be Anasati clients for many years to come, in the future a young Acoma lord might arise and seize his own part in the Game of the Council, forging new alliances; meanwhile, the Acoma name gained the protection it needed to continue. But for this generation of Acoma retainers, Mara’s betrothal was a bitter admission of weakness. Chilly despite the summer heat, Nacoya pulled a fringed shawl over her shoulders.

She glanced to the head table and studied Tecuma. The Lord of the Anasati also showed reserve throughout the feast, his conversation sombre for a man who had just achieved an undreamed of coup over an old rival. Though gaining the Acoma lordship for Buntokapi represented great advancement in the Game of the Council, he seemed as concerned as Nacoya about this marriage, but for different reasons. His son was an unknown.

Nacoya shifted her attention. Buntokapi seemed the only celebrant who truly enjoyed himself; after a drunken hour of repeatedly telling his brothers that they were no better than he, he had shouted across the table to Jiro that now a second son would have to bow to a third son whenever they met. From the pained and frozen smile on his older sibling’s face, those occasions would clearly be few. As evening wore on, Buntokapi had subsided to loud muttering into his plate, nearly immobile from drinking sa wine during dinner and acamel brandy after.

Nacoya shook her head slightly. Jiro had looked long and hard at Mara after his brother’s first pronouncement of superiority; as dinner progressed, it was clear the girl had acquired another enemy. That afternoon, Jiro might have thought he was to be Lord of the Acoma for only a moment, but that brief presumption had been enough for him to feel betrayed, to feel that Buntokapi wore a mantle rightfully his. That Jiro was frustrated by nothing more
than unrealized expectations of his own making meant nothing. He blamed Mara. When Tecuma had sent servants to bring the ceremonial sa wine to the guests, Jiro had barely touched his cup to his lips. He had left the first moment he could without insult. Nacoya wearily forced her attentions back to the head table.