"How far's that, then, my lord, d'you reckon?"

"Forty miles at least; it could be fifty. But with luck we ought to reach the Olmen the day after tomorrow. Can you do fifteen miles a day for three days?"

"I reckon so, my lord; but I'd go a lot easier if only I had some sandals and if I could get rid of these filthy dirty clothes."

"I think you may be able to, tonight."

Once again she felt what a strange, incomprehensible man he was. He had shown himself ready to risk his life to save-as he supposed-that of one of the most desirable slave-girls in Bekla. Now he was speaking matter-of-factly of not taking her with him to his destination. What was she to make of it? And at this rate how could she hope to obtain any information of value to the Lord General?

Dawn was now breaking along the eastern skyline in a long, smooth band of ochre, and the woodland round them was full of bird-song. The dark-red east turned first to crimson and then, as the sun itself appeared, to a dazzling gold too bright to look at. The zenith became clear blue, while before them the northern horizon lay in a purple haze, foretelling a hot, cloudless day.

Some way ahead, at the foot of an open slope, stood a grove of empress trees, covered with their mauve, trumpet-shaped blooms, and suddenly, as she looked down at them, a kynat, the purple-and-gold harbinger of summer, flew out from among the branches, uttering its fluting call. In the distance shone a soft, yellow mist of wattles in bloom, and beside the track were growing clusters of three-pe-talled trillium lilies. Stooping, she picked one and tucked it behind her ear. The return of summer had been a familiar blessing all her life, and now she responded to it almost unthinkingly, one of thousands of living creatures to whom it meant the restoration of energy and confidence. She was

lucky Maia, secure in her youth and beauty. The dread of torture was gone; the filthy prison was gone. Why look for more just now? Something would happen: things would tum out all right, as they had before.

One thing, however, remained mysterious and disconcerting-the bearing of Pillan. Plainly, he still regarded her with disquiet, though why she could not imagine. From time to time, she noticed him staring at her uneasily but then at once glancing away, as though afraid to look and yet unable not to. Since their setting out, he had not once addressed her directly, and seemed to be taking care to remain at a little distance from her. Once-it was shortly after they had turned westward off the Urtah road-when she had asked him for water, he had taken the bottle off his belt without speaking and passed it to Bayub-Otal to give to her.

At the bottom of it, she felt, there could only be some sort of superstition. Did he perhaps suppose that she had bewitched his master? She only wished she had. Or might it, after all (he being obviously a devoted servant), be nothing but jealousy? Yet he looked too old and steady a man to give way to such feelings. She hoped he was not going to make himself her enemy. His manner, however, suggested not so much hostility as a kind of perturbation and bewilderment. Well, she wasn't going to do anything about it. He'd just have to come round in his own time.

Bayub-Otal's withered hand, she came to perceive during the next hour or so, was more of a handicap to him than she had hitherto realized. During the time when she had been with him in Bekla he had seldom or never had to compass anything more awkward than eating and drinking. Now, as she saw him fumbling, however dexterously, with his sword-belt, his pack or the ties of a sandal, or merely moving in a slightly unnatural way on account of the wrist that did not coordinate like another man's; and observed how unobtrusively he contrived to minimize the disability, she began, against her natural inclination, to feel both sympathy and respect. She had not been wrong either, in judging that Pillan, though dour by nature, both liked and esteemed his master.

If Pillan was indeed a free man, she thought, as his manner suggested, he seemed hardly the sort to remain, however well-paid, in the personal service-dangerous,

too-of someone he did not hold in regard. Besides, in a cryptic way the two of them were on familiar terms. They had a kind of game, played now and then to their evidently mutual though unexpressed amusement, which consisted of Bayub-Otal exaggerating the role of the gilded gentleman, while Pillan responded in the part of the gruff, earthy retainer.

"That purple blossom on the trees is remarkably beautiful, Pillan, don't you think?"

"Don't last long."

"Yet it's quite exquisite while it's here."

"All right for them as likes that sort of thing."

Bayub-Otal sighed deeply; Pillan spat on the ground; and both walked on in silence.

She began to understand also why, since Bayub-Otal was regarded as a danger to Bekla, Kembri had jumped at the chance to put a spy actually in his company. In this lonely country he could never have been followed without becoming aware of it. And not only did his destination remain unknown-apparently even to himself-but as the morning wore on their very route became more and more involved and unpredictable. He was at particular pains to avoid meeting such few wayfarers as they saw, now and then, approaching from the opposite direction, and would lead herself and Pillan off the track into cover. Once, seeing two pedlars coming across an open stretch where there was no chance of concealment, he simply sat down, wrapped himself in his cloak and assumed the part of a solitary traveler resting, while Pillan and Maia walked on as though they had nothing to do with him.

Maia, still young enough to feel pride in showing two older men that she could accomplish more than they might have expected, was by this time rather enjoying herself. Nennaunir could not have walked fifteen miles; neither could Dyphna. The going was easy enough and her feet, like oxen back in the shafts after winter, were beginning to remember their manage. The men were not walking fast-indeed, she could have walked faster-but then she was not carrying a pack, and Bayub-Otal firmly refused her every attempt to take a turn with his.

By about two hours before noon the sun had become too hot for comfort. The sweat was running down Maia's back and between her breasts, and she felt altogether imprisoned in the heavy material of the tunic. When they

approached a stream and Bayub-Otal turned off the track towards it, she ran ahead and, kneeling down, first drank and then bathed her arms, feet and face. The others came up as she was shaking the water from her dripping head.

"We'll stop here," said Bayub-Otal, pointing to a yew thicket a little downstream of where they were standing. "Suitably secluded, Pillan, would you not conjecture?"

"No good at all."

"You needn't stop on my account, my lord," said Maia. "I'm not done up yet, not by a long ways."

"I dare say," said Bayub-Otal, "but if we try to go on in this heat you will be, and so shall we. Why isn't it any good, Pillan?"

"Scent. Might be usin' dogs."

"So they might. Well?"

"Best go upstream, my lord. Going down's easier, so they'd likely reckon we'd done that."

Without another word Bayub-Otal stepped into the water and began wading upstream. For a good hour they made their way through shallows and small pools, ducking under branches and clambering up the few small falls they encountered. This last, as Maia could see, was by no means easy for Bayub-Otal. Pillan, however, seemed to know from experience when his master required help and when he was better left to himself.

At length, in the full heat of the day, they came to what looked like the outskirts of an extensive forest. Once among the first trees, Bayub-Otal climbed out of the stream and sat down.