She unlocked a drawer in the cabinet and, without the least hesitation or searching, took out a sheet of written parchment, which she put into his hand.
"Of course, that's only a copy," she said, "but I'm sure the Lord General will show you the original if you ask him."
"What is this, esta-saiyett?" said Durakkon. "I don't wish-"
"Well, if you read it you'll know, won't you?" she said, and sat down in the window-seat.
He was about to give it back to her when his eye caught, written on the sheet, the name of his younger son. Startled, he read on.
"-embarrassing and extremely awkward if we were obliged to tell the High Baron in so many words that this young man is a grave liability as an officer. Yet he-" Here Durakkon came to the foot of the page. He hesitated a moment, then turned it and read on: Fornis watched him as he did so.
"Yet he has twice, now, shown himself unfit for action and you will understand that merely in the interests of discipline-to say nothing of the safety of others-I cannot retain him in his present command. I suggest that in the circumstances perhaps the most advisable and discreet course would be a transfer, with promotion, to the fortress at Dari-Paltesh-"
The letter, being a copy, was unsealed, but Durakkon could feel no doubt that it was authentic and that the writer
was Sendekar. Naturally, he remembered very well his son's promotion and appointment to the staff of the fortress about eighteen months earlier. Kembri had congratulated him on the lad having been selected for so honorable a post. "Now he's proved himself in the field, we feel he's exactly the sort of young man we need at Dari. It's a responsible position-"
How many people knew this shameful truth? Was it common knowledge throughout the army? How many other lies had been told to him? He could hardly keep tears from his eyes, for he had always greatly loved his younger son- a gentle, kindly young man-and felt proud of him. Clutching the parchment between trembling fingers, he looked up at the woman who had thus deliberately wounded him to the heart and now sat enjoying his misery.
"This document, esta-saiyett; it-it's no business of yours. It doesn't concern you in any way. How did you-?"
"Oh, do keep it," she said lightly. "You're welcome: I don't particularly want it. I'm sure it's of more use to you than to me."
She was still sitting by the window. Silently, he laid the parchment beside her and was about to go when she spoke again.
"Would you care to see a note which your wife wrote to Spelta-Narthe?"
"Spelta-Narthe?" he said. "Who is Spelta-Narthe?"
"Oh, no one at all. He's a slave: Elvair-ka-Virrion's huntsman. But he's very-er, accomplished and well-liked by a number of ladies, I understand. It's rather surprising that he can read, don't you think?-or perhaps not, all things considered."
Without another word Durakkon left the room. Outside, one of the queen's waiting-women-dark and middle-aged, with the high coloring of a Palteshi-raised her palm to her forehead. After a moment he realized that she must have asked him some question.
"What?" said Durakkon. "What did you say?"
"Your escort, my lord. Are you leaving her Sacred Majesty now? Do you wish me to summon your escort?"
"Oh-thank you," answered Durakkon abstractedly. However, it had slipped his mind that he had already dismissed his escort some time ago, since before arriving he had accepted an invitation to supper with the Sacred Queen.
He waited nearly half an hour alone in an ante-room while a runner was sent to recall them.
67: SUPPER WITH MILVUSHINA
The summer advanced. Pink water-lilies and beds of tiny-flowered, yellow meleda came into bloom along the shallows of the Barb, while the flocks of cranes which frequented it every spring departed in their thousands for the north, leaving the lake to ibis, egret and heron. Dragonflies, bronze and green, hovered in the sunny gardens and the bullocks grazing on Crandor's lower slopes could often be seen tossing their heads or suddenly leaping, tormented by gnats and clegs. In the middle of the day the only birds to be heard were the blue-finch and the little damazin, whose monotonous "Treachree, tfeachree, treachree!," from his high song-post among the zoans, seemed the very sound of the still, hot sunlight. The bright flowers of the melikon tree-"False Lasses," as the peasants called it- shed their petals and began to turn to the glinting, golden berries which, though they looked so fine, were of no use to man or beast.
To and from the upper city, rich men came and went on profitable journeys-to their farm-lands in the provinces, to the timber forests of Tonilda, the silk and jewel markets of Ikat Yeldashay or the iron foundries of Gelt. Shearnas entertained and made money. Wealthy wives, alone with time on their hands, spent their days gossiping and over-eating, spending long hours in the cool bath or naked on the massage-couch, fancying themselves in love with others' husbands, or covertly visiting supposedly secret places of assignation well-known to every winking slave in their households. The Monju brook shrunk in its bed. Daily, messengers brought news from the frontiers and the Council deliberated in the Barons' Palace on the Leopard Hill.
In the lower city, droves of cattle and of slaves arrived in dusty clouds, both by way of the Gate of Lilies and the Blue Gate: wounded soldiers returned from the fronts and companies of recruits marched out under veteran tryzatts. Fleitil and his men put the last, finishing touches to the great statue of Airtha in the temple precinct. The beggars
and cripples sat scratching themselves in the shade, ragged children pilfered from the stalls and the pilgrims murmured their prayers and made their offerings before the Tamarrik Gate. Lalloc, who had replaced Zuno with Megdon from the Puhra depot, ordered him to sort out the prettiest girls from among the provincial consignments and prepare them for private sale in the upper city. In reply to his inquiries as to the present whereabouts of Genshed-for Occula had been insistent to learn what might have become of him following his flight-Megdon could tell nothing except that he had said he meant to clear out of the empire altogether and try his luck in Terekenalt. The old woman's sweet-shop was in new hands, repainted and smartened up. The gold and silversmiths were enjoying an excellent season, while the Street of the Armourers had more business up and down its steep length than the oldest could recall. No traveler from a distant land could have discerned that this was the heart of a realm where rebellion and civil war lay germinating behind the fac.ade of mercantile prosperity.
Maia, still unable in her heart to feel any inclination for a lover, was nevertheless finding refusal even harder than before. The story of her auction had spread through the provinces, and although most, perhaps, of the wealthy visitors to the upper city were content-or at any rate appeased-merely to see the fabled Serrelinda, there were always some who (especially after they had caught a glimpse of her: for she was hanged if she was going to live the life of an anchorite) could not resist trying their luck.
There were many callers at her house by the Barb, and although no one offered her nine thousand meld (no one having nine thousand meld to offer), several men, sending passionate letters through Ogma or Jarvil, promised large sums in return for no more than an hour of her time. One young Belishban nobleman, who had been most persistent, at last stabbed himself one night outside her gate, but fortunately was picked up by his friends and taken home to recover. Gifts and flowers Maia accepted, although, remembering Milvushina's warning, she never ate sweetmeats or anything which had not been bought and prepared by Ogma. Letters she ignored and money her servants had orders to refuse. After a few weeks her attendant soldiers, at her own request, were increased to three, the third being necessary to protect her from spontaneous demonstrations