"The baron of southern Suba at that time-Nor-Zavin; he's dead now-he was suspected by the Urtans-I don't know how justly-of secret dealings with Terekenalt, and he badly needed to convince the High Baron of Urtah that he was loyal to him. He sent him all sorts of gifts-unusual, singular things that they'd never seen in Urtah. He knew of my mother, of course. All Suba knew of her. So he bought her from her parents. It was a forced sale: he was a baron, and even though she wasn't a slave they had no real choice, though I suppose you could say it was a fair deal in its way. He paid them far more than she'd have fetched in the hands of men like Lalloc. It kept them in comfort for the rest of their lives." He paused. "Break up this thrilsa for me, Maia, and have some yourself."

Maia did as he asked. The slave returned with the mulled wine, put it down and went out.

"Well," went on Bayub-Otal slowly, "so she was taken away-crying, I dare say-to Kendron-Urtah. And there she danced for the High Baron and his court. Do you know his name?"

"No, my lord, can't say as I do. Is he still alive?"

"Yes, he is. He's sixty-two. His name is Het-Otal-Ecach-lon. At the time I'm speaking of, he was about thirty-four or thirty-five. It's-well, it's always been widely known- that things weren't smooth or happy between him and his wife. She was a Palteshi, very well-born; it was a political marriage. Many a ruler, many a great man in that situation's found himself as badly off, I dare say.

"The High Baron fell deeply in love with my mother. Possibly that may have been Nor-Zavin's idea from the start. But then everyone in Kendron-Urtah was in love with her, really. They still speak of her: she's become a legend."

"What was her name, my lord?" asked Maia.

"Her real name was Astara. But everyone called her 'Nokomis': that means 'The Dragonfly,' you know."

"What tongue's that, then? Never Beklan."

"Old Urtan-hardly anyone speaks it now-only a few peasants up in the north. The High Baron became my mother's lover. He told her," said Bayub-Otal, "and she told me-that he'd never truly loved any other woman in his life. I suppose a lot of people would laugh at that-it's what any philanderer says, isn't it?-but my father always had the reputation of a chaste and upright man. I doubt he'd ever had any other woman apart from his wife.

"My mother loved him as deeply as he loved her; and not just because he was the High Baron, rich and powerful. She understood him. They made each other happy, that was what it came to.

"You can guess how much his wife liked the dancing-girl from Suba. If only she hadn't been a dancer, perhaps she might have been able to conceal it when she became pregnant. But of course it became plain soon enough. And one day there was an attempt on her life which nearly succeeded. My father grew afraid for her and sent her back, secretly, to Suba: not to her own village-that would have been too dangerous; but to another place, more remote. He used to come and visit her there as often as he could. He came alone, or else with just one trusted servant. It was known, of course, in Kendron-Urtah-or suspected, anyway-that he went to Suba. But once across the Val-derra, even a High Baron can disappear and no one could tell for sure where he might be. There's another saying, you know, in Suba: 'Plenty of long grass.'

"When I was born -a boy-my father was so happy that he couldn't keep the secret, though I dare say it would have been bound to leak out anyway. He made sure I was taken every care of. There's a lot of damp and fever in Suba, of course-not good for babies, very often. I can remember him-I must have been-oh, three, I suppose- I can smell the river-mist now-striding through the door one night after dark, covered with mud to the knees, and my mother jumping up, crying for joy. Sometimes he'd stay as long as five or six days." Bayub-Otal paused. "I've never seen two people happier together than my father and mother.

"But it was always dangerous. We used to move continually from one village to another. I'd realized that we

were in danger long before I was old enough to be told in so many words. My father was always afraid, you see, that his wife would find out where my mother was living. He didn't dare have it out with her openly, because he had to do his best to stay friends with Paltesh. I suppose that makes him sound like an underhand, crafty sort of man, but he wasn't. It was simply that he had a responsibility as a ruler: he had to put the good of Urtah before anything else. A High Baron can't be like ordinary people, you know.

"As I grew older, I came to love him dearly. He kept me company every hour he could. He taught me to read- my mother couldn't read-and how to use a bow, and to fish and hunt. Often we'd be out together all day. That was the happiest time I can ever remember."

Bayub-Otal bit his lip. "Well, I'll get on a bit. I was ten years old. It was the end of summer-burning hot and everything dry as tinder. We woke one night to find the house burning. My mother-my mother died. The servant died. People dragged me out. My hand had been trapped under a burning beam. No one knew whether or not the fire was an accident.

"I lived for the next few weeks with an old couple nearby. They were kind enough, but it was a very bad time. Then news came that my father's wife had died. It can only have been a coincidence: he'd never have harmed her. She'd been ailing for some while. I've often won-dered-suppose she'd died three months earlier? Well, no good thinking about that. And a few weeks later, when the decencies had been observed, and I'd recovered-or as much as I eveT will-my father brought me to Kendron-Urtah and acknowledged me as his son. He said he wasn't ashamed of having loved a woman whom he knew all his people had loved too. And I've never heard anyone in Urtah say a word against either of them from that day to this.

"My father's always been fair and just to both his sons- my half-brother Eud-Ecachlon and me. He's never favored either of us. When Eud-Ecachlon came to be twenty-one- that was three years after his betrothal to Fornis of Paltesh had come to nothing-I was fourteen-nearly fifteen. My father called the two of us together and made us swear by the Streels of Urtah that we'd never-"

Bayub-Otal stopped and glanced quickly at Maia, at the same time making a swift, criss-cross gesture in the air with his fore-finger.

"Do you know what the Streels are?"

"No, my lord. Leastways, that's to say-"

"Yes?" His voice was sharp.

"I just know what an Urtan girl at Lalloc's said when me and Occula was there. She said something about the curse of the Streels; and then she said it was a very dreadful thing and she shouldn't have let it out. That's all I know, my lord."

"I see. Well, you can take it from me that it's a strong oath for an Urtan, to say the very least. We swore to him that we'd never be rivals for power or try to harm each other. And then he told us that Eud-Ecachlon was to inherit Urtah; everything east of the Valderra. "That's just and right," he said, "for he's my elder son and the lawful heir. And you," he said to me, "for your dear mother's sake, you're to inherit Suba; all that lies between the Val-derra and the Zhairgen. Swear to me now, both of you, that you'll never go against this or try to harm each other."

"We were both glad to agree to the wishes of so good a father. Eud-Ecachlon and I, we haven't much in common; but he's never grudged me the inheritance my father promised me. And the Subans-well, they were delighted. To them I've always been 'Anda-Nokomis'-the Dragonfly's boy. The year I was sixteen I traveled over almost every mile of the province-by boat, mostly-meeting the people, getting to understand their problems and dissensions and so on, as well as a youth of that age can. I was starting as I meant to go on."