Kta answered the knock, his dark eyes astonished. He gave full attention to Hef’s rapid words, which sobered him greatly. Then he opened the door widely and bade Kurt come in.
Kurt entered uncertainly, disoriented equally by exhaustion and by the alien geometry of the place. This time Kta offered him the honor of a chair, still lower than Kurt found natural. The carpets underfoot were rich with designs of geometric form and the furniture was fantastically carved, even the bed surrounded with embroidered hangings.
Kta settled opposite him and leaned back. He wore only a kilt and sandals in the privacy of his own chambers. He was a powerfully built man, golden skin glistening like the statue of some ancient god brought to life. There was about him the power of wealth that had not been apparent on the ship. Kurt suddenly found himself awed of the man, and suddenly realized that “friend” was perhaps not the proper word between a wealthy, nemet captain and a human refugee who had landed destitute on his doorstep.
Perhaps, he thought uneasily, “guest” was hardly the proper word either.
“Kurt-ifhan,” said Kta, “the Methi has put you in my hands.”
“I am grateful,” he answered, “that you came and spoke for me.”
“It was necessary. For honor’s sake, Elas has been opened to you. Understand: if you do wrong, punishment falls on me; if you escape, my freedom is owed. I say this so you will know. Do as you choose.”
“You took a responsibility like that,” Kurt objected, “without knowing anything about me.”
“I made an oath,” said Kta. “I didn’t know then that the oath was an error. I made an oath of safety for you. For the honor of Elas I have asked the Methi for you. It was necessary.”
“Her people and mine have been at war for more than two thousand years. You’re taking a bigger risk than you know. I don’t want to bring trouble on you.”
“I am your host fourteen days,” said Kta. “I thank you that you speak plainly; but a man who comes to the hearth-fire of Elas is never a stranger at our door again. Bring peace with you and be welcome. Honor our customs and Elas will share with you.”
“I am your guest,” said Kurt. “I will do whatever you ask of me.”
Kta joined his fingertips together and inclined his head. Then he rose and struck a gong that hung beside his door, bringing forth a deep, soft note which caressed the mind like a whisper.
“I call my family to the rhmei-the heart-of Elas. Please.” He touched fingers to lips and bowed. “This is courtesy, bowing. Ei, I know humans touch to show friendliness. You must not. This is insult, especially to women. There is blood for insulting the women of a house. Lower your eyes before strangers. Extend no hand close to a man. This way you cannot give offense.”
Kurt nodded, but he grew afraid, afraid of the nemet themselves, of finding some dark side to their gentle, cultured nature-or of being despised for a savage. That would be worst of all.
He followed Kta into the great room which was framed by the branching of the entry hall. It was columned, of polished black marble. Its walls and floors reflected the fire that burned in a bronze tripod bowl at the apex of the triangular hall.
At the base wall were two wooden chairs, and there sat a woman in the left-hand one, her feet on a white fleece, other fleeces scattered about her feet like clouds. In the right-hand chair sat an elder man, and a girl sat curled up on one of the fleece rugs. Hef stood by the fire, with a young woman at his side.
Kta knelt on the rug nearest the lady’s feet, and from that place spoke earnestly and rapidly, while Kurt stood uncomfortably by and knew that he was the subject. His heart beat faster as the man rose up and cast a forbidding look at him.
“Kurt-ifhan,” said Kta, springing anxiously to his feet, “I bring you before my honored father, Nym t’Elas u Lhai, and my mother the lady Ptas t’Lei e Met sh’Nym.”
Kurt bowed very low indeed, and Kta’s parents responded with some softening of their manner toward him. The young woman by Nym’s feet also rose up and bowed.
“My sister Aimu,” said Kta. “And you must also meet Hef and his daughter Mim, who honor Elas with their service. Ita, Hef-nechan s’Mim-lechan, imimen. Hau,”
The two came forward and bowed deeply. Kurt responded, not knowing if he should bow to servants, but he matched his obeisance to theirs.
“Hef,” said Kta, “is the Friend of Elas. His family serves us now three hundred years. Mim-lechan speaks human language. She will help you.”
Mim cast a look up at him. She was small, narrow-waisted, both stiffly proper and distractingly feminine in the close-fitting, many-buttoned bodice. Her eyes were large and dark, before a quick flash downward and the bowing of her head concealed them.
It was a look of hate, a thing of violence, that she sent him.
He stared, stricken by it, until he remembered and showed her courtesy by glancing down.
“I am much honored,” said Mim coldly, like a recital, “being help to the guest of my lord Kta. My honored father and I are anxious for your comfort.”
The guest quarters were upstairs, above what Mim explained shortly were Nym’s rooms, with the implication that Nym expected silence of him. It was a splendid apartment, in every detail as fine as Kta’s own, with a separate, brightly tiled bath, a wood-stove for heating water, bronze vessels for the bath and a tea set. There was a round tub in the bath for bathing, and a great stack of white linens, scented with herbs.
The bed in the main triangular room was a great feather-stuffed affair spread with fine crisp sheets and the softest furs, beneath a sunny window of cloudy, bubbled glass. Kurt looked on the bed with longing, for his legs shook and his eyes burned with fatigue, and there was not a muscle in his body which did not ache; but Mim busily pattered back and forth with stacks of linens and clothing, and then cruelly insisted on stripping the bed and remaking it, turning and plumping the big down mattress. Then, when he was sure she must have finished, she set about dusting everything.
Kurt was near to falling asleep in the corner chair when Kta arrived in the midst of the confusion. The nemet surveyed everything that had been done and then said something to Hef, who attended him.
The old servant looked distressed, then bowed and removed a small bronze lamp from a triangular niche in the west wall, handling it with the greatest care.
“It is religion,” Kta explained, though Kurt had not ventured to ask. “Please don’t touch such things, also the phusmeha, the bowl of the fire in the rhmei. Your presence is a disturbance. I ask your respect in this matter.”
“Is it because I’m a stranger,” Kurt asked, already nettled by Mim’s petty persecutions, “or because I’m human?”
“You are without beginning on this earth. I asked the phusa taken out not because I don’t wish Elas to protect you, but because I don’t want you to make trouble by offending against the Ancestors of Elas. I have asked my father in this matter. The eyes of Elas are closed in this one room. I think it is best. Let it not offend.”
Kurt bowed, satisfied by Kta’s evident distress.
“Do you honor your ancestors?” Kta asked.
“I don’t understand,” said Kurt, and Kta assumed a distressed look as if his fears had only been confirmed.
“Nevertheless,” said Kta, “I try. Perhaps the Ancestors of Elas will accept prayers in the name of your most distant house. Are your parents still living?”
“I have no kin at all,” said Kurt, and the nemet murmured a word that sounded regretful.