Shardik

'Oh, Vasa, was it? The prince was lucky, then, wasn't he? Thank you, Zilthe, yes, by all means pour the wine at once. But I'll delay mine for a while – I'm going to wash first, and change my clothes. You see, I mustn't disgrace your visit,' he said, turning to Siristrou. 'Your arrival in Zeray is of the greatest importance to all of us – to the whole country, in fact. I've already despatched a messenger to Kabin with the news. Will you excuse me for a short time? As you can see' – and he spread out his hands – 'I'm not fit to receive you, but my wife will look after you until I come back. She'll be here directly. Meanwhile, I hope you'll find this a good wine. It's one of our best, though you probably have better in your country. It comes from Yelda, in the south.'

He left the room and the girl Zilthe turned away to mend the fire and sweep up the hearth. Siristrou stood in the sunlight, still smelling the sharp, herbal scent of the planella in the wreath and hearing for a moment, at a distance, the rather arresting call of some unknown bird – two fluting notes, followed by a trill cut suddenly short. It certainly was a surprisingly good wine, as good as any in Zakalon: no doubt King Luin would be delighted with any trade agreement that included a consignment. He must bear it in mind. He looked up quickly as a second young woman came into the room.

Middle-aged or not, Siristrou retained an eye for a girl and this one caught it sharply. Upon her entry he was aware only of her remarkable grace of movement – a kind of smooth, almost ceremonial pacing, expressive of calm and self-possession. Then, as she came closer, he saw that, though no longer in the first bloom of youth, she was strikingly beautiful, with great, dark eyes and a rope of black hair gathered loosely and falling over one shoulder. Her deep-red, sheath-like robe bore across the entire front, from shoulder to ankle, the rampant figure of a bear, embroidered in gold and silver thread against a minutely-stitched, pictorial background of trees and water. Forceful, almost barbaric in style, the design, colouring and workmanship were so arresting that for a moment Siristrou was in danger of forgetting the sword for the scabbard, as the saying goes. Work like that, imported to Zakalon, would beyond doubt find a more than ready market. Meanwhile, however, what might be the conventions of this country with regard to women of rank? Free, evidently, for the governor had sent his wife to keep him company alone and therefore no doubt expected him to converse with her. Well, he was not complaining. Perhaps he had misjudged the country after all, though from what little he had seen of Zeray, it would be strange to find a cultured woman here.

The girl greeted him with grace and dignity, though her Beklan seemed a little halting and he guessed that she, like the gigantic servant, must speak some other as her native tongue. From the window embrasure where they were standing could be seen the sheds and landing-stage a quarter of a mile below, fronting the swiftly undulant water of the strait. She asked him, smiling, whether he had felt afraid during the crossing. Siristrou replied that he certainly had.

'I'm a great coward,' she said, pouring him a second cup of wine and one for herself. 'However long I live here, they'll never get me across to the other side.'

'I know this side is called Zeray,' said Siristrou. 'Has the place on the opposite side a name, or is it too new to have one?'

'It hardly exists yet, as you've seen,' she answered, tossing back her long fall of hair. 'I don't know what the Deelguy call it – Yoss Boss, or something like that, I expect. But we call it Bel-ka-Trazet.' 'That's a fine-sounding name. Has it a meaning?'

'It's the name of the man who conceived the idea of the ferry and saw how it could be made to work. But he's dead now, you know.' 'What a pity he couldn't have seen it complete. I drink to him.'

'I, too,' and she touched her silver cup to his, so that they rang faintly together.

'Tell me,' he said, finding the words slowly and with some difficulty, '- you understand I know nothing of your country, and need to learn as much as I can – what part do women play in – er -well, life; that is, public life? Can they own land, buy and sell, go to – to law and so on – or are they more – more secluded?'

'They do none of those things.' She looked startled. 'Do they in your country?'

'Why, yes, these things are certainly possible for a woman – say, one with property whose husband has died – who wishes to stand on her rights and conduct her own affairs, you know.' 'I've never heard of anything like that.'

'But you – forgive me – I lack the word – your way suggests to me that women may have a good deal of freedom here.'

She laughed, evidently delighted. 'Don't go by me when you reach Bekla, or some husband will knife you. I'm a little unusual, though it would take too long to explain why. I was once a priestess, but apart from that I've lived a – very different sort of life from most women. And then again, this is still a remote, half-civilized province, and my husband can do with almost anyone, man or woman -especially when it comes to helping the children. I act freely on his behalf and people accept it, partly because it's me and partly because we need every head and every pair of hands we've got.'

Could she once have been some kind of sacred prostitute? thought Siristrou. It did not seem likely. There was a certain delicacy and sensitivity about her which suggested otherwise. 'A priestess?' he asked. 'Of the god of this country?'

'Of Lord Shardik. In a way I'm still his priestess – his servant, anyway. The girl you saw here just now, Zilthe, was also his priestess once. She was badly injured in his service – that's how she came to be as you see her now, poor girl. She came here from Bekla. She feels safer and happier with us.'

'I understand. But Shardik – that's the second time today I've heard his name. "Shardik gave his life for the children, Shardik saved them."' Siristrou had always had an excellent phonetic memory. She clapped her hands, startled. 'Why, that's Deelguy you're speaking now! Wherever did you hear that?' 'The ferrymen were singing it on the raft this morning.' 'The Deelguy? Were they really?' 'Yes. But who is Shardik?' She stood back, faced him squarely and spread her arms wide. 'This is Shardik.'

Siristrou, feeling slightly embarrassed, looked closely at the robe. Certainly the workmanship was quite unusual. The huge bear, red-eyed and rippling like a flame, stood snarling before a man armed with a bow, while behind, a group of ragged children were crouching upon what appeared to be a tree-lined river-bank. It was certainly a savage scene, but to its meaning there was no clue. Animal worship? Human sacrifice, perhaps? He feared he might be getting drawn into deep water; and his command of the language was still so deficient. One must at all costs avoid wounding the susceptibilities of this high-spirited girl, who no doubt had great influence with her husband.

'I hope to learn more about him,' he said at length, 'That is certainly a splendid robe – most beautiful workmanship. Was it made in Bekla, or somewhere nearer here?'

She laughed again. 'Nearer here certainly. The cloth came from Yelda, but my women and I embroidered it in this house. It took us half a year.' ' Marvellous work – marvellous. Is it – er – sacred?'

'No, not sacred, but I keep it for – well, for occasions of importance. I put it on for you, as you see.'

'You honour me, and – and the robe deserves the lady. There – in a language I've been learning for only two months!' Siristrou was enjoying himself.

She answered nothing, replying to him only with a glance sharp, bright and humorous as a starling's. He felt a quick pang. Injured arm or no injured arm, the governor was younger than he.