in longing for the open meadows of her estate, perfumed with summer grass and sweet flowers. In time the factory quarter changed, became less odorous and crowded, more inclined toward industries of the luxury trade. Here weavers, tailors, basket makers, cordwainers, silk spinners, and potters toiled. An occasional jeweller's stall - guarded by armed mercenaries - or a perfumer's, frequented in this less fashionable quarter by painted women of the Reed Life, was nestled between shops offering less luxurious merchandise.
The sun had climbed to midday. Drowsy behind her curtains, Mara fanned herself slowly, thankful that, at last, the bustle of Sulan-Qu fell behind. As her retinue continued down roads shaded by evergreens, she was Lying back, attempting to sleep, when one of the bearers developed a limp. At each step she was jostled uncomfortably on her cushions, and rather than cause a man needless pain, she ordered a halt to look into the matter.
Lujan detailed a soldier to inspect the bearers. One had cut his foot in the poor quarters. Tsurani, and aware of his place, he had striven to continue his duty to the verge of fainting with pain.
Mara was still nearly an hour from her estate house, and, maddeningly, the Midkemians were once again speaking among themselves in the nasal braying that passed for their native language. Irked by their jabbering as much as by the delay, she motioned to Lujan. 'Send that redheaded barbarian over to replace my lame bearer.' Slave he might be, but he acted like a ringleader, and since the stinks of the poor quarter had left Mara with a headache, she was willing to consider almost any expedient to make the barbarians less quarrelsome.
The warriors immediately brought the chosen slave. The held one called out in protest and had to be cuffed aside.
Knocked to his knees, he continued to shout, until the redhead bade him be silent. Then, blue eyes fixed in curiosity on the elegant Lady in the litter, he came forward to shoulder the vacant left front pole.
'No,' snapped Lujan at once. He waved for the slave to the rear to come forward and assigned the redhead to stand behind. This way a warrior with an unsheathed sword could march at the barbarian's back, insurance against trouble or threat to their mistress.
'Home,' she ordered her retinue, and her bearers crouched to shoulder their burden, the redheaded barbarian among them.
The first steps forward were unmitigated chaos. The Midkemian was over a head taller than the other bearers, and as he straightened with his load, and strode ahead, the litter canted forward. Mara found herself starting to slide.
The silk trappings and cushions offered no resistance to her motion. Lujan's fast reflexes spared her an unceremonious spill onto the ground, and a slap of his hand warned the barbarian to hold his pole level. This the huge man could do only by hunching his back and shoulders, which placed his curly head just inches from his mistress's curtains.
'This won't do at all,' Mara snapped.
'A fine triumph for Desio of the Minwanabi, if you came to hurt through a slave's clumsiness,' Lujan said, then he added a hopeful smile. 'Maybe we could dress these Midkemians as house slaves and give them to the Minwanabi as a gift? At least they might break much of value before Desio's First Adviser orders them hanged.'
But Mara was in no mood for jokes. She straightened her robe and removed mussed pins from her hair. All the while the barbarian's eyes watched her with a directness the Lady found disturbing. At length he cocked his head to one side and, with a disarming grin, addressed her in broken Tsurani as he stumbled along.
Lujan drowned him out with a shout of outrage. 'Dog!
Slave! On your miserable knees!' He snapped his head at his warriors. Instantly one rushed to take the litter pole, while others seized the redhead and threw him forcefully down.
Strong arms pummelled his shoulders, and still he tried to speak, until a warrior's studded sandal pressed his insolent face into the dust.
'How dare you address the Lady of the Acoma, slave!' shouted Lujan.
'What is he trying to say?' asked Mara, suddenly more curious than affronted.
Lujan looked around in surprise. 'Can it matter? He's a barbarian, and that brings you no honour, mistress. Still, his suggestion was not without merit.'
Mara paused, her hand full of tortoiseshell pins. Sunlight glinted on their jewelled heads, and on the shell ornaments sewn to her collar. 'Tell me.'