Sorpiala unthinkingly raised her hand and responded, "Aye!" as she
stepped forth and -bowing low- remembered too late that it was
dangerous to fool with the truth so, when her own consorts were so well
aware that both Si'Wren and the other one, Nelatha, had actually been
falsely accused by Sorpiala's own scheming manipulations. Let even one
of her consorts be so much as threatened with the tiniest scratch, and
Sorpiala's lies could be mercilessly exposed to save their own skins.
Well, it didn't really matter, did it? Sorpiala reassured herself
silently. Was she not a past master of the connive, being just over one
hundred years old, yet still in outward appearance seeming no more than
a young woman just entering her prime?
"Two witnesses!" declared Emperor Euphrates formally. "Are there three?"
Sorpiala turned and gave the nod to another one of her most trusted
consorts, who immediately and unthinkingly said "Aye!" and bowed low.
Emperor Euphrates nodded formally to the third witness, as he returned
his eyes to the silent, fearful girl who stood before him without the
slightest peep or murmur of protest against those testifying against
her.
"There we have it," said Emperor Euphrates conclusively. "Scribe, mark
the names of the accusers for the record. We have three witnesses who
say this girl is guilty of breaking idols. How say you?" said Emperor
Euphrates, turning his head.
A heartsick Si'Wren, having remained motionless as each deadly 'Aye!'
was pronounced, realized suddenly that Emperor Euphrates had spoken
this time directly to herself, and her eyes grew wide as she stared
back at him in fear.
"How say you, child? Hut!--"
Emperor Euphrates looked away and frowned impatiently at himself,
remembering that she was sworn to silence and evidently would prefer to
face the sword rather than to go back on her vow. A most remarkable
girl, really.
Anticipating some unforseen lack, Borla as Chief Advisor nonetheless
wisely waited for Emperor Euphrates to correct himself.
Emperor Euphrates opened his mouth to begin again.
Then he shut his mouth, a veritable study in consternation, and looked
up at the audience once more, automatically shifting his inscrutable
gaze to Sorpiala, whom he instinctively perceived, wielded some sort of
secret power of coercion over the other two witnesses.
"What is this child's name?" he asked Sorpiala.
"She is called, Si'Wren, Emperor," responded Sorpiala elegantly.
"Ah!" Emperor Euphrates returned his intelligent eyes to confront
Si'Wren face-to-face. "Stand closer, child," and then, with a
beckoning, drawing wave, "Come hither..."
Si'Wren approached the throne haltingly, until she stood so close as to
be almost nose-to-nose when he finally leaned forward and murmured to
her in an almost inaudible tone of voice that the other women could not
overhear.
"Si'Wren," said Emperor Euphrates gently, in a low, confiding tone, "do
not fear. For I, myself, have destroyed many false idols, but you ought
to obey your Emperor, and only indicate to myself, your Lord; are you
an idol-breaker?"
Si'Wren took a moment to find an answer in a mindful of terrors, and
shook her head once emphatically.
Negative!
Emperor Euphrates' eyes widened almost imperceptibly at this. Then,
thinking further of it, he added, "Have you in fact sworn a vow of
silence to the Forbidden One?"
With a pent-up sigh of weariness, defeat, and resignation to her doom,
Si'Wren nodded in the affirmative this time. Then, she remembered that
it was not a vow of absolute silence, but merely that she should not
speak, so she added, lips pressed tightly shut, "Um-hmm."
At this, Emperor Euphrates leaned back ever so slowly, and creased his
eyebrows in a bushy frown as he thought this over until he had
adequately perceived the precise nature of the vow as demonstrated and
interpreted by the girl herself. For while she had not actually spoken,
she had in fact made a noise.
A quandary! Pondering this mightily, he worried, for there was
something about this whole case that was most distinct and unusual.
What was it? He pondered this at length while the whole court waited
and watched, scratching at his beard, and finally arrived at an
understanding.
This young girl's open and forthright responses to his inquiries seemed
too emboldened by the light of inner truth. Furthermore, she had
remained utterly adamant in upholding her vow of silence in the face of
certain death for disobeying so openly and blatantly his commands to
speak, vow or no vow.
The other one, contrariwise, had an attitude.
That was it.
One called Sorpiala exhibited an attitude that was like the undeclared
and unpunished crime of having stolen a three-day old fish, a crime
whose very nature declared itself to all who happened to venture
downwind of the evildoer. It was exactly like that; a stink in the
discerning nostrils of the mighty and terrible Emperor Euphrates, whose
mercy customarily extended to the tolerance of such attitudes, although
it was his desire that only pure worship and obedience should ever be
seen or demonstrated in his subjects. He tolerated their impious and
disrespectful attitudes usually because ones such as Sorpiala simply
did not realize how much their sage Emperor saw and forgave. Often they
did not so much as realize that they even had attitudes with which to
offend him.
For attitude was like human will, a contrary condition under the best
of circumstances or at the best of times. But in his royal court,
Emperor Euphrates viewed attitude as an innately unpardonable offense,
and only rightly to be forgiven absenting any other lawful infractions.
It was an offense against he whose majesty respected no person. It was
an offense, moreover, against his very person, yea, he who was favored
by the gods, and who favored or condemned, in turn, whoever it was his
royal pleasure to favor or condemn.
Emperor Euphrates said quietly to Si'Wren, "Fear not, and see to it
that henceforth you do not break your vow of silence, but only go and
stand over there," he indicated the right-hand, far edge of his royal
dias, which was about ten steps distant, "and tarry there until I bid
you draw neigh unto me again."
He waited while Si'Wren backed uncertainly away to his right, and an
ever astute Borla reached out carefully to halt and steady her when she
would have backed clear off the edge of the raised dias and fallen flat.
"You, you, and you," Emperor Euphrates bid the three women, "step two
paces forward and remain where you are."
Mystified, the three exchanged ill-concealed expressions of alarm as
they complied with Emperor Euphrates' commands.
"You," Emperor Euphrates pointed out the third of Si'Wren's three
accusers. "Come hither."
He nodded and raised a forestalling hand to wave off the nearest guard,
who had automatically raised a spear to point it at her as the slender
woman stepped forward.
Abruptly, Borla suddenly thundered, "Silence!" as he spotted the first
woman whispering to Sorpiala urgently and confidentially.
The woman let out a tiny, terrified "Eeep!" and gulped as she fell
silent with anguished, desperate eyes. Sorpiala merely held her peace,
and looked straight ahead in a penetrating look of ruthlessness,
evidently determined to stand her ground and see this vile thing
through to the bitter end, no matter what.
The woman initially called forth had also frozen at Borla's sudden bark
to be silent, and Emperor Euphrates repeated his command that she
approach the throne. Now she, the third-in-line of Si'Wren's accusers,
who had not dared to volunteer herself, but only had spoken up at
Sorpiala's initial bidding, hastened forward to fall flat at the very
feet of Emperor Euphrates under the watchful eagle eyes of a dozen
nearby guards, who automatically leaned ever so slightly forward on the
staves of their upright spears in poised and menacing vigilance.
Emperor Euphrates leaned forward over the prostrate woman and could be
seen whispering to her in a low indistinct voice, to which she answered
fearfully now and again. Finally, he gave a little wave of the hand,
temporarily dismissing her to the far left side of his royal dias.
She arose and stepped back, literally gasping for air in her newfound
terror, for she instinctively realized what was coming and desperately
yearned that she might not have accused Si'Wren in the first place.
"You," Emperor Euphrates pointed out the second of Si'Wren's three
accusers, "Come hither."
Outwardly confident before all, Sorpiala smoothly and adroitly copied
the first woman's awkward approaches and fell at Emperor Euphrates's
feet. Another whispering conference ensued.
Finally, he dismissed her to his left, and did likewise with the last
of Si'Wren's accusers, the one who had voluntarily and initially spoken
first of her own free volition. When he had heard all, he dismissed her
in like manner, and sat in silence.
Emperor Euphrates remained motionless for a long time and said nothing,
staring straight ahead as if in a trance.
The entire assemblage of the court waited upon him, many of them quite
familiar with this process from past experience. Others who were less
experienced in the ways of the court, Si'Wren and her three accusers
being numbered among these, experienced deep agitation as they also
waited.
Finally, Emperor Euphrates blinked and seemed to come out of his trance
as he heaved a sigh and seemed to nod to himself.
Then he turned his head and regarded Si'Wren's third accuser, the one
whom he had questioned first.
"Tell me," he commanded her. "What should be the punishment for such a
one as remains silent when commanded to speak, and for the crime of
idol-breaking?"
Utterly terrified, the woman's round eyes flicked to Si'Wren and back
to her Emperor again, before finally blurting out, "Oh great and divine
Emperor, it may be that I have erred most grievously, and that what she
has done be no wrong thing at all, although it was also rumored that
she was a believer in the Invisible God--if that be a crime.
Perhaps--perhaps she should even be forgiven in case she has actually
done nothing!"
At this, Sorpiala and the other woman suddenly exchanged conspiratorial
looks, and Sorpiala fairly hissed her disapproval with an insucking of
air.
Emperor Euphrates ignored the scandalous behavior as he regarded the
woman directly being questioned. Then his eyes moved to Sorpiala.
"How say you?" he asked her. "What punishment would you prescribe for
such an idol-breaker as stands accused before you?"
"Why--I do not know, Highness," Sorpiala wheedled. "She has already
been punished. Perhaps," she dropped her eyes and barely suppressed a
gloating smile, "might I but whisper in your ear--"
Dropping his eyes to grant a less than sincere approval, Emperor
Euphrates nodded as he said, "Come forward, then."
At this, Sorpiala -pridefully imagining herself as a strong contender
to become the new queen of the kingdom of Emperor Euphrates, and
Si'Wren as her first victim- readily tip-toed to the Emperor's side and
leaned forward upon the upraised balls of both tiny feet.
"Perhaps one called Si'Wren should suffer..." said Sorpiala
dramatically, and leaning forward, she began to whisper at long length
in his ear.
Sorpiala pronounced dire punishments, worse than anything she had ever
seen or heard of anywhere in her hundred years upon the earth.
"Ah!" said Emperor Euphrates, nodding like a master thief who has
joined hand-in-hand with a cunning new ally. "But this one has already
been punished with a vow of silence under pain of death, has she not?"
"It was not enough, Highness!" said Sorpiala, her exotic almond eyes
moving sideways as she pronounced her personal opinion upon the matter.
Emperor Euphrates nodded, and appeared exceeding thoughtful.
Sorpiala suppressed a look of triumph. Finally, she was at long last
about to have the supremacy over Si'Wren, the little wretch!
Emperor Euphrates looked to the last woman, Si'Wren's initial accuser.
She spoke up before even being asked.
"Idol breakers should..."
Emperor Euphrates listened at length, taking no formal notice of her
lack of proper respect in crudely omitting to use even one of his many
glorious titles of formal address.
When she had finished speaking, Emperor Euphrates nodded, eyes heavily
lidded in judicious contemplation. Finally he heaved a long, heavy sigh
of resignation as he looked up and gave the nod to the Royal Crier.
Tall, thin Ampho, the Royal Crier, pointed his beaked nose straight in
the air and opened his yawning mouth as he bawled loudly to the
ceiling, "All keep silence before the great Emperor Euphrates!"
A chorus of court attendants' voices dutifully chanted, "All give ear
and keep silence!"
Emperor Euphrates sighed. Ah, the grandeur of formalities! Who needed
those foolish idols anyways? He'd broken one of the silly things
himself once, right in front of everybody, and had the devil's own time
talking himself out of it.
That had been only two hundred years ago, and he still winced every
time he thought about it.
Even Borla had been temporarily at a loss what to advise. It simply was
not a thing to be done, ever. You could deliberately destroy the idols
of your enemies, but that was an entirely different proposition and not
the same thing at all. This had been a stupid blunder, obvious to all.
Finally, on Borla's advice, he had called in the Royal Sorcerer, also
known as the Fort Rune Tale Heir, since it was an inherited position.
He was a filthy, huge, grossly obese individual of exceptionally
obnoxious character who went by the unlikely moniker of Fatoo the
Dread, and the obliging fellow was persuaded to conjure up a bit of
hocus-pocus to make a bigger and better statue of the idol appear in a
cloud of ashes and smoke, right where the old one had smashed.
Fatoo had done him one better, nearly breaking his own foot when he'd
accidentally dropped the new statue on it in the process of letting it
fall from it's place of concealment beneath the voluminous skirts of
his bulging belly, after poofing up a huge cloud of noxious, stinking
smoke. No wonder the fellow always smelled so bad. It was rumored that
he never bathed, either, and there was no need of chicken entrails to
figure that out.
Fatoo had meant to stoop halfway into a squat and 'give birth' to the
idol while the spectators' view of him was temporarily obstructed by
smoke. At least the replacement idol had been provided with a nice
cushion for it's unexpected fall, and all of the moaning and groaning
which Fatoo had suddenly exhibited had been a very mystical and
convincing performance and well worth the ordeal, especially since it
was Fatoo's foot and not the Emperor's.
Better yet, Fatoo had limped for such a long time afterwards that the
Royal Sorcerer's hobbled gait had provided a convenient stigma with
which to draw away any possibly adverse attention from Emperor
Euphrates' blunder in breaking the original idol in the first place. It
was all so simple; Fatoo's limp was a sign from the gods. So much for
idols.
Emperor Euphrates finally looked up, and cleared his throat noisily.
"Because of the seriousness of the accusations, I, Emperor Euphrates,
chosen of the gods, even I, shall now declare the outcome before all."
He paused, and looked round upon all present. Ampho remained frozen, as
if he were no more than a dumb idol himself. Borla was merely silent
and watchful as always. Let them all watch and learn.
Emperor Euphrates looked upon Si'Wren, and smiled as he inclined his
head graciously.
"I have examined the soul of one called Si'Wren," Emperor Euphrates
declared, "and find no fault in her."
Surprised gasps arose on all sides.
Then, with a dire and accusing glare Emperor Euphrates looked to
Si'Wren's three accusers and went on without further hesitation, "I
have mercifully examined all three witnesses in great detail without
the customary and usual questioning by torture, and have found none of
them to be in agreement with each other in the slightest particulars."
Si'Wren felt shock. She wasn't expecting him to say that!
But Si'Wren's three accusers were terror-stricken as Emperor Euphrates
went on.
"Your punishments be upon your own heads!" he suddenly pronounced,
finally declaring imperial judgement. Then he became as one made of
stone, as he gave the nod to Borla.
"On your own heads..." Borla repeated, stepping forward in front of
Si'Wren's three shocked accusers as he rubbed his hands together
thoughtfully, for he had overhead everything.
The absolute silence, which had ruled for but a heartbeat, was
shattered by wailing protests from Sorpiala and her one vengeful
consort.
"Guards!" Borla commanded, taking proper charge of his duties, and not
without a certain satisfaction, for he fully appreciated the virtually
divine means by which Emperor Euphrates invariably seemed to discern
truth where others -including Borla himself- invariably failed
miserably.
He quickly barred the guards' access to little Si'Wren with an
outstretched arm, while the guards, stupid oafs, laid off and left her
alone, to go for her three terrified accusers instead.
"This one said, 'Let her be forgiven'," said Borla, with a brief wave
of summary dismissal. "Therefore, she is forgiven."
"Oh thank you Sire!" gibbered the terrified woman, immediately falling
down before him.
Borla ignored the prostrate woman groveling before his feet, as he
regarded the next one.
"This one said..."
As Borla repeated the proposed punishments of Sorpiala back at her, she
shrieked, "NAAAAAAAAA!..." with a wide-eyed look of insane terror,
backing away in a series of quick, shuffling half-steps and retreating
blindly backwards into the ready hands of two burly guards approaching
from behind her.
What Sorpiala had sentenced was too elaborate to be carried out in
court, so the guards dragged her away, struggling and shrieking out a
prolonged series of thin shrill screams, long and utterly
soul-despairing. The bloodcurdling screams were partially obscured by
her removal to the halls, but therefrom emerged the echoes of her
departing wails, as of a living soul descending into the very pit of
deepest, darkest hell itself.
"And now this one..." said Borla finally, extending his arm out to one
side and holding out his hand without looking.
Hastily, the ceremonial arms-bearer stepped forward and planted Borla's
sword in his hand. Like the late and unlamented Master Rababull, the
ability to unflinchingly execute the harshest judgements was one of the
most terrifying things about men like Borla. Si'Wren longed to beg
Emperor Euphrates to have mercy upon her accusers, to forget their
awful, unreasoning hatred, but could only remain utterly and eternally
silent, lest she betray her vow.
While four separate burly guards kept an iron grip on her to immobilize
her, the third one, screaming like one possessed, suffered her own
intended punishments before the Emperor and all the general assemblage
at the hand of Borla himself as Si'Wren shut her eyes and wished she
could shut her ears also as she turned her head away and felt sick to
her stomach.
Sorpiala's unmerciful consort fainted in the process of receiving her
punishment, and was dragged away unconscious to the slave quarters, to
be revived for the finishing of her intended punishments.
At last, Borla handed the bloody weapon back to the ceremonial
arms-bearer.
Si'Wren and the woman who had ordained mercy stood beside one another
throughout the entire ordeal of the punishments. On impulse, Si'Wren
turned and hugged the woman, who embraced her desperately in return.
"What is to become of these, your Highness?" Borla inquired dutifully,
bowing low even as he indicated Si'Wren and the other woman with an
extended palm.
Emperor Euphrates, who had remained motionless and impassive before the
excited crowd throughout the entire phase of the punishments, softened
his gaze as he finally permitted himself to formally take notice of the
two women again.
"One called Si'Wren," said Emperor Euphrates, "fainted not in her hour
of trial. I, even I, have not observed so great courage, as was found
in this little one! Borla, you have been rightfully bested in Royal
Court by this brilliant child."
"A thousand pardons, Highness," responded Borla.
He bowed low, and while Borla was bowing, he was unable to see Emperor
Euphrates incline his great head as he smiled at Si'Wren merrily.
The girl's eyes flashed with momentary astonishment, as she remained in
respectful attendance and stood awaiting his word, and Borla rose again
to full stature with a grand flourish.
Borla continued observantly, "Of a truth, Highness, this mere babe in
her innocence has scorned fearlessly the edge of the sword and bested
Borla in all of his wisdom and power, even as his munificent Highness
has declared. For verily do I perceive that she has indeed kept her vow
honorably, a fact which your esteemed self has astutely discerned
without the slightest hesitation, whereas worthless Borla himself had
failed to understand, even after ample opportunity was afforded him to
discover this with his own two eyes."
This was true, which was why Emperor Euphrates was an emperor, and
Borla only a chief advisor. However, a normally brief, succinct, and
to-the-point Borla did know when to praise his Emperor with more than
the usual flourish.
"And what say you, Borla, of the former Master of the House of
Rababull?" prompted Emperor Euphrates.
"Rababull was a fool!" declared Borla succinctly.
"Verily, Borla," intoned Emperor Euphrates.
"To have so punished a mere child, an underage girl who hath no
breasts," Borla went on. "Is it not harsh and unfatherly? Those of
tender years are known for their perpetual blunders, short-sightedness,
and pure love of rank foolishness. How easily might the girl rather
have been corrected instead by any number of more suitable lesser
punishments. Even for having broken a nobleman's idol, a proper ransom
might have been paid to redeem her of her crime. I mean..."
Emperor Euphrates nodded approvingly, waiting for Borla to go on.
Borla cast about for the proper words, seeking to assuage the harshness
of his legal status, seeing how obviously fond his Emperor Euphrates
was of the girl.
"I mean..." Borla hesitated. "After all," he shrugged innocuously, with
an engaging show of teeth, "it could not have been a very powerful
idol, for all of that, if it could not even prevent itself from being
broken by a mere girl."
"Customarily, the subject is sacrificed to the idol," remarked Emperor
Euphrates in round-about congruence, "and not the other way around. It
is a powerful sign, is it not?"
"It is all of that, Highness," Borla agreed, displaying more of his
uncharacteristic crocodile grin.
Borla's grin faded, as his astute mind went on to other considerations.
"Now about the vow...?" Borla went on suggestively, and paused.
Emperor Euphrates shrugged.
"What of it?"
"Well, what is to be done with her, Highness?"
Emperor Euphrates paused for a long moment, while the entire court
looked on. Then finally his look brightened.
"Let her become a Royal Scribe in my court," said Emperor Euphrates.
"My Emperor," protested Borla in confusion, "truly, forbidden to speak,
your royal secrets shall indeed be safe with this fearless child, but
if she can neither read nor write, of what use can she be?"
"Then have her trained, Borla!" said Emperor Euphrates.
"But--" Borla halted, trying to imagine all the difficulties of this
impossible task.
Then his hooded figure bowed even lower, scraping neigh unto the floor.
"Behold thy servant Borla, who diligently seeks a right finish to all
royal affairs! Thy judgements are Wisdom incarnate for I perceive that
thou hast pronounced fitting judgement, as always."
Borla turned, and gazed forbiddingly upon the remaining woman,
Sorpiala's other consort, standing close beside Si'Wren.
"And--as for this one, Highness?" he inquired in a mercilessly flat
tone of voice.
Shaking uncontrollably, the hopelessly terrified woman would not let go
of Si'Wren. The woman, having already been spared punishment, still did
not know what her ultimate fate might be and clung fearfully to
Si'Wren, who steadfastly refused to push the woman away.
Emperor Euphrates, seeing this, said merely, "Oh, let her go free," and
waved her off with a disinterested nod of dismissal.
"The gods praise thee, merciful Emperor!" the woman gasped as she fell
on the floor at his feet. Emperor Euphrates nodded patronizingly with a
gratified look at the outcome of events. Then he raised his eyes to
look beyond the prostrate woman, and gaze upon the surpassing beauty of
Si'Wren, and his eyes fairly twinkled with doting joy.
Si'Wren smiled as she shut her eyes and bowed in meek formal obeisance
to Emperor Euphrates.
Unbeknownst to all, she also gave silent, prayerful thanks to a most
inscrutable, but eternally wise and most mysterious Invisible God.
Chapter Five - A horse.
"Si'Wren," said old Ibi, "you have worked hard and diligently. I look
forward with great pleasure to declaring you before all to be fully
studied and prepared for your royal station, as formally commissioned
by his Majesty the Emperor. When he hears of this, I have no doubt that
you will be so appointed and given all due honors and tributes
pertaining to the Order of Scribe."
Si'Wren stood before Ibi with the flush of joy and accomplishment on
her face.
After her momentous court debut four years ago as the stubborn young
girl-slave whose lips Borla's own sword could not open, she had been
escorted to what was to become her very own personal, private quarters
in the same wing of the palace as the other royal officials. Since
then, as an underling to virtually everyone but the slaves themselves,
she had been introduced to general grooming and appearance standards
acceptable to palace etiquette, and ways of acting and behaving that
conformed suitably to court protocol, and had begun her long and
arduous internship as an understudy of the great and illustrious Ibi
himself.
During these four years, she had managed to develop a somewhat foggy
understanding of 'delicate subjects' having to do with politically
potent and sensitive issues which one must always try to heed in order
to properly show 'manners'. In view of how little she knew, it appeared
that she did not merely have her marks to learn, she also had to pick
up on the royal ropes. Many doors, some good, some evil, would
henceforth stand open to her, but she must choose which.
Seemingly from her first month at the palace, Si'Wren had begun to
assume the mantle of womanhood. Now, at sixteen, she was beginning to
take on some of the physical characteristics of an adult, although in
stature she still appeared to be somewhat small compared to others born
of the same year. She was developing a trim, athletic figure as a
result of avoiding the many fattening and corrupting foods free for the
taking as a palace resident, and was becoming more womanly of form now
with each passing year.
She who had once bathed in the stream, now dipped herself in the
magnificent public baths of the palace dignitaries. Indeed, her
privileges were such that she could have indulged in many spoiling
luxuries, although -except for a simple desire for natural purity and
cleanliness- by and large she tended to shun the physically and morally
polluting diversions.
Her early years living on the plain fare of the slaves, together with
her experiences in the spice tent, had engendered in her a natural
awareness of how the vices of the rich could lead directly to one's
personal destruction. Having preferred from earliest memory not to
adopt the superior airs and affectations of Sorpiala and her clique,
who haughtily deemed themselves to be above their fellow beings,
Si'Wren did not see fit to change her humble and unassuming ways as a
Royal Officer of the Court.
In his endless daily instructional sessions with her, Ibi had developed
a fierce vicarious pride in the proper and dutiful studies of Si'Wren,
and developed a habit of grilling her relentlessly, so that the poor
girl spent her days perpetually neigh unto exhaustion from unrelenting
fatigue.
In view of these and other considerations, and especially for moral
reasons, Si'Wren deliberately avoided the many royal orgies of
banqueting, and worse, open to her, choosing instead to spend much time
cloistered alone in her personal chambers, there to catch up on her
work assignments and neglected slumbers unmolested. She still slept on
a mat of rushes, by choice, whereas the others in the palace all
preferred more luxurious accommodations such as straw or down
mattresses. Si'Wren seemed to sleep so much the better that way, and
yet, in spite of her efforts at getting sufficient physical rest, ever
did she labor with the circles of learning under her eyes. Truly, much
study was a weariness to the flesh. But she always worked hard at it,
and she was a fast learner.
She always wondered what had happened to Habrunt, but in addition to
her vow never to speak, she could not so much as write his name at
first. No person ever volunteered any information about him to her. And
why should anyone care, seeing they knew neither her nor this curious
unknown stranger called Habrunt? In fact, she had not overheard even
the most incidental of news about him, and grew especially wistful
whenever she chanced to think on Habrunt, and prayed for his well-being
every day.
As for false religion, Si'Wren was not formally required to attend the
worship ceremonies for any of the temple gods, nor did she ever once
volunteer to go. For, marvelously, the Emperor had exercised his
absolute power over his domain by indulging himself in the most
peculiar manner, by openly declaring that one called Si'Wren was free
to worship her forbidden Invisible God if she so chose. This unheard-of
privilege especially rankled certain others of the court, and was to
them a particularly vile concern, although they dared not so much as
hint at their displeasure to Si'Wren's face. For equally obvious was
the inescapable fact that Si'Wren had found much favor in the eyes of
Emperor Euphrates, and because of this Si'Wren's neglect of the temple
idols must be overlooked.
And that was that.
Whether this was because Emperor Euphrates was so far removed from the
desperation of life that he had no proper appreciation for the
resultant undermining of the idol-maker's profit motive by such an
endorsement, was hard to tell. Perhaps instead, Emperor Euphrates
actually found something to marvel in, at the very idea of a speechless
young woman silently worshiping an Invisible God.
In view of recent developments, no ranking official would have dared to
compel an alleged idol-breaker, and a known favorite of the Emperor
himself, to attend upon the ceremonies of the gods. Unknown to Si'Wren,
the very subject was what those-in-the-know at the palace considered
'an especially delicate matter'. For to lead her into some deathly
blunder of etiquette, and inadvertently besmirch her newfound dignity,
to which were attributed not her own, but the highest of royal graces
clearly imbued by Imperial decree, was virtually to besmirch the
character of Emperor Euphrates himself, and who would be so stupid as
to dare risk such an awful eventuality as that?
Si'Wren daily prostrated herself on a rush mat in her private quarters
and gave thanks to the Invisible God in wordless praise of both him and
his perpetual blessings. For she did feel blessed, richly blessed, to
know the one true God in such an evil world of scowling idols.
Si'Wren's awareness was constantly filled with the wonders of the
palace, beyond the impregnable walls and outer battlements of which,
stretching far and wide, existed a savage land of perpetual misery. She
had grown much in wisdom, and in native understanding of the
frightfully wicked ways of the world, and found nothing but evil in a
society to whom such idols were a perpetual source of deliberate and
intentional foolishness.
But in seeking real spiritual truth, Si'Wren could only confess to
herself in private that she still knew next to nothing of the Invisible
God. Free to believe in the Invisible God, she had launched herself on
an inner voyage of discovery through vast uncharted realms of the
spiritual unknown. It was a deep and ongoing struggle to overcome
unrelenting feelings that she was as lost as ever, with only her
untutored conscience as her guide.
She could only try not to mimic the false worship she had been formerly
taught for idols, trusting blindly that Holy God would not find some
reason to be offended at her clumsy attempts to give obeisance to Him.
She sought in her heart how best to worship, but at first could only
bow low upon the woven rug in her private chamber, prostrating herself
humbly before an imaginary, holy countenance which she believed to be
all-seeing, and speak in her heart as if to an imaginary personality
that surely must be all-hearing, but she could only wonder what he
truly wanted.
Silently, Si'Wren humbly petitioned this invisible, nameless God that
he might accept her uninstructed worship of him. She prayed that he
would never forsake her. Sworn never to actually speak, she prayed to
him in silence. Unable to actually see him, she often closed her eyes.
Unable to imitate him, knowingly appease him, or observe anything he
might desire, she begged him to pity her and merely accept the fact
that she worshiped him, the Invisible One, the only true and living
God.
One thing she felt sure of. The worship of idols was an act of false,
direst evil. Surely, without a doubt, the Invisible God desired true
worship from her, and not evil idolatry. Si'Wren felt instinctively
that in this must be found true virtue, and thought that she already
had some misty idea of the proper difference between good and evil, but
prayed for perpetual enlightenment in this.
That day, finished with her prayers, Si'Wren turned to an intricately
woven basket on a carved wooden stand laden with ripe fruit, and began
to consume some of it. Preoccupied, she absent-mindedly tilted her head
this way and that as she ate thoughtfully. When she had finished
eating, she sucked the pulp off her fingers, and set the beautiful
basket back on it's stand. Having nothing else to do for the moment,
she looked around her quarters, inspecting everything anew, for she
could not help but marvel all over again every time she reentered her
own private domain at all the fine things which were for her personal
use, and to be considered her permanent possessions.
Imagine, Si'Wren thought to herself, having one's very own private bed
chamber. It was located in the administrative section, the part of the
Imperial palace reserved for the living quarters of the numerous palace
civil servants, and occupied one entire wing of the imposing,
rough-hewn stone fortress which contained many similar fine rooms as
this, each one more glorious than the next.
All around her, in the palace, and in her own private room, were
countless royal delights. The stone walls were paneled in planks of
rough hewn wood, and hung with crude but richly woven tapestries and
curtains.
The floors were of flat stone slabs, not perfectly flat but naturally
smooth and hence very slightly uneven, being arranged so as to make a
level surface, and frequently covered by rugs. Such was the slab floor
in her very own personal room.
She turned to a little round side table and paused to examine anew, a
polished wooden carving of an ox, dark, smooth and gleaming. The
beautifully carved ox was short-legged and stout, with stubby horns,
the whole artistic style being deliberately simplistic, having a
tendency to look like a series of arcs fitly joined together; the horns
and front legs both being arcs that went from side to side, the arcs of
the hind legs, belly, backbone, tail, and head being arcs from front to
back. All arcs.
She looked around, her eyes roaming the room, and admired a decorative,
single-handled water vase that was flat, wide, and round at the base
and gracefully slender for the upper two-thirds. Propped on a small
round table, the tall vase was artfully and tastefully colored in
earthtone shadings of tans and browns. Beside it was a fired clay wash
basin. On the basin were to be seen engraved pictographs of the sowers,
reapers and gatherers of grains. It wasn't so much a collection of
idols, as a picture-script, a visual record of the entire harvesting
process, above which was depicted a simple circle with lines pointing
from it, indicating the rays of the sun as a source of light, and not
as a false idol god.
There was, she perceived, a deep, real difference between the symbolic
meaning and morally acceptable symbolism presented in such hieroglyphs,
or picture-carvings, as opposed to the rank evil of outright, false
idolatry. The symbolic images of honest work seemed most right, proper,
and inspiring, and not at all like the false worship of mere graven
things as false gods.
Hence, she perceived that the pictograph of the harvest inscribed in
the sides of the water basin bore less of the idolatrous, and more of
the earmarks of honest record keeping and written language, which
itself comprised her new profession, rather than of the evil mysticism
of idols, depending, of course, on how one looked at it. Anything could
be made to be idolatrous, but some things, like these pictographs,
could be viewed as mere pictures, and as just another form of written
communication. Dimly, Si'Wren sensed that she was onto something new
and vastly different from anything she had ever conceived of in her
mind before. A whole new way of looking at things, far beyond what the
idol-makers of the House of Rababull had been engaged in doing. It was
good to understand this, and she wondered greatly at the clever artist
who had so faithfully decorated the water basin.
Turning to reach past the polished dark wooden ox, Si'Wren retrieved
the vase. In a perfectly expressionless and somber mien, she poured
water into the shallow basin, filling it almost to the rim, and paused
to consider it's reflection, seen by the light of a tall, narrow,
decoratively barred siege window. One could easily understand that
although water might reflect all things, the water was itself
'invisible' to the extent that one might see through it. Further, the
water itself had no particular shape.
So might the Invisible God, she thought to herself, be seen in all
things, and yet not be seen, even as one looked into the reflection of
the water basin and by this marvelous result behold all mere physical
things of the world. Yet one could no more touch the Invisible God than
one could reach into the reflections in the water and touch them
either. In spite of this, she could easily perceive what was real, and
what was illusion. What great spiritual riches she had found in a bowl
of water.
How could anyone possibly make an idol of the Invisible God? Why, one
might as well try to make an idol of the wind itself, and did not God
so breathe the very wind of life into the first man, the Patriarch Adam
himself?
Adam and Eve had seen God, and talked with Him, when He came walking in
the Garden of Eden, before they were cast out. Was not man said to be
made in God's image, according to the ancient but discredited folklore
and children's fables about Adam and Eve? Hence, the form of man must
resemble the form of God, although man was but man, meaning mankind,
which included womankind, and God was God. Nelatha had once said that
if one went to Paradise, one would see God and live, a God Who walked,
and talked, and could be seen, and Who was yet spirit.
Si'Wren was perplexed, and her thoughts ran to confusion. It was then
that the very real wisdom of Nelatha, which had come from L'acoci, now
betrayed its deeper truths, for Si'Wren remembered at the last that it
was sufficient in Nelatha's understanding as a lowly ignorant slave
girl, like Si'Wren herself, to compare the Invisible God to water,
which one could see, and yet remained invisible. For could not one hold
pure water in one's hand, and both see the water, and yet at one and
the same time, see right through it? And water, she remembered,
reflected all things faithfully. Thus might a righteous and holy God
reflect all men's souls to them in the hereafter, rewarding the good
with more good unto life, and the evil with more of their own evil unto
eternal wailing and damnation.
Thoughtfully, she turned to the window, the frame of which was
overgrown by clinging vines which stretched forth their profusion of
white-streaked, green ivy leaves in every direction. Looking out, she
saw a collection of dirty beggars sitting by the wayside in the street.
They were the maimed, the blind, the diseased, always to be found among
the countless throngs of city-goers and inhabitants.
She turned from the decoratively barred window and went back to the
table, where she stood gazing down at the finely carved wooden ox. To
the poor beggars, it would represent a fortune in coppers. She picked
up the carved wooden ox, so dark, so smooth and lifelike, and returned
to the ornate window. There, she paused for a long time, looking out on
the beggars.
She already thought of the Invisible God as all-powerful by his very
nature. But somehow she could not help imagining that surely he must
desire at least a little agreement, some form of willful participation
on her part, to better the lot of her fellow creatures.
Let the beggars sell the wooden ox, for money to buy food.
So saying to herself, she looked carefully, and tossed the wooden ox
out through the ornamental bars past the green ivy vines.
It turned over slowly in the air and landed unbroken in a pile of dirty
straw beside a group of filthy, crippled street beggars.
As Si'Wren stepped back into the shadows of her window sill, an outcry
arose below in the narrow street. The anxious voices of the beggars
could be heard talking animatedly about this perceived 'miracle'.
When at last Si'Wren dared to lean once more into the deeply recessed
window sill for a peek, for the stone of the fortress wall was
exceeding thick, her delight was turned to dismay.
They were worshiping it.
There they all were, kneeling and bowing to the dumb wooden ox! They
had it propped up on the ground in front of them, off to one side out
of the way of the busy foot traffic.
Shocked, she looked down upon them and stamped her little foot in mute
frustration. They were impossible!
She opened her mouth, fervently wishing to call out to them and let
them know the terrible error of what they were doing.
I threw it! she longed to say. But she had to shut her mouth again, and
could only watch unhappily, with useless, tightly pursed lips and
flashing, angry eyes.
So this was what she was up against. Remorse filled her soul, until she
felt rent in twain by her anguish.
Why God? Si'Wren implored him, dropping in despair to her knees on the
carpet. Why must I thus remain silent in this evil world so full of the
praise of idols? Why God? Why?
Her sorrow multiplied rapidly over what she had unwittingly done in the
name of idolatry, until her eyes blurred over and the unhappy vision of
the beggars happily bowing before their new ox-god became washed away
in a sea of salt tears and she turned away from them in anguish.
Brokenly, she fell across her bed and sobbed herself to sleep.
* * *
The next day, Si'Wren was formally presented by Ibi to the court and
officially assumed her new status as Court Scribe. Emperor Euphrates
was exceeding pleased, which would have made her all the more so by
turns, were it not for her so recent experience with the polished
wooden ox just the day before.
After she bowed low before him, he beckoned to her to sit on his right
hand, several places removed. There were other, more important
dignitaries who with all their robes and finery, considerably outranked
her and sat closer to the Emperor. In fact, immediately to her right
stood a royal palace guard, a rough-looking fellow, with his motionless
back to the stones of the wall and a fearsome-looking spear in his big
hands.
Seeing that the others were seated, she sat down also, and turned to
stare curiously up at the guard standing beside her, but that other
worthy only blinked in irritation and refused to look back at her or so
much as acknowledge her presence.
Si'Wren dropped her eyes from the guard's aloof, stoic countenance,
unaware that already many in the court room were covertly watching the
newly appointed Royal Scribe with shifty, appraising looks, secretly
wondering if she could be induced to sell out to them and at what
price, in rank opposition to her Emperor's open claim to all her
loyalties.
In contrast to the others' extravagance and finery in choice of
raiment, Si'Wren had wisely followed Ibi's sage advice and foregone
such vain nonsense in favor of a simple outfit consisting of
pantaloons, blouse, long cape, and removable head covering, all loose
in the folds but tight at the cuffs and waist, and all in starkest
black.
By contrast, there was easily enough jewelry on all other royal
dignitaries present to assure their inevitable drowning should one of
them happen to accidentally fall into the moat.
Her hair was still the same length as always, almost to the waist in
back. Sometimes, she kept it in a single long braid fastened at the end
with a tiny black ribbon.
She took with her everywhere now her kit, consisting of the various
tools and artifacts of her trade.
This consisted of two little wooden marking sticks kept in a black
leather pouch, and a small honing stick of rough-surfaced lava rock
from the stone masons quarter, for resharpening the marking sticks when
the moist clay softened and distorted their tips. Actually, one had to
set aside the dampened one to dry and use a dry one, and when the
dampened one was dry, then to sharpen. She blinked ruefully at the
memory of the day she had unknowingly tried to sharpen a dampened
stick, and shredded it instead, thereby incurring the wrath of Ibi. How
far she had advanced since that fateful day.
Also, she carried in her writing kit three thin soft clay tablets for
writing on, housed in flat split-bamboo frames fitted with more bamboo
strips to make a back support and allow for greater thinness, and a
small fired clay bottle of water to soften the clay with the judicious
sprinkle of a few added drops as needed.
These articles might be supplied in any desired quantity by the
Emperor's slaves. However, she had been rigorously instructed by Ibi in
all aspects of locating and gathering her own materials in the
marketplace or -escorted by a pair of palace guards- out in the wild,
until Ibi was satisfied that she knew as much about her profession as
those who made her supplies.
She was becoming progressively more skilled in working with these raw
materials, having learned how to manufacture them at her own hand out
of fresh supplies, a technique she had mastered long ago using the
herbs in the spice tent, with dear Nelatha. Momentary recollection of
happier times with Nelatha caused Si'Wren to suddenly realize how truly
long it had been, since those long-ago days.
She took her kit daily with her to the court and carried it openly
before all, as an outward sign of the integrity and mastery of her
trade, justly proud of the way her knowledge of its use and upkeep
demonstrated to everyone that she rightly deserved her appointment to
her office as Royal Scribe. Few could boast half as much, and although
she was not the type to do so anyways, she felt herself to be beyond
all need of boasting.
Ibi did all of the regular and customary record-keeping. Or rather, one
of his shaven-headed underlings sat behind him and did it for him.
Si'Wren was there more than for show, to perfect herself as a studious
worker before her Emperor Euphrates. She was Ibi's most beautiful, and
indeed his only, female Scribe. It was a memorable day spent in service
to the Emperor, and Si'Wren adapted readily and willingly to the
routine.
Afterward when court was recessed for the day, Si'Wren was called to a
private consultation with Ibi, who examined her in great detail and
gave her further instruction in all that he felt needful pertaining to
what she had seen that day.
So was her Royal routine established.
* * *
"If you'll just stand before me, Si'Wren..." said Ibi one day,
mysteriously but calmly enough.
Ever obedient, Si'Wren complied and waited to see what was up.
Ibi turned and waved an arm to signal someone unseen just beyond her
range of vision in the next room, and an exceeding rough-looking
character stepped in. The newcomer, with as many fighting scars on his
skin as any other might have had tatoos, was dressed in a leather skirt
supported by wide, criss-crossed leather straps across his hairy chest
and over the tops of his bulging, heavily muscled shoulders.
He had a leather thong across his dark, thick, unkempt hair, and
sandals fastened by calf-straps like a soldier or professional
sojourner. He carried a sword in his right hand, and the presence of
dirt and grime on him was self-evident by the smell.
The newcomer entered and greeted Ibi formally, and -at Ibi's bidding-
turned and looked upon Si'Wren with bold, appraising eyes that were
unusually bony across the brows, while his blunt, step-ladder nose
looked as if it had been broken and rebroken many times, and his ears
had been boxed so many times they scarce resembled ears anymore. The
newcomer was clearly not a man to be fooled with.
He also stank like an animal. His odor filled the room, but she was
used to being around animals from having spent her earliest years as a
slave, so that she really didn't mind that nearly so much as she might
have, had she been noble-born instead. It just made him that much more
imposing and disquieting to be around.
His face was hard and unflinching, and his eyes were openly appraising
of everything he saw as if he were already preparing for the battle.
She felt his eyes on her, sizing her up. Not that there was all that
much of her to be sized up, she being so small for her age.
"You want to give spurs to this chicken?" the newcomer ventured, with
an skeptical look that Si'Wren found somehow insulting.
"Aye," Ibi sighed with a studious nod of his haggard, hoary old head
and long, flowing white mane. "Do what you can, Mearch. It is our
Emperor's desire that she should learn to do more with horses than to
look at them. I'm getting too old to ride along with his Majesty on the
odd excursion, so a competent replacement has been wanting for some
time. I have any number of young male understudies, but his majesty has
taken a fancy to the girl. Anyway, you're to set her up with her own
mount, and see that she learns how to handle herself on four legs as
well as two."
Si'Wren's eyebrows quickly raised in astonished hope, disbelief, and
anticipation.
For her--a horse?
"She is also to be given ivory marking sticks," Ibi remarked
significantly, "and knows how to make proper use of them, too. You're
looking at a lady of station. We're having them carved now."
"It's your show," Mearch shrugged. "I can give her no ivory, but we can
definitely take care of the horse. If that will be all--"
Ibi paused, looking up at Mearch with a serious expression.
"No, that will not be all. I've seen your negligent attitude toward
outfitting junior officers of the court in the past, and it was
entirely too careless for my liking."
Ibi rose up off his seat suddenly and leaned forward, propping both
bony arms firmly and authoritatively on the workbench as he regarded
the other intently eye to eye, with a look of menace.
"Mearch, listen well. I was given an ill-mannered, ill-treated
ruffian-girl straight from the slave fields, when she came to me. She
was as fresh as the clay on the banks, and it was my job to train her
up in all ways needful until she was found fit to present in court as a
royal officer. I worked hard on polishing her coarse ways, and she has
repaid my efforts beyond all expectation, which pleases me greatly as I
do not relish the prospect of being made a public spectacle by having
fools for underlings.
"Furthermore," Ibi went on, "she is still of tender years, and has
taken a vow of silence for life, and I will not stand for her being
given the customary business-as-usual rough handling at the coarsened
hands of your cocky young studs. If she cannot speak, she cannot
protest, but it would be a fatal mistake to think she is as easily
intimidated as all that. The Emperor himself failed to get a word out
of her, in spite of Borla's ready sword held close under her pretty
little nose. I saw it myself, and it was most impressive."
Whether it was Si'Wren's beauty or her fearlessness that he found so
impressive, Ibi did not elaborate, although a fondly doting Mearch
seemed to have his own ideas already.
"She has since found favor in his Majesty's eyes," Ibi went on dryly,
with an acid look for Mearch's wayward eyes, "and gives better reports
in fresh clay than others seem to manage out of so much bad breath! Am
I getting through to you?"
Ibi held Mearch's eyes for a long, hard moment of utter silence, while
Si'Wren stood self-consciously with eyes downcast, trying to appear as
if the last thing on her mind was to get in anybody's way.
Mearch nodded with an off-handed ease of manner, avoiding Ibi's hard
stare as he examined his dirty fingernails, which smelled as if they
had horse hoof diggings under them, a distinct possibility.
"I will train her personally."
"Mearch--"
Mearch dug at his fingernails momentarily, persisting almost to the
point of disrespect, and finally looked up, to fully meet Ibi's
jaundiced eyes again.
"What?" said Mearch.
"I'll stand for no nonsense!" said Ibi, making the bench clatter as he
pounded it once with a bony fist for emphasis. "She's no plaything. I
expect regular reports on her progress, and her personal safety will be
on your head."
"I hear and obey," said Mearch, somewhat sarcastically, bowing
obsequiously with a formal fist clap to the chest as he turned away, to
the end result that he bowed to the side wall instead of to Ibi, who
sniffed loudly in open disdain of either acknowledging or censuring
such mockery.
Mearch stepped in front of Si'Wren, his massive arms hanging straight
down at his sides as he towered over her. He stood there and stared
down at her expressionlessly for a moment.
Si'Wren merely stood her ground, respectfully avoiding his eyes like
any proper woman, but neither did she try to shrink back from him.
"She is young," said Mearch, a remark which, in an age of
penta-centurions, adult human beings of 200, 400, and even 700 or more
years old, was no idle comment.
"She is that," Ibi mused, staring idly past Mearch at the crudely hewn
stones of the far wall. "Well, Master Royal Armorer? Will you get on
with it?"
Abruptly, Mearch turned to Ibi and hesitated significantly, before
saying to the old Scribe, "How much?"
Ibi stared blankly back at him a moment, until enraged comprehension
filled his features.
"Forget it, Mearch," Ibi rasped in a gravel voice fraught with caustic
skepticism. "She's royal property, and if you so much as petition the
Emperor for her hand, you'll find there are bureaucratic punishments
against which you shall find no proper shield or defense. I have no
intention of losing her services so soon after training her up. She is
brilliant."
"But--" Mearch faltered. "She would become my most favored wife, and I
have but six now!"
"What you ask is unthinkable! She is not for sale and you are not to
molest or entreat her in any disrespectful manner, or you'll be hacking
your way out of a dungeon cell with your fingernails, if they're not
pulled out by the roots first. Is that clear?"
"Aye," said Mearch, looking back at Si'Wren with eyes which were
curiously lacking in their customary boldness. "Such beauty." There was
another long pause. Then he said, "Me, I know weapons, but this one has
slain me already."
Nervously, Si'Wren avoided meeting his eyes. She was ready to listen
and learn, but he was so fearsome to look upon that she found it
difficult to face him. Besides, for a woman to meet a man's stare too
openly was to appear wanton.
Yet, for some odd inexplicable reason, she somehow already felt
agreeable to fierce Mearch's tutelage. He was fittingly warned by Ibi,
and his treatment of her should not be too harsh. Although still very
much unsure of him, Si'Wren fully expected him to behave himself, in
view of Ibi's stern admonishments that she should remain safe from all
harm or harassment in his care.
"Why has the Emperor not taken her for himself?" Mearch asked, in a
disdainful and skeptical voice.
"His Majesty is fond of praise, whereas this one finds talk a bit too
cheap for her liking, even to please an emperor. Anyway she has found
special favor by virtue of her uncommon vow, and has shown iron
resistance against breaking it in the face of honed steel. As Royal
Scribe, she is sworn under oath to strictest secrecy and loyalty."
"She'll never talk, eh? And what better way to keep the king's secrets?
A great pity. But, seeing she shall never speak again, how did she
swear her oath of loyalty to his Majesty?" Mearch asked smugly.
"She can give the nod, and that with a true heart, which is more than
most so-called honest witnesses are called to testify with their lying
lips. That will be all, then, I trust?"
"Aye," Mearch said. "I get the idea. Even so, from what you have said
of her, I still say one could not give in equal trade one's best
stallion for such a woman. But I have a stallion, my best, that she may
have, for to ride upon. Send her down to me at the stables in a week.
No, better make it two weeks. My men only just caught this one
particular horse recently, and I still have to break him in, if I can."
"What are you saying? Do you mean, an unbroken, ungelded stallion?" Ibi
asked in disbelief.
Mearch shrugged.
"He has already broken three of my best trainers' numbskull heads, but
never -never!- have I seen such a fine creature," he barely glanced at
Si'Wren, and added, "or woman. But I, Mearch, can break him to ride
without ruining his spirit. It takes much strength, courage, wisdom of
the heart, and patience, and one dares never use too heavy a hand in
the matter. Yet it is possible, I think, but only by me. That girl and
that horse; they are the same. I feel it. It will be right. You will
see."
Mearch turned for the door.
"No harm will come to her," he called over his shoulder on the way out.
Ibi studied the surface of his desk until Mearch was safely gone.
Then he glowered down at his withered old hands, and said, as if
speaking in Mearch's presence instead of Si'Wren's, "It had better not,
Mearch."
* * *
Si'Wren sat at court every day, whether her Emperor appeared or no.
When Emperor Euphrates did not show, Borla usually heard the cases. Any
problem which he did not feel himself adequately competent or suitably
authorized to deal with, he literally bound the suspect over for
Emperor Euphrates to dispose of later at his convenience.
Si'Wren learned the complex, elusive ebb and flow of court politics,
the petty social concerns, the lawsuits, the drastic and petty
religious differences, and a host of other lost causes.
For practice, she always had to record everything, even if one of Ibi's
shaven-headed underlings was present making official copies. Si'Wren
did not write it out word-for-word, which would clearly have been
impossible, but only took down names, dates, and a few crucial details
about any complaints or petitions.
Then, tiredly, she would retire to Ibi's quarter, and knock the clay
filler from the frames, kneading the used clay with a little water
until she had worked it soft and pliable again. Then she would prepare
the boxes by refilling them and wiping their outside frames clean of
dried-on clay dust and leaving them covered with moist cloth of flax
weave. She would also set her dampened wooden marking sticks neatly
laid out to one side to dry at day's end, and also saw to various other
details of her daily chores. Finally, exhausted, she would retire and
sleep soundly until the cock crew in the early predawn darkness to
signal the start of a new day.
Upon arising and finishing with her toilet, she would take with her a
set of dry sticks to sharpen with a small piece of honing stone, and
lift the dampened linen from her restored clay tablets to find them
looking fresh and soft with a dull smooth gleam when she took them up
to bring along with her for the day.
Mearch appeared one time in Ibi's shop, equipped with a wooden staff.
Advising her that he was still working on his assignment for her, the
Master Armorer made crude knife marks on the rod with a stubby but
wickedly sharp flaying knife as he measured her height, the length of
her limbs, and some other proportions, accomplishing all with a
swiftness and unconscious poise that betrayed long practice at this
sort of thing.
"I shall go, and do, and then I will return, and then you will see," he
finally said. Then his face briefly illuminated with a cheery smile.
Shyly, Si'Wren bowed, and smiled briefly in return. Although she had no
desire to become his next wife, she found him to be well-mannered and
likeable enough, in spite of his crudeness.
"Do not fear," he said, all businesslike again. "When you come
to the royal stables, I, even I, Mearch, Chief Armorer to the Emperor
himself, will not suffer you to come to the slightest harm."
Si'Wren slowly bowed low to him again.
Mearch grinned, and turned to go back to the stables.
* * *
Si'Wren continued to increase in knowledge and wisdom as she observed
her astute Emperor in court, learning intuitively from the inevitable
daily exercise of her mental faculties how to sift truth from lies, and
how various evils and perplexing situations were to be properly
adjudicated.
There were several ways that crimes were judged. One was by the
severity of the crime itself. Another way was to judge the criminal by
his or her own attitude and intentions. Equally important were the
question of whether the suspect was high born and wealthy, or low born
and bondable, or a beggar, or--most unfortunate of all, a mere
penniless slave.
To Si'Wren, they were all human beings first and foremost, but she was
no judge and could not voice an opinion regardless. However, she was
well aware of the fact that high station was no proof of good
character. In fact, there was very little to call good in any of the
people she saw. They all seemed intent upon doing evil to their
neighbors, and were only sorry to be caught, not for doing wrong.
* * *
One day, Si'Wren was finally given her new ivory marking sticks. They
were beautiful, with different-shaped ends at the tips, for greater
writing versatility, and she felt as if she had been given a gift from
heaven.
Si'Wren was learning how to snatch up her marking sticks and write
swiftly when called upon, mimicking her mentor Ibi and copying the
flood of new words she heard by seeing what he wrote and duplicating it
exactly in clay with the white ivory marking sticks. They were
marvelous. The beautifully carved marking sticks did not grow soft from
her almost ceaseless jabbing of the moist clay when at court, and never
needed resharpening.
At the stables, where she went almost every day during her free time in
the afternoons, she was learning to ride, but not on the horse Mearch
had chosen for her. He refused even to tell her yet which one it was
that he had chosen to be her personal mount. Mearch had chosen instead
to pursue her training period on a gentle mare, to give her a chance to
develop a proper background in horsemanship. Later, he began to put her
on other horses, to give her a greater diversity of experience.
He had every horse in the stable to choose from, and only withheld the
most unpredictable, hostile, or otherwise dangerous animals, which he
would never change his mind about. He reserved those for his hardened
men-at-arms, to be their battle mounts.
However, he did not fail to notice which one caught her eye most often.
It was the one he had secretly chosen for her, a dark, lustrous,
highly-spirited black stallion which the men were afraid to even think
of riding. Mearch believed that the stallion, so wild and untamed, only
needed to have it's trust and cooperation gained, and to be given a
chance to develop a sense of mutual trust and respect for it's rider.
In her other rounds, although no man or woman in the palace went
deliberately out of their way to show any special respect for her,
Si'Wren was not actively persecuted. As Royal Scribe, her appearance
anywhere in the palace might mean nothing but idle curiosity on her
part as an inexperienced member of the palace staff, or it could be
that she was acting in official capacity, and how were the others to
know? To deliberately impede or interfere with her could mean death to
an offender, if she were on official business. Thus none dared lay a
hand upon her or bar her path for the slightest reason.
She got her share of incidental looks, though. Some accepted her, some
despised her, some merely took a good look to see who she was and then
left her alone.
Meanwhile, rumors flew like birds on the wing, telling of Kadrug and
giants, Kadrug and Conabar, Kadrug and this, Kadrug and that, and so on
and so forth.
Si'Wren watched Emperor Euphrates prostrate himself once in private
prayer services to the sun god, beseeching deliverance from Kadrug and
his giants. Emperor Euphrates seemed very worried, though she could not
imagine why. His army certainly seemed large enough to handle any
possible enemy, giants or no.
* * *
One day, Mearch marched into Ibi's private chambers, and returned
Si'Wren's polite bow and Ibi's imperious look with equal aplomb as he
delivered to them both a careless greeting with a wordless wave of the
hand.
Si'Wren's eyes were riveted upon Mearch's other arm, in the crook of
which was tucked an oiled chamois skin wrapping, which was carefully
folded and tied around something rather bulky.
Mearch had only come calling, in Si'Wren's rather short-lived
experience, with a direct regard to the pursuit of her education with
horses, and as she looked on with no small degree of excitement and
anticipation, she suspected that today was to be the day she had been
awaiting anxiously for so long.
"Si'Wren," Mearch beckoned, his face impassive.
Si'Wren had long since discovered that Mearch had a deep and subtle
sense of pride and good will, in spite of his frankly ugly features.
She felt curiously safe with him, as she still could not with so many
others who never smiled at her, and had come over time to count Mearch
as an unspoken ally, until it seemed that the less either he or she
acknowledged it, the more each became aware of this secret bond of
trust between them. Today, with his flashing eyes, he regarded her with
a look of satisfaction and unvoiced promise, for he was, she suspected,
come to fulfill his duty to Ibi on her behalf, and it evidently gave
him great pleasure, though he dared not show it lest Ibi misunderstand
his motives and give him another chewing out.
"Today, little one, you shall ride the horse I have promised," said
Mearch. "Behold."
With a flourish, he flicked his razor sharp stone knife through the
binding of thongs and swept aside the chamois skin, and revealed a
stunning black leather harness and saddle, intricately trimmed with
ivory and silver.
Si'Wren looked on with astonishment, as he held it out to her.
This, she reflected, clutching the riding gear with both hands and
smelling the fine black leather, was for a horse. A horse of her own!
She held the saddle as she smiled at Mearch, and shut her eyes
momentarily in thanks to the Invisible God.