I MAKE A BET WITH ARYENIS
I had to hurry to get back in time for the evening meal, and it was
dark before I rode up the paved street into Kyrlos’s palace.
Fortune sent me to sit next to Aryenis that night, an honour I had
not enjoyed for the last two or three days. An Aryenis in dress of
flowing silk, with low square-cut neck--the offending bandage had been
removed--which showed the faultless turn of her slim throat above her
beautifully modelled shoulders. Simple clothes, and but little in the
way of ornament, save for the sapphire pendant on the thinnest of gold
chains, which gleamed against the rose ivory of her bosom, and the
little gold clasps that sparkled in the gold-flecked wealth of her
auburn hair.
“And where have you been all day, Harilek?” she asked. “I was looking
for you this evening to ride with me.”
“I wish I had known that. But I thought you would be engaged all day,
and so, as every one else seemed occupied, I rode out this morning with
Payindah down the Aornos road.”
“You were a long time, since you were not at breakfast, and have but
just come in. How far did you go?”
“I went to see Paulos.”
“You went to Paulos! You never told me that you were going! Harilek,
you’re getting very secretive. If you had told me, I should have ridden
with you, for I have not seen him for many days.”
“Well, how was I to know that you wanted to go? I thought you were
riding--as usual--with Ziné and the others.”
“Yes, but I’d have changed that to go and see Paulos. Besides, I
promised to show you some of the nice bits in his woods, you remember.”
“Yes, I remember that, all right. I have a fairly good memory, though
perhaps not as good as yours.”
“Why mine? What do you know about my memory?”
“Nothing very much, only Paulos was talking of it this afternoon. He
said you never forgot anything.”
“Oh, you were talking about me, were you? I wonder my ears didn’t burn.
But I thought men always talked about things and not about people. I
hope Paulos was giving me a good character; was he?”
“Fair to middling. He was thought-reading most of the time, though.”
“Whose thoughts? This is getting exciting.”
“Mine mostly. You don’t think he was able to read yours, do you?”
“I don’t know. He is very clever. He might be able to read mine better
than I can myself.”
“Can’t you always read your own, then, Aryenis?”
“Not always as well as I should like to. They get rather mixed up
sometimes.”
“What a confession to make! I always imagine them as sort of things
like--like the mirror Forsyth gave you--very clear and sharp.”
“That shows, Harilek, that you are still far from being grown up, or
you would know that sometimes a woman’s thoughts are the most tangled
things in the world, and most tangled of all to their owner.”
“Are they twisted up just now, then?”
“I’m not quite sure. Sometimes I think they are quite straightforward,
and then, just as everything seems perfectly clear, I come up against
the most awful bundle of knots you ever saw in your life.”
“You want a magician like Paulos to untwist them for you.”
“Yes, that would be very nice--if he could. But I think Paulos is not
the kind of magician that would unravel knots like these.”
“I wonder what sort of a magician is wanted. Perhaps the fairy prince
kind”--and I looked across the table to where Andros was making a
three-cornered conversation with Forsyth and Ziné. The doctor never
failed to find himself next to Ziné at every meal, which was more than
I could achieve with Aryenis.
“Fairy princes never read thoughts,” flashed Aryenis. “They’re always
far too stupid!”
I wondered if she had been quarrelling with Andros that day. It was
three days since she had asked me to ride with her, and now she
suddenly said she had wanted me to go out that evening.
“Are they always stupid? I thought they were supposed to be clever.”
“No. They are perfect fools generally,” she retorted, looking very
deliberately at the trio opposite.
“That’s rather bad luck on the princesses, then.”
“You don’t suppose they worry their heads about it, do you? There are
other people in the world besides fairy princes with dragon marks, or
without them, for that matter,” said she loftily.
“Still in the end of the story she generally marries the prince. That’s
what I mean about being sorry. I wasn’t insinuating that the princesses
worried their pretty heads about the princes--I was merely considering
the dullness of being married to some one who was a perfect fool.”
“They wouldn’t marry them. There’s always the swineherd or some one
sensible who can read thoughts in the story.” This very disdainfully.
I felt crushed. “Then I shall go and be a swineherd.”
“What for?”
“Why, so that the princess will think I’m sensible and able to read
thoughts.”
“And then what do you think she will do?”
“Marry me, I hope. Isn’t that what you said she would do?”
“Well, come and tell me when the play starts. I should like to see you
posing as a swineherd and pretending you could read thoughts. I don’t
believe you could read any one’s, certainly not a princess’s.”
“I’d have a good try if I got a chance.”
“If _I_ were a prince disguised as a swineherd, I’d _make_ a chance,”
said Aryenis decisively.
“That is just what I intend to do--Shahzadi. I’m going to borrow a
magic cap and a wand from Paulos, and start in on the thought-reading
trade.”
“You’ll have to find some one with thoughts to read, then. How are you
going to do that?”
“Quite easy. I’ll begin now and read yours.”
“You can’t, Harilek.”
“I’ll wager you a pair of new riding-gloves that I can. A pair of
gloves to--what shall I say?--to a piece of that mauve ribbon you wear.”
“What ribbon? Oh!” She very hurriedly adjusted the shoulder of her
dress.
“Will you take the bet?”
“And who’s to say if you read them right? If I am not sure, who else is
going to be?”
“You shall be judge. If I read them right, you will be able to untie
the knots. Is it a bet?”
She considered. “Yes. I want a pair of gloves.”
“You’re very sure of winning?”
“Of course I am. Go on, magician.”
“Well, at present you’re thinking of the war.”
“We’re all thinking of it, worse luck. That doesn’t count.”
“Yes, but you’re thinking of the people who are going to the war.”
“So is every woman in Sakaeland, Harilek. That doesn’t count either.”
She was graver now.
“But you see your thoughts are connected with their helmets.”
“What do you mean?” She looked at me questioningly.
“Why, as to whether some one will ride with a nice favour of--say--a
piece of mauve ribbon.”
I looked at her, but she was gazing across the table again.
“Continue--charlatan,” she said softly as I stopped.
“And wondering whether he will ask for the ribbon, or whether, since
all fairy princes are perfect fools, it will be necessary to give it to
him.”
“My new riding-dress is russet, Harilek. I should like fawn gloves with
it, and you shall take me out to-morrow and we will see whether such
can be found.”
“But why? You haven’t explained your judgment so that I can see if it’s
right. You haven’t said I’m wrong.”
“Because I _never_ thought he--whoever ‘he’ may be--would ask for a
piece of ribbon. And as for _giving_ such a favour--if ‘he’ wanted
it, he would have to _take_ it.” She turned to me. “You’re not such a
success at the magic trade, Harilek. You’d better try something else.”
“I shall.”
“And what will you try?”
“What the soldiers of my country call ‘offensive action,’ a recipe
which is very useful for thought-reading.”
“You’re pleased to be mysterious now.”
However, before I could answer we saw that people were getting up,
so we followed into the hall, and I saw little of her after that, as
Andros and Forsyth annexed her to sing with Ziné, and I got no more
chance of thought-reading that evening.
But Forsyth successfully spoilt my sleep by wondering whether Aryenis
was going to marry Andros.
“I’m sure they’re going to get off soon,” said he, sitting on his bed
contemplating the picture of Ziné which he had annexed out of Wrexham’s
kit. “They’re always much too busy to worry about Ziné and me when we
go out together.”
“Don’t suppose _you’ve_ got any grouse on the point, anyway,” said I
brutally. “You get the more time to analyze who exactly Ziné reminds
you of.”
“She doesn’t remind me of any one,” he retorted. “Ziné is in a class
all her own. I’ve never met any one like her before.”
“Bad as that, is it, old thing?” I replied, unfeelingly. “You want to
get back to civilization. Too much trekking has upset you.”
“D---- civilization! Think of Ziné among a crowd of chattering idiots
such as one meets at home!”
“You used to chatter with them all right upon occasion, so you
shouldn’t heave bricks.”
“Must talk to some one. But when one’s met the real article--things are
different,” he answered, rather lamely.
“I suppose they are,” I said as I pulled up my blankets and made
pretence of going to sleep. But it was poor pretence, and I was glad
when Wrexham, who was immersed in the precious book of engineering
formula that he had brought with him, put out the light and I could lie
in the dark, open-eyed, without fear of people talking to me. D----
Andros!
Still, anyway, I should go riding with Aryenis the next day, and then
soon we should be off to Aornos, and after that the war, when doubtless
one might be too busy to waste time thinking. And after that the
camels and home, even if all the rest went mad and wanted to stop in
Sakaeland. I should still have Sadiq.
So next morning after the early breakfast, Aryenis and I rode out into
the town to visit the shops where they sold the silk work of the upper
valley. I had the pleasure of paying out some of Kyrlos’s new silver
coinage--which we had got from his treasury in exchange for our Chinese
silver--for a pair of silk-embroidered leather gauntlets such as the
upper-class Sakae women wear when riding.
“I hope you will try and read my thoughts often, Harilek,” remarked
Aryenis, regarding her new gloves as we rode along. “I love winning
things.”
“I’ll make the same bet again if you like.”
“Certainly. I could do with several more pairs of gloves. Will you
begin?”
“No, not yet. I shall wait till the thoughts require elucidating.”
“But why not now?”
“Because they’re not worthy of my skill at present, since you can read
them yourself at the moment.”
“You’re very clever this morning, Sir Thought-Reader.”
“I was listening to you singing last night.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“It was clear that you had resolved some tangled thoughts a bit more
than at dinner-time. You are easier to read when you sing, even though
I don’t know Sakae. Andros plays well, and you were in tune with him.”
“Yes; he _was_ rather good last night.”
We had come out into the open space beyond the walls, where some of
Milos’s levies were collecting. There were rows and rows of felt tents
and lines of brushwood shelters, while beyond these a party of men were
practising with their bows against wicker targets under the direction
of some N.C.O.’s. The Sakae are fine bowmen; and, although much of the
rest of the levies’ armament was crude, I fancied they would be able to
give a good enough account of themselves when they got an opportunity
of using their own pet weapon.
We pulled up our horses and watched them awhile, very statuesque
figures, with their great bows pulled taut waiting the word to loose.
Then the snapped order from the N.C.O. and the bowstrings sang home
as the long yellow arrows changed to flickers of yellow light in the
sunshine ere they stood quivering half-buried in the wood backing of
the targets.
At fifty yards one would want stout mail to stand up to the shock of
the steel-shod war arrows loosed from a six-foot treble-sprung bow with
a big man behind it.
“Does every man in Sakaeland use a bow?” I asked.
“Yes, every one, and some of the women, too.”
“Do you?” The idea of Aryenis’s slim arms pulling an arrow to the point
seemed incongruous.
“Yes. A light one, of course. But with that I can beat Stephnos at
fifty paces, and he’s good--though not as good as Andros.”
“I should like to see you do it.”
“You shall one day--that is, if you don’t want to go back to your own
country directly the war’s over.”
“Why do you think I want to go back quickly?”
“Well, your sister’s waiting, isn’t she?--and then you will get tired
not having all the wonderful things you’ve told me about. Carriages
that go without horses, and things that fly, and glass that you can see
through.”
“Toys, in fact; not things that matter, as you put it.”
“Yes; certainly toys--compared to some things. But men always want
toys, don’t they? That’s the worst of them. They never can be content
with the things that really make up life. They’re all just the same:
you and Stephnos, Wrexham and father; even Andros wants playthings
instead of seeking what would turn life into something much bigger and
finer than mere toys can ever do.”
“What? Even Andros?” said I as we rode back. “Now I should have thought
that he was the proper understanding kind of person who would be clever
enough to realize the things that do matter. I’m sure that he always
reads thoughts properly, and doesn’t lose bets by guessing wrong.”
“You’re not much better at reading characters than you are at reading
thoughts, Harilek. If you want to know, Andros is just as bad as you
are at thought-reading. In fact--impossible as it may seem--he’s even
worse. He’s been wrong twice in the last fortnight.”
“I thought so; so I wasn’t quite beside the mark yesterday.”
“You thought that he was wrong, did you?” She looked a little puzzled,
then suddenly smiled. “Oh, Harilek, I’d really like to shake you.
You’re _so_ slow-witted sometimes. See if you can ride faster than you
can think.”
Whereat she put her horse into a canter that was practically a gallop,
leaving me to follow her through the dust, and not till we reached the
big gate did she condescend to let me catch her up and ride reasonably
by her side. I was still pondering the reasons for her last remark, and
doubtless, seeing me silent, she felt she must shake my wits up for
fear I might strain them thinking.
“Is Forsyth always anxious to have some one to squire--some one nice
like Ziné, I mean?”
“Always, as far as I know. Each one reminds him of one of the ones
before.”
“Does Ziné remind him of any one in particular?” said she, looking at
me sideways.
“No, I’m afraid not. That’s the trouble, to my mind. He can only see
Ziné now as Ziné, and not as, so to speak, ‘essence of girl’ in the
abstract.”
“Fancy talking of Ziné as something abstract! Harilek, I’m ashamed of
you for even thinking such a thing.”
“I didn’t. I only said Forsyth ought to.”
“And why ought he to?”
“Because he’s like the rest of us--mere wanderers--here to-day and gone
to-morrow.”
“Perhaps you won’t go. Perhaps your camels will die or something, and
you’ll have to spend your lives here without any nice looking-glasses
or that funny stuff that you smoke, and have to wear Sakae clothes for
the rest of your lives.”
“Then I should jolly well walk across the desert.”
“That’s not polite, since I live here. You ought to say you would be
very glad if something kept you here.”
“I shouldn’t be glad if something kept me here. Things don’t make
up life: people do. Possibly if some one kept me here it might be
different.”
Aryenis’s pony shied at nothing as far as I could see, and it took
her a minute or two to get him under control again, by which time she
seemed to have lost the thread, and got back to the question of the
doctor.
“I think that Forsyth would not mind much if the camels died, anyway.
He wouldn’t suggest walking across the desert.”
“No; I suppose he wouldn’t. But what makes you say that?”
“Because I’ve got two good eyes and two good ears and a brain behind
them.”
“You have, Aryenis: remarkably nice ears and particularly nice eyes.”
“That’s the first compliment I’ve had from you for over a week. What’s
happening?”
“Nothing. Only I’ve not seen so much of them of late. I suppose they
strike one the more in consequence.”
“Like your compliments.”
“Do you like compliments?”
“What woman doesn’t? Of course, I like compliments. That’s why I love
going to see Paulos.”
“Does he give you lots of them?”
“No; but his old archer servant does.”
I felt properly crushed at being referred to in the same breath with
the chipped, old, weathered block of wood that had helped me so
doubtfully with my new gear. I shifted the ground of debate.
“And what have your eyes and ears told you that makes you think the
doctor wouldn’t worry if the camels died?”
“That he thinks Ziné matters much more than camels.”
“And does Ziné think that he matters?”
“She may. But then Ziné often considers that men are worth thinking
about, which is very stupid, as I am always telling her.”
“Then you don’t consider that they are worth worrying over?”
“Not in the least. They’re useful sometimes when you want things done
for you--that’s all. But as for wasting time and energy worrying about
them as Ziné does, Heavens, no!”
“Or tangling your thoughts over them?”
That shaft went home, I could see. I was sorry for Aryenis’s pony, for
the Sakae snaffles are rather jagged, and their stirrups, which they
use as spurs, over-sharp. The simultaneous application of both stirrup
and bit must be uncomfortable to a spirited mount.
So I didn’t take much count of Aryenis’s over-emphasized statement,
made with her chin well in the air:
“As if I would ever tangle my thoughts over things like that!”
“Perhaps you don’t tangle them. Perhaps the fairy prince without the
marks tangles them for you.”
“Well, you’ve got a big enough mark across your cheek to prevent
you ever playing that part,” she retorted, looking ruthlessly at my
face, which, as Forsyth said it would be, was embellished with a very
angry-looking gash.
“Still, as you said, it serves to remind me of what I saw in the gate,”
I said, equally ruthlessly as I looked back at her.
My lady seemed to have no answer to that, and we rode into the palace
gate in silence.