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point as makes no difference, and for what? He said he would spend them to
keep the nomads from crossing the Degird, and we see how well he kept that
promise. If Denak can rescue Sharbaraz, I think she should and we must help
all we can."
"But can she rescue him?" Abivard asked. "The two of you know more of the
workings of a women's quarters than I could ever learn. That's why I brought
this to you."
"It will depend on how Pradtak has rearranged things to make a cell there,"
Burzoe answered. "My guess is that he will have installed a guard a man,
whether his or Smerdis' in front of Sharbaraz's cell, and walled off part of
the corridor to keep the lustful fellow from sporting among the women. If
Denak can get to the corridor in front of the cell, she may indeed accomplish
something. If not, I know not what advice to give you: matters become more
difficult."
"Perhaps she can offer to serve Sharbaraz cook for him, or something of that
sort," Roshnani said. "He may be a prisoner, but he is still of royal blood.
And Smerdis, you said, is old. What if he dies tomorrow? Most likely,
Sharbaraz gets his crown back and he will remember, one way or the other, how
Pradtak treated him at Nalgis Crag stronghold."
"A thought," Abivard agreed. "If Pradtak's principal wife were to wait upon
him, Sharbaraz might see his captivity as honorable. Or so Denak could present
the matter to Pradtak, at any rate."
"You are not without wit, child," Burzoe said to Roshnani, at which the
younger woman blushed bright red. Pretending not to notice, Burzoe turned to
Abivard. "The scheme has some merit. Much depends on how tightly Pradtak is
used to controlling his women's quarters. If no man save he is ever allowed to
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see his wives' faces, he will not grant this to Denak. If on the other hand he
learned an easier way from his father Urashtu, our chance for success looks
better."
"Worth a try, anyway." Abivard bowed to his mother and his principal wife.
"Thank you for your wisdom. Whatever we do, we have to keep it secret. No word
of this can get out, or we are ruined before we begin."
Roshnani and Burzoe looked at each other. Abivard watched amusement pass
between them, and something else something hidden in the way women had of
hiding things from men. It made him feel perhaps seven years old again, in
spite of his inches, his strength, and his thick black beard.
In a voice dry as the desert beyond the stronghold, Burzoe said, "See to it
that you keep the secret as well as we. You may count on it that no one in the
women's quarters will learn from us the reason you came here today."
Roshnani nodded. "Women love to spill secrets that do not truly matter but
then, so do men. And men, I think, are more likely to betray those that do."
Abivard hadn't thought about that. He shrugged, unsure if it was true or not.
Then he opened the door and headed down the corridor that led out of the
women's quarters.
Behind him, Burzoe's voice rose to a screech. "Wretch of a daughter-in-law,
you bring embarrassment on us all when my son the dihqan notices how uneven
the stitches of your embroidery are."
"They are no such thing," Roshnani retorted, just as hotly. "If you'd taught
Abivard to recognize good work, he'd know it when he saw it."
The two women shouted even louder, both at once so Abivard couldn't understand
a word they said. He almost ran back to Roshnani's chamber to break up the
fight. Then he realized his principal wife and his mother were staging a
quarrel based on something that would have given him a plausible reason for
visiting them. The women's quarters might buzz with gossip for days, but it
would be the right kind of gossip. He wanted to bow back toward the women in
admiration, but that might have given away the game.
No one in the women's quarters came running to watch the fight. No one, as
Abivard saw, affected to give it any special notice. But no one paid heed to
what she was supposed to be doing, either. Misdirection, Abivard thought, not
concealment, something worth remembering on the battlefield, too.
He went back to his bedchamber, locked the door that led into the women's
quarters, and put the key into one of the pouches he wore on his belt. He
flopped down onto the bed and thought hard.
"I can't even write back and tell Denak what to do, not in so many words," he
muttered. "If Pradtak if anyone happens to set eyes on the letter, everything
goes up in smoke."
Circumspection was not his strength. By Makuraner standards, he was blunt and
straightforward. But Godarz had always said a man should be able to put his
hand to anything. Like a lot of good advice, it sounded easier than it was
liable to prove.
He thought awhile longer, then took out pen and parchment and began to write,
a few careful words at a time: To Denak, her loving brother the dihqan Abivard
sends greetings. The news of which you write is, as always, fascinating, and
gives me much to think about.
Abivard snorted when he reread that. "By the God, nothing but truth there!" he
exclaimed. He bent to his work again. Without his noticing, the tip of his
tongue stuck out of one corner of his mouth, as it had in boyhood days when a
scribe first taught him his letters.
He went on, If you can help your neighbor, the God will surely smile upon you
for your kindness. Perhaps he will look gladly on you if you make the
approach.
To someone who did not know what Abivard was talking about, that "he" would
refer back to the God. Abivard hoped Denak would understand it meant Pradtak.
He glowered at the parchment. Writing in code was hard work.
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I am sure that, because of the bad temper your neighbor has shown to those
placed over her, someone needs to keep an eye on her every minute. Perhaps you
will be able to make friends with that woman or eunuch however Pradtak sees
fit to order his women's quarters and so have a chance to improve your
neighbor's nature.
He read that over. Denak should have no trouble following it. Most people who
read it probably would not catch on. But if it fell into Pradtak's hands, the
game was up. Abivard chewed on his lower lip. Denak had said her husband was
not in the habit of reading the letters he sent them. Pradtak certainly didn't
read her answers, or she would not have been able to write as frankly as she
did. But he was liable to say something like "The gate guards tell me a letter
came from your brother today. Show it to me, why don't you?" How could she say
no?
To keep her from having to, Abivard got out another sheet of parchment and
wrote a cheery letter about doings at Vek Rud stronghold that said never a
word about imprisoned royalty. If Pradtak wanted to know what was in Abivard's
mind and keeping Sharbaraz prisoner in Nalgis Crag domain was liable to make
him anxious even if he hadn't been before Denak could show him the image of an
empty-headed fellow full of chatter and not much else.
Abivard sighed as he put both sheets into a leather travel tube. Life would
have been simpler and perhaps more pleasant if he could have lived the life he
wore like a mask in that second letter.
He sighed again. "If the God had wanted life to be simple, he wouldn't have
put Makuran next to the Khamorth or to Videssos," he murmured, and set the
stopper in the tube.
* * *
Tanshar opened the door, then blinked in surprise and bowed low. "Lord, you do
me great honor by visiting my humble home," he said, stepping aside so Abivard
could come in.
As always, the fortune-teller's dwelling was astringently neat and almost bare [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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