Richard Adams - Maia

He bent forward, stroking the baby's head.

"I hardly could know that, if you come to think of it. Tell me."

She told him the dream-what a long time ago it seemed! How she had found herself the Queen of Bekla, scattering figs as she drove her goat-carriage through the crowds, only

to come at last upon himself, in place of her own reflection, gazing up at her from the green depths of the lake.

"It's all plain enough now," she ended, "but of course I couldn't make head nor tail of it then. I went out and swam in the lake and gave the dream back to Lespa, 'cos I couldn't understand it,"

"Well, she's certainly sorted it out for you, hasn't she? I think you ought to thank her, not me." But she,could see how much pleasure it had given him to be told.

A day or two later he had returned to his water-ways and his devoted marsh-frogs.

That had been more than a year ago. She! had followed his parting instructions to the letter and surely there had never been a finer baby than Zen-Otal.

As a matter of fact this was the reason why she was here now in Keril-Katria. Nasada had sent a message that he wanted to scratch the baby's arm against the fever, as he had (she might recall) for the young Suban Kram. Zen-Kurel, himself no Suban, had been inclined to make light of the matter; but on this occasion Maia, though she had lost nothing of her respect and admiration for her husband (indeed, it had rather grown, if anything, for while he had retained all his endearing cheerfulness and self-assurance he was maturing, becoming less youthfully precipitate), was determined to have her own way. If Nasada thought it ought to be done, then done it was going to be. However, the old man had said that he would prefer to avoid a second journey all the way to northern Katria. Could they, perhaps, meet in Keril? So here, of course, she had come, leaving Zenka to see to the business of the summer cattle-fair, where he expected to make a good profit.

Nasada had now left Keril, having duly scratched Zen-Otal, pronounced him as likely a child as ever he had seen in his life and advised her to wait a few days before returning home, as the scratching might bring on a touch of fever, though nothing to worry about. So here she was, strolling along King Karnat Avenue on a fine summer evening, perfectly happy to be a country girl on a visit to town, with nothing to do for a nice change and all of five hundred meld from a generous husband to lay out on herself.

A little way off was a small ornamental lake, where white cranes were feeding; nothing near so beautiful as the Barb and only about a quarter the size; still, perhaps she might walk there for a while before returning to her inn-"The

Keg and Kynat," a respectable, not-too-expensive house- for supper. After that perhaps she'd ask one of her men to attend her to the dancing. (A lady in Katria was not expected to go about alone. She oughtn't really to be out alone now, but once a Beklan, she thought-well, perhaps not always a Beklan: but not a back-of-beyond provincial, either, to be subject to every hidebound convention while she was out on a bit of a spree.)

All of a sudden she became aware of some sort of stir further up the road. People were running forward in eager excitement. She could hear cries of enthusiasm and admiration-even a cheer or two. A voice was shouting, "Make way! Make way there!" Surely that was a Beklan accent?

Married lady and mother or no married lady and mother, Maia, at eighteen, had not lost her capacity for girlish excitement. What could it be? She could glimpse, above the heads of the gathering people, a tall man in an ornate head-dress, carrying a wand of office. It was he who was shouting, "Make way!" but for whose benefit she could not see. Could it perhaps be Lenkrit, or someone like that, on a state visit from Suba; or just possibly even the new King of Terekenalt? She had heard tell of nothing of the kind, but that was not surprising. Anyway, whatever it was, she wasn't going to miss it. It'd be something to tell Zenka and his father when she got home. "Oh, and I saw the king. What d'you think of that?"

Her matronly dignity (such as it was) cast aside, Maia began to run like the others, her sandaled feet kicking up the soft dust of summer. She slipped sideways past two or three men in sacking smocks, bumped into and apologized to an old market-woman with a basket, managed to get another yard or two closer to the front, stood on tiptoe and looked over the shoulder of a lad with a hinnari on his shoulder.

The tall man in the head-dress was certainly Beklan: now that she could get a good look at him there was no doubt of that. Although he was wearing a silver-and-green uniform he was not a soldier, but evidently some sort of steward or major-domo. Still shouting, "Make way! Make way!" and now and then pushing people back with his staff of office, he was nonetheless making slow progress, for the crowd was thickening. Behind him, dressed in the same uniform, came three equally smartly-dressed men, while

behind these again came two youths pulling a flower-bedecked, red-and-yellow jekzha. Seated in this was the center of attention-a young woman at whom everyone was pointing and staring. She was dressed in a gold-embroidered robe of scarlet silk and flaunting a great fan of peacock feathers, while round her neck, on a gold chain, hung an enormous emerald set in silver. From time to time she raised one hand to the people, showing her very white teeth in a flashing smile. It was not remarkable that they were all wonder-struck, for none of them could ever have seen a girl like this before. Not only was she resplendent in the prime of youth and health, radiant with prosperity and plainly enjoying every moment of the adulation; she was also alert as a leopard and not quite so black as its spots. She was Occula.

In the instant that Maia recognized her the jekzha had passed by. The major-domo having succeeded at last in clearing a way, the boys quickened their pace and entered the side-street opposite.

Maia, frantically pushing and thrusting, burst out of the crowd, tripped, fell, got up again and ran after them shouting, "Occula! Occula!"

People were closing in behind the jekzha, blocking her way. Still shouting, she shoved and pulled them aside, so that several cried out angrily. She only ran on all the harder, calling and stumbling but gradually catching up. Another uniformed attendant, bringing up the rear, turned and stared at her as she came dashing towards him.

"Occula! Occula!"

"Get back, woman!" he cried. "What do you think you're doing? Here!" he called to one of the others in front. "This mad woman! Come and-" He stopped her, striking an ill-aimed blow which glanced off her shoulder. She bit his hand. "Occula! Occula!"

They had her by the arms now, two of them. She was struggling. Then, all of a sudden, they were knocked aside by a swinging cuff apiece.

"You bastin' idiots, doan' you know who it is? Let her alone, damn you! Get over there and wait till I call you!"

The next moment she and Occula were clasped in each other's arms. There was a fragrance of kepris and beneath that the old smell, as of clean coal. The gold-embroidered robe scratched her face, but she hardly felt it.

"Banzi! Oh, banzi, banzi, I doan' believe it!"

They looked at each other with tears.streaming down their cheeks. People were crowding round, chattering like starlings, the liveried servants doing their best to hold them back.

"I thought you were in Terekenalt! They said you'd married your officer fellow and gone to live in Terekenalt!"

"No, it's Katria."

"Oh, Katria, is it? Hell, look at all these bastards! We can' talk here. Banzi, are you busy? Were you goin' somewhere?"

"Oh, Occula, how can you ask? No, of course I'm not!"

"Well, get in the damn' jekzha, then. Quick, too, before this bunch of bumpkins trample us both to buggery! Florio!" she shouted to the major-domo. "You'd better try another street or somethin'! The Serrelinda and I want to get back as quick as we can."