Sable rode up. At Silver Snow’s invitation, she leapt with what seemed astonishing ease from horseback into the chariot just as Prince Vughturoi gave the command to ride.
The narrrow eyes of the Hsiung-nu noblewoman widened and shone as Silver Snow greeted her with all the elegance that she might have used for a Brilliant Companion, then moved on to the pleasantries suitable between equals before they attended to any serious matter that might be discussed. Clearly she was impatient to get to the core of whatever Silver Snow had to say; just as clearly, she forced herself to allow her new queen to take the lead.
Finally—less time than would have been proper in Ch’ang-an but more time than either woman wanted to squander on preliminaries—Silver Snow leaned forward and saw Sable’s eyes brighten. Finally, an end to waiting!
“Tell me of our people,” invited Silver Snow.
Sable was glad to expand upon the strength of the royal clan, the majesty of the shan-yu who ruled it, the wealth of its tents and herds, and the prowess of its warriors, among them Basich, her brother, and his hero, the Prince Vughturoi. Basich, Silver Snow learned, had children but no wives; Vughturoi had had a household, but “ill fortune struck, and his elder wife died in childbed,” Sable spoke dispassionately, in the even tones of one for whom such misfortunes were part of everyday life. “Then his younger wife fell from her horse when it stumbled. He was glad, this one thinks, to obey His Heavenly Majesty’s command to travel past the Purple Walls to fetch ...” she trailed off, in a kind of embarrassment that surprised both herself and Silver Snow, who had not been aware that Hsiung-nu could blush.
“Who is Strong Tongue?” Silver Snow asked. For the first time in all her travels, she saw one of the Hsiung-nu flinch.
Her eyes grew round, almost distending from their shallow sockets. “She is like your handmaid, only more. Strong Tongue is a woman of power who knows all about the birth or death of a man or woman and whose voice is strong, like unto the voice of gods. When she fares from her yurt, all cover their faces and abase themselves in fear of her power.”
Or, thought Silver Snow, in fear of her son's whistling arrows.
“She is no friend to me, then,” she concluded, and saw Sable relax a little. Now, at least, she would be able to say, should Strong Tongue question her, that she had told Silver Snow, the interloper from Ch’in, nothing except that Strong Tongue had power.
She spoke gently, easily to Sable. Let her see that I have no fear ; she thought. Then, just as swirls of dust up ahead heralded the approach of more riders from the shan-yu's camp, she released the Hsiung-nu woman to remount her horse, lest she be seen sitting at ease with Strong Tongue’s enemy.
Silver Snow shivered and tucked both hands into her voluminous sleeves. “More than ever, Willow,” she said, “I am glad that you are with me. The day on which my father gave you to me is thrice auspicious.”
Willow reached out, greatly daring, to pat her mistress’ arm. “It will be all right. My head upon it; you shall come to no harm, little mistress.”
At that moment, the Hsiung-nu’s camp guards reached the caravan, surrounded it, and, with blood-chilling shrieks of welcome, escorted it into the camp of the shan-yu, the ancient husband whom Silver now had journeyed so far to meet.
Riders flowed about the wagons and chariot of Silver Snow’s caravan, bringing it down a narrow aisle which was guarded by bowmen and over which loomed figures hacked into rocks and set up along the line of march. From where had they borne such stones, and why? Silver Snow wondered. She glanced at them, then glanced aside at the nakedness of the male and female figures, their private parts embarrassingly plain to be seen.
She had expected a camp. What, finally, her train paused in front of was just as much a court as any assortment of pavilions and gardens in Ch’ang-an, though it was as different from the capital as she herself might be from the robust, brawling women who tended the huge cauldrons that steamed outside many of the felt yurts.
Vughturoi gestured, and Silver Snow’s driver stopped the chariot in front of the largest and most splendid of the tents. Actually, if a palace could be wrought of silk, leather, and felt, with occasional struts of rare, precious wood, the shan-yu 's tent was such a place. Despite the cold, its flaps gaped open, and fires burned within, their smoke rising through holes in the roof. So heavy and so firmly pitched was the tent that its walls scarcely rippled at gusts of wind that might have bowled over lesser structures.
Carpets of wool and silk, brought either from Ch’in or taken from the cities even farther west, in the land of the Hu, or Persia, lay scattered in and out of the tent, piled one upon another in shining layers. Farther inside, Silver Snow could make out plump brocaded cushions, the sleek gleam of lacquered chests, and ordered heaps of furs and silks. She had expected stark necessity. What she saw now had a splendor that might be barbaric but was also curiously attractive.
To Silver Snow’s astonishment, Vughturoi dismounted and, with a flourish, applied the key that he wore to Silver Snow’s chariot, though, since it was of Hsiung-nu design, possessed nothing that even resembled a lock. Silver Snow stepped down on ground that felt pebbled, unfamiliar beneath her feet. How odd it seemed now that she would be traveling no farther, at least until spring, she thought; and knew that for nomad thinking.
An elderly man shuffled forward, awkward with age as well as with the gait of a man who had, lifelong, ridden more often than he had walked. Beneath swathing furs, he wore a robe of Ch’in, embroidered with dragons and trimmed with vermilion. It hung on him in such a way as to suggest that once he had been a far heavier, more muscular man. Though he too wore the soft-soled boots of a rider, his were so lavishly fur-trimmed and embroidered that it was clear that he had not set foot to stirrup in many a day. The thin, scraggly beard common to males of his race was white from extreme age. Though his eyes were sunk deep in the wrinkles formed by gazing for too many years at the trackless horizon of the steppes, they were wise, cunning, and even a little humorous.
With great effort, he bent to touch Vughturoi’s head, from which the young man had swept his fur cap. “As you can see, my son, the Sun has not yet claimed me,” he said. “Rise.”
“At your command, Most Heavenly Majesty,” Vughturoi answered, Then, his voice choking, he added, “It is most good to see you . . . Father. ”
“There, now, and so it is for an old man to see you too.” The shan-yu patted his son’s arm, then turned to Silver Snow, who went immediately to her knees, Willow pulling her robes into order and away from possible contamination from straw, dust, or dung.
“My bride,” said the shan-yu, laboriously edging forward to take Silver Snow’s chin in his hand and raise it with the eagerness of a child examining a new kite in the spring. “She is more fair than aught else I have seen from the Middle Kingdom,” he declared. “Child, I bid you welcome. You shall be chief among my consorts, and I name you the queen who brings peace to the Hsiung-nu. For it is peace that you have brought. Henceforward, I decree that my cousin Yuan Ti has no need to defend his Wall. From the Great River to Dun-huang, I myself shall order my sons to maintain it.”