"Not far to Melvda now," said Nasada over his shoulder.
Maia, eager to learn more, scrambled down from the stern and went forward to sit beside him again. He pointed ahead. She could make out fences, barns, stockades and folds, with broad, green paths leading between them.
"Do you like the look of it?" he asked.
"Better 'n what we've left behind I do."
"We're quite a way down into lower Suba here. A lot
of it's very open compared with the swamps further north, and there's more firm ground. Melvda's not really what you'd think of as a city: there's nothing built of stone or brick at all. Still, insofar as Suba has any towns, Melvda's the principal one. They mostly breed sheep and cattle. There are two big fairs every year: that's why it's called Melvda-Rain. The town's really just a lot of farms-those and the houses of people who hve by the farmers-you know, wheelwrights, drovers, woodmen-people like that."
"You say King Karnat's here?"
"Oh, yes, he'll have been here for some days now. There must be thousands of soldiers camping and bivouacking: Katrians, Terekenalters; and a lot of our own people as well, coming in from all over. Anda-Nokomis told me he thought there'd be something like nine thousand altogether."
"Why, however do they all find enough to eat?" asked Maia.
"Well, that's it. They can't stay here for very long, you see. Once an army's been got together it has to be used or it starts melting away. There's a saying, 'Sun on the snow and hunger on an army.' Or sometimes it's 'Sickness on an army.' That's where I come in."
"Where are they going, then, Nasada?"
"I don't know," he replied. "That's not my business. I doubt anyone knows but Karnat and Anda-Nokomis. But if Subans are going to be wounded, that is my business; and I'll stick to it."
Soon they were among the grazing-meadows; watercress flowering white in the shallows, yellow water-lilies and patches of pink bogbean. Herd-boys called and waved to them and Kram and his friends called back, asking why they didn't leave their cattle and come and fight for Suba. Not far off, above the tall grass, Maia could now see acres of long, single-storied buildings like great sheds, roofed with shingles stained or painted in bright, contrasting colors. These formed patterns and in a few cases even pictures. One roof that she saw depicted a green field with brown, black and white cows, all picked out in colored shingles. And then-oh, how unexpected and delightful!-there on another roof was Lespa-Lespa herself, golden-haired, clouds drifting across her white nakedness, standing among her stars against a dark-blue sky.
The roofs stretched away into the distance. Among them
were groves of trees, mostly willows and trailing zoans, and here and there gardens and pools with water-flowers. They passed a smithy fronting the water, where men were at work round a blazing forge, tapping and clanging so intently that none looked up as the kilyett slid past. At their feet lay a pile of sword-blades, some with the hilts already fixed.
There seemed to be no shops, but Maia saw a timber-yard, sawn planks piled one side, trimmed tree-trunks the other, all stamped in red with characters and brands which meant nothing to her-signs denoting their vendors or purchasers, perhaps, or their destinations. A little further on they came to a temple of Shakkarn, upon whose crimson roof was depicted the goat-god Jiimself, with shaggy hide and golden horns. She raised her hand in salutation. Ah! great-hoofed thruster, remember me, for I'm in sore need of good luck!
The buildings gave place to another stretch of fields. Yet these held no cattle, but an untidy camp of ramshackle huts, low tents and rough shelters of goatskin and cowhide. Fires were smoking, men were cooking, lazing in the sun, rolling dice, fettling weapons. There were smells of trampled grass, ashes, excrement and the rotten-sweet odor of old vegetables and other such garbage. Not far ahead, a little crowd of young fellows were splashing naked in the water. Although it meant nothing to Maia, she thought it best to follow Luma first in averting her eyes and then in lying down on the floor of the boat as they passed.
"We'll be there directly," said Nasada, putting out a hand to help her up again. "Are you ready to meet Anda-Nokomis and the king?"
"The king?" cried Maia in panic. "But you never told me!"
"Well, I can't say for certain that he'll be at the landing-stage, but I wouldn't be at all surprised. Anda-Nokomis is bound to have told him. Stop a moment, Tescon, there's a good lad. We must give Maia a chance to get ready."
"But U-Nasada, how can I get ready?" cried poor Maia, nearly weeping as Tescon turned the kilyett and drove its bow six feet into a deep clump of rushes bordered by a bed of yellow water-lilies. "I've got no shoes, no jewels, not even a necklace-and now you say meet the king! It's like a bad dream! I haven't even got a decent dress! Look at this thing!"
"You could take it off, I suppose."
That was an idea! Maia looked quickly round to see whether he was serious; but he only smiled wryly, shaking his head.
"In Bekla, perhaps, Serrelinda: not in Suba, I'm afraid. We'll just have to do the best we can. Luma, will you help Maia, please?"
"Shagreh."
It was all Maia could do not to slap the girl, who was plainly completely insensitive to her predicament, let alone possessed of any suggestions for helping her. Miserably she washed her face, neck and arms in the water, combed her hair with her fingers and tidied it as best she could. Sitting on the bow, trying to pull to some sort of rights the smock which Gehta had given her, she was struck by a sudden thought. That morning Penyanis's maid, sent to wake herself and Luma, had brought presents-a new shift for each of them. They were Palteshi work, of fine linen, beautifully embroidered. The kind-hearted Penyanis had ventured to hope that they would prove acceptable. Luma had become almost loquacious with pleasure. At breakfast Maia had thanked and kissed Penyanis, but inwardly had not really felt as much pleased to receive the gift as the old lady had evidently been to make it.
However, its possibilities now seemed rather greater. Pulling off her smock, she examined the shift carefully. It was brand-new and looked it: and it was still fresh and clean, for as yet she had scarcely begun to sweat. The embroidery was really much finer and prettier than she had noticed that morning, with a border of flying cranes in red and blue round the yoke and another, flying the other way, round the hem. It fitted her a shade closely, having probably been intended for a less buxom girl; but that might perhaps prove, if anything, a fault on the right side. It left her arms bare and fell to just above her knees. Her arms weren't scratched or marked at all. Her shin was still rather badly bruised, of course, but that would have shown anyway.
"Luma," she said, "please pull me a whole lot of those yellow water-lilies. Just go on pulling them till I tell you to stop."
The long stems were hollow, pliant and fibrous, easy enough to pierce and thread through one another. She took her time, carefully making a broad crown of bloom
for her head, a double garland for her neck and a bracelet for each wrist. When she had finished and put them on she stood up, swayed back and forth a little to make sure they were firm and would not break or fall to pieces; then stepped carefully down the length of the boat to where Nasada and Tescon were waiting with their backs turned.
"This is the best I can manage, U-Nasada. D'you reckon it might do?"
He turned, and for several moments sat looking up at her without replying. At length he said, "To be young- as young as you are-as well as very beautiful-that's rather like being able to fly or disappear, you know. There aren't any rules for someone like you."
She was too flustered to grasp what he meant. "Is it all right, Tescon?" she asked with anxious impatience.