Balkis walked beside Anthony in silence and confusion, deliberately fanning the coals of her anger, small though they might be. They were there at all only because Anthony, walking beside her in equal silence, had a faraway gaze and dazed expression that told her only too well how thoroughly he had been tempted, and how his body had longed to give in.
However, it also told her how strong an act of will it had taken to refuse.
Of course, if he had never lain with a woman before, as the soldiers had said, there would have been some fear of the unknown to help him refuse. Surely it had been fear that made him shun the hungry warrior-women! Balkis thought. Surely his heart could not have become so deeply embroiled with her as to refuse such an opportunity!
Thus she fanned the flames of anger and tried hard to ignore the clear facts as the soldiers had told them—that Anthony was in love with her, so much so that he had refused to commit an action that would have hurt her deeply.
Or would have hurt her if she were in love with him, she qualified. But surely she had given him no reason to think so! Surely she was not! He was only a country bumpkin, after all, a rude and naive peasant who would be completely lost amid the alleys of Maracanda and the intricacies of Prester John's court!
She had to admit, however, that here in this distant land he was more knowledgeable than she, and just as capable. If she had the experience of traveling, he had some knowledge of desert travel and the places they would encounter, from his talk with the caravan drivers. And he was quite handsome. This thought slipped into her mind by itself. Indeed, she did not have to work at remembering the strange glow that the first sight of him had kindled in her, the rush of blood that had pounded through her veins. Rather, she had to work at forgetting it, for it was all too familiar, a mild version of the few times she had been in cat form when she had gone into heat. Unfortunately, the sight of him still aroused the same emotion; even remembering it made her pulse quicken and her breath shorten.
Again she used the energy to fuel her anger—how dare he so much as look at another woman with lust! How dare he gaze upon a naked female body—never mind that he had been given no choice. Worse, how dare he respond to the sight, even though he refused it! How dare he have longed to accept!
She had not, of course, given him any hope of such reward herself, nor would she—but that was beside the point. If he were in love with her, any other woman would have left him completely unaffected.
Wouldn't it?
She remembered seeing real cats in heat, though, and how they welcomed any and all males, and could not help the sneaking suspicion that there were human women who might wish to behave the same way, and only their willpower and love for their husbands prevented them from doing so.
But underneath all the effort of anger lurked the confusion arising from the conviction that the soldier women had seen Anthony more clearly than she had herself—had seen that he was in love with her, deeply in love with her, and she knew with a sneaking certainty that her own feelings were engaged with him far more than she liked. Anger was definitely the readiest answer to such confusion.
Balkis shook herself, putting the whole topic behind her, or trying to, as she looked up and saw a river before them. “Anthony, look! It is a boundary, surely! We can cross it and be out of this witches' country! We need not traverse the full length of the land!”
“Cross … ?” Anthony's eyes focused—a bit. “River?” He turned and looked at the broad gray-green stream before them. Finally the meaning of the words seemed to penetrate, and he shook himself. “Boundary…” Then he turned to look at Balkis, and she could see his eyes focus completely, could almost hear his brain click into gear, saw him shake off the trance. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't the sight of her that had done it, but the idea of leaving the Grand Feminie in a single day instead of forty-two.
“Yes! Leave the country! An excellent idea!” Anthony said, and strode toward the river.
Then, though, he roamed the riverbank in silence, gazing at the stream and frowning, deep in thought. Balkis felt the tension build, though Anthony seemed not to. Finally she burst out, “What are you thinking of?”
“The fate of that poor man we met on the road,” he told her without hesitation, “and how unfortunate for him that he did not have a dream to protect him, as I have.”
She almost asked what dream that might be, but bit back the words at the last moment, afraid that the answer might involve her, might be her. Instead she asked, “And that you might have shared his fate?”
“Oh, there was never any chance of that,” he said with absolute certainty.
That nettled Balkis, and she spoke with some sharpness. “Why? Are you so sure you would have kept count of the days?”
“No,” Anthony said, “I am sure that I would never have begun.” He paused, considering. “Of course, I did not know what the punishment for refusing might be—but as it turned out, it was a reward, so it was all for the best.”
Balkis stared at him, shocked by the ease with which he said it. Obviously he hadn't really considered at the time that there might be a punishment, or that the women's favors might constitute a reward. What had made him so determined to refuse that he hadn't even thought of the consequences?
She skipped over the answer to that with determination and demanded, “What are you seeking?”
“A bridge or a ford,” Anthony answered. “There!”
She looked where he pointed and saw the bottom of the river undulating across its width. “It has shelved. How deep do you think it is?”
“Perhaps a foot or two, if we do not step too far to left or right” Anthony said. “See how the color of the water deepens so quickly to either side? But we can wade where it is shallow.” He turned to give her a smile that was so open and ingenuous that he could not have had any ulterior motives as he offered, “Shall I carry you across?”
But wariness sprang up in Balkis, out of the emotions that had been warring in her breast. “I thank you, good companion, but I can walk by myself,” she replied.
“As you will.” Anthony sat to pull offhis boots and pull up his bias-hosen to his knees, then stood and asked, “Will you go first? Then, if you should stumble, I shall be able to catch you.”
The day before, Balkis wouldn't have felt at all reluctant to have Anthony walking behind her when she was holding her robes up to mid-thigh, might even have enjoyed the notion that he was watching her legs with admiration—but now she shrank from it. “Thank you, but I think not. I would rather you go before, so that if there is a sudden hole or soft place, I shall have warning.”
“A good thought,” Anthony said, abashed. “I should have thought of the danger.” He turned and started wading.
Bemused, Balkis pulled off her slippers, gathered up her skirts and, holding them high, followed his steps as he crossed the river.
On the other side, Anthony sat down and leaned against a tree trunk, legs stretched out on the grass. “By your leave, I'll let my feet dry before I put my boots on again.”
“That seems wise,” Balkis said cautiously, and sat down beside him, but not too close—fortunately, the next tree was a good six feet from his. She did stretch out her bare legs, but kept her hemline below the knee. Casting about desperately for something to say, she came up with, “I should think such rivers would be new to you, that you have only streams in your mountains.”