Zig-zag she climbed the Leopard Hill, up the narrow paths between the low stone walls and little, secluded arbors designed for meditation, confidential talks and lovers' meetings. There were no lovers there now; no friends disputing about music or sculpture, no circumspect councilors seeking a quiet word in private. Though Maia did not know it, Eud-Ecachlon, as soon as he had heard Crevin's report, had alerted everyone of consequence in the upper city and sent runners to warn the lower city marshal to close and double-guard all gates, including the Peacock Gate. Shock and panic were already spreading across the whole Bekla. The High Baron, lord of the empire, betrayed and cut down by-of all people-the Sacred Queen, in full view of thousands! In all the city's history such a deed had never been imagined, never dreamt of. What might be fated to follow an event so unthinkable? The legends, the annals, the lore of the priests were alike silent. The dead-might they now rise from their graves and walk the streets; the
earth quake, the rocks be rent, the Temple of Cran fall? Not for nothing, then, after all, had Lespa set her great light to burn in the northern sky.
As the sunset-a brilliant, glowing chiaroscuro of saffron, crimson and green-faded and dusk darkened the terraces below, the two sentinels at the eastern door of the palace, new-levied peasant strangers to Bekla, their nerves already shredded by rumor and speculation, but most of all by the unconcealed alarm and dismay of their superiors, were suddenly stricken aghast to see the shadowy form of the goddess Lespa walking intently towards them in the failing light. There could be no mistaking the apparition. Very beautiful she was, with a more than earthly beauty, a matchless young girl immune to age or death; quite naked but, goddess-like, without the least air of self-consciousness or shame. Her superb body was glistening with drops of water from the clouds through which she must have descended, while her long hair, also damp, fell in a golden drift about her shoulders. Her bare feet made no sound. Despite its marvelous beauty her face-and what else would you expect?-was very sorrowful, grave and absorbed, yet with a purposeful look, as though she well knew her divine intention, whatever it might be.
Letting fall their spears, the sentries fled into the palace.
Maia, having entered under the portico, looked about for someone to guide her. There was no one to be seen, however, and she climbed the first staircase she came to, which brought her out on an open landing hung with tapestries. Yet here, too, all was deserted.
In this shady, eastward-facing place she felt, for the first time since setting out, a touch of cold. She had not seen the sentries run, but now it occurred to her that her nakedness might hinder her mission. Eud-Ecachlon, who was presumably somewhere in the palace, might have her apprehended, or perhaps some rougher man, a soldier or servant, might molest her. As she stood in perplexity she remembered the night of the senguela, when she had pulled down one of Sarget's wall-hangings to dress up as the prying old woman. Opposite her was a window, with curtains of green and blue silk. Scrambling up into the embrasure, she found that she could lift down the pole and slide them off. One would be enough. As a Tonildan peasant girl she had learned two or three different ways of draping and knotting a rectangle of woven cloth into a garment. Those
who possessed such things had been lucky: most wore sacking or homespun. In less than two minutes Maia was at least presentably clothed and making her way down the upper corridor.
Rounding the next corner she saw coming towards her a girl carrying a bundle of clothes.
"The lady Milvushina," she said. "Where can I find her?"
"The lady Milvushina, saiyett?" answered the girl. "They say she's very ill-"
"I know that!" said Maia. "Just tell me where she is."
Turning, the girl guided her down the corridor, climbed a staircase and in silence pointed to a closed door a few yards further on. Maia thanked her with a nod, tapped on the door and entered.
Four women, one of whom was Lokris, were gathered about a bed on the opposite side of the big, luxurious room. With them was an elderly, gray-bearded man, his bare arms streaked with blood. All five looked round at her and the old man, staring severely, seemed about to speak.
"I'm Maia Serrelinda, doctor," she said, before he could do so. "I've come because I was sent for."
