They rode into the tribe itself at midday. It felt familiar, somehow, tents scattered haphazardly along the course of a shallow river. A goodly number of people had gathered just beyond the farthest rank of tents, and they waited, watching, as the jahar rode up. Bakhtiian halted them a hundred paces away, and they all dismounted.
'We wintered by them two years ago,' Yuri whispered to Tess as the two groups appraised each other in a silence broken only by isolated comments passed murmuring from a handful of individuals. 'Tasha's sister's husband came from this tribe, and… and…' His color had gone high again as his eyes searched the gathered people. Their mood was, Tess thought, still one of measuring rather than welcome.
'Petya!' Yuri shouted, forgetting all protocol and modesty in sheer excitement. 'Petya!'
He started forward suddenly. Like an echo, movement shifted as the tribe parted to let someone through. A young man burst out of the assembly and strode-half running-to meet Yuri right in the middle of the ground that separated the two groups. They hugged, two fair heads together, but where Yuri's had a pale, dull cast like winter grass, Petya's shone as brightly as if it had been gilded by the sun.
Some barrier dissolved between the groups. An older man stepped forward and hailed Bakhtiian. Ilya gave Kriye's reins to Vladimir and left the jahar, limping across the open space, Niko and Josef and Tadheus a few steps behind. His careful progress lent him dignity, though, Tess considered wryly, it was probably not entirely unconscious. Others filtered forward, men to greet acquaintances and friends amongst the riders, women to observe and draw whatever conclusions they wished.
And three women walked directly toward Tess. Tess had time to examine them as they neared: one old; one young, dark, and pretty; and one-
Surely this was the 'her' Yuri had spoken of.
She had that rare sum of parts that is called beauty. She was quite tall for a woman, almost as tall as Tess, and pleasantly slender. Her hair shone gold, and it hung to her waist, unbraided. She was cursed as well with truly blue eyes and full lips gracing an impossibly handsome face blemished only by the thin, white scar, running from cheekbone to jawbone, that was the mark of marriage. The three women halted in front of Tess, but it was the fair-haired beauty and Tess who did the assessing. Without rancor, both smiled.
'Welcome,' said the beauty. 'I am Vera Veselov.'
'I'm Tess. Tess Soerensen.' Tess hesitated and glanced at the older woman, sure that this must be the etsana.
'Yes,' said Vera, as if this information was no surprise. 'This is my aunt, Mother Veselov. Oh, and Arina, my cousin.' Arina smiled tremulously, looking as if she might like to say something but did not dare to. 'She will be fine with me now, Aunt,' Vera finished, and thus dismissed, the etsana meekly withdrew, nodding once at Tess.
Arina loitered behind and, when Vera said nothing, ventured a few steps closer. But Vera was not actually paying any attention to Tess either. She was staring past Tess toward-Tess turned-Bakhtiian.
'He looks no different,' said Vera softly. She glanced at her husband, who still stood talking eagerly and with all the enthusiasm of youth to Yuri. What lay in that glance Tess could not read for it lasted only a moment. Then Vera looked again toward Bakhtiian. He stood talking easily with the older man who had first hailed him.
'Well, Tess Soerensen,' said Vera finally, breaking her gaze away from Bakhtiian. 'You have ridden an unusual road for a woman.'
'Yes, I suppose I have.'
Vera smiled again and she had that rarest of things in a self-conscious beauty: a smile that enhanced her. 'We will have a dance tonight. You must meet our young men.' A glance here again for Bakhtiian. 'And tell us about your own. Oh, are you still here, Arina? Why don't you take Tess along and have Petya take her horse and then show her where she can pitch her tent?' Without waiting for a reply, she nodded to Tess and walked away, straight across toward Bakhtiian and his companions.
Tess looked at Arina, who scarcely came up to her chin. Arina smiled. 'Can you really use a saber?' Arina asked.
'A little.'
'Oh,' said Arina with such reserve that Tess wondered if she had offended her. 'I always wanted to learn. I made my brother teach me when I was little, but then Vera said it was unbecoming in a woman to-' She flushed. 'I beg your pardon. I didn't mean-'
'No, I know what you meant,' said Tess kindly. 'You are Mother Veselov's daughter, then?'
'Yes. Here is my brother Anton.' She called to a burly, black-haired man who looked to be about twice her age. 'He will take your horse.' A brief exchange, and Anton took Myshla from Tess with the greatest courtesy. 'Vera oughtn't to have offered Petya,' Arina muttered darkly, 'but then, she'll always do as she wishes, whether it is seemly or not.' She shot an expressive glance toward her cousin, who had insinuated herself into the group surrounding Bakhtiian.
'Who is the older man?' Tess asked.
'Who? That is my uncle, of course, Sergei Veselov. Vera’s father.'
Tess was finding the undercurrents in this tribe more and more interesting. 'I beg your pardon for seeming stupid, Arina, but if he is her father, how can he have the same name? Who is her mother? And isn't he-he must be the dyan of this tribe.'
Arina sighed and led Tess out of the chaos attending the arrival, over to a quiet corner where she helped her set up her tent. A few young women strayed by, pausing hopefully to watch, but Arina gestured them away with more authority than Tess would ever have guessed she would have based on first impressions.
'Cousins, of the same grandmother, through sisters. Everyone knows they oughtn't to have married, but they never cared for anything but to please themselves. And they say,' she added, lowering her voice ominously, 'that the children of cousins possess all their worst traits twice over. Six children they had before she died bearing the last one, and only two are still alive today. And look at them.''
'Ah,' said Tess, feeling terribly embarrassed.
Arina looked up at her with unexpected and acute understanding. 'I'm sorry.' She smiled and again appeared like a perfectly harmless and unusually diffident young jaran woman, black-haired, petite, and charming. 'What must you think of me? But I really hoped to get you aside to ask you about Kirill Zvertkov. I see he is with the jahar. Has he married again?'
Tess felt as if she had been slapped. She bent to busy herself unrolling her blankets, desperate to hide her reaction. 'No.' She stuck her head into the tent to at least attempt to disguise the sound of her voice. All the while, her thoughts raced wildly. Hoist with your own petard, my heart, she said to herself, and not a damned thing you can do about it because it would be the worst of ill-bred behavior, and you 're the guest here, not she.
'Oh,' said Arina, with a flash of that unexpected acuteness. 'He's your lover.'
Tess withdrew from the tent, blushing madly, and grasping for every shred of dignity and graciousness she could muster. 'Well, yes,' she admitted. 'I beg your pardon. I know it isn't-isn't seemly to be-' She trailed off, feeling like an idiot.
Arina sighed and suddenly looked very sad. 'Is he going to marry you, do you think?' she asked, without anger or jealousy.
'No,' said Tess, feeling firm enough on that score. 'I'm traveling south. I won't be here past the winter.'
Arina brightened. 'Oh, well, that's all right, then. I can speak with Mama, who can speak with Bakhtiian, who can speak with Kirill. And then when we meet up with them again…' She hesitated. 'If you'd rather I not approach him at all while you're here-'
'No, no,' Tess lied, not wanting to get a bad reputation. 'I couldn't possibly be so selfish.' Oh, yes, you could, her heart muttered, but she found it impossible to dislike Arina Veselov, especially after her selfless offer to leave Kirill alone. Arina was playing fairly; by God, she would, too. After all, Kirill could damned well refuse her offer, couldn't he?
'Arina!' Vera marched up to them, leading a trail of young women like a host of worshipers in her wake. 'Are you keeping our guest to yourself? For shame. Here, girls, you see, she does have brown hair. I beg your pardon,
Tess, but Aleksia refused to believe me. Come, we'll show you the camp.' With no discernible expression on her face, Arina retreated to the background.
The time until supper had all the tranquillity of a windstorm. They were a lively enough bunch and good company. They made sure that she was thoroughly bewildered as to what their names were, showed her the spot where they would hold the dancing, and besieged her with so many questions that she could only laugh. At last
