Company having spent three months in Jeds and now coming out here is a contamination, isn't it?'
'Yes, it is.'
'You don't approve, do you?' Diana fell silent and together they watched as David, with economy and grace, used a few simple lines to expand the pattern that flowed down the shirtsleeve in his sketch. 'I think it's a road,' she said suddenly. 'A winding road.'
'What is? The evolution of cultures?' Marco examined the sprawl of camp around them, the tidy expanse of tents losing color as the afternoon light deepened into dusk. 'I suppose Charles would say so, that no culture is pure, that it is always adulterated by contact with any other culture, as it must be. That our contact with it, if we're careful and discreet, will be scarcely more contaminating than that. But I'm not sure I agree. There's a stronger force behind us. Broader knowledge. Won't that take its toll?' Sitting on his haunches, the deep tan of his skin set off by the blanched gold of his linen tunic, he appeared to Diana not much more civilized than the jaran riders themselves.
'I think she meant the pattern on his shirt,' said David dryly. 'Artist's fancy, I guess.'
'How old do you suppose he is?' Diana asked.
'Who can tell?' said Marco. 'Not too old, I'd judge.'
'I never saw naturally aged people until Jeds,' Diana confided.
'The commonplace made quaint,' said Marco drily. He set his chin on a fist and pondered the distance.
Embarrassed, Diana turned her attention back to David and watched as he finished filling in the sleeve of the right arm. Across the camp rang a low, trembling sound, like a muffled gong being struck. The great conqueror did not even look up, but Marco rose.
'There's supper. Are you coming?'
David shook his head without looking up. 'I just want to finish this while there's still light.'
Diana was torn between accepting Marco's escort and her real fascination with watching David work. After all, it wouldn't do for Marco Burckhardt to think that she hung on his every word. 'I'll be there in a bit. Save some for me.'
He hesitated as if taken aback at her refusal. But he recovered quickly. 'You have my word on it, golden fair.' Marco left.
David sketched for a few minutes undisturbed. Red-shirted men moved back and forth between tents. Laughter swelled in a distant corner. A man's voice, a pleasant baritone, sang a simple song in a language she had identified as khush, the native tongue. Farther away, identifiable only because she knew the voice so well, Diana heard Henry Bharentous shouting at someone, but she could not make out his words. Prince Hal rebelling again. Beside her, David held the sketch out at arm's length to scrutinize it.
The model moved. Rose, lithe as any wild predator. Diana felt his movement. David lowered his sketch to see Bakhtiian walking straight toward them. David recoiled, nearly falling back down onto the ground, and almost dropped the sketch. Began to scramble to his feet.
'No,' whispered Diana urgently. 'Keep sitting, keep still. Stillness doesn't startle them.'
She held her place, and David, looking ashen under his dark complexion, sat still beside her. Bakhtiian halted before them. There was a moment's uncomfortable silence. Then Bakhtiian crouched, far enough away from them that he couldn't touch either of them if he reached out. 'I beg your pardon,' he said in his perfect Rhuian. 'We haven't been introduced. I am Ilyakoria Bakhtiian.'
In the first instant, she realized that David had gotten the eyes wrong. This close, she saw the depth of the intensity, of the sheer, driven force in them. 'I'm Diana Brooke-Holt,' she said, and her voice spurred David on.
'David ben Unbutu.' It came out in a rush. 'I'm sorry. I should have asked your permission to draw you, but-' He hesitated.
'Here,' said Diana, breaching the sudden silence. She took the pad out of David's hands. 'It's very fine. Would you like to see it?'
Addressed by her, Bakhtiian lowered his eyes. 'I was hoping I would be allowed to look at it.' Crouched thus beside her, eyes cast almost bashfully to the ground, he seemed much less threatening.
She handed the pad to him. There was silence but for the distant sounds of the camp settling in to dusk and the impending night.
Diana rose, and David drew in a breath and rose as well. After a moment, Bakhtiian stood up. 'You must know how good you are,' he said finally, directly, to David. He gave the sketchbook back to David, holding it as if it was something he considered valuable. 'You have great talent. Is this your profession?'
'No, I'm an engineer.' David look taken aback by Bakhtiian's politeness.
'Ah-and you?' His gaze shifted for the briefest moment to Diana's face.
'I'm one of the actors in the repertory company.' She faltered. 'Do you know what that is?'
For a terrifying moment she thought she had offended him. The corner of his mouth tugged up, softening his expression. 'Yes,' he said gravely.
'You speak excellent Rhuian,' she said impulsively.
'Thank you,' he replied, still grave.
She had a brief hallucination that he was suppressing laughter, dismissed it.
He turned back to David, regarding him with obvious respect. 'Perhaps you would be willing to undertake a commission.'
'A commission!'
'That is the right word, isn't it?'
'Yes. I was just startled.'
'Perhaps you would undertake a commission to draw my wife.'
David's mouth dropped open. Diana pinched him in the leg. 'I would be honored,' he said in a constrained voice.
'The honor is mine,' Bakhtiian replied, as formal and impeccable as if he were a noble of Jeds and not a man who had killed in cold blood. 'When we've arrived at the main camp, we can discuss the arrangements further. Now, if you will excuse me.' He inclined his head and left them.
David swore under his breath.
'Well,' said Diana.
'In case you're wondering,' said David, 'the answer is no. I'm not brave. Not at all. Not one bit. And especially not after seeing him execute that man.'
'But then why did you sit here and draw him? You must have known that would attract his attention.'
'I know. I know. But I couldn't resist, seeing him sitting there. What an image.' He examined the sketch with a frown.
' 'But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him,' ' murmured Diana.
David sighed and closed the sketchpad carefully. 'Thanks for your support, by the way. Goddess, I hope his wife is a good subject. I'd hate to do anything that antagonized him. Shall we go eat?'
CHAPTER TWELVE
'He doesn't like me,' said Charles Soerensen.
Cara Hierakis had knelt next to him to lace up her boots. She did not bother to look up. 'What possible reason would he have not to like you?' When Charles did not reply, she answered herself. 'Perhaps he considers you a threat to his power. I just don't understand why all the mystery about Tess. I feel that there is something I'm missing.'
She waited expectantly. A misting rain fell, though they remained dry here under the awning. Charles merely shifted in his chair, moving one arm to rest on the padded armrest. 'I just wish he weren't so cursed polite all the time,' he said.
'Yes, he was well brought up, wasn't he? I like him.'
Charles stood up. Cara glanced up at him, then stood as well, turning.
Bakhtiian, flanked by four of his men, approached them. The rain let up just as the sun came out, casting a glow on the cluster of monochromatic khaki-colored canvas tents that housed Charles's party and the Company.
