Imilce who died two years ago of the shivering sickness?’
The reverend mother turned wise old eyes on the young officer. She had pale, brittle-looking skin and her hair was fine and fluffy white. Her arms were thin and pale also and her hands skeletal and corded with blue veins. Up until now she had sat withdrawn from the revelry.
‘It is true that one of the temple novices shows wisdom and wit beyond her years or training, it is true also that she has seen beyond the veil and made prophecy, but the sisterhood has not yet decided to send her to the High Priest for examination.’
‘Is there doubt then, Reverend Mother?’ Bakmor insisted.
‘There is always doubt, my son,’ the priestess answered, in a tone that clearly rebuked his presumption and the youngster sat back discomforted.
‘I have not heard of this,’ Huy remarked with interest and a trace of accusation in his tone. For two years the priesthood had been without the services of an oracle, and the search had been diligent. Fees for divination and prophecy formed a significant proportion of the temple income, and there were also political reasons why Huy was anxious to find a successor to Lady Imilce.
‘Forgive me, Holy Father. I had determined to discuss this with you privately,’ the High Priestess spoke confidentially, but Lannon leaned across Huy to join the discussion.
‘Send for the wench,’ he said, speaking thickly with wine. The priestess stiffened at his choice of words. ‘Send for her, let her entertain us with her prophecies.’
‘My lord,’ Huy wished to remonstrate but Lannon brushed his protest aside, and raised his voice.
‘Send for the oracle - let her speak on the outcome of the campaign to the north.’
Huy turned back to the priestess with an apology in his eyes.
‘The king commands,’ he said, and the priestess inclined her head then turned to whisper to her body slave. The slave hurried from the hall.
When she came the loud voices and laughter stilled, and they stared at her with curiosity. She was a tall girl with finely boned wrists and ankles. She wore the long green robes of the temple novice which left her arms bare, and her skin had a lustre and smoothness which made it glow in the lamp light. Her hair was dark and soft, so that it floated cloudlike to her shoulders. She wore the gold crescent moon emblem of Astarte on her deep bulging forehead, dangling from a fine chain of gold, and her earrings were two small sun stones that shone like the stars of heaven.
Her eyes were green, a colour that reminded Huy of the pool of Astarte in the cavern of the temple of Opet. Her lips were full and quivered faintly, betraying her agitation at his unexpected summons, while there were spots of colour in her cheeks. However, her manner was calm and controlled, and she moved with dignity to where Huy sat. He saw then that she was very young.
‘Pray for me, Holy Father,’ she greeted him and bowed her head. Huy studied her avidly, taken with her direct manner and her dignity.
‘Greet your king, my child,’ he murmured and the girl turned to Lannon. While she made the formal greeting Huy continued to examine her.
‘What is your name? he asked, and the girl turned back to Huy and fixed him with those solemn green eyes.
‘Tanith,’ she answered. It was the ancient name of the goddess, from the days of the old city of Carthage.
‘It is a pretty name,’ Huy nodded. ‘I have always loved it.’ And the girl smiled at him. It was a smile that took him by surprise, for it was as warm and uplifting as the dawn of Baal.
‘You are kind, Holy Father,’ she said, smiling at him and Huy Ben-Amon fell in love. He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, and his vitals sucked downwards in a long sliding sensation. He stared at Tanith, unable to speak, feeling his cheeks flush with hot blood, searching desperately for the right word but not finding it.
Lannon broke the spell by shouting at a slave, ‘Bring a cushion.’ And they seated Tanith before the king and priests.
‘Make an oracle,’ Lannon commanded, and leaned towards her, breathing heavily and with the wine flushing his face. Tanith looked at him calmly with the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.
‘If it were within my power, I would speak an oracle for you, lord, but then there would be a matter of fee and question.’
‘What is the fee?’ Lannon demanded, he had flushed a little darker with the first stirring of anger. He was not accustomed to this treatment.
‘Holy Father, would you set the fee?’ Tanith asked of Huy and the devil took Huy.
‘One hundred fingers of fine gold,’ he spoke before he realized what he had done. It was an enormous fee, and it constituted a challenge to Lannon, daring him to back down or pay. Tanith smiled again now, a provocative dimple appeared in her cheek and she held Lannon’s scowl with a cool amused stare. Huy was suddenly aware that he had placed the girl in a position of peril. Lannon would not forgive this readily, and Huy hastened to give Lannon a graceful escape.
‘For this fee the Gry-Lion may put as many questions as he has fingers on his sword hand.’
Lannon hesitated, Huy could see that he was still angry but slightly placated by Huy’s amendment.
‘I doubt that the wisdom of a child will be worth that much, but it amuses me to test this wench,’ Lannon mumbled, looking anything but amused. He took up his wine bowl and drank deeply, then he wiped his beard and looked at Tanith.
‘I go northwards on a mission. Speak to me of the outcome,’ he ordered, and Tanith settled herself on the leather cushion, spreading her green robe about her. She lowered her head slightly, and her green eyes seemed to look inwards. There was an expectant hush on the guests now, and they watched her eagerly. Huy noticed that her cheeks paled, and her lips also rimmed with white.
‘There will be a mighty harvest,’ Tanith whispered hoarsely in a strange unnatural monotone, ‘more than the
