the throne of Chenamag.
Again he asked after Lod. On finding his friend was still in conference with Tarkal, Sarazin took his problem to his aged tutor, the venerable Epelthin Elkin.
'In love, are you?' said Elkin. 'Ah, love! I've not learnt much of love in my life of dusty scholarship.'
'But you must have some ideal' said Sarazin. 'How can I win the woman? Not just for a night, but for life.'
You can never win a woman for life,' said Elkin, 'for all liaisons are but treaties which must nightly be renewed.'
'For a night, then! A night would be a start. How can I win her for a night?'
'Jewels, boy,' said Elkin. That's the answer. The scin- tillation of diamonds. The gleam of rubies, glowing like blood amidst yellow butter.'
You suggest I give her gemstones in butter?' said Sarazin, who was always hoping to catch Elkin in open senility. 'Nay, boy. Jewels and gold.' 'But I'm broke!'
He was certainly impoverished, since whatever money came his way soon went on drink, cards and fortune tellers. And tips for Bizzie, his maid. Besides, he did not want to bribe Amantha. He wanted her to choose him out of love, lust, respect, admiration. Or any combination of those. 'So you've no gold,' said Elkin. 'None.' 'Any diamonds?' 'No.' 'Jade? Silver? Amber? Silk?' You know the answer already.'
Sarazin's one valuable possession was his blade of firelight steel. But his mother had taken away that weapon. Thodric Jarl had been given custody of it, and Sarazin only saw it during training sessions with the Rovac warrior.
Then,' said Elkin, maliciously, 'all I can suggest is that you take your problem to Amantha's brother.' 'Lod can't help me,' said Sarazin. 'I didn't mean Lod. I meant Tarkal.' 'Tarkal?' said Sarazin, incredulously.
Trust me,' said Elkin, sure that Tarkal would beat some sense into Sarazin – and sure, also, that this was the neatest way to deal with the problem.
Thus, on the advice of his tutor, Sarazin sought out Tarkal, who, having finished his business with Lod, was busy with his armourer in the guest quarters. 'I want to talk to you,' said Sarazin. 'Then wait,' said Tarkal brusquely.
Then resumed his conversation with his armourer. He wanted the aventail of his helm modified. This subject was dear to his heart, and very technical. Sarazin, listening, was embarrassed to find the niceties of the matter completely beyond his comprehension.
'What do you want?' said Tarkal, when the armourer had left. 'A private audience with your sister.' Who are you?' said Tarkal. 'I am Sean Sarazin, a prince of the Harvest Plains.' You are no prince,' said Tarkal. Tvly mother is Farfalla.'
I've seen that fat sow for myself. If such spawned you, that makes you a piglet at best.'
Sarazin declined to be insulted. Deciding boldness would serve him best, he said: 'I wish to-' 'To what?' 'To marry your sister.'
You are refused,' said Tarkal, not bothering to laugh since he had no audience to appreciate the laughter.
And, when Sarazin persisted, Tarkal booted him. Hard. Since the event happened in privacy, Sarazin chose to ignore it. He left the Chenameg princeling's presence, and went and sought out Lod.
CHAPTER NINE
Bizzie: a matronly woman who is wife of the ostler Hof- Gof, a past lover of Farfalla's sometime paramour Fox, and mother of Sarazin's half-brother Benthorn. You were with Tarkal for a long time,' said Sarazin. 'So I was,' said Lod. 'How did it go?'
'Badly,' said Lod. Tarkal claims my father demands my return to Chenamag. But he showed me no proof of this order, so I refused absolutely to obey. He then threatened me. But I've no fear of his threats, for he has no powers in Selzirk.'
'Still,' said Sarazin, 'it can't have been pleasant. Tell me – have you always been at odds with Tarkal?' 'No, not always,' said Lod. 'Only for twenty years.'
This was one of Lod's jokes, since Lod was, as Sarazin knew well, twenty years old – two years younger than Amantha and five years younger than Tarkal. But, as the joke was so weak, Sarazin did not waste time laughing. Instead he asked: 'How about Amantha?'
'Oh, we get on all right,' said Lod. 'I don't think she's much of a sister, but then I've nothing much to compare her with, have I?'
'No,' said Sarazin, 'I meant Amantha and Tarkal. How do they get on?'
'Oh, very well,' said Lod. 'Very well indeed. Friend Sarazin, you wouldn't believe how well they get on.'
Then Lod laughed aloud at some very private joke, which he declined to share with Sarazin even when asked to. 'Why do you ask anyway?' said Lod.
'I want to know as much about Amantha as I can,' said Sarazin. 'I want you to tell me everything you know about her.'
Why,' said Lod, dismissively, 'she's a woman, is she not? That tells you everything you need to know.' 'But not how to make her love me I'
'Friend Sarazin, I'm no expert on love. What say we take your questions to a fortune-teller?' We've done that.'
Ah, but so far you've only consulted the second-rate. Now it's time to seek help from the best. The woman I'm talking of is Madam Sosostris. Let me tell you about her…'
What Lod told Sarazin of the skill, power and ability of Madam Sosostris convinced him that she was worth a visit. So he allowed Lod to lead him to her premises. However, on arrival they found she was laid up with a bad cold.
'Nevertheless,' said Lod, 'she's known to be the wisest woman in Selzirk.'
'I believe you,' said Sarazin, who did. 'But, when do you think I can see her?'
'I'm no doctor,' said Lod, 'so I couldn't tell you. How about we try again tomorrow?' 'All right,' said Sarazin.
But when they called round early the next day they were told Madam Sosostris was still sick in bed. So Sarazin had to continue his campaign against Amantha without her advice.
Later that day, there was an official banquet at which Sarazin was one of the guests, Amantha another. Music tranced around them as they gorged themselves on delight. Clean napery and the sparkle of jewels. A night to remember.
Sarazin tried to catch Amantha's eye, yet her very gaze refused him.
Disgruntled, he quit the banquet early, pleading nausea, and retired to his own quarters, where he lay on his bed in something close to a sulk. Dreaming of taming Amantha with whips and chains, spurs and goads. Her pride wet- whimpering at his feet.
'What is the problem?' said Bizzie, his maid, on seeing that he was downcast. 'A woman,' he said gloomily.
He knew what she would suggest, and wanted nothing to do with it. While he had only recently begun taking advantage of her availability, he was already tired of her fat red face, her bloated body. There was something disgusting about her earthy intimacies: so different from the silken soft-voiced pleasures he had enjoyed with Jaluba in Voice. 'In lust again, ducks?' said Bizzie. 'Well, never mind.'
She laid herself down on his bed and pulled up her skirts, exposing her triangle. Hating himself for his weakness, Sarazin once again made good use of her flesh. It humi- liated him, this traffic with a member of the lower orders. But he could not deny his animal. 'Cheer up,' said Bizzie. 'It can't be that bad.'
Then she licked, tickled and told rude jokes, but got not the whisper of a smile out of him.
'You'll feel better tomorrow,' she said, taking her accustomed silver. 'Tomorrow,' said Sarazin gloomily, 'never comes.'
But Bizzie was already gone, for she had work to do. Left alone, Sarazin lay staring up at the ceiling.
