resisted. He suddenly became less gentle, and wrenched the towel away from her. She stood there naked, one hand guarding her vulva, the other clasped across her breasts. Why look at me as if I were a rapist?' asked Sarazin, hurt. 'All men are rapists,' she said.
Sarazin had not come prepared for political argument, so did not know how to reply. Instead, after a moment's hesitation, he invaded her defences, his hands eagering over her breasts. Don't maul me!' said Amantha, pulling away from him. 'But I'm your husband!' protested Sarazin.
'That's got nothing to do with it. My breasts are sore. They're tender. Understand?'
'Like little birds,' said Sarazin, attempting to lighten the mood with a little romance, a touch of poetry.
'Quite possibly,' said Amantha, sourly. Well, come on! Let's get it over with!'
So saying, she slid herself under the bed's vast duvet. Sarazin tried to draw it back. 'Stop that!' she said. 'Are you perverted?'
'To see pleasure is part of the pleasure of pleasuring,' said Sarazin.
'Only peasants want to see the flesh in action,' retorted Amantha. You want to watch? You're disgusting! That's a filthy low-bred perversion. You must have learnt it from whores.'
Sarazin, abashed, face burning, made no reply. Instead, he crawled under the duvet and coupled with Amantha, going about his business as he was accustomed to, striving like a conqueror. Amantha cried out in alarm: 'Gently! Gently! You're hurting me!'
Sarazin felt himself deflating. He grasped, wildly, for erotic visions to help him with his thrust. In the end, to his shame, it was Bizzie he conjured into his mind to help him drive and strive until lust was appeased. 'Are you finished?' said Amantha. 'Darling,' said Sarazin, kissing her, tenderly. You're finished,' she said, emphatically. Take it out!' 'My cherished sweet,' he said, kissing her again.
In terms of pleasure, their coupling had been a disaster. So he wanted to at least indulge his pride. To lie there in possession of his princess, a woman of the Favoured Blood, the woman who guaranteed to him his glorious future. 'Take it out,' she insisted. You're finished.'
So Sarazin withdrew, whereupon she rolled away from him. Soon she was asleep. Snoring with a high whine. But Sarazin lay sleepless, restless. Unable to settle. This was not at all what he had expected. He had expected gasping rap- tures, silken pleasures, panting excitement, eager hands. Instead, he had met with the most grudging welcome imaginable.
'But I'm Lord of Chenameg now,' said he, trying to console himself about his disappointment.
Then he started to wonder where the Lord of Chenameg should go to take a piss. Was there a chamber pot in the room? There must be. But, when he got out of bed, he could not see it.
So he went to the window and opened a shutter. A gust of cold wind buffeted inside, blowing out most of the candles. The shutter tore free from his hand and banged heavily. Hastily, he grabbed for it. Cold rain splattered against his nakedness. He got control of the shutter and hauled it in, leaving just enough space to piss through.
As he relieved himself, Sarazin heard a heavy thump behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the hound Sheeba had taken possession of his side of the bed. 'SssI' hissed Sarazin.
He closed the shutters firmly against the night then went to deal with the hound. Who growled, baring teeth at him. He backed off, warily, looking for a weapon. At which point a draught blew out the last candle, leaving him in utter darkness. 'BuggerI' said Sarazin.
Yes!' said Amantha, speaking from her dreams. 'Bugger me, bugger me, take me, force me, rape me, shaft me, hold me, clasp me, oh, Tarkal, Tarkal, do it, dig, do it, dig, oh Tarkal, dig, dig, dig, dig
…'
Her voice trailed away. From outshouting frenzy to a mothdust whisper. Then she shuddered, as if in pleasure. Then, after a moment's silence, gasped as if stabbed. Then groaned. Long and low. Then whimpered. Then no sound came from her but that of regular breathing.
Sarazin stood in the dark, shocked and trembling. What lustful monster lived within the snowpetal skin of his princess? From where had come that foul, dark, demanding desire? And why had she cried her brother's name? Could she…? Did she…? Surely not!
'He's dead, anyway,' muttered Sarazin, 'so it makes no difference.'
Then made for the bed. He tripped over a mastiff, which lurched to its feet, barking. Amantha screamed: 'Tarkal!'
'It's me,' said Sarazin, 'me, me, Sean Sarazin, your husband, your lover, your friend.'
'Oh,' said Amantha. Then, puzzled but not unduly upset: Who turned you into a dog?'
'Nobody,' said Sarazin. 'That's Sheeba beside you. I'm over here.'
'Oh,' said Amantha. Then, still puzzled: 'Pray tell, why? Why are you standing over there?' 'I'm meditating,' said Sarazin.
'Meditating!' said Amantha, with impatience and fury mixed. 'What did I marry? A clown? Come back to bed. Sheeba! Get off!'
Sarazin navigated towards Amantha's voice, got under the duvet and curled up next to his true love. By now his ardour had recovered, and was fleshing out his pizzle with hot young blood. He put a hand on Amantha's shoulder and tried to turn her privacy towards him. 'Not again!' she said, irritated. 'Not now!' 'But… darling…' 'I have a headache.'
Rebuffed, Sarazin lay staring into the darkness, while Amantha slipped off to sleep. After a while, he realised there was something moving among the rafters overhead. A spider. Glowing phosphorescent in the dark. A monstrous spider. -Can't be. Must be dreaming.
So thought Sarazin. To check, he put a finger into his mouth and bit it. Yes, he was awake all right. So the spider must really be up there. But it was huge! As big as a dog! Should he scream for help? No: the sound might draw the spider. It might leap down and fang them.
He would have to wake up Amantha. Then they would have to creep to the door, very quietly. Then open it, and make a dash for safety. Trembling with fear, he shook Amantha awake.
'All right, you sex maniac,' she said, in something approaching a shout. 'Rape me, then.' 'Keep your voice down,' he said. 'Are you ashamed then? Are you-' 'Amantha! Amantha! Look! Up there! Look! There's a-'
'A spider,' said Amantha, with a complete lack of interest. What of it?' 'But it's – it's huge!' 'They only eat bats, stupid. Go back to sleep.'
Sarazin sank back in bed. But he did not dare shut his eyes, not with that hideous monstrosity on the loose above him. Maybe it did hunt bats. Usually. But what if it slipped? And fell? Slap bang into their faces!
In the end, weary beyond belief but still fearful of the spider, he crawled deep under the duvet, down to the darkness somewhere near Amantha's feet. Which were unwashed, and smelt accordingly.
As the wise have elsewhere remarked, there are two disasters which can befall one: getting what one wants, or not getting what one wants. Sarazin felt that, somehow, he had managed to get the worst of both worlds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Celadon: Farfalla's second-born child, the brother of Sarazin, Peguero and Jarnel (who is the youngest). An unsubtle soldier dedicated to his military career and to very little else.
Celadon was a military attache in Shin when Sarazin arrived in the autumn, but was ordered by King Lyra to return to Selzirk with news that Sarazin was forbidden to depart Shin until Lod's trial was concluded.
Sarazin lay dreaming of Amantha. In his dream, she promenaded naked in a marble-colonnaded xystus. Her body shaved. All hair lower than her eyebrows gone entirely. He- He woke, as a servant slammed the door open.
'Blood's grief!' said Sarazin, staring at the shocked and panting man. What is it?'
'My lord,' said the servant, 'soldiers are coming. From the west.' 'From the west?' said Sarazin. 'Yes, my lord,' said the servant. 'From the west.'
'Great,' said Amantha. 'Is breakfast coming from the west, too? It should be here by now. Where is it?'
'It will be here soon, my lady, soon,' said the servant. 'But, my lord – the soldiers. The soldiers!'
'How many soldiers?' said Sarazin, already out of bed and shovelling himself into his clothes. 'How many and
