“Can’t you do anything for her?” Stavia asked. “Give her some drug or something?”
“Better let her get it out,” Morgot sighed. “She’ll go on like this for a time, but eventually it’ll stop. Grief is actually easier to live with than a host of other feelings, Stavia. Jealousy, for example. Or guilt. If Barten had lived, Myra would have learned a lot about both of those. As it is, Myra has nothing to reproach herself with.”
In the weeks that followed, others of the wounded warriors died and there were other ceremonies of honor in the plaza. For a time it seemed there was no day without the rattle of drum and the cry of the trumpet, then the customary quiet came again.
Morgot summoned them all to the supper table one night and introduced a new member of the family.
“This is Donal,” she said, putting her hand on the shoulder of the stocky, stern-faced young man with the iron-colored hair. “He is just sixteen. He has elected to return to Women’s Country, and we have received him very gladly from Tabithatown in the north, where he has just completed the first stage of his education. Donal is enrolled in the servitors’ school here in Marthatown.”
Myra rose without a word and left the table. Morgot shook her head, meaning they should take no notice and let her go.
Donal murmured to Joshua.
“She was much enamored of a warrior,” Joshua answered in a measured, formal tone which Stavia found unfamiliar. “He was not strictly honorable in his observance of the ordinances. He was successful in getting several girls to leave the city and live in the Gypsy encampment for his pleasure. Myra did not go that far, but she did entertain his ideas. He was recently slain.”
Donal flushed and looked down at his plate.
“I suggest you simply ignore her,” Morgot said. “She’ll come around.”
“Or make yourself indispensable with the baby,” Stavia suggested. “Myra would like that.”
It was Joshua who suggested that Stavia help Donal with his studies. “It’s hard for him,” he told her. “I know. Books simply aren’t that important in the garrison. Reading isn’t encouraged. One never gets into the habit….”
So Stavia became a tutor, in math, in history, in composition, reminding herself of half a hundred things she had almost forgotten she knew.
“Councilwomen are not elected by the people,” she told him in answer to a question. “They are chosen by other members of the Council.”
“Your mother, that is, Morgot, is a Council member. How long has she been on the Council?”
“Some years now. Since she was thirtyish,” Stavia told him.
“Isn’t that very young?”
“Rather. There aren’t many that young.”
“Why did they choose her?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t say. None of them say. There’s no specific number for the Council, and some women get put on and some women don’t, that’s all. Most of those on the Council are medically trained, I do know that. I think that’s because the Council has to maintain the health of the city….”
“That’s probably it,” agreed Donal. “Servitors never get on the Council, do they?”
The idea shocked Stavia into silence. Joshua spoke from the doorway. “Servitors have one or more fraternities in each city. The Council in each city often seeks the opinion of the fraternities, if they have opinions worth seeking. And the fraternities have opinions worth seeking in proportion to the amount of studying and thinking the individual servitors do.”
Stavia stared at him, mouth open. “I knew about the servitors’ fraternities, but I didn’t know that.”
“No one speaks of it from the steps of the Council Chambers, Stavvy. It wouldn’t sit at all well with the warriors, would it? Still, don’t you think it’s reasonable? After all, none of you women have ever had to make such a choice as we have made. Most of you accept your way of life without much judgment of it. Donal and I have chosen your way as our own. Wouldn’t you find that interesting, if you were on the Council?”
“I can’t imagine caring what—oh, let’s say Minsning thinks about anything.”
“Minsning is Sylvia’s servitor, a sweet little fellow,” Joshua explained to Donal with a straight face. “He has not a mean bone in his little body; he’s as cheery as a sandpiper; and he’s an excellent cook. I can’t imagine anyone asking Minsning anything about anything except how to make a sauce, perhaps.”
“So there are servitors and servitors?” Stavia mused. This distinction was important, terribly important, though she could not quite grasp where the implications were leading her.
Joshua laughed at her, showing his strong, slightly yellowish teeth in a wide grin. “There are women and women, aren’t there? There’s Morgot and there’s Myra, for example….
“Well, I have to take Donal away from you. He’s due at the servitors’ school, and I need to show him the way.”
When he got to the door, however, Joshua paused and gave Stavia a strange, intent look. “When I get back, there is something I must talk to you about.”
JOSHUA TALKED TO HER in the courtyard, beside the fountain, his hands at work on his forehead where the flesh wrinkled between his eyes. “Stavia, I have this strong, very troubling feeling there is something improper between you and Chernon.”
She started to deny it, thinking he meant something sexual, then realized that, though it had nothing to do with sex, there was something improper going on. For a moment she could not speak, but his eyes were on hers, compelling.
“I gave him books,” she whispered. “The ordinances say you can’t give books to warriors, but he wasn’t a warrior yet.” She kept her eyes on her hands, twisting in her lap, not daring to look into his face.
“That’s specious,” he said. “You know that’s a rationalization, Stavvy. Warrior or not, you know what the ordinances mean.” He got the familiar, pained look on his face and began to rub his forehead as though it hurt badly. “I
