‘Your servants are not friendly,’ commented Sigarni.
‘They are efficient,’ said Asmidir, seating himself at the table and filling a goblet with wine.
‘Do they fear you?’
‘A little fear is good for a servant.’
‘Do they love you?’
‘I am not a man easy to love. My servants are content. They are free to leave my service whenever it pleases them so to do; they are not slaves.’ He offered Sigarni some wine, but she refused and he poured water into a glazed goblet which he passed to her. They ate in silence, then Asmidir moved to the fireside, beckoning Sigarni to join him.
‘Do you have no fear?’ the black man asked, as she sat cross-legged before him.
‘Of what?’ she countered.
‘Of life. Of death. Of me.’
‘Why would I fear you?’
‘Why would you not? When we met last year I was a stranger in your land. Black and fearsome,” he said, widening his eyes and mimicking a snarl.
She laughed at him. ‘You were never fearsome,’ she said. ‘Dangerous, yes. But never fearsome.’
‘There is a difference?’
‘Of course,’ she told him, cocking her head to one side. ‘I like dangerous men.’
He shook his head. ‘You are incorrigible, Sigarni. The body of an angel and the mind of a whore. Usually that is considered a wonderful combination. That is, if you are contemplating the life of a courtesan, a prostitute or a slut. Is that your ambition?’
Sigarni yawned theatrically. ‘I think it is time to go home,” she said, rising smoothly.
‘Ah, I have offended you,’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ she told him. ‘But I expected better of you, Asmidir.’
‘You should expect better of yourself, Sigarni. There are dark days looming. A leader is coming – a leader of noble blood. You will probably be called upon in those days to aid him. For you also boast the blood of Gandarin. Men will follow an angel or a saint, they will follow a despot and a villain. But they will follow a whore only to the bedchamber.’
Her face flushed with anger. ‘I’ll take sermons from a priest – not from a man who was happy to cavort with me throughout the spring and summer, and now seeks to belittle me. I am not some milkmaid or tavern wench. I am Sigarni of the Mountains. What I do is my affair. I used you for pleasure, I admit it freely. You are a fine lover; you have strength and finesse. And you used me. That made it a balanced transaction, and neither of us was sullied by it. How dare you attempt to shame me?’
‘Why would you see it as shame?’ he countered. ‘I am talking of perceptions – the perceptions of men. You think I look down upon you? I do not. I adore you. For your body andyour mind. Further, I am probably – as much as I am capable of it – a little in love with you. But this is not why I spoke in the way I did.’
‘I don’t care,’ she told him. ‘Goodbye.’
Sigarni strode from the room and out past the great bear. A servant pushed open the double doors and she walked down the steps into the courtyard. Lady came bounding towards her. Another servant, a slim dark-eyed young man, was waiting at the foot of the steps with Abby hooded upon his wrist. Sigarni pulled on her hawking glove.
‘You were waiting for me?’ she asked the young man. He nodded. ‘Why? I am usually here for hours.’
‘The master said today would be a short visit,’ he explained.
Sigarni untied the braces and slid the hood clear of Abby’s eyes. The hawk looked around, them jumped to Sigarni’s fist. When the huntress lifted her arm and called out ‘Hai!’, the hawk took off, heading south.
Sigarni flicked her fingers and Lady moved close to her side, awaiting instructions. ‘What is your name?’ she asked the servant, noting the sleekness of his skin and the taut muscles beneath his blue silk shirt. He shook his head and moved away from her.
Annoyed, the huntress walked from the old castle, crossing the rickety drawbridge and heading off into the woods. Her mood was dark and angry as she went. The mind of a whore, indeed. Her thoughts turned to Fell the Forester. Now there was a man who understood pleasure. She doubted if there was a single woman within a day’s walk who hadn’t succumbed to his advances. Did they call him a whore? No. It was ‘Good old Fell, what a character, what a man!’ Idiotic!