‘How sad. Now get into bed.’ Sofarita did so, averting her eyes as he removed his clothing.
His lovemaking was assured and surprisingly gentle, and Sofarita did her best to make him believe that she was enjoying the experience. When at last he rolled clear of her she even reached out to stroke his cheek. His fingers snaked out and grabbed her wrist. ‘There is no need for further play-acting,’ he said, still amiable. ‘You did well. The tension is gone from me.’
‘I am glad I pleased you, lord,’ she said.
‘No, you are not. You are glad that your father will not suffer.’
Rising from the bed he dressed swiftly and walked back to the outer room. Sofarita lay for a while in her parents’ bed, then she followed him. Lifting her dress from the floor she shook the dust from it and put it on.
‘Shall I leave, lord?’ she asked.
‘No, sit with me for a while.’ She joined him at the table and he poured her a goblet of wine which she sipped dutifully. She felt the cough rising again, and took another sip of wine. ‘Did you know that you are dying?’ he asked her, his voice bright, almost cheerful.
The words shook her. ‘You are going to kill me?’ she asked.
Leaning forward he slapped her again. ‘How many times must you be told? Are you so stupid that a simple instruction, a small courtesy, is beyond you?’
‘I am sorry, lord. Your words frightened me. Are you going to kill me, lord?’
‘No, I am not going to kill you. You have a cancer in your chest. It has already covered one lung. How long have you been bringing up blood?’
‘Some weeks now, lord.’ Deep down she had known the truth but had not faced it. Now she was forced to. Her energy had been low now for months, and weight had been dropping from her despite the meals she consumed. She took a breath, seeking calm. It was a shallow breath, but all she could manage these days. Then he spoke again.
‘Well, a man should always pay for his pleasures,’ he said, rising to tower over her. From a pouch at his belt he took a green crystal which he held to her breast. Pain pierced her and she cried out. ‘Sit still,’ he said. A feeling of warmth entered her belly, rising into her chest. It seemed to focus on the right side of her body, seeping deeper. Sofarita felt dizzy, but the Avatar’s left hand dropped to her shoulder, steadying her. At last the warmth subsided.
‘Take a deep breath,’ he said.
She did so, and to her delight her lungs filled with air.
‘You are healed,’ he told her. ‘Now you may go.’
‘You have given me life, lord,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, yes. And next time I see you I may take it away. Now go and tell your father I am well pleased. Tell him also to bring out Shalik’s body so that I may see it before I leave.’
Sadau, the potter, had no desire whatever to deliver the head of the king’s brother. He had seen the bodies of those who had angered Ammon – bodies impaled outside the royal palace. Sadau had no wish to be impaled. As he rode to the first bridge across the Luan he halted his pony and gazed around. No-one was in sight. With one heave he sent the head spinning out into the rushing water. It sank like a stone.
Relieved, he rode across the bridge and made his slow way home. All might have been well – save for his cousin Oris. Sadau made the mistake of telling him what had occurred. Naturally he swore him to secrecy. Unfortunately Oris told his wife, swearing her to secrecy also. By the end of the day every member of the village knew — though they were all sworn to secrecy. The last person to hear was the sergeant of the watch, who reported the tale to his captain.
Four of the king’s soldiers, dressed in red robes edged with gold thread and carrying long swords and wicker shields, arrived at Sadau’s home at dawn the following morning and the little potter was dragged from his bed and hauled to the palace.