She was not underground at all. The Grey Man’s white marble palace had been built on the side of a sloping cliff, and she had entered at the top, unable to see its true magnificence.
Keeva glanced down. Below the balcony she saw terraced gardens and walkways and steps angling down towards the distant beach, where a wooden ramp extended into the sea. A dozen sailing-boats were moored there, sails furled. Returning her gaze to the palace itself, she saw that two towers had been erected to the north and south, huge structures, each with its own terraces.
Everywhere gardeners were already at work among the scores of flower-beds, some clearing away dead plants, others sweeping leaves from the paths and gathering them into sacks slung over their shoulders. Still more were planting fresh border flowers or dead-heading the many rosebushes.
Keeva was so entranced by the beauty of the scene that she failed to hear the gentle tapping at her door, or the creaking of the latch as it opened.
‘I think perhaps you should come inside and dress yourself,’ said a voice. Keeva whirled and saw a young woman with braided blond hair. She was carrying a neat pile of folded clothes. The woman grinned at her. ‘The priests might catch sight of you, and what would happen to their vows then?’
‘Priests?’ asked Keeva, stepping inside and accepting the clothes from the woman.
‘Chiatze foreigners. They are studying the ancient books that the Gentleman keeps in the library of the North Tower.’
Keeva took a white cotton blouse from the pile, shook it out, then slipped it over her head. The material was very soft – like a summer breeze upon the skin. She shivered with pleasure, then stepped into the long grey skirt. It had a belt of silvered leather, and a bright silver buckle. ‘These are mine?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘They are wonderful.’ Keeva reached up and touched the embroidered tree on the right shoulder of her blouse. ‘What does this represent?’ she asked.
‘It is the Gentleman’s mark.’
‘The Grey Man?’
‘In public we call him the Gentleman, since he is not a lord and far too powerful to be merely a landowner or a merchant. Omri says you came in with him last night. Did you bed him?’
Keeva was shocked. ‘No, I did not. And you are very rude to ask such a question.’
The blonde woman laughed. ‘Life is very different here, Keeva. We speak freely and think freely – except in front of the Gentleman’s guests. He is a very unusual man. None of us is beaten, and he does not use the young women as his personal slaves.’
‘Then perhaps I shall like it here,’ said Keeva. ‘What is your name?’
‘I am Norda, and you will be working with my team in the North Tower. Are you hungry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let us get some breakfast. You have a great deal to learn today. The palace is like a rabbit warren and most of the new servants get lost.’
Some minutes later, after what was for Keeva a bewildering journey through endless corridors and several sets of stairs, the two women emerged on to a wide, paved terrace. A long breakfast table was covered with a score of deep dishes containing cooked meats, vegetables, smoked fish, cheeses and fruits. Fresh-baked bread had been set at one end, and flagons of water and fruit juices at the other. Keeva followed Norda’s lead and took a plate, heaping it with bread, a slab of butter and some smoked fish. Then they walked to a table by the terrace wall and sat down to eat.
‘Why did you ask if I’d slept with the Grey Man?’
‘The Gentleman!’ corrected Norda.
‘Yes, the Gentleman.’
‘There is great harmony here between the servant girls. The Gentleman does not play favourites – and neither does Omri. Had the Gentleman bedded you it would have caused discord. Many of the young women would like to … enchant him.’
‘He is a strikingly attractive man – but he is very old,’ said Keeva.
Norda laughed again. ‘Age has little to do with it,’ she said. ‘He is handsome, strong – and immensely rich. The woman who captures his heart would never want for anything, even if she had ten lives to live.’