The Feline Wizard

CHAPTER 29

Then the trumpets blew again. When they were done, the heralds took up their cry once more.

The pilgrims broke into excited talk, hurrying their mules and horses to the sides of the road.

“Why is the emperor riding?” asked one.

“He returns from a tour of the provinces!” answered another.

The rumor must have come from southbound Maracandese who knew some accurate news, for Balkis suspected exactly why Prester John had been visiting his outer districts. She did the best she could to lose herself among the crowd, keeping her face down.

“Balkis? Balkis!” Anthony followed her, catching at her hand. “Think—the emperor! Do you not wish to see Prester John himself?”

“Surely, surely!” Balkis assured him. She just didn't want Prester John to see her.

Then the procession was upon them. Balkis stood riveted to the ground, peeking up under the edge of her hood—and was astounded to realize that, when you were watching the parade instead of riding in it, the sight was very impressive indeed!

First came a rider carrying a six-foot-high wooden cross fastened to his saddle.

“Wooden?” Anthony stared. “Why would an emperor not have a cross made of silver or gold and filled with priceless gems?”

“He wishes to be reminded of the passion of Our Lord, young man,” Sikta told him. “We have heard of his humility even in Kashmir. If wood was good enough for the Savior, it is good enough for Prester John!”

“His name does mean ‘John the Priest,’ ” Balkis reminded.

“True—but I did not expect him to be as humble as a monk.”

“I would not call such a train as this humble,” Balkis answered.

Then came courtiers bearing a single golden vase.

“At least this metal is precious!” Anthony said. “But why has it no flowers or shrubs within?”

“It is full of earth,” Balkis answered, “to remind the king that his flesh, too, must one day return to its original substance, the earth.”

Sikta looked up. “That must be so—for if you have lived a year in Maracanda, you must have seen processions such as this more than once. Tell us the meaning of the symbols.”

The last thing Balkis wanted to do was to watch the parade closely—but she sighed and braced herself.

After the vase came another courtier carrying a silver bowl full of pieces of gold.

“Well, this is more like an emperor!” Anthony said, satisfied, “Surely Prester John wishes to impress the people with his wealth!”

“A good guess,” Balkis said, “but not quite on the mark— the king wants all to know that he is lord of lords in these lands, and that his magnificence surpasses all the wealth in the world.”

“Do you truly know this simply from dwelling in Maracanda?” he asked.

What was Balkis to say? She couldn't exactly tell him that she had heard the explanations from the emperor himself. “Prester John goes about frequently within the city,” she said. “People discuss his processions.”

“With such pomp as this?”

“Oh, this is only his ordinary coming and going. When he travels in state, or marches to war, it is much more magnificent.”

Anthony looked frankly skeptical, but Sikta said, “I can believe that easily! Why, he has only a dozen soldiers going before him!”

They watched the troopers ride by, backs as straight as the poles of the pennons they bore, eyes firmly toward the front.

“Who are those gaily dressed fellows who follow the soldiers?” Sikta asked.

“They are courtiers,” Balkis explained, “dukes and counts of the land. Do you see those last seven coming, and the crowns they wear?”

“Why, yes!” Sikta gasped. “Surely they are not truly kings!”

“They are indeed. Seven of his tributary kings are always in attendance upon him—more, when they march to war with all their soldiers.”

“But who is that young man riding behind them, who also wears a crown?” Anthony asked. “He cannot be a king—he is scarcely older than I am!”

“He is the crown prince.” Balkis lowered her gaze. “He shall become emperor upon Prester John's death.”

“So much power to fall upon such slender shoulders!” Anthony murmured.

Balkis could only agree. She thought Prince Tashih a good man, but Anthony a better—and he had far broader shoulders to bear such a burden.

“Look, Balkis!” Anthony gripped her arm, pointing. “It is the emperor! It is Prester John himself!”

Resigned to her fate, Balkis looked up and hoped her uncle wouldn't see her. Then she stared, for as he rode in state, he seemed far more impressive than he did at home.

He even looked taller—broader, too, bigger in every way. Perhaps it was the huge horse he rode, a western charger, gift of Queen Alisande—or perhaps his robe was deliberately padded and stiffened. He rode with regal bearing, straight as a rod and seeming on the verge of casting thunderbolts. He raised his hand in blessing as he rode, but his face was stern, and there was nothing of the tender, doting uncle she knew.

Suddenly his head snapped around and his eyes met hers. Too late Balkis realized that, being a wizard, Prester John had been alerted by her magical aura. For a few seconds he looked directly at her, and she straightened, lifting her head proudly, gaze defiant, virtually daring him to acknowledge her before all these people.

But the emperor glanced to her right at Anthony, tall and golden beside her, then back at her, and a slight smile touched his lips. Somehow, Balkis felt the vast wave of relief coming from him.

Then the emperor turned his head to the fore and rode on. Balkis stared after him, numb—overwhelmingly grateful that he had not declared her station in front of Anthony, but even more overwhelmed by realizing how deeply he loved her.

The Lord Wizard must have reported to him, she realized, and her uncle must have ridden down this road specifically so he could ride back when she had passed his sentry— probably the deacon at the chapel—and see for himself that she was well.

The Lord Wizard had no doubt reported Anthony's presence and place in her life, too. So much for her fears that Prester John meant to marry her to his son! She lowered her gaze again, tears of joy coming to her eyes. The man and woman she had thought of as mother and father might be dead, but she had true family here, in her uncle.

“A dozen more courtiers behind him,” Sikta exclaimed. “Such state! Ah, so that is the source of the martial music—a whole wagon filled with musicians that comes after the emperor! And oh! Here come the soldiers! There must be a hundred of them! Are they the palace guard, Balkis?… Balkis?”

“Why do you weep, my love?” Anthony's voice was tender with concern.

“Because I have realized that I am almost home,” Balkis told him. In fact, for the first time since she had left her parents' cottage, she knew that she really did have a home.

Anthony squeezed her hand and she clung to it, watching with him as the spellbound crowd gazed after the procession until the last of the soldiers was out of sight. Then they broke into a babble of excitement.

Anthony turned to Balkis, eyes shining. “Isn't it amazing, darling? Never in my life did I think I would ever see Prester John himself! Have you ever seen anything so glorious? But of course—in Maracanda, you said you witnessed such processions many times!”

He babbled on, now to Balkis, now to his neighbors, tremendously excited by what he had seen. Watching him, Balkis thought it ironic that a man who had witnessed so many marvels was overawed most by something so human—but she watched him with a gaze that became more and more tender, and found herself exulting even as he exulted, for his joy was hers. She made polite replies to all his exulting, trying to match his enthusiasm but not succeeding.

Finally, the storm of his excitement having passed, Anthony discerned her mood and frowned with concern. “Why has such a marvelous sight only saddened you, my love?”

Balkis burst into tears and buried her face in his tunic, sobbing out her tension. Sikta looked surprised, then concerned, but as the storm passed, she began to smile with understanding. “You are troubled to realize that your journey together with your Anthony is almost ended, are you not, my dear?”

It was a better explanation than anything Balkis could have devised herself, and she was astonished to realize there was truth in it. “Even so, good Sikta. These months have been so wonderful that I do not want them to end.”

“But why should they?” Anthony asked softly. “Why should our journeying together have an end, ever?” Then he kissed her in front of all their chaperones, a kiss that became far longer than he had intended.

The pilgrims marveled at the sight of the gates of Mara-canda and marveled all over again at the wonders of the city. They were exhausted from their travels, though, and saw only as much as stood between the gates and the hostel to which their guide led them to spend the night. There were basins of water for them to wash, facilities for them to bathe separately—and when the women came back to join the men, Balkis was amazed to discover Matt there, chatting with several of the middle-aged pilgrims.

He turned as she came up to him, giving her a smile. “Didn't think you could make it through the gates without my finding out, did you?”

She couldn't help but smile in return. “Of course not.” She glanced at the men. “Let us go aside to talk.”

“Well, that's what I came for.” Matt lifted a hand in salute. “If you'll excuse us, gentlemen?”

The pilgrims did, but Balkis could feel their curious eyes on her as she led Matt to a chair at the side of the room. They didn't trust this stranger. She was grateful for their concern, but was very glad the talk was so loud that there was little chance of anyone hearing their conversation.

“So has he asked you to marry him yet?” Matt teased as they sat down.

Balkis blushed. “Not quite, but he has come very close.”

“I hoped you looked receptive,” Matt said. “You'd be surprised how many of us weak-willed men don't want to ask such an intimate question if we think we're going to be rejected.”

“I gave him as tender a look as I could.” Balkis didn't explain the circumstances. She leaned closer to say, “But I am worried, Lord Wizard. I fear I may not wait for him to propose.”

“Bad idea,” Matt said promptly. “Very bad, in a medieval culture. Wait. Make it a quick wedding if you have to, but wait for it.”

“I… I may not be able to stand against the tide of my own desire.” Balkis gave him a pleading look. “You know how such feelings may overwhelm a cat.”

“Then stay in human form.”

“But there is enough of the cat in me now that… well… to be blunt, Lord Wizard, I fear I am in heat, and more and more deeply with every passing day!” She lowered her gaze. “Sometimes I think that I cannot bear it, that I… should perhaps … should… give in.”

“No you shouldn't,” Matt said firmly. “Besides, even if you wanted to, you'd have to seduce Anthony—he has you on a bit of a pedestal.”

Balkis grimaced, looking away. “Then pedestals are quite uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, and kinda windy,” Matt sympathized. “Still, it's not quite the animal lust you seem to think it. Odds are the only reason you're feeling this way is because you're in love.”

“Yes … I think so …” Balkis looked up at Matt beseechingly. “What if he should not propose, though? What if we should not marry?”

Matt studied her for a few seconds, then said gently, “I think the real problem is that, way down deep, you don't want to miss the chance of learning physical intimacy when you're in love.”

Balkis lowered her gaze, blushing, but only repeated, “What if he should not wish to marry? What if he should leave? Do I still wish to be a virgin when he does?”

“From all the women I've seen in your predicament who gave in,” Matt said, “the answer is definitely that if you're still a virgin when he goes, it hurts less.” He laid a hand over hers. “Don't worry, lady—if he's as deeply in love as I think he is, there's no way he'll leave.”

She blushed and looked up at him with gratitude. “You are right, of course. I only fear what may happen when he learns I am a princess.”

“Just tell him you'll give it all up to live in a cottage with him,” Matt advised.

Balkis stared at him in shock, then realized his meaning and laughed with pure joy. “Of course! It matters not what I am now, does it? It is how I grew up that affects him!” She reached up to give Matt a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Lord Wizard! Oh, thank you, thank you!” She leaped up. “I must go to find him now! I shall tell him all straightaway!”

Matt almost stopped her, almost told her it might not be the wisest course, then realized she had to do it while her courage was up. “Right. Go find him.”

Balkis ran off among the crowd, twisting and turning and seeking.

Matt relaxed with a sigh and thought gratefully of his wife. He'd forgotten how wearing the angst of the search for love could be.

Then Balkis was back, was running up to him with tears in her eyes. “Lord Wizard! He is gone, he is fled!” She collapsed beside him, her face on his knees, sobbing. “He has gone out into the streets of Maracanda, alone and without a guide! Sikta saw him go, and what will happen to him alone among those sharks and thugs who are ready to prey on any they find?”

Matt just held onto her and wondered if it was really as bad as she thought, then admitted to himself that it probably was—a country boy in the big city was always at something of a disadvantage. “Let's go,” he said. “You can change into a tabby right outside the door. You take the back alleys and I'll take the bazaar.” He tilted her chin up and smiled as reassuringly as he could. “Don't worry—it's too late for him to get out. They closed the gates half an hour ago.”

“It was not the predators outside the gates that worried me,” she told him.

Matt didn't have to search very long. Anthony was right there in the bazaar, haggling at a goldsmith's booth.

“You know this nugget isn't gold, don't you?” the goldsmith was asking.

“I know very well that it is true gold.” Anthony gave the man a hard smile. “Still, I did not ask you what it was—I only asked you to make it into a ring, and to cut and polish this stone to mount on it.”

The goldsmith looked at the dull white pebble in his palm. “I suppose you think that scrap of quartz is a diamond.”

“No matter what it is, it is what I want in the ring. How much will you charge to make it?”

“Two silvers.”

“I have no coins.” Anthony held up a small blue stone. “Will this do?”

The goldsmith glanced at the stone, then looked again, his eyes hot with avarice, but he said only, “It is very small.”

Matt decided it was time to step in. “Very small, and completely unnecessary,” he said, stepping up beside Anthony. “The gold that's left over from the nugget and the chips of the diamond will be more than enough payment.”

Anthony looked up in surprise. “Lord Wizard! How come you to be here?”

The goldsmith stared at Matt, then looked away, tidying up his counter with nervous glances at the new customer.

“A wizard always has to keep an eye on the bazaar to see if any exotic substances show up,” Matt said. “For example, I'm running low on cinnabar at the moment.”

The goldsmith looked up with chagrin. “I do not deal in that ore, I fear, Lord Wizard.”

“No, but one of your neighbors does.” Matt picked up the nugget and gave it a close inspection. “The young man's right—that's gold, sure enough. I'm sure you just don't recognize it because it's in such a raw state. Don't you think so, goldsmith?”

“Belike, belike,” the man muttered.

“Then the leftovers will surely be enough payment.” Matt looked up at Anthony. “You want it nice and wide, don't you?”

“Not terribly.” Anthony gave him a bashful smile. “It is for a lady, after all—if she will have it.”

“And you with it, of course.” Matt gave him a grin. “A ring that size wouldn't take more than half the gold. I think the rest is more than enough payment.”

The goldsmith gathered courage to bargain a little more. “Once I have smelted it—”

“You'll still have twice as much as you need for such a little ring,” Matt said. “And no more than one-tenth copper in it, mind you!”

The goldsmith frowned. “That will make it very soft, my lord.”

“Hard enough,” Matt told him, “and so am I.” He turned back to Anthony. “Any more shopping to do, or shall we have a sherbet together and go back to die hostel?”

“I would delight in your hospitality.” Anthony said. “I did want to see what other baubles this street has to offer, though.”

“Well, you go explore a few of the other booths while I have a word with this goldsmith, okay? He might have one or two items I'm needing.”

“A good thought,” Anthony said brightly and drifted off to another booth.

The goldsmith, reassured by Mart's pleasant demeanor, asked, “What do you wish, Lord Wizard?”

“A little honesty.” Matt fixed him with a very stern eye. “When that ring is ready, the stone had better be real diamond, and the gold had better be true—or do you think I can't tell brass and quartz when I see them?”

“I—I am sure you can, my lord!” the goldsmith stammered. “I have heard the tale of your magicks that saved this city, have seen you riding beside the emperor! I would never doubt you!” He frowned. “But I had heard you had gone back to your own country.”

“I did, but I came back for a visit,” Matt told him. “I'm likely to do that, from time to time. I can find ingredients for magic potions here that I never find in the West—but I only deal with honest merchants. You are honest, aren't you?”

“The very soul of honesty, my lord,” the goldsmith said fervently.

Balkis was already back at the hostel, pacing and wringing her hands, when Matt came in the door with Anthony.

“Anthony!” Balkis rushed into his arms. “Oh, I so feared for you, my love!”

“Feared for me? Why?” Anthony asked, his arms tight about her. “Surely you know I can take care of myself!”

“Hey, did you worry about her safety in your home mountains?” Matt asked.

“Well, of course, but there are fearsome beasts there.”

“We have some pretty merciless predators here, too,” Matt told him. “The big thing, though, is that you're always at a disadvantage in strange territory. Just reassure the lady and take her in to dinner, will you?”

After the meal, though, the pilgrims started swapping stories again, and Anthony became interested. Matt was able to take Balkis aside.

“Lord Wizard, where was he?” Balkis demanded.

“In the bazaar, trying to trade a gemstone.” It wasn't really a lie, and it did preserve the secret of the ring. Gravely, he asked, “Balkis, how did Anthony come to have a gold nugget and a jewel in his pockets?”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “The gold he took from a valley where giant ants mine the stuff, and people who live in fortresses by day collect the nuggets at night. Greed is his one fault, and because he kept some of the gold, one ant followed us for months. It might have slain us, but as good luck was with us, it slew instead a lion who was trying to kill Anthony.”

Matt gave a low whistle. “And the lion squashed the ant, huh? But where did he get the gems?”

“From the banks of the river Physon, which we navigated underground with only torchlight to guide us. Our friend Panyat showed us the way. I bade Anthony not to burden himself, but he could not bear to leave without at least a handful of stones.”

“I can understand that, at least.” Matt nodded. “Gold that was apt to draw retribution, no, that was stupid—but a handful of gems wasn't going to slow him down any, and could last him the rest of his life.” He fairly beamed at her. “I'm very glad to find out he came by them honestly.”

“Did you think my Anthony a thief?” Balkis asked, her anger returning. “Never! He is the soul of honesty and loyalty! Never would I question him! Save, of course, in the matter of that one flaw: greed.”

“I'm glad to learn it hasn't undermined his honesty,” Matt said. “It has broken the integrity of many good men before now, Balkis.” He gave her a sly smile. “The boy just might be worthy of you, after all.”

“I should think he is!” Balkis said indignantly, then turned shy. “But Lord Wizard—do you think I am worthy of him?”

“Definitely!” Matt said. “You don't know what a gem you are, cottage girl!”

She frowned at him. “I am a princess now, sir.”

“Yes, and doing a very good job of it, too,” Matt agreed, “and if you can, so can Anthony”

The next morning, they woke to find the pilgrims all astir, milling about in the yard of the hostel. They went out to join their friends, Anthony asking, “What is the cause of your excitement, good Sikta?”

“Today we go to the palace!” the matron exclaimed. “Will it not be wondrous, Anthony—to see the grand home of Prester John himself?”

“It will indeed!” Anthony's eyes were shining. “Will it not be a delight, Balkis?”

“It will indeed, Anthony,” she said faintly.