A Hanging Moon (Leopard's Bane book 3)

In her bathing chamber in the Palace of Chamaris, Lady Vancia lay naked in a scented pool. Candles lined its marble edges, their flames dancing on the water. Beyond them, her waiting women stood in silent attendance. In an alcove, a eunuch gently plucked the strings of a baglama.
Vancia rolled in the water, relishing the sensation as it caressed her body. She snapped her fingers, and two of the waiting women stepped fully clothed down the steps into the pool. Each took one of her hands, and together they led her out to where another two women wrapped her in towels soft as down. She stood for a moment, allowing them to pat her dry. Then, with her elbow bent, she made a circular movement of her right hand, her forefinger extended beside her shoulder. At once and in silence the waiting women gathered their robes around them and withdrew. The eunuch put down his instrument. He knew what would happen next. It was always the same.
At the end of the pool was a huge mirror that filled almost the whole wall. Vancia stood before it. Then, with a shrug of her shoulders, she let the towels fall and regarded her naked body. She was pleased with what she saw. She was no longer young, but her skin was smooth and clear and her breasts firm. The triangle at her crotch was soft and downy like a girl’s, a thin veil both covering and enticing. She turned sideways and admired her profile, her flat stomach and trim behind. The eunuch watched, impassive.
‘Would you say I am an attractive woman?’ she said.
The eunuch had his answer ready. ‘Undoubtedly, My Lady. Lord Karkis is indeed a lucky man.’
Vancia snorted. Karkis, her husband, was old and almost blind. Movement was increasingly difficult for him, and it had been a long time since he had last visited her bed.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think I should take a lover?’ she said.
The eunuch left a practised pause before he answered. ‘Many men would be eager, My Lady.’
It was what Vancia expected to hear. ‘Who do you have in mind?’ she said.
The eunuch pretended to deliberate. ‘Feldar is a handsome man.’
‘My husband’s Steward?’ She considered, turning and looking over her shoulder to admire her back. ‘Yes, he’s not bad looking, but he lacks refinement.’ And, she was thinking, he’s too close to home. More than that, there were questions about his loyalty. He had taken Peglar’s side the night Ragul had made his spectacular wager. In fact, he had been the only one in the room who had.
The eunuch reflected again. ‘Has my lady considered Cestris?’
She knew Cestris slightly, but he too had favoured Peglar, acting as one of his seconds when he’d fought Ragul in the cage. But he was wonderfully handsome—smooth-skinned, tall, and athletic, a champion at the Seven Cities Games. She had indeed considered him. Some would say he was too young for her, but what of that?
‘However,’ the eunuch added, ‘it is said that Cestris finds the company of boys more stimulating than that of women.’
Vancia laughed. ‘It would be interesting to find out,’ she said archly.
All this was idle talk, as both she and the eunuch knew. It was a game they often played. Vancia was now close to the pinnacle of the power for which she had so long schemed. She had plotted, and manoeuvred, and intrigued, and even killed to reach the point at which she now stood. She had no intention of ruining it all by taking a lover. Blind as her husband might be and appealing though the lusty body of Cestris might seem, she would not risk everything by embarking on a frivolous excursion. She had done that once, more than seventeen years ago. It had been a brief affair, wild and indulgent, and had resulted in the birth of her daughter, Malina. Through a combination of lies, careful planning and good fortune, Karkis had never found out and had accepted Malina as his own. But it had been a trying time. Even though Vancia had swiftly ended the illicit liaison, she had endured a period of acute anxiety lest an enemy, and she had many, discover her secret and make it known. No one had, and Malina had grown up as a princess, cosseted in the luxury of the Palace. She was now ready for an advantageous pairing, one which would not only result in a handsome sum of Bride Gold for the ever-demanding family treasury but would also cement and strengthen her mother’s prestige.
Vancia clapped her hands, and the waiting women returned. They bore potions and lotions, and while one of them spread towels on a low bench, another knelt and began to massage her limbs and body, working the oils gently into her skin. When they had done, they wrapped her in a loose chemise and a third woman brushed her hair and fashioned it into braids. The eunuch resumed his playing.
When she indicated that she was sufficiently perfumed and preened, the women drew back, and the eunuch bowed and left. Vancia rose and crossed the chamber to a long couch at the far end, where she spent some time arranging her posture, curling her legs beneath her and draping one arm along its back. With her other hand, she adjusted her garment to best display her cleavage. She eased the material a little lower and finally was satisfied.
‘Admit him,’ she said.
One of the women departed and the others moved to the end of her couch. Vancia irritably waved them away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘All of you go. Go.’
For a few moments, she was alone. The room was silent. The candles flickered on the cream marble, and the scented vapour from the water hung in the air. Then she heard a stirring and a panting which preceded the arrival of a short, fat man. He was wrapped in a heavy cloak, and his bald head and brow were greasy with perspiration.
‘Madam, you sent for me,’ he puffed as he approached her.
Vancia smiled, thinly. ‘Lord Sainter,’ she said. ‘Indeed, I did send for you. Be seated.’
She patted the couch beside her. Sainter hesitated and then took a spot at its far end, as remote from her as he could manage. He avoided looking directly at her and fussed with his garments, tucking his cloak around him. He was uncomfortable in the presence of women. The more powerful and more attractive the woman, the more awkward he felt. Vancia knew this and exploited it. It was one of the means she used to manage him.
She pouted, fluttered her eyelashes, and touched the neckline of her gown, enjoying Sainter’s unease. When she felt he had suffered enough, she spoke.
‘I hear we have the girl. Where is she?’
Sainter cleared his throat. ‘She is to be taken to a fortified villa, my Lady.’
‘Where?’
‘In Verlam, my Lady.’
Vancia frowned. ‘Verlam? Where’s that? Why there?’
‘Verlam is a mile from Maris Partem, a little way off the road between there and Semilvarga. It’s tiny, not even a hamlet, just a couple of buildings and a few olive trees.’
Vancia bent her fingers and studied the nails. She didn’t reply, so Sainter felt he should say more.
‘The girl was seized in Semilvarga by traffickers, and they put her up for auction at the slave market in Murgo. Verron, who is one of your son’s men, keeps an eye on such things. He was on the lookout for slave women when he came across this girl. He realised who she was, and he bought her.’
Vancia straightened up. ‘Bought her? Moon and stars, why didn’t he simply take her? How much did she cost?’
‘The price he paid was twenty golds, My Lady.’
Vancia visibly relaxed. ‘Is that all? A trifle. And does this whore of Peglar’s have a name?’
‘She is called Yalka, my Lady,’ said Sainter.
Vancia winced. ‘How common. How vulgar. A peasant name. I’m not surprised. It’s no more than Peglar deserves. Is there any news of him?’
‘I’m afraid not. As my Lady knows, he got away from Maris Partem on a ship, The Morning Glory. Its captain became aware of who he was and was planning to hold him on board until the vessel returned to port, but they were waylaid by pirates. We thought that Peglar, too, had been taken as a slave, but it seems not.’
‘So where is he?’
Sainter wriggled. The bathing chamber was intolerably hot. His clothing was sticking to him, and he was sweating profusely, but he kept his cloak wrapped tightly around him. He was still avoiding looking directly at Vancia.
‘No one knows, my Lady. The names of all the crew—the ones that survived, that is—are on bills for the sale of slaves, but Peglar’s is not amongst them.’
Vancia beamed. ‘So perhaps he died at the hands of the pirates. Perhaps he never made it to shore.’ She clasped her hands. ‘Please let that be.’
‘That would indeed have been an ideal outcome, my Lady, but I am told that Peglar was seen ashore, and even in Murgo.’
‘In Murgo? The same place where this Yalka creature was sold? And they never met?’
‘Apparently not, my Lady.’
‘And now he has vanished.’
‘Indeed so.’
‘Mm.’ Vancia was irritated. This was most unsatisfactory. ‘So, what now?’
Sainter leant forward in the closest he ever came to eagerness. It was a sign to Vancia that he had a scheme in his head, and she knew there was nothing he enjoyed more. ‘I think that we can work this situation to our advantage. It would seem that your stepson is quite attached to Yalka.’
Vancia raised her eyes and shook her head. ‘I am perplexed. Attached? To a whore from the slums? Don’t you find that despicable, even for Peglar?’ Her disgust was intense. ‘Nauseating!’
‘Indeed, my Lady. However, we can make use of Peglar’s obsession with the girl. Verron is making it known that she is being held in Verlam. He is spreading the word in taverns and inns in and around Maris Partem, and in all the towns and villages across the plain. He is confident that this will flush Peglar out. He will hear that she is captive, and where, and he will attempt to rescue her. The villa is guarded, discreetly, and when he tries to free her, he will be caught.’
Vancia looked at Sainter for a long time before she spoke. He glanced up at her, accidentally met her eye and swiftly looked away.
‘This had better work,’ she said.
Sainter swallowed. ‘Yes, my Lady.’
She raised her hand to him in a gesture of dismissal, and he started the process of levering his bulk from the low couch. Once upright he made to leave, but Vancia raised a finger to stay him.
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘I instructed you to bring me news of Chalia.’
‘Ah, yes, my Lady. I spoke with Physician Narvil. He can do nothing for her and is of the opinion that she will not last much longer. A day or two, perhaps. A week at the most.’
‘How sad. And so young, too.’ Vancia’s smooth words oozed insincerity. What Sainter told her was exactly what she had hoped to hear.
Vancia watched him waddle out. How he disgusted her, but there was no denying that he was useful. He was so obsessed with impressing her that he would do anything she told him. And sometimes no instruction was necessary; the merest hint would do, which was useful because then she could always deny any responsibility. Yes, he was useful, but she would dispense with him as soon as her plans were concluded.
She clapped her hands, and two of her women returned, with a selection of gowns. She chose one, slipped off her chemise and let it fall to the floor. The women began to dress her. The eunuch returned with his baglama and worked deftly on the strings, playing a gentle, undulating melody.
‘What is that you’re playing?’
‘It’s a composition of my own, my Lady. I call it “Salute to the Moon”.’
‘Charming. Quite charming.’
The eunuch bowed low. ‘My Lady is very gracious. With my Lady’s permission, I would like to dedicate it to her.’
Vancia turned to look through the window to where the full moon had just risen. It was large and red. She had always thought that she and the moon had something in common.
‘I accept the dedication,’ she said.
She was content. Chalia, Peglar’s mother and her rival, was history, or she soon would be. Karkis, her husband, was no longer capable of carrying out his duties as Master of the City, and Ragul had been named as his Regent. Her daughter, Malina, was being pursued as a bride by all the high families and would soon make an advantageous pairing.
She was in control.
* * *
In another part of the Palace, Karkis was in his study. He was seated with his back curved and his palms on his desk. He looked straight ahead but saw little. He could make out the wall of shelves only a few paces away, but he could not see the books on them. Instead, he saw a dark cloud with a little light around its edge. For months now, the cloud had been getting bigger and darker, and as it did, the light that surrounded it became fainter.
Although the day was warm, there was a fire in the grate, which smoked and filled the room with a pungent haze. Karkis was acutely sensitive to cold and didn’t mind the stuffiness the fire created. He was trying to remember when he had last felt well, and what it was like to be happy. He was thinking about his wives and his children, and how it was that he and they had arrived at the point where they now were. He was still Master of the City, but in name only. He could no longer read documents, concentrate during meetings, or process information. He had lost the ability to judge the relative importance of different matters, and the countless items that clamoured for his attention all seemed to be of equal worth. The last time he addressed the City Assembly, he had lost the thread of what he had been saying, and his poor eyesight meant that his notes had been of no help. At Vancia’s suggestion, he had declared Ragul his Regent, and that meant there was no longer anything for him to do. Sometimes he thought about his other son, Peglar, and wondered how it was that he had turned out to be so great a disappointment. He blamed the boy’s sickly mother for that and refused to see her, even when Feldar reported to him how ill she was.
He felt for the flask, which he knew was on his desk, and when he found it he withdrew the cork. It was a tonic which Vancia daily prepared for him. Because nowadays his hands trembled constantly, he didn’t trust himself to pour its contents into the glass beside it, so he lifted the flask to his lips and sipped. The liquid was bitter, but he drank it all because if he did not Vancia would be hurt and angry. He had already had one dose that morning, and there would be another at bedtime. He popped into his mouth some of the raisins that he kept by him to mask the vile taste of the brew.
He rested the empty container on the desk and absently wiped a slick of drool from the corner of his mouth. He was old, his body ground down by the relentless wheels of time. He was tired.