Charis accepted the gift politely but without enthusiasm. The girl smiled, revealing a gap where she had lost a tooth. “I’m Liban,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Charis.”

“Open your gift, Charith,” the girl lisped, nodding toward the parcel in Charis’ hands.

Charis untied the silk and out tumbled a bracelet made of bits of angular polished jade inexpertly strung on colored thread. “Thank you,” said Charis glumly, turning the thing over in her hand. She looked around at the extravagant gifts the others were receiving, boots and sandals of fine leather, silver rings and armbands, a gold dagger with a winking sapphire in its handle for Avallach, horn bows and quivers of arrows for the princes, an amphora of olives in oil for An-nubi, a lacquer box inset with pearls and containing three crystal vials of expensive perfume for Briseis.

She looked once more at her own gift, a cheap jade bracelet of the kind one could find among any street vendor’s wares. Her obvious disappointment went unnoticed by her benefactress, however. “I made it mythelf,” said Liban proudly, “ethpethially for you.”

“I am pleased to accept it,” replied Charis. “How did you know I would be coming?”

“My mother told me. Go ahead, put it on.” Liban stepped close and took the bracelet. Charis extended her hand, and the girl slipped it onto her wrist. “Ith a little big,” Liban observed, “but you will grow. What number are you?”

“Number?”

“Which printheth, I mean. I am number five. I have four sisthers, but they are older-ten brothers. Three are juth babies, though.”

Charis smiled; despite their differences in age, she found herself liking Liban. “I suppose I am number one then, because I am the only princess.”

“The only one?” Liban shook her head in wonder. “That must be very lonely.”

“Yes, sometimes,” Charis admitted.

“Do you want to thee my room?”

“Well” began Charis uncertainly, looking around. The room was filled with people, but no one seemed to be interested in her except Liban. “All right, I would like to see it.”

“You can thtay with me if you want to,” said Liban as they started off. “We can have a bed moved in. There ith plenty of room.”

They left the reception, striking off down a wide corridor of polished green marble. Liban chattered happily, tugging Charis along as if she was afraid of losing her. Charis fingered her clumsy bracelet and it occurred to her that no one had ever made her a gift before-that is, a gift made especially for her and no one else.

After his guests had rested and refreshed themselves, Seith-enin sent seneschals to invite Avaliach’s company to join him on the meadow. Avallach accepted and all were conducted to a pavilioned plain within the outer walls, a meadow now festooned with banners and lanterns strung from pole to pole. Huge iron braziers filled with hot coals were situated in the center of the meadow, and over these whole oxen and hogs turned slowly on spits while master cooks basted the meat wiih swabs of herbed butter from a wooden tub.

In^the center of the inner circle of tents stood a riser with several dozen seats overlooking a roped-off field. As the carriages rolled to a stop at the edge of the meadow, a group of young people wearing garlands and colored ribbons came running to meet them. They were led by Liban and carried armfuls of flowers which they bestowed upon the passengers in the royal carriages. Charis accepted a large bouquet from the smiling girl, and then the young people raced oif to begin forming circles on the field.

Liban tugged on Charis’ hand, but Charis pulled back.

“Oh, go with them,” the queen said, nudging her daughter and taking the bouquet. “You have done nothing but ride in a carriage for days.”

Charis accepted Liban’s hand and together they joined the dancers. A boy removed his crown of ribbons and placed it on the princess’ head; hand drams beat time, flutes and lyre broke into a lively melody and they all began to dance.

Avallach dismounted and handed Briseis down from her carriage to be formally greeted by an official delegation of Coranian nobles. Annubi and others of rank in the Sarrasan procession were included, and all moved off to the nearest pavilion where sweetened wine was poured into golden phytons from amphorae sunk deep all day in a spring-fed pool.

The four princes, still sitting in their saddles, saw nothing to pique their interest until some of Seithenin’s older sons appeared with bows and targets. The princes clambered down from their mounts to join their new friends, all of them eager to demonstrate their skill at archery.

As Bel’s red-gold disk sank toward the rim of the western horizon, the travelers and their hosts took their places in the stands. Musicians with pipe and tabor, lyre and horn began to play, while Coranians dressed in colorful costumes presented tableaux of early history: Atlas wrestling with the demiurge Calyps for the new-made land; Poseidon carving the trident into the slopes of the sacred mountain while his wife, Gaia, slays Set, the dragon who has invaded the nursery to devour the infant, Antaeus; Deucalion and Pyrrha emerging from the waterlogged chest after the deluge and raising an altar to Bel.

Charis thought each one better than the last and would have watched the whole night if it had not grown too dark to see. With the coming of night the lanterns were lit, transforming the field into a green velvet sea awash in the soft glow of three hundred golden moonlike orbs. The guests were conducted to the tables which had been prepared and when all were seated the food was brought forth. The long tables sagged beneath the weight of steaming platters piled high with food: great joints of roast meat sliced into slabs, whole nets of fish, each one wrapped in grape leaves and steamed with lemon slices, mounds of fresh-baked breads, baskets of sweet fruit from the far southwest, stewed vegetables in bubbling caldrons, tart-resinated wine.

Avallach and his family were given seats of honor, surrounded by Coranian nobles and worthies. After a very long series of ritual toasts, the meal began. Charis sat between Guistan, the youngest of Avallach’s line, and a tall, gawky boy who was the son of a Coranian patriarch. The boy leaned over her constantly in order to talk to Guistan about hound racing, which apparently was the only diversion available to the youth of Corania.

“I have four hounds myself,” said the boy, whose name Charis promptly forgot. “Someday I will race them and they will win. They are very fast.”

“If they are really fast, you must race them at the Royal Oval in Poseidonis. Only the fastest may race there.”

“They are fast,” insisted the boy, “faster than any in the Nine Kingdoms. One day I will race them in Poseidonis.”

“I prefer horse racing,” sniffed Guistan importantly.

Not to be outdone, the youngster said, “My uncle races horses. He was won wreaths and chains at every important race.”

“What is his name?” inquired Guistan around a mouthful of food.

“Caister; he is very famous.”

“I have never heard of him,” replied Guistan.

The boy huffed and turned away. Charis felt sorry for him, having been baited and bested by Guistan. She gave her brother a jab in the ribs with her elbow. “Ow!” he cried. “What was that for?”

“He was only trying to be friendly. You could be polite,” she whispered.

“I was being polite!” Guistan hissed angrily. “Did I laugh in his face?”

The feast continued, Guistan’s bad manners notwithstanding, and the night stretched on with more eating and laughter and dancing. Charis ate until she could not hold another morsel, and then joined the dance with some other young people. They assembled beneath the lanterns and formed a serpentine to weave among the lantern poles and pavilions.

The dancers chanted as they wound through the feast site, lifting their voices as the serpentine moved faster and faster, until they could no longer hold on and tumbled over one another to fall sprawling to the grass. Charis laughed as she lay on the ground, lanterns and stars spinning dizzily above her.