Free Voices by Ursula K. Le Guin Page B

apart, paying no attention to the talk about poetry, standing inside the open tent with a group of priests and officers and chatting with them, until they grew so noisy that the Gand silenced them with a reproof. After that Iddor scowled and said nothing.
    The Gand asked that the lion be brought to him, so Chy obliged, and Shetar did her useful trick, as Orrec called it: facing the Gand, she stretched out her front paws and bowed her head down between them, as cats do when they stretch—"doing obeisance." This pleased everybody very much, and Shetar had to do it several times, which was fine with her, since she got a small treat each time, even though it was her fasting day. Iddor came forward and wanted to play with her, dangling his feathered cap, which she ignored, and asking how strong she was, did she kill live prey, had she bitten people, had she killed a man, and so on. Chy the lion tamer answered all his questions respectfully, and had Shetar do obeisance to him. But Shetar yawned at him after doing a rather perfunctory bow.
    "An unbeliever should not be permitted to keep a lion of Asudar," Iddor said to his father, who replied, "But who will take the lion from the master of the
lion?"—evidently a proverb, neatly applied. At that, Iddor started to tease Shetar, provoking her by shouting and starting at her as if in attack. Shetar ignored him absolutely. The Gand, when he realised what his son was doing, stood up in a rage, told him he was shaming the hospitality of his house and offending the majesty of the lion, and ordered him to leave.
    "The majesty of the lion," Gry repeated, sitting down with us at last, her face clean, and dressed now in her silk shirt and trousers—"I like that."
    "But I don't like what went on between the Gand and his son," Orrec said. "A snake's nest, as Gudit said. It will take careful treading. The Gand, though, he's a very interesting man."
    He's the tyrant that ruined and enslaved us, I thought, but didn't say.
    "The Waylord is right," Orrec went on. "The Alds are camped in Ansul like soldiers on the march. They seem amazingly ignorant of how people live here, who they are, what they do. And the Gand is bored with ignorance. I think he's seen that he'll probably finish out his life here and might as well make the best of it. But on the other hand, the people of the city don't know anything about the Alds."
    "Why should we?" I said. I couldn't stop myself.
    "We say in the Uplands, it takes a mouse to really know the cat," said Gry.
    "I don't want to know people who spit on my gods and call us unclean. I call them filth. Look—look at my lord! Look what they did to him! Do you think he was born with his hands broken?"
    "Ah, Memer," Gry said, and she reached out to me, but I pulled away. I said, "You can go to what they call their palace and eat their food if you like and tell them your poetry, but I'd kill every Ald in Ansul if I could."
    Then I turned away and broke into tears, because I had ruined everything and didn't deserve their confidence.
    I tried to leave the room, but Orrec stopped me.
    "Memer, listen," he said, "listen. Forgive our ignorance. We are your guests. We ask your pardon."
    That brought me out of my stupid crying. I wiped my eyes and said, "I'm sorry."
    "Sorry, sorry," Gry whispered, and I let her take my hand and sit down with me on the windowseat. "We know so little. Of you, of your lord, of Ansul. But I know as you do that we were brought together here by more than chance."
    "By Lero," I said.
    "By a horse, and a lion, and Lero," she said. "I will trust you, Memer."
    "I will trust you," I said to them both.
    "Tell us who you are, then. We need to know one another! Tell us who the Waylord is—or what he was, before the Alds came. Was he the lord of the city?"
    "We didn't have any lords."
    I tried to pull myself together to answer properly, as I did when the Waylord asked me, "A little further, please, Memer?" I said, "We elected a council to govern the city. All