I watched Serena kneel behind the mansa to pour into the offering cup and then his cup. She poured for the older men in a zigzag order according to their proximity to the mansa. A steward hovered at her right hand to replace the emptying carafe with a new one. Only when she had finished did I kneel just behind and to the right of Vai and reach past him for his wineglass. My arm brushed his, and his eyes closed briefly. After filling his cup, I poured for the young men in the proper order, copying her movements in reverse, and retreated to the side table. Serena’s approving nod saturated me with an unreasonable amount of satisfaction.

I could be serene!

Male servants carried in platters of delicacies never seen in our weeks in custody: chicken simmered in onion and mustard, fish cooked with tomatoes, a haunch of peppered beef, and skewers of grilled goat on beds of spinach, a constant stream of dishes. The men set to their meal.

Young men drink faster than their elders, and my job was to anticipate before any glass was emptied. Conversation flowed as steadily as the wine, the older men in serious discussion and the younger men jesting in quiet voices among themselves, for they had not the right to interrupt the older men’s conversation. Vai spoke rarely and only in answer to questions put directly to him. Not that I was looking at him all the time. I was too busy pouring wine.

How the men did stare at me as I moved around the table! Not in the flirtatious way I had enjoyed at the boardinghouse but as a man may measure an ill-fitting suit of clothes he is surprised to see offered to him as one of good quality. The mansa’s nephew and several cronies seated beside him were the worst, calling me over before their cups were empty as if to suggest I had not noticed. I did my duty in as patient a manner as possible, for I was determined not to shame Vai. Furthermore, at last I had the opportunity to spy in the mage House.

Confined in the chamber and garden, I had heard no news at all for over four months. Now I heard every word they said.

War had come to Europa.

General Camjiata had united the Iberians and marched an army over the Pyrene Mountains. In a series of running battles he had pushed north and, with a mastery of strategy and tactics that utilized his modern rifles and cannons to best effect, he had defeated every force sent against him. Worst, several Gallic princes had declared neutrality or even shifted allegiance to support the Iberian Monster. Inflamed by radical agitators, towns and villages had risen up against their masters and welcomed the general’s troops.