We were soon alone in the space.

“You’d better get out before anyone else comes,” he said.

“You needn’t stay.”

“You need someone to stay in case someone else does come,” he told me coldly.

“Well, turn your back.”

“Why are you so prudish? This won’t be the first time you’ve been seen bare by a man.”

I caught up my neck-chain with the knife on it from beside the shallow tub, and hurled it at him. He stumbled back. “Why—why—” he stammered.

“Stop your endless holier-than-thou-scoffing,” I choked.

He came closer again, picked up the chain and knife, and put them down on the pile of clothes beside me. “All right, Ci-ja. I’ll turn my back.”

I got up, tied up my hair in two seconds and shook the drops off my legs. By that time, from the heat of the sun, I was no more than slightly damp. I slipped into my clothes and stalked silently away past Smahil to the opening between the tents.

He hesitated, but decided to speak even if the sound of his voice offended me.

“You’re always being annoyed with me, Cija.”

“Yes.”

But that seemed unfair. I stopped for a moment, though hardly glancing at him. “You’re always annoyed with me,” I pointed out. I walked in but this had given him his usual confidence and he stopped me, his hands on my shoulders.

“You’re so damn touchy,” he said.

“You’d better go and have that bath if you want it so much.”

“I don’t, I bathe in the river, such as it is. I’m not supposed to, the parts with water in have been reserved for the General and his staff—and, of course, your rival. But sometimes the guards are slack, and I slightly resemble one of the staff secretaries. Why on earth were you bathing in the open, anyway?”

I told him briefly, attempting to shake off his hands which he didn’t budge.

“I wanted a bath but she’s in a bad temper because since leaving the forests he twice has missed his nightly visit to her so she refused me a bath. I don’t usually like all the bother but in this weather it is a joy. So I took her tub from the slave—”

“She’ll be furious,” Smahil said, his mouth twitching sideways. His instinct was laughter, not sympathy, it is a little thing but shows what sort of person he is.

“She is. I refused to tend her and I was rather impertinent. And I called her Madam because I am a hostage, and as the General’s wife she is no longer technically a princess. I am perfectly entitled to behave so, but all the same I am liable to a beating for it, I suppose.”

“She doesn’t beat you?”