Dwaymenau stood beside the water with
her women, bidding the King farewell, and so he saw her, radiant
in the dawn, with her boy beside her, and waved his hand to the
last.
The ships were gone and the days languished a little at Pagan.
They missed the laughter and royalty of the King, and few men,
and those old and weak, were left in the city. The pulse of life
beat slower.
And Dwaymenau took rule in the Golden Palace. Queen Maya sat like
one in a dream and questioned nothing, and Dwaymenau ruled with
wisdom but none loved her. To all she was the interloper, the
witch-woman, the out-land upstart. Only the fear of the King
guarded her and her boy, but that was strong. The boys played
together sometimes, Mindon tyrannizing and cruel, Ananda fearing
and complying, broken in spirit.
Maya the Queen walked daily in the long and empty Golden Hall of
Audience, where none came now that the King was gone, pacing up
and down, gazing wearily at the carved screens and all their
woodland beauty of gods that did not hear, of happy spirits that
had no pity. Like a spirit herself she passed between the red
pillars, appearing and reappearing with steps that made no sound,
consumed with hate of the evil woman that had stolen her joy.
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