Ganton threw back his head to laugh with the others, but inwardly he could hear Lucius speaking in his ancient dry voice. “And in the midst of the triumph, at the time of a conqueror’s greatest glory, there rides in his chariot the lowest-born slave of the Empire, who never ceases to say, ‘Remember Caesar, thou art but a mortal man.’ The cheers of a throng are easily gained. Honor is more elusive.” He could hear the old man, and see Octavia nodding agreement—and also hear the Lady Cara giggle.
The stag was brought forward to the salutes of the starmen and the Guards. Their—uniforms—green shirts and trousers, green jackets, black boots and black belts with sheathed daggers, silver badges on their black berets, made them look remarkably like the starmen in the dim light. Lord Ajacias had done his best with candles and torches, but a hall large enough for two hundred was far too large to be lighted properly.
Now the guards, the starmen, and picked men from Lord Rick’s Mounted Archers and Hussars all came forward, presented their weapons, and crashed them against the floor while the stag and its table passed between their lines on its way to the sand pit between the banqueting tables. The men who’d animated the stag came out from beneath the draperies, and they were also in the uniform of the Royal Guards. All presented their weapons, then saluted in the starman’s manner. “Permission to withdraw?” Hanzar shouted.
There was a long pause. Ganton realized that Lord Rick was staring at him. “Permission granted!” Ganton called, and guards and starmen and Tamaerthans all retired in a complex drill, halting in pairs and clashing weapons as others passed between them, twirling weapons as they knelt on one knee, then rising with more flourishes. They left the hall to the thunder of applause.
* * *
Morrone appeared from somewhere. He held a knife as long as an archer’s sword. As King’s Companion, it was his duty to carve and taste the first portion of all meat brought to the high table. Ganton had always thought his friend graceful, but now he looked just a bit awkward and unrehearsed after the performance of those soldiers.
But first Yanulf. The archpriest rose from his place opposite Ganton, and spread his arms wide. “Yatar, Great Skyfather, we thy servants give thee praise and thanks . . .”
“Majesty?”
His host was trying to get his attention. Ganton acknowledged him with a nod.
“Majesty, the weapon carried by the starman who challenged the stag—was this the same weapon they showed this afternoon?” He shuddered. “Is it safe that such weapons be brought into my hall?”
“Star weapons are safe while starmen are loyal,” Ganton said.
“And are they loyal, Majesty?”
“You saw,” Ganton said.
“Aye, Majesty. I saw disciplined men perform well what they have learned.”
“And—”
“I say no more—”
“I command you, speak what you think.”
“I saw them loyal to the starmen,” Ajacias said. “I saw them cheer my Wanax. But I have not seen them obey the anointed of Yatar.”
“. . . and we thank Thee for the abundant rains of spring and the mildness of the winter,” Yanulf was saying. “And we beg Thy aid, that Thou might intercede with Hestia and all Thy great family, that our seed might not rot in the ground, but flourish and multiply, and our harvest be great that we may offer great sacrifice to Thee. And as The Time approaches, incline the hearts of our lawful rulers to know and do Thy will . . .”
“You demand a demonstration?” Ganton asked. “They have come with me—”
“Majesty, I demand nothing!” Ajacias protested. “I spoke only when commanded! Forgive me!”
“There is nothing to forgive—”
“. . . and let it be Thy will to aid us. Arise, Lord, hasten to aid us, for our need is great . . .”
“—and perhaps you have been of more service than you know,” Ganton said.
One good thing about Yanulf. Lady Cara was silenced. She wouldn’t giggle while the Primate of Drantos invoked the blessings of Yatar. Indeed, she stared as if hypnotized—and yet she probably wouldn’t be able to remember a word that Yanulf has said. While Octavia would have been eager to talk, to discuss Yanulf’s sermon and compare Yatar to the Roman Jehovah and his son Jesus Christ, to ponder the vision of Bishop Polycarp that the Christ was in fact the Son of Yatar, that Yatar and Jehovah were One—
“—the Time of Testing cometh upon us. Woe to that man who fails to prepare. Woe to him, great lord or villein, who has not done the will of Yatar and laid by goods for The Time . . .”
“I am told that smiths to the south have learned to make star weapons of their own.”
Ganton pretended not to have heard. Ajacias would learn of the new weapons in due season. For now there was not enough firepowder in the realm to stoke all the guns for more than a few blasts. There was a shortage of ingredients, especially saltpeter. Ganton had learned how to make firepowder, but not how to extract saltpeter from dungheaps. He wondered if he should not have paid more attention to that day’s lecture. But a Wanax was no mechanic!
“And so we invoke Thy aid.” Yanulf’s prayer ended. Morrone attacked the stag as if it were his blood foe, and then tasted the slice he carved and pronounced it good. And now, finally, the cooks’ apprentices could come out and carve the beast and all could get down to the serious business of eating.
But Ganton couldn’t forget the idea he’d had while Ajacias was questioning him. There was one way to show all that the starmen were loyal to the Crown. If only Lord Rick would agree! But for now, there was dinner, and the giggles of Lady Cara . . .
* * *
The Royal Guardsmen began a sword dance, complex beyond belief, with elements of Tamaerthan dancing mixed with something very like a polka. Their razor-sharp sabers flashed in the candlelight, earning the king’s applause.
Rick Galloway watched with approval as young Ganton refused another cup of wine and asked for water instead. The king’s request probably shocked the steward, but it meant Ganton would have a clear head. He was going to need it to fend off Ajacia’s questions.
“Boy’s learnin’ the king business,” Art Mason said as he took his place beside Rick. “And damn good thing you made ’em put these tables up.”
They were seated behind and to the left of the high table, in a place near an entrance. Rick had insisted that every entrance in the hall be blocked by a table with mercs and Royal Guardsmen, and to hell with protocol. “Yeah?” Rick prompted.
“You been listenin’ to that Ajacias?” Mason asked. “Every question, everything he says, he tries to stir up trouble. That business about making star weapons to use with firepowder, he’s really trying to talk the kid into something. And when he’s not stirring up trouble or fishing for classified information, he tells how it’s time to make peace with the Five Kingdoms.”
“You think he’s a traitor?”
“Hell, Cap’n, you thought so or we wouldn’t be here.” Mason grinned. “I thought you was nuts, wanting to honor a guy that might be plotting against us, but I see it makes sense.” He pointed to the candles at every pillar. “Candles and new livery for the servants. Just those must have cost him a fortune.”
Rick returned the grin and poured wine. “We needed to come north anyway,” Rick said. “We had to stay somewhere. Why not with Ajacias? Anyway, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” A good idea, but not mine, he thought. But nobody on Tran is going to know that. Except maybe Gwen. Who else ever read about Queen Elizabeth I, and her answer to plots?
Silly plots, like Babington’s, she could leave to Walsingham and his secret police, who needed a spectacular success every now and then. More serious situations, involving persons of wealth and stature and importance, she took care of herself: her method was to visit them. As Parkinson, Rick’s favorite historian, had put it, they could hardly plot while she was there, and they were financially ruined by the time she left. Her visit to Euston Hall in 1578 rendered the Rockwoods harmless for at least a decad
e . . .
And Lord Ajacias, a bheroman in the vital Sutmarg region bordering the Five Kingdoms, was far too important to accuse without evidence—or to be allowed to get away with treason.
“Anyway, we got him on trading with the enemy,” Mason said.
Rick nodded. Mason’s patrols had intercepted a pack train of hides and fine wine just as it reached the border. Not only did the hides have Ajacias’ brand, but the idiot had written a letter to the Wanax of Ta-Meltemos inquiring about the last shipment and detailing what special payments were wanted. “Hang onto the smugglers,” Rick said. “We might not want to accuse Ajacias. Not Just yet, anyway—”
“Right.” Mason waved expansively. “He’s sure not going to hire many troopers this year. Not after two weeks of this.”
“Yeah, but you know, he doesn’t seem to mind. Really acts like he’s being honored to have the Wanax here.”
“Well, sure, he’d like his daughter to be Wanaxxae.”
“Fat chance,” Rick said. “What else did your patrols turn up?”
“Confirmation,” Mason said. “Just like you thought, they’re raising armies in the Five Kingdoms. Just how big and what for I can’t tell. Too many cavalry screens. But they’re mobilizing. Funny thing, not so much cavalry as stores. Like they’re expecting a siege.”
Rick shrugged. “The Time—”
“Sure, but they’re increasing the garrison, too,” Mason said. “Least I think so, but it’s hard to find out anything for certain.”
“One more problem,” Rick said. He turned as his orderly came up behind him. “Yes, Jamiy?”
“A message, Lord. From the Lady Tylara.”
“Ah. Give it to me. Wait, I’ll move away from the table. Impolite to read while the Wanax is eating his dinner. Mason, if you don’t mind I’d rather you stayed here to watch out for the Wanax.” Rick got up from the hard bench with relief. The guards started a new dance as Rick retreated to the corridor behind the banqueting hall.
He broke the wax seals and unfolded the letter, noting that it was paper, not parchment. Fairly good quality paper, too; the University’s mills had got the knack of it now, so there were few ink runs mixed with her painstakingly written words. As he held the parchment close to the beeswax candles, he wondered how far the University’s research into illuminating gas had gone.
To the Lord Rick, Eqeta of Chelm, War Lord of Tamaerthon, Captain General of the Hosts of Drantos, Beloved of Yatar, from Lady Tylara, Eqetassa of Chelm and Justiciar of Drantos, Greetings!
My beloved, your children and heirs are safe and well, and I trust this finds you the same. I am also well, though I miss you greatly and wish only for our reunion.
Rick nodded and smiled to himself. Leave it to Tylara to put things in that order. Titles. Health of the children. And only then the really important news, that she was all right.
The feud with the Mac Naile has proven more troublesome than I like. It is well that I have come, for this may yet become a challenge to Mac Clallan Muir. Aye, and there is worse, for there is murmur among the lesser clans that much booty may be found at your University. Thus must I strengthen its defenses, yet do so from afar so that it will not seem that Mac Clallan Muir holds sway in this place which you insist must remain above all clans and crowns.
And you’re doing the right thing even though you don’t agree with me about the University, Rick thought. Thank God I met you, Tylara. I’d better come up there now. It makes sense, it’s not just that I want to see you, my love—
My father sends his greetings, and his thanks that you have sent Makail his first grandson to visit him. Though he has not said so, you may be certain that he is even more grateful for my escort.
Eight mercs, Caradoc with two hundred Mounted Archers, and a hundred lances of Chelm chivalry. Tylara had been sure they would be more than enough to persuade the recalcitrant Mac Naile.
And though that dispute is I think soon ended, there are rumors of others, and it seemed to me that there must be a source of this strife. Thus I spoke with Corgarff, reminding him of your generosity in sparing his life, and of the loyalty of his sons, and of the devotion his new chief holds to you. In this way I persuaded him to tell what he knows of the Dughuilas affair. What he told me has earned him a visit by the headsman—
Oh, Lord! Rick thought. What—
—but mindful of your wishes, I have given him a second pardon, which will assuredly be his last.
As you suspected, there was indeed a plot, with Dughuilas, and a highly placed henchman to Mac Clallan Muir, to the end that only the highborn would command, and all your work would be undone. Corgarff will not name my father’s traitor henchman, but says again and again that he knows not the name, only that he was assured that none of the conspirators bore ill will toward my father or myself, nor indeed toward you, but only toward the changes you make. As you are fond of saying, you may believe as much of that as you will; for my part I do believe it, or rather that Corgarff believes it.
And there was yet one more conspirator, one that Corgarff actually met, but the man was hooded and the light dim, so that Corgarff would not know him, aye though he met him again. From his speech he seemed not of the Drantos nobles, yet certainly he was not of Tamaerthon, yet indeed he was a man of parts and gentle speech and ways. When I put it to Corgarff that the man was likely a priest, Corgarff seemed surprised, then agreed it was possible. You must speak with Yanulf and ask him to see to the loyalty of his archpriests, for there may be one who bears us ill will. The danger is small, now that his instruments are taken, but treason must never be allowed to pass unpunished.
If there be time I will enclose more, telling you of my love, and of our children, for Lady Isobel ceases not to ask for her father, and is quite put out that you do not place her in her bed each night as was your custom. And I would have you do the same with me, each night aye and each day as well. . . .
“My lord,” Jamiy said. “If you have a moment.”
“Eh?” Rick looked up from Tylara’s letter. He’d been staring at it for a long time. His eyes felt the strain from the dim light, and he blinked several times. “What is it?”
“Carlga the smith and Fnor the master miller would speak with you.”
“How much did they bribe you?”
“A silver each, Lord.”
“Ah.” Quite a tidy sum. “Their business must be important. Bring them.”
Jamiy grinned and pocketed the money. Sometimes Lord Rick demanded a share of the bribes paid to get his attention.
The miller and smith were in their finest clothing, with leather purses and jeweled peace-bonded daggers hanging from their belts. Men of substance, Rick thought.
They stammered a bit, but their manners were good, and they were obviously accustomed to speaking to the nobility. Rick learned that the smith employed five journeymen and a dozen apprentices, while the miller was a town councillor. Even so, they had difficulty coming to the point.
“And the demonstration with the stag was indeed marvelous,” Fnor was saying. “The Royal Guardsmen in particular. Is there aught they cannot do?”
“We have sons,” Carlga said. “The miller and I both. They would gladly serve in the guard.”
“And our hearts would be gladdened to see them so honored,” Fnor added.
Aha. The point at last. Rick said nothing, and the silence dragged on. Can’t ask them direct what bribe they’re offering, Rick thought. How long do I have to wait?
“Indeed, my heart would be so gladdened,” Fnor said at last, “that I would build a new mill. Beside my present mill, for there is ample water, more than ample now with the greater rains. I would build a wheel of the sort that your clerks describe, of the kind that the Romans have. Carlga will bring his forge to that mill, so that the wheel might drive his bellows and work trip hammers in the new manner. All this at our expense, and a year’s products of the mill and forge to the guards.”
Generous offer indeed, Rick thought. But a year’s product
s be damned, what’s needed is a real hammer mill here where transportation’s hard to come by. There’s coal, and iron ore, and this is a damned good place for a foundry. Long way from any likely targets, too. Not likely to be bombed out.
“Your forge is fired with wood?” Rick asked.
“Aye, Lord. I have heard of using blackrock, but I have never seen a forge like that. We tried once, but without success.”
“There will not be many years before burning wood to make metal and glass will be forbidden,” Rick said. “As wood grows more scarce, you must learn to use blackrock.”
“Where may we learn?” Carlga asked.
“The traveling clerks will know, but there is a better way. Have you a son to follow in your trade? Excellent. Send him a year to the University near Tar Kartos in Tamaerthon. There he will learn to use the blackrock, and much else.”
“We would also learn the arts of making the—guns—which use firepowder,” Fnor added. “Master smith Carlga makes strong iron.”
“Not all strong iron is strong enough,” Rick said. “The art of making guns is not so easily acquired.” Especially not here in a border county ruled by a possible traitor. “Nor can I promise your sons, nor any man, a place in the guards.
“Yet you need not look so downcast,” Rick continued. “The guards are sworn as brothers, and will accept among them none who have not earned their place, and who will not take the same oath to Vothan.”
The men sobered at the mention of Vothan. Like his Earth counterpart, Old One-eye was more feared than loved. “But I can promise this,” Rick added quickly. “Let them present themselves to Lord Mason before the Wanax departs, and if they please him, we will take them with us; and if they work hard—” Dammit, what I want to say is apply themselves, but that sounds stupid in the local language— “If they will work and give their attention to the task before them, I doubt not they can earn a place in the guards.” And take the first step toward ennobling their families . . .
Lord of Janissaries Page 42