Lord of Janissaries

by Jerry Pournelle

  Rick frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Technically, he has interfered with your justice,” Yanulf said. “Yet I see not what else he could have done.”

  Rick warily eyed the two priests. “Why not tell me?” he demanded.

  Apelles looked to Yanulf, then back at Rick. “It is a matter that I cannot resolve, Lord.” He looked down at the table, then across at the maps, finally back to Rick. “A petition of right, on behalf of Nictoros, Priest of Yatar, was brought to me three ten-days ago. As is my duty, I sent forth writs inquiring into the matter, intending to lay it before you in open court.” He paused again.

  “And instead you wrote the Chancellor.”

  “No, Lord.”

  “You just said you wrote to Yanulf!”

  “Aye, Lord, but I did not write to the chancellor. I referred the matter to Yanulf, Archpriest of Yatar, for it is a matter which touches the very honor of our god!”

  Oh, Lord, Rick thought. What are we in for? The classic confrontation between church and state? Becket and Henry II, played out here? “Suppose you tell me about it.”

  Again Apelles looked to Yanulf, who nodded slightly. “Nictoros was born villein,” Apelles said. “Within the lands of Bheroman Enipses. During the rebellion against Wanax Loron, Nictoros fled the land and took refuge with Galdaf, Priest of Yatar.”

  “Many fled in those times,” Rick said. “And I think I see the problem. Enipses is a loyalist. Supported Ganton during the civil wars, supports Tylara and me now. The baron wants his villein back, and the church won’t turn loose their priest. That’s an easy one—”

  “He was found to have both intelligence and a desire to serve Yatar,” Apelles said, “and was made an acolyte, and in due time consecrated as Priest of Yatar. He later found favor with Bheroman Enipses, who appointed him to be priest in his own household.”

  Maybe it’s not so simple, Rick thought.

  “The war continued. Wanax Sarakos, aided by the starmen serving Colonel Parsons, invaded the land and drove Bheroman Enipses from his castle. Nictoros remained, as was his duty, and tended the caves beneath the castle. He fled only when the usurper placed there by Sarakos dismissed him.”

  “He fled to Dravan,” Yanulf said. “And assisted me there. And learned from me. He learned much about The Time, and what must be done, and showed quick wit and understanding.”

  And you liked him, Rick thought. “I see.” He tried to keep his voice noncommittal.

  Apelles continued the story. “Then you, Lord, defeated Sarakos and brought the starmen to your obedience. When Bheroman Enipses returned, he dismissed Nictoros as priest of his household, saying that Nictoros should have accompanied him into exile rather than remaining within the castle. Nictoros departed, but you, Lord, were pleased to appoint him priest in the Eqeta’s free town of Yirik, where there are also extensive caves and a large temple of Yatar.”

  Rick looked to Yanulf. “I don’t recall the appointment. On your advice?”

  “Yes. The order was signed by the Eqetessa. I did not agree with Bheroman Enipses, but certainly there was no need for dispute. Yirik was without a priest, and I had high regard for Nictoros’ abilities.” Yanulf fingered the medallion hanging from his golden chain. “It was a mistake,” he said finally. “I should have sent Nictoros to a village beyond Enipses’ domains. Perhaps even outside Chelm. But I did not. Continue, Apelles.”

  “Then, Lord, came your decree, requiring each bheroman to send laborers for the madweed. And other decrees, requiring grain to feed the madweed workers. These taxes fell heavily on Enipses, for he had lost many of his villeins during the wars, and thus last autumn much of his grain rotted unharvested before the rains destroyed it.

  “Then came the Westmen, and still more taxes; but meantime The Time approaches, and Nictoros attempted to prepare as commanded by Yanulf.”

  Uh-oh. I see it now, Rick thought. And—

  “Bheroman Enipses accused Nictoros of interfering with the collection of taxes; of taking grain belonging to the Wanax, which is a treason. But instead of applying to you for a writ to allow his constables inside Yirik, he waited with patience. This was rewarded, for Nictoros foolishly travelled beyond the town walls, and Enipses had men waiting, who brought Nictoros before the bheroman’s court. He was found guilty; and sentence of death was passed. But, because the grain taken was placed in the caves of Yatar, and because Nictoros was a priest, the sentence was remitted to enslavement.” Apelles shrugged. “He was sent here to labor in the fields of madweed. You may imagine my amazement when as I inspected the fields I was greeted in ways known only to the priesthood, and I was given a properly drafted petition of right.”

  That would be a surprise. The petition of right was a monopoly of the Yatar priesthood. It implored a ruler—bheroman, eqeta, even Wanax—to obey his own laws. It didn’t have to be granted, but once it was, the matter was for the courts.

  “I still don’t understand. If you present me that petition, I’ll certainly grant it. Let right be done. Then it’s a matter for judges. Bheroman Enipses may not like it, but—” He stopped, because Yanulf was shaking his head. “What now?”

  “If your judges examine the matter, they will find for Bheroman Enipses,” Yanulf said. “Nictoros does not deny taking grain gathered for taxes and placing it in the caves. Nor would he return it when Enipses demanded it. Nor did the bheroman enter the caves, nay nor threaten to, but with great respect pronounced that what was done was done, and new grain must be gathered for the Wanax.”

  “But he arrested the priest,” Rick said. “I see. But—if he’s guilty, whatever possessed him to send in a petition of right?”

  “Perhaps he believes he was right,” Yanulf said. “Perhaps I believe he was right. But it is not law.”

  “Tear up the petition,” Rick said. “I’ll issue a pardon. Or you can draft one for the Wanax to sign.”

  “Would it were so simple,” Yanulf said. “But it is not. The priests of Vothan know of this. They are asking Bheroman Enipses to dismiss all the priests of Yatar within his lands.”

  “In whose favor?” Rick asked.

  “Perhaps they will not be replaced at all,” Yanulf said. “Or perhaps by those who mouth the words of service to Yatar, but own allegiance to Bacreugh.”

  “Who the devil is Bacreugh?”

  “Bacreugh is a priest of Yatar, from an order formerly known mainly in Tamaerthon. He is allied with Mac Bratach Bhreu. A kinsman, in fact.”

  “I see. Drumold’s only real rival. But why is he followed in Drantos?”

  “He preaches words comfortable to the nobility,” Apelles said. “And he has made strong alliance with the priesthood of Vothan.”

  “More,” Yanulf said. “You have been told of the vision of the Roman Bishop Polycarp?”

  “Yes. Yatar and Jehovah are one. I wonder how the Jews will feel about that . . .”

  “What are Jews?” Yanulf asked.

  “Followers of Jehovah, but who believe the Christ has not yet come. They have strong dietary laws, and passionately believe there is only one God.”

  “There are no such in Drantos,” Yanulf said.

  “And now that I think of it, it’s not likely there are any on Tran.” Until now. How many of the mercs are Jewish? Bilofsky, I suppose. Lewin. Goodman. Schultz, only he’s still down south. None of them seemed particularly devout, but you never know.

  “The priesthood of Vothan laughs at Polycarp,” Yanulf said. “And they do not favor the Roman alliance. Now through the followers of Bacreugh they seek control of the caves of Yatar. Bheroman Enipses may well yield those under his castle.”

  “Bacreugh and his order should be suppressed. And the priests of Vothan made humble,” Apelles said.

  Oh, no, you don’t. You won’t get me involved in religious persecutions. “I do not agree. But were it desirable, it would not be possible. Vothan has powerful friends.” Including some of my mercs. They may not be believers, but they’re superstitious
enough. And a lot of the army is devoted to Vothan, or at least scared of him.

  “You see now why this should not be seen in open court,” Yanulf said. “And why young Apelles referred the matter to me.”

  “Sure. You’re trying to undermine civil authority,” Rick said.

  “Nay, Lord!” Apelles said. “We are loyal.”

  I’m sure you think so. But if nothing else, you’re inventing benefit of clergy, which apparently they don’t have here. Still, the priesthood of Yatar, as organized by Yanulf, is the nearest thing to a literate civil service I have. They also have a monopoly on paper. I can’t do without them.

  “First,” Rick said, “I hadn’t known how serious Enipses’ labor problem is. We’ll have to do something about that.”

  “At harvest time there will be labor shortages everywhere,” Yanulf said. “It has always been so.”

  Rick scribbled a note: Get Campbell working on a reaper.

  “There is a machine,” Rick said. “A way to harvest grain—grain! Where is the place for Hestia in this vision of Polycarp’s?”

  “As the mother of Christ,” Yanulf said. “For as you know, the Christ was born of a virgin. Polycarp preaches a doctrine which he calls ‘Immaculate Conception’, under which Hestia took on the flesh of a mortal in order to bear a son to Yatar.”

  “And you believe this?”

  Yanulf frowned. “I know not what to believe. One thing is certain, the prophecies of The Time are true. And they were revealed by Yatar himself. The Romans know much of The Time, and thus must once have known Yatar.” He shrugged. “Perhaps Polycarp is correct, their Jehovah is Yatar. The names are not unalike.”

  “Fortunately we need not decide the matter today,” Rick said. “For the problem at hand, I will remit some of Enipses’ taxes. You will send a persuasive emissary to bear that pleasant news. Someone who will persuade Enipses that it would not be wise to make great changes in the governing of Yatar’s caves. Someone to point out that neither Wanax Ganton nor I nor Eqetassa Tylara would favor Bacreugh’s cause.”

  “That may be sufficient,” Yanulf said.

  “As to Nictoros, I will issue a pardon.”

  “Who will make up what you remit to Enipses, Lord?” Apelles asked.

  “We’ll have to work that out,” Rick said. “Maybe you could see to it?”

  “We will do that,” Yanulf said.

  Sure you will, Rick thought. And that’ll fall on some poor schmuck who’s irritated his local priest. But what the hell can I do?

  I can get Campbell working on that reaper.

  * * *

  When dusk came, Jamiy brought in lamps. Rick sighed. They still hadn’t managed good lamps. These burned a mixture of oil and naphtha, and gave better light than the older tapers, but the light was still too dim, and gave him a headache. One day, he thought, I’ll need spectacles, and I won’t have them. And then what? But this has got to be done.

  Ganton had summoned the chivalry of Drantos to the high plains. Rick was horrified. He could see no use for that many undisciplined heavy cavalrymen. Useful or not, though, they had to be fed. Wagons, horses, grain, all had to be found and sent in a steady stream, and since the bheromen had contributed their share and more, a lot had to come from the free towns—who weren’t anxious to provide it. Writs had to be prepared, spies sent to find new sources of wealth to tax, constables sent to harass the obstinate . . . He worked for two more hours.

  “It is time, Lord.”

  Rick looked up from his paperwork to see Padraic.

  “The night meal is prepared. You wished to be called,” Padraic said. “The guards wait outside.”

  “Thanks. Come in, Padraic. There’s wine over there. Pour some for both of us, and sit down.” Rick carefully stacked the papers and parchments and leaned back in his chair. Far out to the west he saw moving lights in the semaphore tower, and wondered what message was coming in.

  When Padraic brought the wine, he lifted his glass. “Cheers,” he said, and laughed when his archer captain looked puzzled.

  “An expression from my home world,” Rick explained. “Tell me, how have the men taken the news of Lord Caradoc’s promotion?”

  “Well, Lord. It give hope to all, that one may rise high if one has talent and is willing.”

  And loyal. Let’s not forget that one. “Yes. Well, here’s to Lord Caradoc!” They touched glasses and Rick drained his, then held it out for a refill. “Tell me, Padraic, you were raised in Tamaerthon—what do you know of Bacreugh?”

  There was a crash as Padraic dropped the pewter goblet. He bent quickly to pick it up and refill it.

  Rick drew his colt and clicked off the safety. He held the pistol concealed below the table. “Sit down,” he said. “I think we’d better talk.”

  “Aye, Lord. How did you find out?”

  “I have ways.” What the hell have I found out? “Now tell me about it.”

  “Lord, there is little to tell. My grandmother is sister to the mother of Mac Bratach Bhreu, and thus I am kin to Bacreugh. It was a kinsman who approached me.”

  “What did he offer?”

  “He said that a friend to Bacreugh wished to speak with me, and that he would offer me honor and gold,” Padraic said. “I told him that I have honor enough, and it may not be had for gold. Lord, what should I have done? For I cannot betray my kinsman, and indeed he said nothing of importance.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Only that. Only that Bacreugh—he said a friend to Bacreugh, but I surmised that the friend would be Bacreugh himself—wished to speak with me, and it would be much to my interest to do so; that he would offer me honor and gold, and I need do little—but what I would be required to do he did not say.”

  Rick thumbed the Colt’s safety on. “But you guessed?”

  “No, Lord.”

  “Then why did you drop the goblet?”

  “I had heard you can hear thoughts, Lord. I had not known it was true until now. For I was at that very moment wishing I knew what Bacreugh wished of me.”

  “You can do better,” Rick said. “You must know they intended for you to kill me. Or let one of them get past you and do it.”

  “Nay, Lord, I do not know it. I know only that Bacreugh wished to make an offer—and that he is a kinsman, as was the man he sent to approach me.”

  “What other kinsmen have you within the Mounted Archers?”

  “Only Caradoc, Lord.”

  “That’s right, Caradoc is your kinsman—he is kin to Bacreugh, then.”

  “Aye, Lord. He is related much as I am.”

  “Did you tell him about this?”

  Padraic laughed. “No, Lord. Lord Caradoc is—quick to defend his honor. I was his chosen under-captain. He might have seen an offer to me as an insult to him, a matter for blood. And I cannot think he would wish blood-feud with his own kin.”

  There was a furious knocking on the door. “Captain!” someone shouted. Rick recognized Elliot’s voice.

  “Come in, Sergeant Major.”

  Elliot was breathless. He held a paper in his hand. “Just decoded this from the semaphore, Captain. They’ve spotted a satellite over Castle Dravan!”

  28

  Elliot put the decoded message on Rick’s desk. “Just as you told ’em, Cap’n. Right after the True Sun set and while the ’Stealer was low on the horizon, they saw a bright light moving across the sky.”

  “Direction?”

  “Southwest to northeast.”

  “Has to be a satellite,” Rick agreed.

  “I checked the shrine,” Elliot said. “Nothing on the radio, and there’s been somebody there all the time.”

  “Hmm. They don’t want to talk with us.”

  “Not yet, anyway.”

  “So the next question is, who is it? Shalnuksis or a human? They’re a little early for surinomaz, and I’d think they’d know that. They’re making observations they don’t care to have us know about. Any ideas on that?”

  “None
I like.”

  “Me either,” Rick said. He took a blank sheet of paper and began to write. REWARD THE OBSERVER. THEN COME AT ONCE. BRING CHILDREN. IMPERATIVE ARMAGH THOUGHT MAJOR AREA OF INTEREST.

  He handed it to Elliot. “Get this coded and see that it goes off to Tylara.”

  Elliot glanced at the paper. “Maybe it’d be best for the kids to stay at Dravan.”

  “I thought of that, but—If they’re here to drop bombs, I’d rather Tylara stayed at Dravan too. In the caves.”

  “Think she’d do it?”

  “No.” Rick took the message and crossed through the words BRING CHILDREN.

  Elliot nodded agreement. “Not likely anything’ll happen.”

  “Not this time,” Rick said. “Not this time.”

  * * *

  The field stank of too many men and too many horses. Even in the headquarters tent which was carefully placed upwind of the main encampment, the smell was there, despite the moaning hot wind that blew down the Westscarp. Lordy, I want to go home, Art Mason thought.

  The adjutant brought in a paper and handed it to Mason. Art examined it and whistled. “If we don’t do something pretty soon,” he said, “we’re not going to have any army left.”

  “Surely you exaggerate,” Ganton said.

  “Hardly, sire,” Camithon said. “One always loses more men to sickness than the enemy. We have been very fortunate—no. I will not say fortunate, for it is not fortune. Thanks to Major Mason, we have had fewer losses than any army in my memory.”

  “Morning report’s pretty bad even so,” Mason said. “Still too many down. Too many flies in camp. The Romans are all right, but I can’t make the others dig the latrines deep enough. And this hot wind gets to them. We’re losing troops to pure funk. Last night a trooper got up at midnight and ran out and started hacking down a tree, shoutin’ that he hated it. Beat it up pretty good, too. Nobody in his company did a damned thing, except one guy yelled out ‘Give it a whack for me, I hate it too.’ That sounds funny, but it’s not, not really. Yesterday we lost two archers to a knife fight.”

  “Many of the knights will depart also,” Camithon said. “Their time of service will expire, unless we find ways to pay them.”