Martha had begun excited by so much size and strangeness, so many new people — likely more than in Cairo, and she hadn't yet seen them all. She'd been excited, but now began to feel a little sick to her stomach with too much newness and hurrying. She missed her mother as if she was still a little girl, and her mother was alive and feeding the chicken-birds in the yard.
The Bad-lip Lord stopped at last, at the top of broad stairs where two guards — who must be soldiers, Martha supposed, and not marines, since one wore East-bank's all-green armor, the other West-bank's blue — stood to each side of iron double doors painted red as blood. Behind her, the marines stopped all together with a stamp stamp.
"Her Majesty in audience?"
"Yes, milord," the guard in green steel. "At the Little Chamber."
"Shit...." The Bad-lip Lord spun on his heel and went back down the steps two at a time, with Martha and the marines hurrying after. He opened a door made of squares of glass, and hurried down a black-stone walk through a roofed garden of flowers. The garden light wavered like water across rows of marigold blossoms, roses, and another sort of flower with a cup of red and yellow on a slender stalk.
The Bad-lip Lord led them running up a narrow staircase to other iron doors painted blood-red and guarded by two soldiers as the first had been, one in blue armor, the other in green. "Still in audience?"
"Yes, milord," the blue-steel soldier said. He reached to turn down a heavy latch, which looked to Martha to be made of gold, and swung the left-side door open to perfumed air, bright oil-lamps shining… and many people.
The Bad-lip Lord went in — then stepped out again, took Martha's arm, and pulled her inside with him.
It was a narrow room, its walls painted scarlet, with many old flags, banners, and lit chain-lamps hanging down from a ceiling shining with gold. At least it looked to Martha like gold — though there seemed too much of it for even a Queen's Island. The gold, or whatever bright metal it was, was hammered into shapes, possibly stories. Things flew among golden clouds up there — things like birds, but with stiff straight wings — and there were buildings appearing taller than buildings were made, taller even than fortress towers....
A woman was laughing, down at the end of the room.
Behind all these people, who looked warmed by red paint and lamplight, Martha stood with the Bad-Lip Lord beside her. He was tall as she was, no more or less. A steel edge of his breastplate's hinged shoulder-guard touched her arm…. There were so many men and women crowding, they made the narrow room seem smaller. The most surprising thing was there was no stink of old sweat or foot-wraps — none at all — as if everyone had come fresh from a summer washtub bath, their clothes just off a summer line.
A few of these people were talking with each other, but softly. Martha saw not one man who wasn't dressed richly, not a single lady who wouldn't have put any rich wife of Cairo to shame for her finery. Several had blue panels sewn into their long skirts. A few had green.
The woman at the end of the room laughed again — she was a loud laugher. Being taller than most, Martha could see it was a lady dressed in red velvet, sitting one step up on a big black-enameled chair, her head back, laughing careless as a man. She was holding a short spear in her left hand; its narrow steel head shone in lamplight.... Martha thought this must be the Queen, to be so loud amid grand people.
The woman stopped laughing, and said, "Fuck them and forget them is the rule for you, Gregory. You're not deep enough for love!" She had a strong alto voice, like a temple singer's; it rang down the room.
The person she was talking to was tall, mustached, and seemed to Martha beautiful as a story prince. His long, soft copper hair lay loose, and he was dressed all in velvets, coat and tight trousers made in autumn greens and golds. " — And that very shallowness, ma'am, I've confessed to Lady Constance, and asked her pardon. It's her brothers who concern me. They, apparently, believe in true love and marriage. In fact, they're insisting on it. Marriage, or my head."
People standing near Martha laughed — but not the Bad-lip Lord beside her.
"Well, you naughty man." The Queen was smiling. "You can tell the fierce Lords Cullin that I would be displeased to be deprived of your company."
"Thank you, Kindness," the tall lord said, and bowed graceful as a harvest dancer.
"Um-hmm. Now, go and get into more mischief." The Queen shooed him away, then looked down the length of the room and called out loud as a band horn, "You! Tall one! You must be the strong-girl. Ordinary... Martha, isn't it?"
Martha looked around as if another Martha must be there.
"Answer her!" a woman said.
Martha nodded and said, "Yes," but too softly to be heard.
"You come closer. Come closer to me!" Queen Joan's voice seemed younger than she was.
The Bad-lip Lord took Martha's possibles-sack and rolled cloak from her. A hand — she didn't know whose — shoved at her back, "and she stumbled, then walked down the room as people stepped aside. She felt everyone looking; their looks seemed to touch her. A woman said something softly, and laughed. They'd be looking at her shoes, the poor leather, and the mud. Looking at her hair… her ugly, ugly dress. A big stupid up-river girl, in an ugly dress.
She stopped almost at the step and made a bow, then began to get down on her hands and knees, in case bowing wasn't enough.
"Stay standing, girl. We're not Grass Barbarians here; a bow or curtsy will always do." The Queen, though sitting, looked to be tall as a man if she stood, and had a man's hard blue eyes set in a long heavy-jawed face. Six dots were tattooed on her left cheek, six on her right. There was a scar on her pale forehead, one on her chin, and another at the left corner of her mouth.
Martha bowed again, very deeply, then straightened up. She saw the Queen was smiling, and supposed she'd bowed wrong after all.... Queen Joan's hair, its dark red threaded and streaked with iron gray, had been braided, then the long braids coiled like slender snakes crowning her head. There were many, many jewels — little red stones, blue and green stones, and strange bright stones clear as water — pinned to her braids here and there, and fastened to her deep-red robe in intricate patterns, so she seemed to shine and glitter in the lamp-light as she sat.
"No, no," the Queen said, still smiling, "you bowed very well.... And the shining stones you see, ice-looking, are diamonds. They are old as the world, and change never."
Martha understood the Queen had read her mind by reading her face, and supposed that was a skill all kings and queens must have.
"Now." Queen Joan leaned down from her throne, and held out her right hand. "Now, since you are so large, and supposed to be strong and a bone-breaker, come take my hand in yours, Martha-girl... and try your best to break my bones."
But Martha just stood and shook her head no. Her heart was beating hard as the boat's drum had sounded. "No — I'd hurt you."
But the Queen didn't seem to understand 'No.' She didn't appear to have even heard it. She held out her hand.
Martha reached up and took it — hoping that gripping firmly might be enough. The Queen's hand was white and long-fingered, warm as if fresh from hot-water washing.
They held hands like friends, for a moment. Then, slowly... slowly the Queen's grip tightened. The long fingers seemed to slide around Martha's hand as if they were growing, and the Queen's grip, terribly strong, tightened and tightened as though Martha's hand wasn't there at all.
It was uncomfortable. It hurt... then hurt worse — and Martha, frightened, began to squeeze back. Her hand was losing feeling; it seemed separate from her, and she had the dreadful imagining that the Queen was going to crush it, break its bones. Martha tried to keep that from happening — gripped against that happening with all her strength.
Suddenly, there was no pain, no terrible pressure — only the Queen's long white hand lying relaxed in hers.
"Strong enough, Large-Martha." The Queen took her hand away, and sat back on her enameled throne. "And no tears. You do please me."<
br />
Some people in the room said, softly and together, "And should be always pleased...."
"You're seventeen years old?"
"Yes... Queen," Martha said, though 'Queen' didn't seem enough to call her.
"I'm told — by those I almost trust — that you beat three strong men down with a smith's hammer. Is that so?"
"...I did. I did, Queen — but none of them died. I'm sure none of them has died!"
"Don't be frightened. I don't care if all of them have died."
People laughed at that.
"But you did it, Martha? And you did it alone?"
"Yes. They were hurting Pa."
"Mmm… And did you enjoy what you did with the hammer?"
Martha looked around her for a friend — but she had no friends here, as she'd had none at home. Her hands were shaking, and she put them behind her so the Queen wouldn't see.
"—I don't ask questions twice."
"I didn't want to... but I was angry."
"Alright. Good. And I understand your mother died of insect fever years ago?"
"Yes... Majestic Person."
Queen Joan laughed. It seemed to Martha she had good teeth for a woman her age, teeth strong as her grip. "Please, please don't ever repeat that 'Majestic Person.' I'm manured with enough titles."
A man in the room laughed.
"Michael, don't you dare!"
The man laughed again, and said, "The court won't use it, ma'am. We promise."
There was a murmur of promises.
"So, Large-Martha," the Queen said, then said nothing more for a while, but only sat looking into Martha's eyes as if there was a secret there she must find out.... Then, she nodded. "So, you have no mother. And, I'm told, not much of a daddy. But what if I promise to be nearly a mother to you, if you will come and live with me? If you will serve me, stay by me always, and guard me with your life until the evening I lie, a very old lady, dying in my bed?"
It was such a strange thing to hear, that Martha waited for someone to explain it to her. It seemed the Queen could not have meant 'guard,' since there were soldiers standing against the room's walls, and a soldier in blue-enameled armor standing on one side of the throne, a green-armored soldier on the other.
"Yes, I have guards, Large-Martha, but they are men. And there are occasions when even a queen must be with women only. I'm tired of having to guard myself at such times... lying in my bath, sitting on my toilet-pot with an assag across my lap." She tapped her short-spear's butt against the stone floor, and raised her head and her voice. " — And if it were not in the River Book that soldiers must be men, I'd have women soldiers, as The Monroe has in North Map-Mexico.... Proper in that, at least, though our currents might, were matters different, have flowed to drown that boy — as they will the fucking Kipchak Khan! I knew Small-Sam when he was a baby, carried him tucked in his blanket… wiped his ass." Silence in the Red Room.
The Queen looked down at Martha. "Now, girl, you give me an answer — and make that answer yes." Martha said, "Yes, ma'am."
The Queen smiled and sat back on her throne. "Oh, there's a sweetheart. My Newton would have said you'd make a Trapper-girl. A great compliment… Lord Sayre!"
"Ma'am?"
"See that the Master teaches my constant companion, Martha, neater fighting than with a smith's hammer."
"You have in mind... the sword, ma'am?"
Martha knew the man's voice without turning to see him. It was the Bad-lip Lord.
"Mmm... no. I have in mind... a light, long-handled double-headed ax. Blade and spike-point, I think."
"Yes, ma'am."
"But not too light — something suitable to her size and strength. Rollins is to forge the ax-head from a cake of the Emperor's gift, hammer that steel to tears, as if for me."
"Yes, ma'am."
"No plate armor. Only best fine-mesh mail to rise from thigh to shoulder, then fasten turtle at her gown's neck — oh, I'll see you have such pretty dresses, child!... And a long knife, same steel and straight-bladed for strike or throw. A knife, no lady's frail whittler."
"I'll see to it."
The Queen raised her head and called out, "Now, she is mine… and no longer an Ordinary!" Then she spun the javelin she gripped in her left hand, and held the shaft down to Martha. "Take this, Strong-girl — then come up and stand behind my throne, to give your life for mine."
Martha reached up to take the spear, and felt as she'd felt the motion of the river, when the red boat had heaved and pitched with its rowers' labor. Now, everything seemed to shift beneath her in just that way — and she would have been sure she was dreaming but for the rich colors of everything, the strange voices… and the Queen's eyes.
"— I said, 'Come up.'"
Martha climbed the step, her knees shaking, and the soldier in green armor turned aside to let her pass. She stood behind the throne, her breath coming so short she was afraid she might faint, and had to lean on the spear's smooth shaft.... Over the Queen's jeweled braids, Martha looked out on people in velvet, fine leathers, feathers and fur, wearing daggers, short-swords, and gold. Most of the men's and women's faces were tattooed in dots across their cheeks — some faces soft, some fierce, but none with pleasant eyes.
"Are you where you should be?" The Queen did not turn her head to look. She was wearing the perfume of a flower Martha didn't know.
"...Yes," Martha said. "I am."
CHAPTER 9
"I keep my pay!"
Eric Lauder had lathered a fine paint pony, and called as he rode down to the column in early evening, five Warm-time miles from Better-Weather.
Charmian Loomis rode just behind him — bone thin, taller than Lauder, and awkward in her saddle. Her long black hair, always loose as a child's, never tied or ribboned, bannered behind her. She rode in the army's brown wool and tanned leather, and wore Light Infantry's chain-mail hauberk with a colonel's gold C pinned at her right shoulder. A rapier hung to the left of her saddle-bow.
Howell Voss, then Carlo Petersen and his captain, Franklin, reined aside for them.
"... I keep my pay, Sam." Eric was short of breath as if he'd been doing the galloping. "Two regiments. They crossed the Bravo together, day before yesterday, assembled in the brakes east of Ojinaga. Their outriders caught and killed two of my men, but not the third."
A cloud shadow, as if in memorial for the two, drifted over on chill wind. The sun, throughout the day, had been hiding in shame at the Daughter's death.
Charmian Loomis climbed off her horse, said nothing.
"Have those border people obeyed my orders, Eric?"
"Yes, sir, they have. I've pigeoned with Serrano — "
"Paul Serrano?"
"Yes, and Macklin. Our people are already out of Presidio, and we're clearing every village and hacienda from Ahumada past the Bend to Boquillas."
The pinto stretched his neck to nip Sam's big black, and Sam turned his horse — the imperial charger now named Difficult — a little away to avoid a reprisal. "And John Macklin understands my orders about fighting?"
"He does. Cut throats, but no set battles."
"And the Old Men?"
"Sam… the brothers are not pleased."
Howell Voss slapped a fly on his horse's neck. "For Weather's sake..."
"Howell, let it go. The brigadiers are owed a part in this. Eric, where's Charles?"
"In town. None of my business, but people in Sonora aren't paying their taxes."
"They will." Sam swung off his horse, relieved to be out of the saddle. More than a year ago — almost two years ago — an imperial Light Cavalryman had sabered him across the small of the back in a stupid scrambling fight below Hidalgo del Parral. His mail had turned the cut, but still some soreness there came and went. "Now... all of you get down. We're going to talk a little campaigning."
The others dismounted, then stood or squatted, holding their horses' reins.
"Howell, Carlo, call your officers up here. All of them. Is there any dirt to draw
on?"
Voss drew his saber, sliced frost-burned turf, then bent and tore it away to clear a patch of ground. Major Petersen, bulky as a bear and awkward out of the saddle, went to speak to his banner-bearer, and the man rode away down the column.
Sam sat on his heels, waiting for the others to come up the road. "Eric, we have the wounded with us. They stay in Better-Weather; Portia-doctor and her people stay there with them."
"How's Ned?"
"No rot in the stump. He'll do well enough... already up and walking a little. The wounded stay, and Jaime and Elvin stay as well."
"The Old Men won't like that."
"Eric, I know they won't like it.... I want all Butler's Heavy Infantry concentrated here, every unit, all reserves. Then, if they have to — if this Kipchak raid proves not to be harassment, but more serious — Phil can move either east or west to the mountains to hold any major force moving down. The old men can command that move, assemble any militia forces to join."
"Understood." Lauder was writing with a charcoal point on a fold of poor brown paper.
Sam waited as officers rode in from the column, waited until they'd gotten off their horses and gathered close. He stood so they could see him better.
"Orders…. Our cavalry's going north. All our cavalry — and reserves — will move up into Map-Texas east of the Bend, while the Khan's people move down across our border to the west of it. We strike up — as they strike down."
Someone said, "Lady Weather, be kind."
More officers rode up. The last, the rear guard's lieutenant, swung off his horse and knelt behind Captain Wykeman, reins draped over his shoulder.
Kingdom River Page 11