“Speak, Commander,” said a man.
I did not withdraw from the bow deck, as no one seemed to pay me much attention. Had they not wanted me there, or thought that I should not hear, surely I would have been advised of this. Too, I gathered that what was to be said, if secret now, would soon be common knowledge. Too, there were two or three fellows of Port Cos there, those who had set up the outjutting display beams, and would presumably handle the forward lines in wharfing. Too, of course, prone on the deck, in their shackles, their shackles and chain-and-leather harnesses attached to the beam chains, were the two slaves. No matters of profound moment would be likely to be discussed in the presence of such. Normally slave girls, with a snap of the fingers or a wave of the hand, are dismissed from an area where sensitive matters are to be discussed. They then scurry away, until summoned back. Also, interestingly, they will usually take pains on their own behalf to avoid such areas. Total ignorance, they know, as they are mere slaves, is often in their best interest. If they hear too much they know that it is only too easy to dispose of them.
“What I tell you now,” said Aemilianus, “is already common knowledge in Port Cos.”
“But these things were brought by the dispatch boat this morning?” said a man.
“Yes,” said he, “and with the routines of the couriers of Port Cos, that we might learn them before we disembarked. But there is little here that I have not suspected, and that our friend, Calliodorus, recently, has not intimated to me, privately.”
I recalled that Calliodorus, even on the first morning out from Ar’s Station, after we had attended to the females, those who were now both slaves, and lay near us in their chains, had seemed ready, then not ready, to speak to Aemilianus of certain weighty matters, that he might have been considering conveying to him warnings, or perhaps confiding suspicions or misgivings. He had hesitated then, I suspected, because he was not yet sure of such matters, or, perhaps, because he had thought it wise to hold them in abeyance until his friend was stronger.
“Stand,” said the keeper of the two slaves, one of the fellows of Port Cos, on the bow deck, to the two slaves. They stood up. He checked the chain and leather of their harnesses. He lifted their shackled wrists over their head, lifting with them part of the chain to which they were attached. Then he let them stand there, with their shackled wrists lowered, before them. He did adjust their posture, rudely, with a slap or two. Then they stood there, softly, beautifully erect, on the bow deck.
“Hail Port Cos!” cried a fellow in a small boat, off the bow to starboard. Behind him there stood a long-legged, half-naked slave girl in a bit of a rag. “Hail Port Cos!” she cried, happily, waving. “Hail Port Cos!” She was rather nice. The collar looked well on her neck. I thought that she, too, might have been worthy to put at a prow. Seeing her, both Publia and Claudia stood even a little straighter, though apparently paying her no attention.
One of the fellows on the bow deck waved to them. “Hail Port Cos!” he responded.
“We are coming to Port Cos,” said Aemilianus. “That will seem to confirm the story circulating in Ar, which, I take it, is the official version of what occurred at Ar’s Station.”
“Speak, Commander,” urged the young warrior, Marcus.
“It will be of interest to you to learn that Ar’s Station was surrendered to Cos more than two months ago,” he said, dryly, “before the relief forces could reach it. Then, as they lacked siege equipment, they did not proceed directly to Ar’s Station, but went into winter quarters.”
“Ar’s Station was never surrendered!” said a man.
“I do not understand,” said another. “She fell but seven days ago this afternoon.”
“Thousands must know the falsity of such allegations!” cried another man.
“Not officially, not in Ar,” said Aemilianus. “They know, on the whole, except for rumors, only what they are permitted to know. I suspect it would even be unwise to speak certain truths in Ar herself.”
“I do not understand,” repeated the fellow who had spoken before.
“The situation is reputed to stand thus,” said Aemilianus. “Supposedly, over two months ago, I, and my high officers, and the caste officials, and councils of the city, treasonously, and without a fight, surrendered Ar’s Station to a delegation of Cosians. In return for this perfidy we received much gold and were granted safe passage to Port Cos, within whose walls we are to receive domicile and security.”
“Our arrival here will make it seem so!” cried a man.
“I fear so,” said another.
“Would you rather return to the ashes of Ar’s Station?” asked Aemilianus, bitterly.
“Surely those of Port Cos do not believe such lies!” cried a man.
“Of course not,” said Aemilianus. “The truth is generally known here. It is in Ar, and the south, that it will not be known.”
“Where have you learned of such matters?” asked a man.
“Specifically, from the dispatches,” said Aemilianus. “Cos, it seems, has many spies. Too, it seems she possesses swift, covert channels of communication. I do not doubt but what her work on the continent has been long in preparation. Naturally Cosians are in close contact with those of Port Cos, whose support to them is important on the river. I would not suppose that there is complete openness between them, but there seems to be no problem about sharing information of this sort.”
“Captain Calliodorus takes these reports seriously?” asked a man.
“Yes,” said Aemilianus. “Indeed, he had even anticipated, as I had, given the abandoning of Ar’s Station by Ar, that matters might be construed in some such perspective.”
“It seems the spies of Cos are efficient,” said a fellow.
“It is said,” said Aemilianus, “as Calliodorus has told me, that even a whisper in Ar is heard in Telnus by nightfall.”
We were now nearing the harbor.
There were clouds of small sails about us now, as many small boats had come out to meet us.
“Oh!” said Publia, as one of the fellows of Port Cos lifted her up lightly in his arms and threw her over the rail of the port side of the bow deck. There was a sound of chain, pulling against the beam ring, the links suddenly growing taut, and Publia, suspended from the beam, in her chain-and-leather harness, hung at the port side, out, about a yard from the rail, her feet now slightly below the level of the bow deck, over the water. There was a shout of pleasure from several of the small boats. Although her weight was substantially borne by the harness her small wrists were pulled high over her head, and held in place there, close to the chain, by her wrist shackles. Her ankles, too, were closely shackled. I considered her small hands. How piteous they appeared, so held in place, so helpless in their inflexible metal bonds. The steel, too, clasped her fair ankles closely.
“There is more,” said Aemilianus, bitterly. “We of Ar’s Station, and those who abetted us, not surprisingly, given the falsified and distorted accounts of our actions, are held in official dishonor and contempt.”
There were several cries of rage. Hands clasped the hilts of swords.
“The proclamations have been posted,” he said.
One of the fellows of Port Cos then went to Claudia. She looked at me, wildly. Then she was lifted up, lightly, in the chain-and-leather harness. The fellow held her for a moment, his left hand behind her knees, his right hand behind her back. Her eyes were on mine, frightened. Then they widened, suddenly, and she gasped, and was thrown over the rail. Then, a moment later, her hands pulled high over her head, suspended in her harness, she hung off the starboard rail of the bow deck, as Publia did off the port rail. There was a cry of pleasure, and admiration, from several of the men about in the small boats. I saw her hands twist in the shackles, high above her head. Her body, suspended in the harness, swung a bit, and then turned from side to side, over the water. I glanced from her to Publia, and then back to her. I agreed with the shouts of pleasure and commendation from the small boats. Both slaves
were excellent. Calliodorus was sure to be congratulated on his display.
“Is that the extent of the dispatches, Commander?” asked a man.
“It is perhaps as much as you should know now,” said Aemilianus, grimly.
“Commander!” protested the man.
“The occasion is festive,” said Aemilianus. “Perhaps it is well that you learn the rest later.”
“Please, Commander,” said a man.
“The Home Stone has reached Ar,” he said.
“Good,” said a man, overjoyed.
“Better it had never done so,” said Aemilianus.
“Commander!” said a fellow.
“It is under guard near the Central Cylinder, on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder,” he said. “There it is exposed that the citizens of Ar, and any who please, may file past it and spit upon it.”
“Vengeance!” cried the young warrior, Marcus.
“And we, of course, and all those who abetted us, have been pronounced renegades.”
“Vengeance!” wept the young warrior, Marcus. His sword was out of its sheath.
“Vengeance!” cried a man.
“Vengeance!” cried others.
There were cries of rage. Swords were drawn.
“Sheath your swords, beloved friends,” said Aemilianus. “Let us now, upon this holiday, to be declared the day of the Topaz, put aside all thoughts of fury and blood. Rather hasten to brush your garments and put smiles upon your faces. Consider your mien. Upon your countenances, I beg you, this day, let there be only the appearance of joy. Let this day rightfully redound to the glory of Port Cos, our brethren of the river, and let us rejoice with them, and with ourselves, for our deliverance. Our gratitude has been richly deserved. Let us not be sparing in its expression. Surely you realize that the fidelity of Port Cos to the pledge of the Topaz may cost her greatly in the future.”
“Those of Port Cos have proved better friends to us than those of Ar,” said a man bitterly.
“Perhaps the river is its own place,” said a man.
“Perhaps,” said another.
I could hear music now, coming from the piers of Port Cos. As the bow swung about to enter the harbor I could see the piers were jammed with crowds in their holiday finery. It seemed all the caste colors of Gor might be there.
I heard the sudden crack of a long, plaited, single-bladed slave whip on the bow deck. The whip was in the hand of the fellow from Port Cos who, on the journey downriver, had acted as the keeper of the two slaves. Slaves are always, directly or indirectly, in the keeping of one free person or another. He had not struck anyone with the whip. He had only, so to speak, readied the tool. Publia had cried out, startled, and in misery. She knew what it was to feel the whip. Claudia had cried out, startled, but, too, in fear. She knew she was subject to it.
“Publia,” said the keeper.
“Yes, Master!” she cried.
“Claudia,” said he.
“Yes, Master!” she cried.
He then, gently, lightly, with a small movement of the wrist, little more than a toss, snaked the whip out to the port side. Its single blade harmlessly but meaningfully more than encircled Publia. She shuddered. He then repeated this action to starboard.
“When I speak, you will attend to me,” he said.
“Yes, Master!” said Publia.
“Yes, Master!” said Claudia.
“Beloved friends,” said Aemilianus, “prepare yourselves to be received by our friends of Port Cos.”
Swords were sheathed.
Most of those about Aemilianus then withdrew from the bow deck. Surilius remained, and the young warrior, Marcus, and some others. I, too, remained.
“Surely Ar herself will cry out for vengeance,” I said, “for the loss of Ar’s Station, her pride upon the Vosk.”
“Such seems to be the spirit in the northern camp of Ar,” said Aemilianus.
“This you have, too, from the dispatches?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“The forces of Ar in the north,” I said, “should move south with rapidity, before the spring, to engage the main power of Cos. Were it not for the action of Dietrich of Tarnburg at Torcadino, she would already be at the gates of Ar.”
“But they will not do so, will they?” asked Aemilianus.
“They must do so,” I said.
“They are apparently intent upon destroying the Cosian expeditionary force in the north,” said Aemilianus.
“That would seem easy enough to do,” said Marcus, bitterly. “Although the Cosians outnumbered us ten to one, their numbers would be no match for what, I gather, is nearly the full might of Ar.”
“Even so, they might not have as easy a time of it as they think,” said Aemilianus. “They think that force has been in winter quarters, like themselves, though at Ar’s Station. They do not realize it is battle hardened, that it has been in action for months.”
“But if you were the Cosian commander in the north,” I said to Aemilianus, “you would surely, if possible, avoid engaging the main body of Ar.”
“True,” said Aemilianus.
“He will not be able to do so,” said Marcus. “Ar’s northern forces are interposed between Ar’s Station and Brundisium. They could also cut off a retreat to Torcadino.”
“It would seem so,” said Aemilianus.
“It would be difficult for them to cross the river, to the north,” said Marcus, “and, even so, they could be followed. Too, they are unlikely to withdraw to the terrain of the Salerian Confederation, for it will not wish to risk war with Ar. If they try to intrude by force into those territories they could well find themselves between the Salerians and Ar. The fate of the Cosians in the north is a foregone conclusion.”
“Few conclusions in war, my eager young friend,” said Aemilianus, “are foregone.”
“With all due respect, Commander,” said Marcus, “Ar’s position in the north is ideal for destroying the expeditionary force.”
“But they would have to encounter it first,” said Aemilianus.
“It is an army,” said Marcus, “not ten men traveling at night.”
“Cos controls the skies,” said Aemilianus.
“Even so,” protested Marcus.
“It would not surprise me,” said Aemilianus, quietly, “if the expeditionary force slipped past the men of Ar.”
“Between the winter camp and the southern bank of the Vosk,” I said.
“Precisely,” said Aemilianus, grimly.
“That is absurd,” said Marcus. “They would be pinned against the river. It would be a slaughter.”
“But only if they were caught,” said Aemilianus.
“No sane commander would elect such a route,” said Marcus.
“Unless he knew something which you do not,” said Aemilianus.
“The whole idea is absurd,” said Marcus.
“Is it any the less absurd,” asked Aemilianus, “that Ar should have been digging latrines in winter camp while the walls of Ar’s Station were crumbling?”
“But Ar might still be apprised of these movements in time to interpose herself between the expeditionary force and its base at Brundisium,” said Marcus, slowly. “Thus, to what end west?”
“What lies west on the Vosk,” asked Aemilianus.
“On the southern bank, Ven,” said Marcus. Turmus, which is the last major town west on the Vosk, is on the northern bank.
“And what beyond Ven?” asked Aemilianus.
“The delta,” said Marcus.
“Precisely,” said Aemilianus.
“I do not think I understand these things,” said Marcus, slowly.
“I hope that I do not either,” said Aemilianus. “But I am afraid, terribly afraid.”
“In the fall,” I said, “I spoke with Dietrich of Tarnburg, in Torcadino. He had similar apprehensions.”
“I understand nothing of this,” said Marcus.
“You are young in the ways of war,” said Aemilianus. “Not ev
erything in war is nodding plumes and the sun flashing from silvered shields.”
“If Ar is in danger,” he said, “she must be warned.”
“By renegades?” asked Aemilianus.
“Renegades?” he asked.
“Surely,” said Aemilianus. “I, you, the others, all of us, we have all been pronounced renegades.”
“Should Ar not be warned?” he asked.
“And what do you think we, we who were abandoned by Ar, we whom she holds in dishonor and contempt, we whose Home Stone she spits upon, we whom she has pronounced renegades owe to her—now?”
“We owe her nothing,” said Marcus, bitterly. “But I would still see her warned.”
“And so, too, would I,” said Aemilianus, smiling. “So, too, would I.”
“But of what is she to be warned?” he asked.
“And to whom would you speak?” I asked.
“We do not know for certain what is going to happen,” said Aemilianus. “At the moment we have little but our suspicions, our fears.”
“Ar will destroy the Cosians in the north, and then destroy them in the south,” said Marcus.
“Quite possibly,” said Aemilianus.
“Then there is nothing to do,” he said, slowly.
“Not now,” said Aemilianus.
We were now within the harbor at Port Cos. The piers were some three hundred yards away, jammed with people. Music came from them. Pennons waved. The pharos on its promontory was behind us now, to port, something like a pasang away. The flotilla, entering the harbor, with its flags and streamers, would be a splendid sight. Already, too, from the piers, it would be able to be seen that two slaves hung from the outjutting display beams on either side of the concave bow of the Tais.
“Do not concern yourself now about such matters,” said Aemilianus to the young warrior. “Rejoice now. We have come safe to Port Cos.”
The slave whip snapped again, loudly, sharply, unmistakable in its definition and authority. The two girls cried out again, startled. Publia jerked in her harness as though she might have been struck, but it had not touched her. Claudia, too, winced, but, too, it had not touched her.
“Publia, Claudia!” said their keeper.
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