"Majesty?"
Ganton shrugged. "I must heed the advice of those wiser than I."
Rick sighed. "It's no substitute for a policy," he said. "Even if it is traditional. But I dine tonight with Marselius, and I'll see what I can do."
There were only Rick, Marselius, and Lucius at the dinner; Publius had to see to the ordering of the troops and the final surrender of Frugi's camp.
Rick waited until the dinner was finished and they had both had wine. "Some of my officers are concerned," he said.
Marselius frowned. "About what?" he demanded.
"Loot, for one thing."
"Ah. There was little fighting, thus few fallen enemies to despoil." Marselius shrugged. "I will see to it. There should be ample gold in Titus Frugi's camp. I will arrange a donative to our gallant allies."
"Thank you. There is another concern."
Marselius looked puzzled. "Of what? The victory could not be more complete. With few casualties on either side. A brilliant stroke-"
"Which increased the size of your army," Rick said. "But leaves us in desolate territory, dependent on rations we do not have."
"Food is coming," Marselius protested. "Wagon-loads of grain. The first arrive tomorrow." He drained a goblet of wine. "What are you saying?"
"That some of my soldiers are afraid they'll never leave Roman territory alive," Rick said. "And Drumold fears that the strength of Rome may be sent against Tamaerthon, now that Rome has no civil strife. My apologies, Caesar, for being so blunt."
"Better to be blunt," Lucius said, "Tell me, Caesar, would you not be, ah, concerned, also, were you in his situation?"
"I suppose I might," Marselius said. "And what do you suggest I do?"
"Drumold wants hostages," Rick said.
"And you?"
"I want only to return to my University. There is much more I must do before The Time-"
"But you do not protest. You prefer to take hostages."
Rick said nothing.
Marselius frowned. "Then you do not trust me-"
"Nonsense," Lucius said. "Caesar, are you under the illusion that you are immortal?"
Marselius looked thoughtful. "I think I see an answer," he said at last. "My granddaughter has asked me to visit the Lady Gwen. Now I shall let her. Lucius, ride to Benevenutum, and inform Octavia that it is my desire that she continue her studies in Tamaerthon. Choose suitable companions and servants to join her- but she is to meet the Lord Rick's forces and accompany them on their return. It is fitting that she be escorted by our allies." He turned to Rick. "Will that be satisfactory?"
"Certainly."
For a few moments the room seemed cold; then Lucius smiled broadly. "It is a scheme that has merit. May I join her, after we have taken Rome?" The old man sighed. "I have often dreamed of retiring to some center of learning. I would appreciate the opportunity to see this place. And the Lady Octavia will be very pleased."
"You will always be welcome," Rick said. "Caesar, this is inspired. The Lady Octavia can learn much to aid Rome during The Time; and not even the most suspicious will believe that you or your son would endanger her."
And beyond that, Rick thought. Beyond that, she'll meet young Ganton-and who knows what might come of that. It's time Ganton got a systematic education. Golden years and all that-he can't object to being a student prince for a while. Where he'll be with Octavia. Gwen says she's intelligent and attractive, and Ganton's young.
"An excellent plan," Rick said again.
INTERLUDE
Luna
18
Earth, blue and fragile and lovely, swirling storms and shining seas, filled one wall of the office. Les had seen half a hundred planets, and none were lovelier,
I suppose it could depend on your viewpoint, he thought. Humanity came from there. A lot longer ago than most of them suspect. But home is always the nicest place…
Stupid thought. I haven't got a home.
Les stood in the doorway a moment longer, then entered the office. The room was panelled in wood, with a Kashdan carpet and luxurious furniture; but Les noticed little of that. Despite the opulence, the office was dominated by the Earth.
The colors swirled gently. Earth wasn't really visible from that office, but a real-time holographic display was trivial among the honors and privileges earned by the man Rick Galloway had known as Inspector Agzaral.
Even so, neither Agzaral nor any other human had earned the right to do what Agzaral did next. He opened his desk drawer and took out a small electronic device. After inspecting it carefully, he nodded to Les. "Hail, Slave," Agzaral said.
"I greet you, Important Slave," Les replied formally. He fell silent as Agzaral adjusted the electronic gear. After a moment, Les could hear faint voices: his and Agzaral's, speaking meaningless pleasantries in the official Confederation Standard tongue for civil servants.
Agzaral nodded in satisfaction and leaned, back in his chair. "That should be sufficient," he said. "Sit down. Have some sherry. I regret that the shipment of Praither's Amontillado has been delayed, but Hawkers is a substitute I have found acceptable. Did you have a pleasant journey?"
Les waited as Agzaral poured sherry into a crystal glass, then solemnly tasted it. "Excellent," he said. He glanced at his hands, No tremble. Voice all right. Emotions nicely under control. It was difficult to deceive Agzaral, but not impossible. "Pleasant enough trip going," he said. "Dull coming back."
Agzaral smiled faintly. "Ah. You found it pleasant to learn that the woman was pregnant?"
"How the hell-?"
"Gently," Agzaral cautioned. "That goblet would be difficult to replace. There is no cause for alarm. Our employers do not know. Your efforts to deceive the recorders were entirely successful with regard to the Shalnuksis. But tell me, did you really expect to deceive me?"
"I'd hoped to."
"Unwise," Agzaral said. "Most unwise. You would do far better to trust me."
"Trust you? How the hell can I trust you when I don't even know what side you're on?"
Agzaral spread his hands wide and let them drop to his lap. "Side? You would seriously have me choose a faction? Now, when the alternatives are still forming? Try not to be too great an ass, my friend.
"And don't protest. When it comes to politics, you are an ass. I can admire your courage. Your skill with languages. Your prowess as a pilot, and- Yes. I envy your successes with women. You even seem to understand some of Earth's political quarrels. But when it comes to the important skills, the ability to know the High Commission and the Council-" He shrugged. "You're an ass."
"At least I take a stand. I'm not a damned trimmer like you-"
Agzaral laughed. "Some day one of your stands will be against a wall. As to being a trimmer, is it unwise to have every faction think I am its agent?"
"When they find out-"
"If," Agzaral said. "And think upon it, my fellow slave. If you do not know which faction I truly favor, then they cannot know either." He chuckled again. "So. You have taken a stand. Tell me where."
"Well-"
"Come, come, a simple question. Which faction do you favor? Who is its leader? Which race champions your position?"
"All right, so I don't know," Les said. "But I know this. I'm for leaving Earth alone. And Tran, too. Leave them develop by themselves."
Agzaral nodded. "The position taken by many of the more powerful Ader'at'eel. Unfortunately not all of them. They are joined by the Enlightenment Party of the Finsit'tuvii. But I fear that coalition is not the most powerful faction."
"Is that true?" Les demanded. "The Ader'at'eel want Earth and Tran left alone?"
"Substantially. Of course they don't know that Tran exists. But four of the Five Families do indeed support that position."
"Then-?"
"But then there are the Fusttael," Agzaral continued smoothly. "Their opposition is formidable. They hold no overpowering advantage, but they have the most strength at the moment."
"And what do they want?" Les de
manded.
"They want to destroy Earth…"
"Destroy the Earth!"
"More or less."
More or less. He looked at the holograph again. A beautiful planet, filled with humans. Wild humans, not slaves of the millennia-old Confederation. Humans who would soon burst into space, find their way to the stars-who were about to come uninvited into Confederate territory.
More or less meant more. Bomb Earth civilization back to the stone age, and trust there'd be enough humans left for breeding stock. They only needed enough wild genes to temper the corps of Slave soldiers. Enough to improve the breed of Janissaries…
"What does the Navy think of this?" Les demanded. "Or your service?"
"The opinions of Slaves do not matter-"
"Come off it."
"But certainly the Navy has divided opinions," Agzaral said smoothly. "It is likely that some ships would refuse to take part in the necessary operations. But-enough would obey the orders."
"We can't let that happen!"
Agzaral spread his hands. "How do we prevent it? But I agree, it would be regrettable. And there is the third alternative."
Sure, Les thought. Human membership in the Confederation. Forced membership, imposed now while Earth was helpless. A junior membership, with Earth controlled by the High Commission. Peace, unity, and-stagnation. A static society. Stasis for a thousand years. Still, it had to be preferable to bombardment and destruction…
"The balance of the Ader'at'eel would bring Earth into the Confederacy now," Agzaral said. "But enough of this. Your report. Will they be able to grow sunnomaz?"
"Possibly," Les said. "Of course there will be the mutiny. It will be settled by now."
"Yes. With what outcome?"
"Either of the mercenary leaders should be competent with those weapons against that population."
"Ah. So the survey ship will not be wasted."
"I think not. And the soldiers will want resupply. Ammunition, soap, penicillin-"
"You understand their needs," Agzaral said. "I will send you to Earth to procure for them. I recall that you enjoy that work."
"I'll do it, but I want to pilot the ship that goes back to Tran."
"To what purpose?" Agzaral asked.
"Why do you ask? I'm a pilot. I know Tran exists. Not too many pilots do. I'd think you'd want me to."
"It's reasonable," Agzaral said. "You will not be able to take the first ship, however. One leaves immediately. Piloted by Shalnuksis. Tran is not too far off their course, and they want to see for themselves how Tran has revived since their last series of visits."
"Last time they went there, they bombed out half the civilization. What will they do this time?"
"On this journey, nothing-"
"That's not what I meant," Les said.
"I know. But I have no better answer."
Les nodded in submission. "Is their first ship carrying supplies?"
"A few. Whatever we had. The mercenary leader Galloway had made suggestions before they departed, you may recall. We used his list. Some of what they wanted was easily obtained. For the rest-your task, now."
"All right. Provided I get to go back myself."
"Why are you so anxious to go back?"
"Does it matter?"
"It might." Agzaral was silent, obviously waiting for Les to speak, but Les said nothing. "Very well. I took the trouble to look up your ancestry," Agzaral said finally. "Rather a lot of wild human strain." He paused. "They'll never allow the child to live if they learn of it."
"How will they learn?" Les demanded.
"Gently." Agzaral glanced at a timer on his desk. "We do not have much longer to speak freely. Let us not waste these minutes. They will not learn from me. But I must know what you intend." He pointed to the Earth. "You have lived long among wild humans. In some ways you act like them. Many wild humans mate for life. This seems unnatural to me, but I know they do it. Is this your intent?"
Les didn't answer.
"I must know."
"I don't know," Les said. "I've thought of it. Live on Tran, with Gwen and my children. Doesn't that tempt you?"
"Earth would tempt me more. But it is not so attractive that I would forsake what I have. Consider. The girl and the child may both be dead."
"You think that hasn't haunted me ever since I let her go planetside?"
"Yet she seemed competent enough," Agzaral mused. "I expect she has survived. She may, however, have found another mate."
"Yeah. I thought of that, too."
"What will you do in that case?"
"I don't know that, either."
Agzaral nodded in sympathy. "Certainly your interest in Tran would be much abated?"
"Yes. But I have to find out."
Agzaral looked at the hologram for long enough that Les saw movement in Earth's clouds. Then he spoke decisively. "You will have that chance," Agzaral said. "I hope the knowledge pleases you."
PART FOUR
Invaders
19
Autumn had come. Despite his charcoal brazier Apelles felt the chill damp of the stone chamber high in the tower of Castle Armagh. The Firestealer crept toward the True Sun, and now both were in the sky together; the days grew short. Evening came and lamps had to be lit, but still there was work to be done.
Armagh was three hundred stadia east of Castle Dravan, and nowhere near as comfortable; once again Apelles marvelled that Lord Rick would move so much of his household to this godless place. Truly there was no accounting for the ways of the starmen! Even so, Apelles was content, now that he was a consecrated priest of Yatar. The room's present discomforts were small compared to those he'd endured as an acolyte. He was more concerned about his pen, which was made of soft iron and had a blunt point that scratched the paper.
Despite the scratchy pen, Apelles worked steadily. He was careful not to make a blot. A blotted sheet had to go back to the pulp vats, and there was never enough paper no matter how hard the acolytes labored. It took time to pound logs to pulp, shred rags, then soak and stir and matt the resulting brew until it yielded thick sheets to be rolled out on sieves. It took even more time for the paper to dry satisfactorily. Then it had to be coated with a wash of clay and dried again. Making paper was no easy work; Apelles knew, because it had not been long since he had done it- until he had learned to read and write.
He had learned his new work from Roman scribes, and he was proud of his knowledge. Work carefully, record everything; that was the way to control a nation. The power that he held was great, real power, power easily abused had he been so inclined; but he was a sworn priest of Yatar, a shepherd, not a wolf.
He wrote steadily, and finally his desk was clear. He leaned back in his chair and smiled in satisfaction at his files. Truly they held power! Here, the manpower lists; names and locations of officers of the Army of Drantos, those on active duty and on leave, fit for service and on the invalid list, Over there were duties and taxes owed and paid; equipment issued; every detail. Some day he'd have the entire Army in his files, and then let the bheromen try to shirk their sworn service to the crown!
He nodded soberly at that thought. Yatar save the Wanax! Some bheromen and knights resented young Ganton's stay at the University, but Apelles knew the value of education, which gave even young swine-herds the power of writing…
In another file were the names of every field in the Cumac region of County Cheim. Who owned them. Who worked them, and whether villein or free, and for what service or rent. What was planted, and what seed, and what fertilizer for what yield. Endless rows of words and numbers, carefully arranged.
And in yet another file, the names of all the acolytes and deacons and priests and archpriests, those who would be promoted and those who would serve out their lives as laborers in Yatar's fields and caves and monasteries…
The caves were not in his files. Their locations, and what stores they held, and how thick the ice and ice plant; these were state secrets, and those files were kept by Arch
priest Yanulf himself. Apelles had seen them, once; he'd have to be content with that.
And here-
The magic box made squawking noises. Apelles stared dumbfounded. One of his duties was to guard that box and listen for messages; but he'd had little regard for that task. Privately he would have expected Yatar himself to appear before a small box like that could speak to him.
But it was speaking. First in the local Tran dialect, but wretchedly. "Ait, are there anyone there?" it demanded.
Then in other languages Apelles didn't know, but always demanding, insistent.
When he shouted for a messenger there was real fear in his voice.
The voice on the transceiver was thick and sibilant with trillings and drawn-out vowels. Rick was certain he was speaking to one of the Shalnuksis. He had only seen the aliens on three brief occasions, all more than two Earth years in the past, but he had no trouble recalling them: humanoid, two arms and two legs, but with the wrong proportions. Shoulders too high, necks short or nonexistent. Short torso but long arms and legs. Three fingers and two opposed thumbs, thin lips surrounding a mouth too high in the face. Fleshy snout-slit instead of a true nose, almost like a vertical second mouth rising to eye level…
The alien spoke in bursts. They'd done that before, Rick recalled; although not always. When they'd made set speeches the words flowed smoothly; it was when they engaged in spontaneous conversation that they hesitated.
The transceiver was a simple device: a rectangular sealed box, with a grill on one face. Below the grill was a colored square. There were no other controls, not even an on/off button.
He touched the control square. "Galloway here," he said.
"Ah," the alien voice answered. "Captain Galloway."
"Is this Karreeel?" Rick asked. The name Karreeel translated to 'Goldsmith,' Inspector Agzaral had said. Karreeel had seemed to be in command of the Shalnuksi who'd hired him. At least he'd done most of the talking.
"Karreeel is not here," the voice said. "I am Paarirre. Captain Galloway, are you in control of your men?"
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