by John Dalmas
Forty-Four
The two of them, Brokols and Reeno, walked through the Fortress's north gate into the broad, tree-ringed, flagstoned courtyard, scattering a flock of busy varrpio feeding on seedbursts from the linntis trees. There seemed to be more activity in the Fortress than when they'd seen it last. Uniformed men walked swiftly or trotted, as if carrying messages. Together they went up outside stairs and down a corridor to the amirrial waiting room, where they sat for a time until the amirr could see them.
Allbarin was with him.
"We have made grenades, Your Eminence," Brokols said, "and we're preparing to produce them in large quantities."
"Good. Good." The amirr's voice showed no enthusiasm. It was simply matter-of-fact. "I expected you would. You've done well."
"The herbalist, Amaadio Akrosstos, was instrumental, sir. Without his professional skills, or those of someone comparable, it's doubtful we'd have succeeded."
"Without your knowledge of the possibilities," the amirr countered, "it's certain we wouldn't have."
"Yes, sir." Brokols stood without saying anything for a moment. The amirr waited. "Sir, I need to point out that while grenades may have an important influence in Hrummean successes against Djez Gorrbul, there'll remain the Almaeic army and fleet. And grenades are not likely to make much difference against them."
The amirr nodded. "I understand. We will do what we can. All we can. Grenades will help." The hazel eyes examined Brokols. "I'd think you'd find satisfaction in our predicament. You are Almaeic, after all."
Brokols' mouth twisted, his lips tight. "Satisfaction? Almeon is not a happy nation, Your Eminence. I wonder if it ever has been. The more I see of Hrumma, the less happy I am at the prospect of its being ruled by the emperor. Or of my return to Almeon. As far as that's concerned, considering the opinion Lord Kryger seems to have of me, I could very well end up executed as a traitor."
He paused. "If I have been of service, as you say, I'd like to ask a favor of Your Eminence. I'd like to become a citizen of Hrumma."
The amirr's brows arched. "A citizen of Hrumma? We have a precedent and procedure for that. An occasional Djezian refugee requests citizenship. You need to present a written petition, with four sponsors, to a magistrate. Who'll question you, and probably one or more of your sponsors. Then he'll decide yes or no, or possibly question others."
The amirr looked curiously at Brokols. "Who might you ask to sponsor you?"
"I'll ask Reeno—and Panni Vempravvo. And your daughter. I'd ask Eltrienn Cadriio, but he's gone; perhaps Arnello Bostelli would agree to be the fourth."
"You know Panni?"
"Not as well as he knows me. He . . ." It occurred to Brokols how remarkable, how seemingly inexplicable it was that Panni had come to him. "He took an interest in me, and we talked at some length."
Allbarin broke in then. "You need not ask Bostelli. I will sponsor you. I can help you write the petition in my office when we've finished here. This is His Eminence's last audience for today, unless something or someone else unforeseen has come up."
Brokols looked surprised, but not as surprised as the amirr. "Thank you, Allbarin," he said. "If I have two adepts, a sage, and the namirrna as sponsors, I'd rather expect a favorable decision." He looked at Venreeno. "Reeno, will you agree to sponsor me?"
Venreeno nodded. "Without hesitation, Elver."
Brokols turned back to the amirr. "Then with your leave, Your Eminence, I'll write my petition and go to find Panni. Your daughter plans to have me invited to supper at the palace. I'll ask her then."
He left the room with Allbarin, leaving Venreeno with the amirr. "Reeno," Leonessto said, "he said two adepts and a sage. Does he . . .?"
"Yes, sir. The subject came up in a group conversation around a fire on the beach, and he suddenly realized what had been happening."
"Umm. How did he respond? Well enough, I take it."
"Quite well. It shook him, as you'd expect, but he adjusted without real difficulty. He is, Your Eminence, as good a man, a person, as Cadriio said, and more than that, he is stronger and more capable than he imagines."
"Well good! And was Juliassa as useful as she should have been?"
"Yes, sir. I gave her some of the dirtiest, hardest, most unpleasant tasks. She did them conscientiously, rapidly and well, with minimal supervision. It's my impression, Your Eminence, that your daughter is very capable and does what she says she'll do."
Leonessto Hanorissio grunted. "Indeed. Whether it meets with my approval or not."
There were six of them at supper: the amirr and naamir, Juliassa and Torissia, Brokols and Reeno. It had been a miniature feast, and Brokols, by nature a moderate eater, felt a bit stuffed. The table had been set on a veranda, where they could watch the sunset afterward, and he leaned back in his chair, listening to two flute-birds in a sing-off from opposite ends of the garden.
For a fee, that afternoon, a youth had led him to Panni's cave on saddle kaabors that Brokols had hired. The sage had signed his petition, and he'd gotten Juliassa's signature before supper. He'd told the amirr of it while they ate; the amirr had seemed pleased.
Now, Brokols decided, it was time to bring up his and Juliassa's wish to marry. She'd intended to do the asking, but Brokols had said it was his place to, and she'd assented.
"Your Eminence?" There was significance in the way Brokols said it, and the amirr put down his wine glass.
"Yes?"
"Your Eminence, your daughter and I would like to marry."
The naamir looked worried at this, her eyes moving quickly to her husband, then to her daughter. Leonessto Hanorissio frowned only slightly, pursing his wide strong mouth. "Do you feel you know one another well enough?" he asked.
"We've talked at length," Juliassa broke in. "Beginning as early as when we met at Sea Cliff. And we've worked together."
The amirr didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on Brokols.
"I'm satisfied that we do, Your Eminence," Brokols answered. "I'm also quite satisfied that I love her, and that she loves me."
"She is a noblewoman. Can you protect her?"
Brokols was taken aback at the question. It hadn't occurred to him that that would be a criterion. Perhaps it was a matter more of tradition than need. "Yes, sir," he said. "I can."
"I've had him demonstrate his sword drill for me, father. He was quite skilled."
The amirr looked at her, nodded acknowledgement, then turned his chair to face an area of open grass and gestured at it. "Show me," he said.
Brokols got up from the table and put his hand on the hilt of his shortsword. "Would Your Eminence prefer that I use a saber? It's the weapon with which I am most familiar."
"The shortsword," Leonessto answered. "It's what a man is most likely to be carrying, except in war."
Brokols nodded and stepped out onto the grass, where he drew his blade and took the guard position. Then he began his drill, thrusting, parrying, riposting, feet nimble, body dodging imaginary stabs and strokes but always balanced. And it seemed to Brokols that he'd never done it as well before. When he'd finished, he turned and bowed to his audience, forehead moist, trying not to pant visibly.
"Not bad," said the amirr. "Quite good in fact. Particularly for someone who's just eaten a large meal." He waved Brokols back to his chair, and when the Almite was seated asked his next question. "How do you intend to support her? We accept your nobility, but you have no property, and so far as I know, no profession beyond ambassador."
The question took Brokols unprepared; he'd given it no thought. In Almeon he'd been a bureaucrat, and the son of a very wealthy family. "Currently I'm employed by yourself in the development and manufacture of weapons," he answered slowly, "and Hrumma faces serious and certain war. Also, I've served in the emperor's cavalry as an officer. So I suppose the army is the most appropriate place for me."
The amirr had withdrawn his gaze. The others sat waiting. At last he looked across at his daughter. "I suppose you're quite set on this," he sai
d.
Brokols had never seen her avert her eyes before. Now she looked down at the table cloth in front of her, no doubt the way a noble maiden of Almeon was supposed to under the circumstances. "Yes, father, I am. Quite set on it."
"Umm. I suppose . . . I'm quite unprepared for this, you know. You're barely old enough."
Her eyes remained downcast. "I'm nearing seventeen, father." She glanced up then, smiling. "I know you think of me as your little girl, but I've been marriageable for more than half a year."
"True. But usually these things follow a longer acquaintance than yours. It allows a father time to get used to the idea." He paused. "Well," he said, then turned to his wife questioningly. Her nod was barely perceptible, and he turned to Brokols again. "When your petition for citizenship has been approved, I'll write my approval of the marriage. You then take it to a magistrate, who'll question you both. Unless he finds something clearly objectionable, he'll approve it. The procedure is not intended to discourage or hinder marriages, but simply to avoid the more obvious mistakes.
"Then—hmm. You're not familiar with procedures here. You can be wed in four weeks from that time, assuming of course that the magistrate doesn't veto the request. As the groom, you won't have nearly the pre-marital preparations that . . ." He paused, frowning. "I suppose your lore of being a husband in Almeon differs from ours in some respects. If you're to be my daughter's husband . . ." He turned to Venreeno, who'd said little all evening. "Be his tutor please, Reeno. Lord Brokols has no uncle here."
"Of course, Your Eminence."
The amirr returned his attention to Brokols. "Because she's a maiden, you'll be able to see Juliassa only once a week, at supper here, except for a few formal requirements having to do with your engagement." He looked at Juliassa. "And you'll have to forego assisting them in their work, unless there's something you can do that requires no contact with Elver and can be fitted around the social requirements of a bride-to-be."
"Father—"
He stopped. "Yes?"
"Those are not law. They're tradition. And we're . . ."
He interrupted. "Young lady, tradition gives us values, teaches us discipline. It's as important as law."
She met his eyes, carefully avoiding defiance. "I've read my history, father," she said quietly. "In some wars, at least in the last war, in '23, noblewomen did work they'd never done before except perhaps in other wars. And haven't done since. The namirrna, Delorra Sabontinna, drove supply wagons to Kammenak, like a man. Where her fiance was fighting. And when he was wounded . . ."
"Leonessto." It was the naamir who spoke. "Perhaps she could help them and then come home at night, or some other arrangement could be made. It would serve as an example to the country."
He'd stared in some surprise at his wife's interruption; now he frowned thoughtfully. "Yes. Well. Perhaps." His gaze moved back to Juliassa. "Your mother and I will give it some thought, see what we come up with."
She averted her eyes again. "Thank you father."
"Elver," he said, "Reeno will take you to the magistrate in the morning, to see about your citizenship. Then we'll see about a formal betrothal, and Reeno can talk to you about being a Hrummean husband, though it may be that you learn much the same lore in Almeon."
He got up. "Now if you two young lovers will say good night to each other, I'll have a carriage take Elver and Reeno home."
Juliassa went to her father and kissed his cheek, saying nothing. She was doing an excellent job of being the well-bred namirrna this evening.
When Elver kissed Juliassa goodnight in the garden, Torissia looked the other way.
* * *
The amirr and naamir retired to their private sitting room, where wide doors stood open onto their balcony. He'd called for brandy, and when it arrived, he sent the servant away.
"I was surprised," he told his wife, "that you took Juliassa's part in our discussion."
She smiled quietly and looked him in the eye. "I believe her point was valid. And I remembered how we tricked my parents and met privately in the vacant herdgirls' hut during our engagement. More than once."
He grinned ruefully. "But we'd already made love. To be apart for four weeks after that seemed intolerable."
"Perhaps they've made love."
He grunted. "Not likely. They'd have had to escape more than Torissia. Jonkka was guarding her, and he takes his duties seriously."
"Love finds a way. Ours did."
He smiled fondly. "So it did. Hmm. We were young once. I'd forgotten." He got up and reached for her hand. "It's getting dark. Why don't we sit on the balcony awhile and watch the last of the sunset."
* * *
"So," Brokols said, "what is this education for Hrummean husbands-to-be?"
"It varies with the experience of the youth. Or man." Venreeno sipped his watered wine, then looked at the Almite. "If you'll excuse me for mentioning it—it's very relevant here—I believe you were drugged by the mirj and spent a night in sexual relations with an apparently very experienced young woman named Lerrlia. That takes care of part of it."
Brokols looked hard at him. "You're not telling me you put a young man with an experienced woman to . . .?"
Venreeno laughed aloud. "No no! Oh, some uncles do, I know. If the young man is seriously bashful, or unnaturally introverted or selfish. But most aren't, and chances are they've already had some experience without any uncle. Perhaps at Festival. And perhaps with their fiancee, as I suspect you did one night on the beach." Venreeno's calm gaze was focused on Brokols, who reddened.
"Just a moment," Brokols said. "What are your qualifications? You're not married. Are you?"
Venreeno shook his head. "Not at present. I have been, but my wife died as yours did, in childbirth. Or soon after, actually. And I hope to be married again: I've talked of it with a certain lady with whom I share mutual respect and admiration.
"And no," he went on, "uncles who take a bashful youth to an experienced woman don't do it to give the lad pleasure. The woman, often the widow of a happy marriage, will teach him the things that pleasure her, and discuss with him how such things are for her and for other women.
"Of course, I don't have to point out to you that sex, important as it is, is only one aspect of marriage. Or that for a good marriage, in bed, the kitchen, the field—in all things—more than enthusiasm is needed, although that can help. And certainly there's far more than simply the pleasure of the groom to be considered. There are two sides to pleasure—to all of marriage—with wisdoms and techniques for both sides."
"And Juliassa . . ." Brokols said a little worriedly. "Is someone . . .?"
Venreeno smiled. "Someone. I got the mental impression that it would be her Aunt Zeenia. I believe you know her.
"A good uncle, or a good aunt, will try to see that the soon-to-be-wed knows these things. The principles of being a good, thoughtful, and pleasurable spouse. And that the spouse-to-be feels reasonably confident about his or her ability.
"Of course, a lot that you need to know is personal—things you learn from each other after you're married. People differ one from another. But with your permission, I'll tell you the basics somewhat as they were told to me, colored of course by my own experience and observations . . .."
* * *
Venreeno talked and questioned and listened through most of the evening. When finally Elver Brokols got to bed, his head was buzzing.
Forty-Five
Almost everyone who saw his gaunt, robed figure knew who he was. And did a doubletake. One just did not see an elder sage walking alone in the city; invariably some of then-disciples were with them, certainly when there was something to be carried. But Panni Vempravvo had told his people he must go alone this time, and that he might be back before winter.
Though somewhat bulky, the parcel Panni carried wasn't heavy. It consisted of a spare robe wrapped around a few belongings—eating bowl, toothbrush, prayer mat, and three or four rags for whatever uses. He carried it over his shoulder, tie
d to the end of a three-foot-long stick.
No one offered to carry it for him, or rather, no adult did, though several felt an urge to and somehow held back. Only a boy about eleven actually offered, an offer that was accepted. Accompanied by half a dozen playmates, he carried it until Panni stopped, straight-faced but twinkly-eyed, put out a hand and received the bundle back. Then the sage bowed deeply to the boy and turned up a narrow, climbing sidestreet. The children turned back toward the small square where they'd been playing.
Only a block farther, Panni came to the building whose penthouse was occupied by Tassi Vermaatio. His skinny legs climbed the many steps slowly but without pause, and he reached the top with no sign of labor, not even sweat. Crossing the roof to the penthouse, he entered and stopped. There were eight men there besides Tassi. Three still sat on a bench, eating supper; another was washing his bowl. Panni's eyes went to Master Dazzlik, the head of Tassi's household, who got up from his prayer mat and bowed. Panni bowed back, put down his bundle, and spoke courteously.