by Bunch, Chris
“I do,” she said, her voice fierce. “I remember being hungry. I remember being cold. I remember being hit by one or another of the drunks my gods-damned mother stumbled back to our hut with. I remember when she sold me to the Dalriada.”
I felt like taking her in my arms, but wisely didn’t.
“Now do you see,” she asked. “Now do you understand?”
It was a question that didn’t want a response. We rode on in silence. I should have known most of the girls and young women would’ve come from situations like Alegria’s. All of them would be from the poorest, or unwanted in other ways. I remembered, years earlier, when I was a legate on my way to his first post, a peasant had tried to sell me his waif of a daughter, a starveling who couldn’t have seen her tenth birthday. People complain about the evils the gods wreak on man, and wonder how they can be so cruel. But when I think of the cruelties man does to his fellow man, particularly if she’s woman or weaker, sometimes I wonder why our creators and lords don’t permit even greater barbarisms.
By the time we returned to Moriton, Alegria had regained her blitheness. Or, more likely, painted the mask back on. I, however, was in the blackest of moods, but had the sense to cover my bleak humor.
• • •
A few days later, to everyone’s surprise, the embassy staff returned. They’d left Renan as soon as word reached them, and made swift passage through Kait. The last of the Time of Change had been mild, and storms had passed them by as they traveled through Maisir. They’d thought they were trapped by the winter twice, but those tempests passed quickly, after freezing the roads but not burying them in snow, so they made good speed.
Now the dark embassy was filled with the chatter of women and the laughter of young men, which lightened everyone’s mood considerably. I noted — but said nothing — that none of the wives had brought their children back. Peace portended, but wasn’t guaranteed by any means, and the women of the diplomatic corps were at least as perceptive as their husbands or lovers.
Almost as welcome was what they’d brought with them: preserved Numantian delicacies, letters from friends, and as wrappers, broadsheets for news from home. These were ironed, and passed from hand to hand. Here in a distant land, it was warming to find out how much Varan wine was selling for, what merchant had a special order on Wakhijr lace, and so forth. I was spending an idle hour reading these meaninglessnesses, and picked up a new sheet.
The leading story was the marriage of Tribune Aguin Guil, commander of the First Imperial Guard, to the emperor’s sister, Dalny. I thought it must’ve been quite a ceremony, and indeed, scanning the list of notables, I saw that I was correct.
Then my mood shattered:
Our Imperial Highness not only graced the occasion with his presence, but generously chose to officiate at the ceremony itself. He looked perfectly splendid in imperial scarlet with black leather. He was accompanied by Marán, Countess Agramónte, equally stunning in a green and white lace gown, as exciting as it was gorgeous …
A man is a gods-damned fool to pursue certain matters when he should leave things alone and accept the black doubt instead of looking for the certainty. I was, perhaps am, such a fool. I asked, and found that one of the secretaries had newly joined the embassy staff in Urey, having come upriver from Nicias. As were most diplomats, he was of minor nobility, and his duties would be to handle Ambassador Boconnoc’s social calendar. I asked for a moment of the man’s time.
“Of course. How may I serve you, Ambassador?” the young man, smoothed by many generations of nobility and behind-the-arras service, asked.
“This is in the nature of a personal favor.”
“You have but to ask, sir.”
“You probably know my wife petitioned for divorce some time ago.”
“Y-yes, sir. I do.”
“Do you happen to know if that was granted? I’ve heard nothing.”
“It was, sir. Very quickly, sir. Since you were absent, and had lodged no protest, it seemed expedient … or so I heard, at any rate.”
“I see.”
So I had no claims whatsoever on what Marán did. Nor did I have any reason to be certain of my suspicions.
“I understand,” I went on, “she accompanied the emperor to his sister’s marriage.”
“Yes, sir. Or, so I was told. I don’t have sufficient stature as yet to have warranted an invitation. But one of my uncles went, and said it was truly the affair … of the season.”
If I hadn’t been listening closely, I might’ve missed the way he hesitated after using the word affair. As if it were a poor choice of words, considering the context?
“As a matter of curiosity,” I said, in as dry a tone as I could manage, “and since I wish my ex-wife as well as could be expected, did the emperor honor her with any more such invitations to other events?”
“I … I really can’t say, sir. I wasn’t paying that much attention to what was going on in Nicias before I left. I was busy studying Maisir and its customs.” If this man were going to continue as a diplomat, he’d have to learn to lie better than that.
I thanked and dismissed him, and sent for all the broadsheets that had come in. I arranged them in order, and read all of the gossip sections carefully. Marán and the emperor at this review … at that costumed ball … and then, a separate item that Marán, Countess Agramónte, had canceled her plans for the remainder of the season, including two masquerades, and would return immediately to Irrigon and busy herself rebuilding the ancestral home.
From first mention of the two to the last — just about a full time. Long enough for a seer to realize a woman wasn’t pregnant and send her away, as he’d sent others.
I was red with foolish rage and barely held myself under control. Questions boiled within me. Did the bitch do it deliberately? I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt — she’d always idolized the emperor. With the divorce, what reason did she have not to … to see him? I stepped back for a moment. Could I be imagining things? Maybe, but I didn’t think so. Perhaps it wasn’t betrayal, but it was certainly a shitty thing to do.
Next I thought of the emperor. How in the hells could he do that to me? Didn’t he know? Or didn’t he care? Again I remembered the line, “Kings may do what others only dream of,” but it was no comfort. I’d thought Tenedos a friend as well as my ruler. Friends, at least where I came from, didn’t fuck each other’s lady. Or did they?
I came back to myself and realized the short winter day was coming to an end. Now what? There was nothing to do but go on, I thought dully.
I went out to my carriage, barely seeing and returning the salutes of the guards. I didn’t want to return to the mansion and Alegria, but there was no place else. I ordered my driver to go straight to the stables, and went through the underground passage to the servants’ area, and slipped into the house. I didn’t see Alegria.
I wondered if drink would numb me, let some of the pain wash over. Perhaps it would let me sleep, or at least find some ease. I found a bottle of wine, opened it, and went to the winter portion of the tent. I sat on the floor, staring at the magically created gale outside in the garden, and felt the echoing storm within.
I lifted the bottle, then set it back down. Maybe I’d have a drink in a moment or two.
The snow blew hard against the flickering stone lanterns, and ice grew on the reeds of the ponds. The door behind me opened.
“Damastes?” It was Alegria.
“Yes.”
“What is the matter?”
I didn’t answer. She walked up beside me, and I smelled the sweetness of her perfume. She sat down, cross-legged in front of me, looking into my eyes. “Something is the matter. Something big,” she said.
I’ve always practiced the rule that a warrior stands on his own. But I didn’t this time. I couldn’t. I told Alegria what I’d discovered — or what I thought I’d discovered. Halfway through, I realized I was blinded with tears. She went into the bath chamber and came back with a soft, moist rag.
“Hells,” I said. “Maybe I’m just imagining … maybe it never happened.”
Alegria began to say something, then stopped.
“What?”
She took a deep breath. “May I tell you something?” I nodded. “Three days ago, when you took me to the embassy and introduced me to the newcomers, you left me for a meeting?” I remembered. “Well, I roamed around, talking to people, making sure I’d remember their names. I know they say that people who eavesdrop deserve to hear what they hear.” Alegria gulped and started crying. She made herself stop, then went on: “I’d just left one woman — I won’t say who she is — then remembered there was something I wished to ask her. I went back and was about to knock on her door, when I heard her talking to a man.
“They were talking about me. The man said something about how pretty I was, and the woman said she guessed I was attractive enough. Then she said, and these are her precise words, ‘This certainly shows the high and mighty do things different than we do. Guess they don’t take life as seriously as I do, anyway. Damastes’s wife tells him to go away, and he bounces back with this lovely almost as fast as his countess crept up the emperor’s back stairs.’
“The man laughed and said that you seemed to be a decent sort, so he hoped I’d be in your bed longer than your wife was allowed to pleasure the emperor.
“Someone came along the corridor then, and I hurried away. Oh, Damastes, Damastes, I’m so sorry.” Tears welled once more in her eyes, but she held them back.
The emperor had betrayed me.
NINETEEN
THE SECOND BETRAYAL
I did not sleep that night. Alegria wanted to sit with me, but I refused her. “Are you sure I can’t do something … make you feel a little better? Any way I can?”
I shook my head. Eventually dawn came. Alegria tiptoed into the room, started to say something, then went back out. I forced myself to bathe, shave, and put on fresh clothes. I was trying to decide what to do when a messenger arrived from the embassy.
There’d been a signal from Nicias. The emperor approved my plan, and told me to proceed at once. His message was full of praise for me, which seemed the cruelest sort of sneering.
• • •
The meeting with King Bairan was very odd. There was the king, Ligaba Sala, Boconnoc, myself, and the secretary. I had my maps and charts on easels and spoke easily, most familiar with my ideas. But it was as if I were standing or, better, floating above myself, just watching. I smiled, made mild clevernesses at the right time, but felt nothing.
My idea, laboriously worked out, was to combine the Wild Country and the Border Lands into a single administrative region. This region would be jointly ruled by Numantia and Maisir. It would be divided into separate subregions following the generally-agreed-upon borders of those bandit kingdoms within the region.
The first stage would be complete military pacification. This would be done by combined Maisirian and Numantian forces. I proposed new corps be established, with officers and men from both countries mingled. It would take two years or so to set these units up and train them, but then we could move through the wild lands, step by step. It would be expensive, very expensive. But would the loss be any less than that from the raids and caravan attacks by these bandits? The cities would be the first to be taken. If they were governed wisely and well, using, whenever possible, the native rulers, the outlying areas might see the advantages of peace.
“So the wolves will become sheep, eh?” Bairan said skeptically.
“No. First we’ll make them into tame wolves, and send them out after their wilder brothers. Then we’ll change them into sheepdogs, for I don’t believe those mountains will ever be truly peaceful. The best we can hope for is that these sheepdogs will be grudgingly obedient under their shepherds from Maisir and Numantia.”
“You’ve studied this well, I see,” Sala said, looking at the maps.
“I didn’t wish to make a total idiot of myself if the plan was completely impossible,” I said. “Now it merely looks like a grandiose unlikelihood.”
Both the king and Ligaba Sala smiled.
“If peace, or something sort of resembling that, came to these regions, Numantia and Maisir wouldn’t have any excuse for war, either,” the king said. “Would they, Ambassador?”
“Not as long as both nations truly wanted peace. But if someone truly wanted war, well, all this would be so much bum fodder,” I said. “A man who wants a brawl can generally find one, even in the calmest tavern.”
“Equal armies, equal governments?” the king said, with a question mark.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “With frequent conferences between the emperor and yourself, or between your emissaries. So no misunderstandings can develop.”
“Interesting,” mused Bairan. “Now, if you’d said you’d just had this idea, I would’ve laughed and thought you mad, or a dreamer, and I’m nervous in the company of either. But since your emperor’s endorsed this plan … hmm. Interesting. Either this has merit, or there’s two madmen about. I don’t know, Ambassador á Cimabue. Perhaps we could set up a couple of regiments and see what develops. Start at one end of the frontier, with one state.”
“Excellent change, Your Majesty,” I said hastily. Of course I’d planned we would begin slowly, rather than jump in everywhere at once, but an idea is always more digestible when one thinks it one’s own.
“Very well. Let’s try this out. Ligaba, would you and the Numantians work out a scheme?”
“Gladly, sir.”
King Bairan stood. “Your emperor chose wisely when he sent you, Ambassador á Cimabue. I think you’ve done both countries a true service, and in time to come, perhaps your name will ring greater than either mine or your emperor’s.”
“I thank you, sir.” I bowed deeply.
Bairan moved toward the door, then stopped and touched my sleeve. “Damastes, you seem disturbed. Is there aught the matter? If so …”
“No, Your Majesty,” I managed to say. “I just didn’t get much rest last night making sure I’d not make any blunders today.”
He looked in my eyes. “Very well,” he said, voice skeptical. “But don’t forget my offer. A matter this imposing must be judged by calm minds.”
• • •
Now there was little for me to do. Sala and Boconnoc began hammering out the details, and it was well for me to stay in the background. I could wallow, I could drown, in my anger and depression.
But there was Alegria.
Thinking of her, thinking of the shabby way I’d treated her, calmed my rage, my hurt, and I forced myself to behave less like a child, and worry about something beyond myself.
I had an idea, and determined to carry it out. Perhaps the setting would inspire the change.
• • •
“At least when I take you out of Jarrah, it’s to a great castle,” Alegria said skeptically.
“A depressing great castle.”
“You are the picky sort. Besides, how could it be depressing, if it’s where your favorite … favorite … whatever I am came from? Damastes, just what am I to you? You don’t have to answer that honestly.”
“Then I won’t,” I said. “Quit yammering, and help me unpack the sleigh. You’re behaving like a nervous bride on her wedding night.”
“Aaah?” Alegria looked innocently around. I threw her into a snowbank. She sputtered, flailed, and I, like a genteel oaf, extended a hand. She grabbed it and yanked. I yelped and fell, face-first, into the snow beside her.
“That was unfair,” I managed to sputter when I surfaced.
“You’re right,” Alegria said. “I’ll pay the penalty and let you kiss me.”
“That sounds like a proposition.”
“Of sorts,” she murmured, and I did as she asked. The kiss lasted for some time.
“Mmmmh,” she said softly when our lips came apart. “I’d say do it again, but I don’t know how snowproof these furs are.”
“Snowproof,” I said.
“I had six spells cast to make sure.”
“Then kiss me again.” I did. She ran her gloved fingers across my lips. “Congratulations,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not being a gloomy-mug like you’ve been since … since you know.”
“I got tired of feeling sorry for myself,” I said truthfully.
“Then get up. You were lying again. This snow’s seeping through.” I helped her up, and again she looked at the rather ramshackle low wooden building. “What is it?” she asked.
“It’s the meeting place Numantian envoys use when they want to meet Maisirian traitors in secret.”
“How’d you hear about it?”
“I asked Ligaba Sala where a quiet lonely place was I could take someone.”
“I guess,” Alegria said, “Maisirian traitors don’t last too long if Sala knows about this place.”
“Guess not. Now, help me carry provisions.”
I handed her two net bags of groceries. She looked once more at the building. “Quaint,” she said. “I guess that’s what you’re supposed to call a building with a tree growing through its roof.”
“Two of them,” I said. “There’s another down there.”
“Wonderful. I wonder if there’s a fire. It’s going to snow.”
“You go investigate. The embassy said there’s a charm-pole that works as a key hung in that little box beside the door.”
I carried the rest of our supplies onto the porch, then led the horses to the nearby barn. There was an unfrozen spring nearby, and I fed, watered, and curried the animals. By the time I finished, a gentle snowstorm had begun. It was nearly the end of the Time of Storms, and the weather was lightening. But it was still cold, especially for a tropic lad, and I entered the house chilled through.
The house actually was a retreat for members of the embassy, although Sala was the one who’d told me about it, saying it had once been used for clandestine meetings, until King Bairan got tired of that foolishness and had a certain diplomat — he didn’t say if it was Boconnoc or not — greeted by a company of cavalry when he arrived to meet an agent. That ended the political uses for the lodge.