He wasn’t surprised when, about an hour before the ceremony, Wepizi turned up at the residence in crisp and immaculate best-uniform, offering to act as the official escort to his carriage. By now, he’d have been surprised if the man had not.
“His honour will complain,” Juimei said as he closed his files.
Wepizi raised an eyebrow. “On what score this time?”
“Because you’re at my side again, instead of his. He considers the dignity of his office requires the attendance of the tezrei at official events—he was most upset no one escorted him to the barracks opening.”
Wepizi looked unmoved. “I am an officer of his majesty and council’s army, not Dizeindo and Huoinevol district. I could let him have a groi, if he’s nice to me. A junior groi, second class, perhaps.”
“Hmmm, I suspect that would be worse than no escort at all. Dizeindo is the vice-regal seat. Mayor Gixiel can live with that, or step down.” “Nuveize, are you all ready?”
“Just coming, your highness. My, Wepizi looks fine, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.” Juimei was glad he’d made a special effort with his own grooming. Young Laovei had even gone so far as to compliment him on his appearance, which had surprised him since she rarely spoke to him at all. He suspected she found him intimidating. “I hope you put a clean shirt on. You looked most disreputable earlier. Ow.” He rubbed his head. She had a nasty trick of pinging his brain when he offended her. “Hurry up, woman.”
“Don’t be rude, your arseness. We’ll find you in the main hall.”
Wepizi was looking at him, as if puzzled by his inattention.
“Just telling our friends to come along,” Juimei explained, still rubbing his sore head.
“Ah. I hear his honour might not be a problem for much longer.”
“Oh, you’ve heard the mutterings too?” Neime had reported there rumbles of unhappiness among the elders and other senior townsfolk about some of the mayor’s actions during the crisis. “Elder Frankel is being spoken of as a replacement. Not much of an improvement.”
“Ah, but not quite as rigid, or...rigid,” Wepizi said, though his tone implied ‘stupid’. “It might be easier to keep him under control.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
When they’d discussed the mayor and his overweening pride before, Wepizi had been frank, though ever polite, in agreeing that Juimei’s lack of obvious presence before had been at least partly responsible for Gixiel’s overdeveloped sense of importance. It was a relief to have someone other than Neime who would speak to him honestly, offer advice with no thought of advantage or advancement. If wanting to set Neime free to follow his destiny was pushing Juimei in the direction of leaving, the idea of not having Wepizi there to help him not be such a bloody idiot all the time threw chains over him and made him want to stay.
But that in itself was reason to go. He knew all too well that building anyone into his future—page, friend, or lover—was asking for fortune to trip him up again. So he definitely wouldn’t do that. To stay for Wepizi’s friendship was a guarantee that his friendship would fail. Juimei was determined to enjoy it now while he could, but not let it tempt him into changing his mind over leaving. Anything else was foolish.
Wepizi waited politely for him to finish up, then Juimei gathered his cane and came over. “Shall we?”
Neime waited with Laovei and Nuveize, who, Juimei was pleased to see, had changed her shirt. She’d set up a little workroom in the corner of the stables, and was experimenting with working clay. A fine and useful activity, but she did tend to forget other people could see how grimy she got. Laovei looked clean and tidy too, holding onto Neime’s arm, and leaning on her crutch—she’d recently been able to stop using two, which was an advance, Juimei had been told. It was possible she might even be able to walk unaided, but she was a while from doing that.
“The others will meet us there?” he asked.
“All arranged,” Neime said. “‘Vei, I hope you realise what an honour it is to travel in the governor’s carriage.”
“Oh yes. Thank you, your highness. I’m looking forward to it,” she said shyly.
“Even if, unfortunately, it means travelling with the governor,” Nuveize said quellingly. “Your highness, you may take my arm.”
“Why, of course, my lady. Don’t make me trip, this is my best pair of trousers.”
Wepizi just grinned at the now well-rehearsed double act. He said it reminded him of good friends of his, who were apparently lovers. Juimei wondered how they would have spoken to each other if they’d been enemies.
He put out his elbow, and she laid an undemanding hand on it—he couldn’t risk giving her full support, but she only needed his eyes. Then they made their slow, stately way to the back of the building. Wepizi helped Nuveize into the carriage, Neime assisting Laovei. Then Wepizi used his strong arm to boost Juimei up into his seat.
“There,” Wepizi said, looking at them all in approval. You look very grand, Laovei.” She smiled at him.
“Let’s go, tezrei. Driver?”
Wepizi swung up onto his doig and took position ahead of the carriage, then they moved at walking pace out of the residence and out into the street. The town was quiet—most people were up at the second graveyard, though there were soldiers here and there, and the old barracks was busy. The army never really stopped, of course.
Through the town gates, past the new barracks, and then people could be seen walking up to the field where so many of their kin and friends were buried. As Juimei’s carriage was spotted, people stopped to watch, to cheer, to wave. Juimei waved back, bowing occasionally, as did Wepizi. The closer they got, the more well-wishers impeded their progress, but Wepizi had apparently foreseen this, for now a squad of smartly turned out soldiers came to escort them and clear a path. Most of the four thousand residents and soldiers were here, crowding around, but not on, the graveyard. Juimei was rather glad he hadn’t realised that so many would attend. His courage would have failed him.
Nuveize and the others were to remain in the carriage to watch the ceremony, but Wepizi assisted Juimei down, then led him, soldiers marching behind them in an honour guard, up to the makeshift podium. Juimei smiled at Tinwis Kiein, but wasn’t too pleased to see Mayor Gixiel had somehow managed to inveigle himself up on to the dais, which left precious little room for Juimei himself to stand.
Wepizi coughed. “Your honour, I’m afraid his highness will need you to step aside if he’s to mount.”
The mayor gave Wepizi the dirtiest of dirty looks, glared at the tinwis, but clearly couldn’t find a way of suggesting that Kiein move instead, then gathered his robes about him and stomped down the steps.
“Thank you, your honour. Your highness?”
Juimei went up the steps without help, and then raised his hand for silence. “My friends, my fellow Andonese. Before we begin, please let us pray for our departed companions.”
The tinwis stepped forward, and made a short, heartfelt plea to Sephiz to which even Juimei, in his scepticism, could not find the heart to object. The tinwis was a decent, devout person, and his faith, like Wepizi’s, sprang from honest conviction. Juimei had met a few holy men in Visiqe more obviously in love with their status in the community, but Kiein lived by his own beliefs, simply and without any ostentation, offering comfort to the grieving, and blessings to those celebrating happy occasions like weddings and births. He had done a lot of good work during this crisis, and Juimei had arranged for the rebuilding of his little shrine out of his own salary. It was the least he could do.
The audience followed the tinwis’s words, and made the usual response at the end. Then they fell silent, expectant. Juimei thanked the holy man, and came forward.
“My friends—today marks a milestone in our recovery from the earthquake. Tonight, many of you will sleep in your own homes, thanks to the hard work of the army and the Blessed. The rest of you will at least be safe and secure in proper beds, under proper roofs. Again, we have the army a
nd the Blessed to thank.” He turned towards Wepizi and his soldiers, bowed deeply, and then towards Nuveize and the other Blessed, over by the carriage. “I, for his majesty and council, thank you. We thank you all.”
Applause broke out, a slow ripple becoming a wave of noise spreading out from the centre. Wepizi acknowledged the thanks with a formal bow, smiling as he did so.
“You all have worked hard,” Juimei continued. “You all have suffered. The army, the Blessed too, have lost their own, and yet you all have pulled together and made this town rise up, stronger and better than before. This day shall be marked down as a day of honour, of hope, and remembrance.” He swept his arm out towards the graves, now covered with grass and hardy weeds, softening the mounds a little, but still obviously fresh, as the grief was fresh. “This place, this graveyard, shall also be a place of honour and remembrance. I decree a memorial shall be built where I stand now, to list all those who died, and declaring to those who come after us that here we might have lost friends, family and homes, here we might have been injured and sorrowing, but here too, we rose up, we rebuilt, we made their deaths not in vain. This place shall represent the spirit of Dizeindo and our nation, and I decree that henceforth on this day each year, we shall gather, remember and celebrate. They shall not be forgotten. I will not forget. You will not forget. And we will ever honour their memories.”
More applause, louder, more enthusiastic than before, cheers for king and council, and even Juimei himself. He smiled and bowed, and told himself these people deserved so much better than him. They were the very best this country had to offer.
The mayor made a speech, thankfully short, and then Wepizi climbed up and thanked the people of the town for their support of the army, praising them for their civic-mindedness and generosity.
“And though some of us will be leaving for a few months,” Wepizi said. “We will return and be part of your community and your lives. We live to serve and protect you, and I would give my life to do that. Now let us go forward, for king and council!”
A great roar rose up, and more applause. Other people rose to speak—Lasila’s mother, other women, some of the men, some who had lost family. And Iome, speaking for all the Blessed, thanked the town for welcoming them, and for providing a resting place for their beloved Timinke, for helping Laovei recover.
Warm applause greeted her words, and she bowed and blushed quite charmingly, a gentle and well-liked ambassador for her kind.
The tinwis concluded matters with another prayer—or rather, Juimei thought they’d been concluded, but Wepizi had a surprise for him. “Your highness, a few of us, some of the women from the camp and so on, wanted to have a little celebration at the new barracks, just informally. Everyone’s welcome,” he said, lifting his voice.
“A party? Here?” Juimei coughed. “Uh...won’t my presence make it rather formal?”
“Only if you wish it,” Wepizi said. “Of course, if you would rather go back?”
“No, no, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He shot a look at Neime and the Blessed, looking suspiciously pleased with themselves. “Carry on, tezrei.”
Not everyone who’d attended would be coming of course—but a very large number were. His carriage could only crawl along, even with the soldiers’ escort, through the throng walking back up towards the town and the new barracks site. The activity he’d noted on the way out, was now explained—trestle tables were laid out, and large containers of what he suspected were fruit wine and drizu were set out. There was food too, nuts, fruit, and some sweetmeats that were local specialities. Just small titbits rather than a proper meal, but considering the numbers of people, that was all that was practical.
Everyone was crowded into what would eventually be the main courtyard for the barracks, but which was now just packed earth, fortunately clear of much of the building materials that had littered it until recently. There wouldn’t be much more construction taking place here until the spring—all the attention had moved to the town. They had done well, and all they could for now.
Again Juimei was cheered as Wepizi led him through the crowd up to a cloth-covered trestle set aside for his and his guests’ use. Before he sat, he called for silence, and eventually got it.
“Let me say, as your governor—everyone, please enjoy yourselves! By the order of the king and council, naturally.”
Laughter and applause, then he could sit.
“Some wine, your highness?” Wepizi asked.
“Yes, thank you. How on earth have you had time to organise all this?”
“It was the women mostly, and your ‘special couriers’ did a lot of the work. People wanted a bit of fun. It wasn’t that much effort.”
“Still.... Go on, I don’t want my presence to change anything. But you might send Neime and the others up there—Laovei will want to sit, and I doubt Nuveize will appreciate having to navigate through this.”
Wepizi bowed. Juimei watched him walk away, astonished at the care the man put into everything he did, the thought he had for other people. It all seemed so effortless too, and the idea of reward never entered his head.
It was chaos, but no more chaos than he’d seen at court, and it was cheering to see smiles on so many faces, everyone relaxed and without the ingrained worry he had seen so much of over recent months. Even with this many people, the army coped with supplying cups of juice, drizu and wine, and people broke up into smaller groups, chatting, drinking and nibbling at their treats. Children chased each other around, in the way children always seemed to in large gatherings. After the solemnity of the graveyard ceremony, their excited laughter was refreshing.
A few minutes later, Neime turned up, escorting Laovei and Nuveize. “Isn’t it wonderful?” he said, as he helped them find their seats
“You should know,” Juimei said dryly. “You could have told me.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d approve. I’ll get some drinks. Back soon.” He slipped off through the crowd in search of refreshment.
“Iome’s speech was very fine,” Juimei said to Nuveize. “She’s impressive in her quiet way.”
“She’s blooming. It’s what I hoped for, when I asked for your help.” For once Nuveize was entirely serious, no sarcasm or irony in her tone.
“And where’s mischief?”
“Kilinze’s off playing with some of his new friends. He promises not to bake anyone too severely. Jozin and Giwade are keeping an eye on him. Iome and Helinoa are talking to some of their friends.” She looked at him. “Do you know how sweet it sounds to be able to say that?”
“I do, actually. Laovei, are you happy being here? If you want to go back to the residence, you can at any time.”
“No, this is wonderful,” she said, giving him a small smile. “I never thought I’d see so many people in one place. I liked your speech too, Juimei. Will you add Timinke’s name to the memorial?”
“Of course. I know it’s not much....”
“No, it’s good. It’s good people will remember him.”
He took her hand. “People will,” he said gently. “I’ll make sure of that. No one will forget any of those who died, or why. Or how your kind did so much to help us. That won’t be forgotten either.”
She smiled again, though she was a little red-eyed. She was entitled to her grief. It was no small thing, what had happened to her and her friend. Before he left, he would have to make sure that she and all the Blessed were safe, their future secured. He owed them that much at the very least.
Home Ground: 28
Wepizi found his rank afforded him very few privileges when it came to jostling for a mug of wine or two. There were far more people than he’d expected, but his soldiers clearly had good intelligence on the numbers because they were coping fine with the demand. Earthquakes, town parties—there wasn’t much his people couldn’t turn their hands too.
“Make that six mugs, tezrei!”
He turned and grinned at Neime. “As you wish, your grace. Laovei and Nuveize set
tled?”
“Yes, and Nuveize’s even being nice to him. Wonders will never cease.”
“They have to be rude to conceal how much they like each other,” Wepizi said.
“Hmmm, then Nuveize must really like his highness, don’t you think?”
Wepizi chuckled. “I suspect so. Ah yes, six mugs please,” he said to the young soldier asking what he needed. “Not all for me,” he hastened to add.
She only smiled and filled the mugs—Neime got a plate of sweetmeats and nuts, and together they wended their way carefully back through the milling masses. Wepizi heard music—someone had organised the town orchestra, or parts of it anyway. As they reached the table and set their treasures down, a voice was suddenly lifted in song, and there was applause as people recognised a popular tune. Very quickly, other voices joined in and many in the crowd began to hum, tap feet or sing along.
“That’s pretty,” Laovei said, sounding rather surprised.
“Have you not heard the song before, ‘Vei?” Neime asked.
“No, and I’ve never heard people singing like this, all together. It’s so nice.”
“And they sing well. Some of your people, I fancy, Wepizi?”
Wepizi cocked his head, listening. “Ah yes, I think so. I recognised Benonti’s voice, at least. He has a fine baritone.”
“Do you sing, Wepizi?” she asked.
“A little. Juimei?”
“I used to,” he said, without any hint of it causing him pain. “Not now of course.”
“Perhaps you should,” Nuveize said. “Some of our older Blessed could sing quite well, even into their last years. It was good for them, I think. It might make your voice more confident.”
Wepizi’s smile tightened, as he waited for Juimei to object to the remark. But the prince only nodded. “There might be something in that. Yes, you could be right. Perhaps during the winter, I’ll see if I can get someone to give me some lessons.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 61