My women bristled, but I’d known I wouldn’t be in overall command of the expedition against The Sarzana, at least not in name. No matter how much the Council of Purity might have praised me, I knew I’d be no more than an advisor at best, a figurehead at worst. Corais and Polillo had growled privately that once again a woman was being forced to kowtow, but I’d asked them if the same situation occurred Orissa, and I were from distant shores, how many ships and men would our own Magistrates have let me lead to their deaths?
I thought it was a sensible reminder, but both of them looked at each other, and Corais delicately lifted her lip, and said, “Rali, my love, of course men will repeat same stupidity from land to land. We’re talking about what an intelligent person would do.”
That made me laugh and it was about the only cheeriness the meeting produced.
Cholla Yi and I sat to either side of the new Grand Admiral on the high stage that was framed by a frieze of the gaping bony jaws of some sea monster. The Grand Admiral was named Trahern, and he was awe-inspiring. He was a huge man — nearly as tall as Polillo, and she’s over seven feet. His voice rang like a palace bell. He had a great white beard, carefully combed and divided at the chin to sweep to the side in two waves.
He must’ve been in his seventies, but still had a full head of hair, studded with jewels, and knotted behind his head. On the breast of his silk and leather tunic he wore many medals — all that a grateful nation could confer on their most celebrated warrior.
Unfortunately, the last war Admiral Trahern had fought was twenty years earlier, a skillful if hardly imaginative campaign against some barbaric outer islanders. Then he’d retired to his huge estates and become a noted historian. His entire career had been one of bravery, honor and nobility. Now he’d been brought back to lead Konya into what would be its greatest, and his final, triumph.
When he was named he was cheered and cheered again by the captains. I’d already noticed that too many of the senior captains were natives of Isolde, no matter what other islands their ships and crews hailed from. Once again, I saw a region whose real rulers hailed from a single area. Perhaps The Sarzana had overly favored men from his native Cevennes, but the barons weren’t that different. But while all the men cheered themselves hoarse for Admiral Trahern, what crashed through my mind was: Hellsfire! It’s General Jinnah all over again.
Trahern gave the obligatory heroic address. He said how honored he was to serve the colors once again, how we all were determined to win, how right was on our side, how we could only triumph, how Konya was honored to be given the talents of mighty warriors from the far-distant lands of . . . of, and he paused, trying to remember where the strangers had come from, hastily said Larissa, and continued on and on and on.
After he’d been carried around the room on the shoulders of the exulting officers, he met privately with Cholla Yi and myself. He was full of cheer and reassurances. Of course he knew we were the real leaders of the expedition, being familiar with these damned magicians and so forth, especially this one that hailed from your lands, or so I’ve heard, although damned if I don’t find it hard to believe how someone can be slain and come back to fight again; although certainly no one would slight the powers of a great wizard.
He thought he might be of some small assistance to us, since he knew the Konyan waters, and, more importantly, the souls of his people, and how they could be roused to fight like the heroes of old; so each Konyan would be as ten, perhaps twenty, soldiers from another land. We would have a high command founded on mutual trust, faith and determination, united in a common goal of consummate importance to all men and women everywhere.
But to me, all his words were the tapping of a death watch beetle.
* * * *
One evening as we were taking an evening stroll in the garden before Xia departed, I asked her if her father was in the least bit suspicious of us.
“He’s been so busy with his duties,” she said, “that he hasn’t had time to think long enough for suspicion to arise. Even if he did, he wouldn’t want to make too great a fuss, in fear word would get out to the other members of the Council of Purity.”
“I must say, that group hardly looked pure enough to claim such a name,” I said.
“Believe me, they are not,” she said. “Many a whore would weep at the prospect of poverty if those men were true to their vows. Of course, there’d be an equal amount of cheering among young slaves of both sexes who have been unfortunate enough to join their households.”
“Chaste, or not,” I said, “it seems an odd name for a ruling body.”
“It’s the fault of one of my more randy ancestors,” Xia laughed. “He took decadence to such extremes he even had temples — bawdy houses, actually — built to honor some of our more unsavory gods. He also laid claim to any pretty maid or youth who took his fancy. It got so bad that the barons rose up and forced him to stop. That’s when the Council of Purity was formed. It’s original job was to make certain the morals of Konya were being upheld. Then, when The Sarzana was defeated, it was the only traditional group under our ancient laws for the barons to take power.”
“Do you think the monarchy will ever return to Konya?” I asked.
Xia grew quite serious. She sat at the edge of the fountain and let her fingers trial thorough the water. “My father certainly hopes, so,” she finally said. “And perhaps a few of the other nobles who have royal blood in their veins. But, if it happened, none of them — even my father — would dare declare themselves king. It would seem too grasping. The kings of Konya, you should know, were deposed by the mobs. The Sarzana came later. And my father and the others fear the masses almost as much as they do the Sarzana. So, no, I don’t think that generation will seek the throne. But one of their children might.”
“Such as you?” I asked.
“I’ve never considered it,” she said. “It would be foolish for me to do so.”
“Has Konya ever had queen?” I asked.
Xia nodded. “My great grandmother — who died long before I was born — ruled here. And her husband had no authority. He was merely her consort.”
I almost asked her again if she’d really never thought of sitting on the throne. But I could see by the look in her eye that I’d be wise to take her word for it. Royalty never lies. It only changes its mind from time to time.
* * * *
One of the best things Xia’s brave volunteering produced was to make the war into a sacred crusade. It’s been my experience that wars are begun by noblemen with paper, and ended by peasants with blood; while those who’ll benefit the most from a victory make sure to stay as far as possible away from the battlefield. But following Xia’s lead the young aristocrats of Konya flocked to the colors.
Despite Xia’s example, however, I noticed that all the volunteers were men, and reflected that as much as I groused about the treatment of women in Orissa, at least such a thing as the Maranon Guard existed. It wasn’t much progress, but it seemed large when measured against the dim-witted policies of other cities and kingdoms.
I hadn’t realized how popular Xia was with the others of her class and generation until I saw the long lines of richly dressed men, waiting with a measure of patience at the recruiting booths in the marketplace. Those who’d had some training or experience with sword or sail were easy to fit in, but all too many of them had no developed skills beyond hawking, hunting and the other indulgences of court. It didn’t matter, they said. They would serve in any manner we wanted them to, quartermaster to galley scut. We took them at their word and, for the most part, they served willingly and well. I was surprised, since I thought these soft youths would never be able to handle being chased up a mast by a mate, or bellowed at by Sergeant Ismet or one of the Konyans own leather-lungers.
Still, it was amusing to hear, as I did once, a boson with his nose and rum-breath flush against a pretty lad’s face, screaming at the boy as if he were a parade-ground distant, “Lord Hilmuth, sir, you ignorant excuse for a six
-legged pig with no more gods-damned sense than th’ gods gave goats, sir, if I ever see you clew up a sheet like that again, you shitbrain, you prickear, I’ll have you for my fancy-boy for th’ rest of th’ cruise, you futtering fool! Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.”
Two other benefits these noblemen brought — now we could have anything and everything we wanted. Also, the nobility brought the commoners in as well to serve, and the ships and the men to serve or fight from them were a bottomless barrel. I’ve often wondered why peasants espouse the most savage hatred for the gentry, but have an abiding fascination for their antics, to the point of relentlessly aping them.
The fleet was beginning to look like the beginnings of a navy, instead of a motley assemblage of ships. We were nearly ready to sail confront The Sarzana and his far more dangerous ally and secret master, the Archon.
* * * *
During those long weeks of preparation, I saw little of Gamelan, even though he was housed in the same villa with me. When I did seek him out for advice on a thorny matter he was maddeningly non-committal; only saying to do what I thought best. He even refused to attend the morning bone casting, claiming to be too weary, or sick. What I missed most was our nightly ritual of discussion, where everything under the sun was fair game for debate.
I never saw him smile during that time, and he’d begun to shuffle like an old man — he, who even in blindness, always had a youthful spring to his steps. The women I’d assigned to attend him said he ate little, no matter how much they tried to tempt him with delicacies, and he drank no spirits at — only water. All this from a man who’d previously berated us for losing hope; who pressed on no matter how difficult the circumstances.
As I watched his spirit shrivel before my eyes I thought perhaps the experience of the dungeons had been too much for him. I began to fear he might soon die.
I sought him out one night to ask him what was the matter. I thought perhaps there was some elixir he could direct me in making that might help him recover some of his former vigor.
“I’m just old, dammit!” he said, his voice quivering.
“But, Gamelan, my friend,” I said. “I need you. We need you.”
“Your needs are sucking me dry,” he shouted. “Now go away and leave me be.”
I left. What else could I do? I did notice, however, the closer we came to being ready, the more despondent he became. If I hadn’t been so busy, I might’ve found the cause sooner. No, that’s not the truth. Hang duty. I should have made the time; but I was too smitten with Xia to do so.
It was a wondrous spell she wove about me; and I’m vain enough to still believe I did the same for her. She was meat and drink to me. The more I bedded her, the more I lusted for our next bedding. She found forbidden books on sexual tricks and we tried everything, save those that are degrading, or cause pain. We daubed each other with honey and wine and took hours licking off every speck. We rubbed perfumed oils into every crease in our bodies, then wrestled until one or the other would pretend to give way. Then the victor got to choose her pleasure as a reward.
There were also long, languorous afternoons of talk in which we shared secrets one only tells to lovers. She wept with me when I told her about Otara. But when I spoke of Tries and our fight, she grew angry and turned away and when I attempted to massage her back she snapped: “Don’t touch me!”
“What have I done?” I said.
“You still love her,” she accused.
I sputtered. “Don’t be silly. She left me. It’s over.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “I can tell when you speak her name. It’s a game she’s playing. The whore! Soon as you return she’ll wrinkle her nose and you’ll be in her arms again.”
“I swear, Xia,” I protested. “I love only you.”
She cried and finally let me comfort her. I whispered her name over and over, demanding she believe that I loved no other. Eventually we made up. The sex of forgiveness was hot and violent; and Xia was all sweetness and smiles when she finally left for home. The subject was never raised again. But I must confess, I certainly thought about her accusation. Did I still love Tries? The remarkable thing was, I couldn’t swear to myself that I didn’t.
* * * *
The tales of The Sarzana’s latest atrocities came with every fresh arrival to Konya. I imagine his deeds were supposed to send us into paroxysms of panic, and either make us battle-foolish or even surrender. But for the most part, they had the opposite effect. Since his ghouls laid waste to every island and port they came across, whether hostile, neutral or festooned with white flags, resolve actually stiffened. It was very clear to almost everyone that there could be no truce, no compromise, no quarter offered or given. Even those who might’ve hesitated, or who’d managed to convince themselves The Sarzana’s regime wasn’t that terrible — or even to be preferred to the present rulers — held their tongues and professed patriotism.
I did hear, once or twice, wonderment expressed at how The Sarzana had “changed, had darkened.” I knew his alliance with the Archon made his deeds more black-handed, but that the difference between what he was doing now and his past tyranny was only a matter of degrees.
I had a grisly confrontation with his evil one early morning, when the gangwatch summoned me on deck. I was maintaining two headquarters — one in the Council’s palace, for large or formal meetings, the second in Xia’s old cabin on board Stryker’s galley, for secret or highly important matters. Perhaps I also needed it to remind myself not to become mired in the politics, treacheries and problems of the Konyans.
My duties were simple — first to Orissa, to end the menace of the Archon, and then to my Guardswomen and finally to Cholla Yi’s mercenaries. In the final reckoning, nothing else, beyond my obligation to my own soul, was to be given much weight.
When the deck officer asked if I had time to meet someone, I hurried topside, being bored orry-eyed with lists of lading, duty rosters and all the rest of a soldier’s task the sagas never sing about. Waiting was a slender man in his early 50’s. His beard was close-cropped and his hair tied back in a tiny queue. He wore a plain, loose-fitting tunic and pants. A sword and dagger hung from a belt with a supporting shoulder strap and I noted both sheaths were dark with age — the hilts of the weapons polished from long usage. A soldier, then. There was one odd thing. He wore no rings or jewels, but tucked above one ear was a tube perhaps four or five inches long, and I noted it was gold, and crusted with jewels.
On the nearby wharf I saw, drawn up in company order, perhaps another hundred men dressed similarly, aged from twenty to sixty. I greeted him warmly, hoping his fine body of soldiers had come to join us. Nor, who was their leader, assured me they had. He said the men below were only half of those who followed him. I was even more pleased, since I was having great difficulty arranging my own forces for the battle, needing and facing the dismal fact I had no more than 125 warriors I could truly depend on, my own Guard.
I asked Nor his rank. “I have none,” he answered. “And the rank I held before I would be shamed to say.”
I looked long into his eyes and they were stark, burning. I’d seen eyes like that before — from the poor souls we freed from the torture-dungeons of the Archon when we took the sea-castle in Lycanth. I knew the man had a tale in him, and somehow felt it was not one for all listeners. I saw there were curious ears, both from my own women and from sailors pretending to find tasks nearby. I told Nor he could dismiss his troops and let them find shelter, since it was misting, the mist promising to become a summer rain shortly.
He shook his head. “My men will remain where they are. They don’t melt.”
I led him to the deserted foredeck, where a tarpaulin had been rigged overhead. I asked if he wished wine, and he said no. Very well, if he wanted to deal with the business at hand, that would be the style of our meeting.
“So you wish to serve,” I said. “Why have you come to me, rather than to Admiral Trahern, or one of his generals? Surely men like yours, assuming
they can fight as hard as they look, could serve where they wished.”
“First, I came to you because I’ve heard well of you and your women. I don’t think you have any interest in the game-playing most Konyans call fighting, with their feints and bluffs and champions and such.”
“I do not,” I said. “War is what it is, and to be fought as hard and as briefly as I can manage.”
He went on as if I’d not interrupted. “Second, though, is that my men are hardly welcome in most ranks.”
Shit!, I thought. They’re probably posers, bandits or convicts. But I didn’t let my disappointment show. Instead, I merely waited.
“These men are my brothers,” Nor said. “Once there were a thousand of us. But that was five years and more ago, when we were known as The Sarzana’s Own.”
Nor caught my shocked reaction. “Yes. We were the bastard’s bodyguards. His elite, who surrounded him day and night — in his travels or at his castle. Our lives were his, and his safety and pleasure our only concern.”
“Most rulers have such a guard,” I said. “But generally they die when he’s overthrown, trying to keep him alive. Or else they’re killed in the aftermath. And seldom have I heard such men, who’re generally given great favors by the ruler unless he’s an utter fool, curse his memory.”
Nor said nothing, but abruptly lowered his pants. I started back, momentarily sure I was in the presence of the commander of a band of lunatics. Then I saw what he’d meant to show me, and my stomach roiled. He had no penis at all, but rather a small protuberance, less than a fingerwidth. Strangely, underneath that hung a normal-looking scrotum. I’d seen eunuchs before, but they’d always been either completely gelded, or with just the testicles cut away.
I nodded — I’d seen. Nor lifted his pants, showing no sign of shame, nor did he apologize. Now I also knew that jewel-crusted tube was for the men to relieve themselves. I’d heard of such mutilations before; just as I’ve heard of cruel tribes who mutilate all their girls so they cannot enjoy the pleasure of sex.
The Warrior's Tale (The Far Kingdoms, Book 2) Page 42