Pearl Of Patmos rb-7

by Джеффри Лорд

  The officer pointed his sword at the speaker. «Lancemen-drag that man here to me.»

  There was some hesitation in the ranks. The captain called Mijax slashed his sword through the air and began to bellow. «Immediately, you stupid dolts. Bring him to me-or you will suffer his fate. Bring him forward this instantl»

  Two sturdy lancemen dragged the soldier forward. He fought them, struggling and writhing, and did not lose his courage, He continued to shout defiance at the officer.

  «You are a fool, Captain Mijax. A fool and a dupe. Thyme is lost and well you know it. Juna has forsaken us and you know that, too. Even now she is with her priests and preparing to flee to the coast. Why should we remain, why should we have to die? Our deaths can mean nothing now. It is senseless, without reason, to-«

  The officer slashed him across the face with his sword: «Be quietl You are guilty of treason. Worse-you are a spy for Samosta. An agitator, a troublemaker. You are in the pay of Hectoris. It was you, or men like you, all traitors, who opened the sewer gates and let the Samostans creep into the city while we slept. I say this-and I say death for traitorsl»

  The soldier, blood gushing from a great slash in his cheek, sought to struggle up from his knees. «A lie. All lies. Ask my comrades. I have been with them all the while, I have fought as bravely as any man here. You are not only a fool, Captain, you are an insane fool into the bargain.»

  Blade winced. He had served his time as a lieutenantcolonel in the British army and he knew something of military «justice.» The man had been a fool to speak up so-now Blade did not give him much chance.

  He was right. The man was gagged and forced to his knees again. Captain Mijax, his face grim, struck off the man’s head with one stroke of his sword. He kicked the head aside and brandished his stained sword at the troops.

  «Let this be a warning. I speak in Juna’s name. All traitors will meet the same fate.» He kicked the headless body. «This coward lied. Thyme is not dead. Thyme is wounded, on her knees, but Thyme will rise again.»

  Phony histrionics, thought the watching Blade. The captain did not believe his own words. Not did the men believe them-there was a low mutter from the ranks but none spoke up. Blade moved a bit closer to the troops, having all but made up his mind to tag along with them. His uniform was right-he was wearing the red plumeand he judged that his chances would be greater with the soldiers than prowling alone in this stricken city. For the.°-. time being. He had no intention of dying for Thyme.

  A solitary horseman, his steed covered with blood and= sweaty froth, debouched from a lane and clattered across the cobbles of the square to the assembled troops. Captain Mijax called his battered men to attention and doffed his helmet and bowed to the rider. Blade watched with new interest. The man must be someone of importance and authority.

  Captain Mijax raised his sword. «Hail, Gongorl How,

  goes the battle, Excellency?» `

  «Against us, Captain. Against us in every sector. Hectoris sits in the palace and doles out our maidens for the raping. Our treasure is taken and even now is being shared by the barbarians. How many men do you have here, Captain?»

  The man who spoke was elderly. He was helmetless and his scant white hair was in disarray and smeared with blood. His face, grimed with smoke and ash, was narrow and beak-nosed; his eyes were pouched and weary, yet glittering with a dark anger. He wore a metal corselet and the familiar leather kilt and high buskins. A short sword was belted to his waist.

  «Some three hundred odd,» said the Captain. He gestured at his troops. «As you can see, sire, they have fought hard and are not at their best.»

  The white-haired man held up a hand for silence, then pointed to the body of the beheaded man. «What was his crime?»

  The Captain explained. When he had finished Gongor-a general or a senior statesman, Blade thoughtshook his head in weariness and, Blade surmised, a trace of pity.

  «You were probably wrong, Captain. I doubt the man was a spy or agitator. Thyme has been betrayed, but the betrayal was in high places, not low. Not that it matters now-the man was right. We must abandon the city. We few are all who are left. The main body of our troops has been slain or taken prisoner. This sector of the city is all that remains to us, and that only because it is the poorest and not fit for looting. So hear my orders, Captain. We e will fight a rear guard action, if we must, and attempt escape by.the north gate. I say attempt, because our chances are not good. The Samostan cavalry, by the orders of Hectoris himself, remains outside to ring the city and prevent just such escape. It is our good fortune that Hectoris has not yet ordered them into the streets to hunt down stragglers. So we had best be quick about it. Form your men into columns and make for the north gate with all speed-such of us as can get into the marshes may escape and come to the shore, and so to Patmos to fight again.»

  Captain Mijax did not like his orders. His tone was near to insubordination as he demanded, «What of Juna and the priests, Sire? Are we to leave them to the mercy of Hectoris? We must notl Look you, Excellency-I can fortify this square with cobbles, with corpses if need be, and we can stop the Samostans. At least I can hold until Juna and her priests have a chance to escape. I beg you, Sire, let me-«

  Blade, little by little, had been creeping out of his hiding place in the shadows. From where he crouched now it was a scant dozen feet to the rear rank. Through the acrid, drifting smoky haze he could see the expression on the older man’s face. Gongor’s features expressed, all at the same time, impatience and tolerance, pity and anger, admiration and irritation. When he spoke his tone was that used by a father to a rather stupid son.

  «You are a fool, Captain. A brave fool, but a fool just the same. It is Juna and the priests who have betrayed us, in their own way and for their own motives. Take my word for it-they are not now worrying about you or your menl If any escape the fire and death it will be Juna and her priests. Now cease to question me and follow your orders. Follow mel We march at once to the north gate. This is a command, Captain.» The white-haired man drew his sword and pointed it at the headless body. «Obey or suffer the fate of that one.»

  Captain Mijax scowled, then wheeled about and began to shout orders. The men, sensing some hope of escape, were quick to form into a marching column four abreast. Blade, skulking in the shadows, waited until the last contingent was tramping past, then stepped carelessly into tine. He fumbled with his kilt as though he had been off relieving himself. It proved a needless precaution, for no one paid him the slightest attention. Most of the men around him bore wounds of varying degrees, and all marched in slovenly fashion, morose, heads bowed and feet dragging. Blade, fearing to make himself conspicious in such a company, began to feign a limp.

  Far down toward the head of the column a song began. Faint at first, barely heard, an anthem as tattered and uncertain, as ragged, as the men who sang it. Blade, limping along in the rear, made out some of the words.

  Juna, goddess of all men, with breasts and thighs didivine. . Juna, who dies and then is born again. . Juna our mother, our sister, our love. . Juna who makes love in Hell, and also in Heaven above.

  The soldiers around Blade did not sing. They dragged themselves along and grumbled.

  «Old Gongor has the right of it,» said one man. «The Captain is a fool. And he did wrong to kill poor old Copelus. We were mates, Copelus and me. He was no traitor. He fought well. As bravely as any of us, as bravely as the Captain himself. It was wicked to slay him so.»

  «Aye,» said another man. «That was wrongly done. But the captain is a brave man and a fine warrior, even though he be short tempered at times.»

  Aye-he is brave enough. Brave enough to get us all killed if he had his way.»

  A man laughed harshly. «The captain longs for Juna’s legs around him-he seeks the reward our goddess bestows on heroes.»

  More laughter. «Then he is twice a fool. I never saw a dead man who could make love»

  Blade limped along, listening and watching and learning. The god
dess Juna, he guessed, must be both real and image. A stone figure and a woman of flesh. Such duality was not uncommon in the religions he had studied back in Home Dimension-the Dalai Lama, for instance, was thought by certain Tibetan sects to be a living incarnation of Buddha.

  This Juna, if the statue he had seen was any indication, must be a beautiful young girl. She would, in the nature of such things, be chosen and schooled for goddess-hood by the priests. Ah, the priests. Always the priests. They would hold the real power and call the shots-with Juna as a figurehead.

  Juna must reward certain heroes by sleeping with them. Blade had to smile at that and admit that it was better than a medal. A medal could be cold comfort at times. In any case none of it was important at the momentThyme had fallen and, presumably, Juna and her priests were on the run just as the remanent of the army was. As he, Blade, was himself.

  A painful blow on his bare legs snapped Blade out of his thoughts. A burly sergeant, sent to tighten up the rear, was laying about with the flat of his sword and shouting: «Keep up, you slow marchers. Step lively now! Tighten up that file. Dress on the man in front and beside you. Look lively now. Lively, I say!»

  Blade made a mistake. An inexcusable mistake and one that could well have been fatal. He lost his temper. For only an instant was his guard down, but it was enough. The sergeant did not help matters by striking at Blade a second time. He smacked his sword across the big man’s thighs and shouted, «Get on, I said. Step it up.» He looked closer at Blade and added, «I see no wound on you. Why do you lag back here?»

  By then it was too late. Blade brought his right fist over in a straight from the shoulder punch that caught the sergeant squarely between the eyes. The man’s eyes crossed n surprise and shock, then he slumped to the rough cobbles. The little company of stragglers halted. Every eye was on Blade. Ahead of them the company began to draw away, unaware of mutiny behind it.

  Men drew away from Blade as though he were diseased. One man said, «He’s dead, like enough. That blow would have killed an ox.»

  Blade stared down at the sergeant. He did look dead. But he was never to know. A burly man with a patch on one eye and his arm in a sling, his beard a wild profusion of wiry dark hair, came out of the huddle of Xpen. He gave Blade a brokentoothed grin.

  «Did my heart good, that did. He whipped me once, the bastard. Take his head, friend. I’ll take his heels, so-«

  They were before a house with gaping empty windows. «Swing him,» said the bearded man. His one gray eye gleamed at Blade. «We’ll just let him sleep it off in there. Might come on to rain and we wouldn’t want the sergeant to get wet.»

  They counted three and swung the ‘heavy body in through the window. It landed with a crash. The man with the eye patch turned on the others. «Let’s get on, then. None of you seen nothing, hearl The lean as talks answers to Nob.»

  They straggled on, those that could hastening a bit in an effort to catch up. The man with the eye patch fell in beside Blade, who eyed him warily. He needed an ally, a friend, but this rough character was hardly the type he had had in mind. Blade had been thinking in terms of going directly to the top, as was his custom in DX-he had been casting about for ways and means of meeting Juna and her priests. Or possibly the present conqueror of Thyme, this Hectoris, whoever and wherever he was. But all that would have to wait. Insofar as Blade had made any plans at all-there had certainly been no time for proper thought they consisted of the elementary task of getting out of the ruined city with ‘a whole skin. He had heard talk of salt marshes, and the coast, and of a place called Patmos. At the moment it was enough, more than enough, and he knew that he would be lucky to make it. Before he could raise his sights he must survive-this burly rascal who called himself Nob might be useful to that end.

  The two of them caught up with the party of wounded and then, as by unspoken agreement, dropped behind a few paces so they could not be overheard.

  For a few moments they marched in silence. Blade eyed his new companion warily and was aware that the other was doing the same. Blade waited, enduring that covert inspection. Nob grinned at — him, not exactly an invitation to confidence. The man’s front teeth had been broken off at the gum line and the stumps were a dark brown. Blade would have wagered that the man was a rogue, a thief or worse. This did not bother him. Such men had their uses. There was something about the man that he liked even on such short acquaintance-an independent spirit, a blithe `°go to hell» attitude that appealed. And the man was shrewd. Blade found that out now.

  The question came in a hoarse half-whisper. The black eye patch, it was over the left eye, glinted at Blade as Nob spoke without turning his head. Nor did his lips seem to move.

  «Who might you be, sir? What do you do in Thyrne in a uniform three sizes too.small for your heft? I aided ye back yonder, but now I begin to have second thoughts. And I warn ye-if ye be Samostan I’ll set about you and do your business the same as ye did the sergeant. So speak to old Nob. Who be ye?»

  By his way of speaking he had served time in jail. This rather pleased Blade. The man might make a staunch subordinate if he could win him over. And remember not to trust him.

  «I’ll answer all your questions in time,» Blade said. «You answer me one now-why do you call me `sir’?»

  «Because ye’ll never be a common soldier. I’ve but one good eye and I saw that at first glance. It lies in your manner that you are no commoner, sir. And in your act when the sergeant struck you-aye, that was the real giveaway. A common soldier would have taken the blow and grumbled about it-might even have gotten his dagger into the sergeant some dark night. But you followed your nature, sir, and that nature was to strike back then and.there.»

  The man was observant, Blade thought. And certainly shrewd. But sometimes shrewdness could be a mask for cunning. He must go carefully with this fellow. And above all he must establish their relationship, if there was to be one, from the outset.

  So he smiled at Nob and said, «You are right in some matters. I am a stranger in this land. I am no 7byrnian and certainly no Samostan. I came into the midst of this battle by accident and, since beggars do not have. choices, I go along with this raggle-taggle army until my mind is clearer about matters. In that, Nob, you may be able to help me. If so, and all goes well, you will not be the loser by it. That is all I can promise now, for you know the chanciness of events as well as I do.»

  They tramped along in silence while Nob considered Blade’s words. They were winding through a maze of poor streets flanked by deserted hovels. The smoke pall here was lighter and there was a stink of feces and garbage in the smudged air. Blade wrinkled his nose; and was again reminded of Nob’s sharpness, for that worthy laughed and said, «Another sign that ye are gentleman, sir. Your nose is too good for the smell hereabout. Not that I blames you, mind. Faugh! I could never bide it myself. And I born not a street from here. Look ye when we pass this next turn. Sharply now, sir, for ‘tis only an alley and easy to miss. But for the stink. There-you see?»

  It was a dark hole, shoulder-wide and leading back between the shabby houses. It was cobble-floored and in the middle was a runnel of filth of every description; the stench it emitted was distinctive even in the surrounding fetid atmosphere. Blade had time for a glance and they were past it. It occurred to him that he was no longer in much danger from the army of Samosta-they would be in no hurry to occupy these slums.

  Nob laughed, not a pleasant sound. «Me birthplace, that. No secret about where 1 come from, sir.»

  Blade, ignoring the probe, said, «Your home was back there? Your family?»

  This time there was a trace of genuine mirth in Nob’s laugh. He roared and slapped his hand against his thigh. Men just ahead of them turned to stare.

  «Home, ye say? Home was it? Aye, a home I had. In the shit ditch ye just saw. I was dropped like any foal in the field, only my mother did not stay to lick me dry and give me the tit. She bore me and tossed me in the ditch to perish. Aye, I had a home if ye call it that!»

/>   Blade believed the man. He said, «Yet you lived. How was this?»

  The eye patch swiveled toward him. Nob scowled. «I know what I was told when I came of age to understand. Nothing more. The story goes that I was picked up by a drab, some poor poxy whore, and taken into a brothel to live.» The scowl vanished. Nob grinned and spat. «‘Tis like to be true, for certainly I was raised in a brothel. I have no memory of the poor lass who found me and was my second mother. I was told she died of pox nearly afore I was weaned. You can see, my master, that I have had a chancy life and so death, when it comes, will be no great surprise. Yet I am in no hurry to search it out. Look yonder across Beggar’s Square-the north gate! May be that old Gonger will get us out of this yet.»

  The detail of wounded stragglers, of which Blade was a part, came last into the great square. There was a little drifting smoke, no fire, and the last of the moon limned the cobbles and an inner square of booths and stalls that must be, in normal times, a sort of thieves’ market. Gongor and the Captain were aligning their men to one side of these stalls. Beyond, on the distant side of the square, Blade saw a high stone wall into which was set a wooden gate. The gate was closed but not barrer. Blade was instantly uneasy. His keen eyes sought the bars that should have been in the slots and could not find them. As he stared he thought he saw the gate move.

  Blade did not like it. He had nothing to go on but his instinct, yet his sense of vague disquiet grew with each passing second. That gate should have been barred. Where were the bars?

  Another sergeant, a long-nosed, narrow-eyed man, came back to sort out those able to fight and integrate them into the front ranks. Gongor knew there might be Samostan cavalry lurking outside the city-he had said as much-and they might sortie straight into a trap. The salt marshes, and freedom, were not yet won. Blade long accustomed to command, could understand Gongor’s problems.

  Blade let his glance roam around the huge square. He counted six streets, mostly narrow lanes, leading into it. They dodged abruptly away from the square, these lanes, as though in terror of open space. There was no way of knowing what lay back in those crooked ways. Blade looked at the gate again and once more could have sworn it moved-as though from some steady pressure beyond it. He wiped away sweat before it could trickle into his eyes. Something in his brain was screaming-trap!