Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

  “Marselius Caesar’s guards? He can’t possibly be here,” Rick said.

  “No Sir,” Warner replied. “I wouldn’t think so, but—Hah. The rest of them are Second Praetorians, Publius’ guards.”

  “A lot of them,” Rick muttered. “First Cohort of the Second, so Publius himself must be here. But what’s a Tribune of the First doing here? I can’t believe Marselius Caesar is here. For that matter, what the hell is Publius doing here?”

  “I can go back and ask Henderson,” Warner said.

  “No point. We’ll find out soon enough,” Bisso said. “They ain’t exactly putting out the welcome mat for us, Colonel. It’s your castle, and here we come with news of a victory, but nobody’s rushing out to meet us. We rode fast getting here, but I bet messages have arrived from the Wanax before us.”

  “Well that makes sense,” Rick said. “He’d want the Queen to know he was safe. Of course the Wanax wouldn’t have any reason to know we were coming here.”

  “Maybe he wouldn’t have any reason, but it sure looks like they knew you was coming,” Bisso said. “And he’d sure know the Queen was here.”

  “And you’d think the Queen would want to know details, no matter they know the king’s safe,” Warner observed. “Colonel, Sergeant Bisso’s right, they knew we were coming.”

  “And we still get a chilly reception,” Rick said. “In my own damned castle.”

  They rode in silence across the outer courtyard to the main gates. The drawbridge had already been let down. The guards removed their hats in salute as they rode past into the inner bailey. Grooms waited there. So did Sergeant Major Elliot.

  Elliot saluted as Haerther leaped down to hold Rick’s stirrup. Rick could feel eyes watching him from the castle walls.

  “Report, Sergeant Major.”

  “Sir. Welcome to Castle Armagh. Thirty-eight days ago we received messages to the effect that the Queen and the entire Royal Court had been instructed by the Wanax to take refuge here. The Queen and court, including your people from Edron and the University, arrived eight days later. Having no instructions to the contrary I admitted them and assigned them the most suitable quarters available.”

  “Which means my suite,” Rick said.

  “Well, yes, Sir. I did hold on to your office and the sleeping room next to it, but the Queen and her people have the big master suite, and that whole south wing for that matter. I’ll have to put you in a west wing guest suite.”

  “I’ll just move into the sleeping room next to my office. Nothing else you could have done, Sergeant Major. Approved. Who all came with the Lady Gwen?”

  “McCleve, Sir. Lady Siobhan. Couple of Drantos scholars and apprentices, but they’ve gone on to their homes. The Tamaerthan faculty members can fade into the hills if they have to, so they stayed behind. So did the Romans. Campbell’s in command there. He stayed to try to keep the place going. He’s got a garrison of Roman troops and clansmen working together. I’ve got his reports in the orderly room, Colonel, being copied before I sent them on to you.”

  Copies, Rick thought. Bureaucracy, and it’s needed. He looked around at a growing number of castle functionaries.

  “I take it I’m expected,” he said. “How?”

  “Eight days ago we heard by semaphore you were headed east to rescue your wife,” Elliot said, in a low voice that wouldn’t carry. “Nothing after that until a Royal Messenger got in about five hours ago, Colonel. Went straight to the Queen. I waited to hear, but I got no word for a couple of hours. Then one of the Romans came to say you were expected sometime this afternoon.”

  “A Roman. Not one of the Queen’s people?”

  “No, Sir, and that bothered me enough I put Rand and O’Brien with Henderson at the outer gate, and formed the rest of the troops here. I tell you, I was relieved when your lad there announced you as Warlord. I’d about half decided the Wanax tried to fire you or something.”

  “It’s or something, Top,” Rick said. “But let me get this straight. There was a messenger from the Wanax, but he reported to the Queen. Not to you.”

  “That’s it, Sir.”

  “But you’re the castellan.”

  “Me or Henderson, depending on which hat I’m wearing, but yeah, Colonel.”

  “So you don’t know about our victory?”

  “Not details, Sir. The Roman officer said the Wanax had won a glorious victory at the Ottarn Ford, and would be coming here with the army in a bit more than a ten-day. Then he said, sort of like an appendix maybe, that you’d been at the battle and could be expected shortly, probably today.”

  “And you haven’t had any formal notice from the Queen’s people?”

  “No, Sir, not unless you count a Roman officer as being a queen’s messenger.”

  “Bloody hell. She might think that way. She is Roman after all, but—. Okay, about the Romans. We saw Praetorians. Publius is here?”

  “That he is, Colonel, and whatever’s the problem with the Queen, his officer sounded glad enough you’re coming. You’re invited to dine with him after you make your respects to the Queen.”

  “Then I’d better get to that. Who else is here?”

  “The civil cabinet, the treasury lords, the ladies of the court, like that. But Lady Gwen’s here with some of the University people,” Elliot said. “If anybody knows what the Queen’s thinking it’ll be her.”

  “Right. And Romans? Warner spotted a First Praetorian officer.”

  “That’ll be the escort for Lucius,” Elliot said.

  Lucius. Marselius Caesar’s freedman, and probably his best friend.

  “If Caesar sent Lucius, it’s going to be important. Any idea of why he’s here?” Rick asked.

  “No Sir, not a bit.”

  “How long has he been here?”

  “About three days longer than Publius, Colonel. He got here first, about two weeks ago. Wanted to see you or the Wanax or both. When we told him the Wanax was north with the army and you were back at Dravan, he dithered about which way to go, and while he was dithering Publius came up with his Praetorians. He never said what he was doing here, either, but given the Queen’s his daughter I sure wasn’t going to question his right.”

  “Where did you put them?”

  “Sir, I pleaded there was no suitable room left in the castle, what with the Queen here and all, and Publius allowed as how his troops would get by fine camping in the outer bailey. Which suited me just fine, too.” Elliot lowered his voice. “Didn’t much suit some of the ladies of the court, though. Little hard to have secrets when everybody’s got to pass two sets of guards.”

  “All right. Well done.” He looked out at the castle troops, mostly sword and crossbowmen old enough to avoid field duty, and a few musketeers training cadre. “You can dismiss the troops, and I’d better get cleaned up. Do whatever formalities it takes to get me a gracious audience with the Queen. And everybody’s to be on their best and most formal behavior, Sergeant Major.”

  “Yes, Sir. Trouble with the Wanax?”

  “It looks that way. He was losing that battle when I got there.”

  “And you won it for him,” Elliot said.

  “He sees it like that. It may be simple jealousy, may be something more serious. Anything else I need to know?”

  Elliot frowned.

  “Madweed production’s well above normal. Rand’s done a damned good job on that, Colonel. Looks like he was the right man to put in charge of it.”

  “Interesting.” There was no need to say that Rand had been given the assignment as a punishment.

  “But it may compound your problem with the Wanax.”

  “How is that?”

  “It didn’t become clear to me until I talked to Rand after he was living with the inmates working on the madweed. Turns out a lot of our prisoners are actually refugees picked up for petty theft, cattle rustling, that sort of thing. Stuff people who are starving do.”

  “How is that a problem?”

  “We treat them too well
.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “So look at it from the perspective of a peasant refugee. Even before the Demon Star appears, they’d be worried about crop failure, plague, being overcharged for taxes, or just being molested by the local lord. Then the Time comes and the water goes away. Either they starve or, if they’re working good land, the local warlord kicks them off it and then they starve.

  “So they hear things and head up here, where we’ve got fertilizer, irrigation, and iron plows. We’ve got great crops, so no one starves. We’ve got cotton to export, bringin’ in quite a bit of cash. We’ve got good hygiene and medicine, hell we have a population explosion here, Dravan and Ferdon. Lots of kids who normally wouldn’t have made it through childhood are alive and thriving. Meanwhile, you’ve set the example for governing without corruption, so your people don’t get hit with the usual shakedown and backsheesh.

  “Now growin’ madweed ain’t no joke, but it’s a lot better than choking on dust in the south and Rand’s worked out procedures to minimize the risks.

  “Meanwhile,” Elliott continued. “Lewin and Apelles have moved forward with the Hestia fertilizer water.”

  That had been a battle. The first time Sergeant Lewin had smelled ammonia rising up from the caves under the castles, he had suggested using it as fertilizer. The problem was that it came from the Protector plant whose roots made ice in the caves and were used to preserve food for the Time. The plants were sacred to the priests of Yatar and the new Church. Rick had had to convince Apelles that in order for them to fill the caves with food they’d have to get a better crop going and that took fertilizer. Then it became a question of balancing growth with necessary storage. At least it was easy to convince the local farmers to use ammonia diluted in water by naming it after Hestia, goddess of family and fertility, known as the Mother of Christ in the new faith. If this batch worked out, Rick intended to send a search party to the Littlescarp and look for caves where the Protector plant was growing.

  “Between the Demon Star,” Elliot went on, “Hestia water, seagull crap, irrigation, and iron plows, we’ve doubled the plantings this year and bumper crops in each.”

  With Tran’s long years, almost seventy percent longer than Earth’s, growing seasons were almost twice as long as on Earth. The problem was that in normal times the winters were more than twice as long. Now winters were steadily shorter and the growing season was increasing in length but storms were ruining crops.

  “Okay,” Rick replied, “I’m still not seeing the problem.”

  “Colonel, our prisoners live better than most serfs. Our peasants live better than most yeomanry. Add in the fact you recruit and reward merit in business and the army regardless of class and no wonder we’ve got a population explosion. Did you know prisoners are volunteering to come here? Many who’ve completed their sentences are choosing to stay on as sharecroppers in the cotton fields. Some are even volunteering to come back to work on madweed ’cause they know you’ll pay them.”

  “What about those sullen faces I saw in the madweed fields?” Rick asked.

  “They know you’re a softy,” Elliot said with a chuckle. “Ever know anyone who’s happy to work someone else’s field? Besides it’s still dangerous and backbreaking work. But word’s spread and the bheromen are worried that some of their serfs are leaving their fields for ours. Even if that ain’t true, you’ve got the richest county in the kingdom, probably all of Tran, and getting richer steadily.”

  “I have enough trouble with the Ironheads as it is,” Rick said. “I knew raising our new model army from the peasants and middle class was troubling them. I didn’t realize until now I was threatening their livelihood so directly.”

  “On top of that,” Elliot continued. “Word’s gotten out that we’re actually seeking the advice of the village elders and councils and stuff like that.”

  What seems to be natural to us is threatening the whole political system, Rick thought. I wanted to avoid the whole chapter of wars related to industrialization, but I just don’t see how we can survive the Time without these reforms . . .

  “Okay. No contacts with the Galactics, or you’d have told me. Anything else?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait a few hours. Pile of reports over the semaphore from Major Mason. There’s more Westmen coming down the passes, but nothing he can’t handle, or he says it’s not. Of course, last he knew you were on the way to join the Wanax, and he might not be sending me everything he knows. And the Romans have been getting official messengers all week, Colonel. Frumentarii, I’d guess.”

  “Nothing they cared to share with you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You got any feelings about that, Top?”

  “Not really, Sir. Them Roman intelligence officers do a good job of reporting once they put things together, but they do take their own time digesting stuff. Never known one of them to leak a report until he thought he had a good picture. Not to us, anyway.”

  “Careful about not blowing their sources,” Rick agreed. “Okay. I’m off to the baths. Get a semaphore off to Mason telling him we won at the Ottarn, and I’m here, details to follow. Oh, and priority: Lady Tylara is on her way home to Dravan.”

  Elliot nodded and didn’t say anything.

  Of course, Rick thought. Elliot knows all about Tylara and Caradoc and—

  “It’s fine, Top,” Rick said. “Tylara’s my wife again.”

  Elliot nodded again.

  “I’d guessed, Colonel.”

  “How?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve seen you look happy in a year,” Elliot said. “By your leave, Sir.” Elliot turned and walked swiftly towards the orderly room.

  * * *

  Rick lay on his belly while two bath attendants pummeled his sore muscles. One advantage to having the Queen come from Rome, he thought. Roman baths go where she goes. They hadn’t had a chance to build a real bathhouse, but they’d rigged up a pool and hot and cool rooms. Roman baths had done wonders for hygiene. Not to say comfort, Rick thought.

  His reverie was interrupted by Haerther’s apologetic cough.

  “Your pardon, My Lord, but the Lady Gwen waits in the outer apartments.”

  Gwen. There was only the one bath, and bathhouses were an exception to the local nudity taboos. The Romans would rather mix the sexes than go without their baths . . .

  “Tell her I’ll be dressed shortly. Is she alone?”

  “No, Lord, the Lady Siobhan is with her.”

  That settles one question. She won’t be expecting me to invite her to join me. Alone. Thank God. The last time we were alone together—he fought off the memory. A little too disturbing.

  “I’ll be along presently.”

  Siobhan, Rick thought as he dressed. An Anglo-Norman name, probably fourteenth century. Just what was the makeup of the expedition that brought an Irish girl with an Anglo-Norman name to Tran? I’ll have to set Warner thinking about it. Lady Siobhan was Mason’s betrothed, an arranged marriage. Be a good match for his second-in-command.

  * * *

  Gwen Tremaine looked older.

  She’s got every reason to, Rick thought. Three kids by two husbands in a land without anesthetics. One husband dead, the other God knows where off in the galaxy. It’s a long way from a Southern California university. Still a fine looking girl. Teeth and skin still good. Short, but you forgot that soon enough. William James wrote that Mary Ann Evans, sometimes known as George Eliot, was short and had bad teeth and half an hour after he met her he was in love with her, and so was every man she ever met.

  Maybe Gwen wasn’t quite in that league, but she had a good start. And was the only Earth woman within twenty light-years or more. That made her even more attractive.

  “My Lady Siobhan. Gwen, it’s good to see you. Both of you.”

  “You too,” Gwen said. She hesitated. “Have you heard anything? From the Galactics?”

  Rick shook his head. “You’d be more likely than me. I take it you’ve n
o word from Les?”

  “No, but when they said you were here, unexpectedly, I thought maybe—I mean, you do keep your transceiver here, and—”

  “No, nothing. Which reminds me, I’ll be taking that west when I go. Bloody shame your set and mine won’t talk to each other.” Communications equipment was the one glaring lack in Rick’s organization. Rick had set up a semaphore system to send messages throughout the kingdom, but he had no better way than his enemies did to transmit orders in battle.

  “Maybe this time the Shalnuksis will bring me some decent radios. Or Les will. I still don’t know what happened to the HF radio set we brought with us from Africa. It disappeared along with the lawnmower and the coffee maker when Parsons was in charge. I suspect one of the missing mercs took them when they deserted.”

  The last radio message Rick had received was to surrender to the Cubans. Then the set went dead when the flying saucer appeared.

  “I told Les we needed radios before he left,” Gwen said. “But he didn’t make any promises. I suppose he’ll want to check with Inspector Agzaral.”

  “I wish I could do that,” Rick said.

  Gwen frowned questioningly.

  “Check with Agzaral.”

  “Not much chance of that, is there?” Gwen asked.

  “Only through Les. But Gwen, Agzaral didn’t warn me about hiding technology.”

  “He didn’t warn me, either.”

  “More to the point, Les didn’t warn you either, and given he loves you and you’ve got his child, you’d think he would if that was important. You had to work that out on your own.”

  “Yes, and it wasn’t easy. But Rick, skyfire isn’t a legend! Every time there have been technology advances here, it’s been bombed back to the Bronze Age. It’s the only explanation for why Tran hasn’t advanced beyond medieval technology. Anything higher gets bombed. Every time!”

  “And you’ve been scared, and I don’t blame you, but we’re way past the less spectacular technology, like better candles and better plows. Change was inevitable once you taught your students how to think for themselves and other people started looking at the advantages we have. Like gunpowder. We had to have it, and there was no way to keep it secret once I used it.”