Shardik (37 page)

‘Elleroth Ban - bow three times before addressing me.’

‘Well, we
have
become an exalted pair, that’s it. Ban of Sarkid? How long have you been Elleroth Ban?’

‘Oh, a few years now. My poor
fath
er died a while back. But tell me, how much do you know about the new, modern Bekla and its humane and enlightened rulers?’

At this moment two of the other delegate
s overtook them, talking earnestl
y in Katrian Chisto
l, the dialect of eastern Tereke
nalt. One, as he
passed, turned his head and continue
d to stare unsmilingly over his shoulder for some moments before resuming his conversation.

‘You ought to be more careful,’ said Mollo. ‘Remarks like that shouldn’t be made at all in a place like this, let alone overheard.’

‘My dear fellow, how much Ye
ldashay do you suppose those cultivated pumpkins understand? Their bodies scarcely cover their minds with propriety. Their oafishness is indec
ently
exposed.’

‘You never know. Discretion - that’s one thing I’ve le
arnt and I’m alive
to prove it.’

‘Very well, we will indulge your desire for privacy, chilly though it may be to do so. Yonder is a fellow with a boat, yo ho, and no doubt he has his price, like everyone in this world.’

Addressing the boatman, as he had
Sheldra
, in excellent Bek
lan, with scarcely a trace of Ye
ldashay accent,
Elleroth
gave him a ten-meld piece, fastened his fox-fur cloak at the throat, turned up the deep collar round the back of his head and stepped into the boat, followed by Mollo.

As the man rowed them out towards the centre of the lake and
the
choppy wavelets began to set up a regular, hollow slapping under the bow, Elleroth remained silent, staring int
ently
across at
the
grazing land
that
extended from the southern side of the King’s house, round the western shore of the lake and on to the northern slopes of Crandor in the distance.

‘Lonely, isn’t it?’ he said at last,
still
speaking in Yeldashay.

‘Lonely?* replied Mollo. ‘Hardly that.’

‘Well, let us say relatively unfrequented - and that
ground’s nice and smooth
- no obstacles. Good.’ He paused, smiling at Mollo’s frowning incomprehension.

‘But to
resume where we were so poignantl
y interrupted. How much do you know about Bekla and these bea
r-bemused river-boys from the Te
lthearna?’

‘I tell you - next to nothing. I’ve had hardly any time to find out.’

‘Did you know, for example, that after the battle in the Foothills, five and a half years ago, they didn’t bury the
dead - neither their own nor Ge
l-
Ethlin
‘s? They left them for the wolves and the kites.’

‘I’m not surprised to hear it. I’ve been on that field, as I told you, and I’ve never been so glad to leave anywhere. My two fellows were almost crazy with fear - and that was in daylight I did what had to be done for Shrain’s sake and came away quick.’

‘Did you
see
anything?’

‘No, it was just what we all felt. Oh, you mean the remains of the dead? No - we didn’t stray off the road, you sec, and that was cleared soon after the
battle
by men who came down from Gelt to do it, so I heard.’

‘Yes. The Ortelgans, of course, didn’t bother. But it wasn’t really to be expected that they would, was it?’

‘By the time
the
battle was won the rains had set in and night was falling, wasn’t
that
it? They were desperate to get on to
Bekla
.’

‘Yes, but no Ortelgan did anything aft
er Bekla had fallen either, alth
ough there must have been plenty of coming and
going between Bekla and their Telthe
arna island. I fin
d that terribly tedious as a
subject for contemplation, don’t you? It bores me to distraction.’ ‘I hadn’t considered it before in quite that way.’ ‘Start now.’

The boat, turning, had followed first
the
southern and then the eastern shore of
the
Barb and as it approached
them
the cranes flew up in a clattering, white-winged flock. Elleroth bent his head over
the
bow, idly running one finger
through the water along the outl
ine of his own shadow as it moved across the surface. After some time Mollo said, ‘I’ve never understood why the city fell. They took it by surprise and smashed in the Tamarrik gate. Well, all right, so the Tamarrik gate was military nonsense. But what was Santil-ke-
Erketlis
doing? Why didn’t he try to hold the citadel? You could hold that place for ever.’

He pointed back at the sheer face of
the
quarry, three quarters of a mile away, and the summit of Crandor above.

‘He
did
hold it,’ answered Elleroth, ‘right through
the
rains and after - getting on for four months altogether. He was hoping for some relief from Ikat, or even from the troops at Kabin - the ones your trusty bull-breeding friend attended to. The
Ortelga
ns let him alone for a long time - they’d come to have a healthy respect for him, I dare say - but when the rains were over and he was still there they began to worry. They needed to put an army in the field towards Ikat, you see, and there was no one to spare to keep Santil contained in the citadel. So
they
got rid of him.’

‘Got rid of him - just like that? What do you mean? How?’

Elleroth struck
the
surface li
ghtly
with the edge of his hand, so that a thin, pattering crescent of water-drops flew backwards along the side of the boat.

‘Really, Mollo, you don’t seem to have learnt much about military methods during your travels. There were plenty of
children
in Bekla, even if all of
them
weren’t children of the citadel garrison. They hanged two children every morning in sight of the citadel. And of course
there
were plenty of mothers, too, at liberty to go up to the citadel and beg
Erketlis
to come to terms before the
Ortelga
ns became even more inventive. After some days he offered to go, provided he was allowed to march out fully armed and proceed unmolested to Ikat. Those terms the Ortelgans accepted. Three days later they tried to attack him on the march, but he’d been expecting something of the sort and succeeded in discouraging
them
quite effectively. That happened near my home in Sarkid, as a matter of fact.’

Mollo was about to reply when Elleroth, seated at the boatman’s back, spoke again, without any alteration in his quiet tone.

‘We
are
about to run into a large floating log, which, will probably stave in the bow.’

The boatman stopped rowing at once and turned his head.

‘Where, sir?’ he asked, in Beklan. ‘I don’t see anything.’

‘Well,
I
see
that
you understand
me
when I am speaking Yelda
shay,’ replied Elleroth, ‘but that is not a crime. It seems to have turned
even more chilly, and the wind i
s fresher than it was. You had better take us back, I think, before
we
catch the Telthearna ague. You have done very well - here are another ten meld for you. I’m sure you never gossip.’

‘God bless you, sir,’ said the boatman, pulling on his right oar.

‘Where now?’ asked Moilo, as they stepped ashore in the garden. ‘Your room - or mine? We can go on talking there.’

‘Come, come, Mollo — the arrangements for eavesdropping will have been completed days ago. Dear me, those ama
teur instructors of yours in Deelguy!
We will have a
stroll through the town – hide
a leaf in the forest, you know. Now that priestess woman who addressed us this morning - the one with a face like a night-jar -would you say that she -‘

They made their way downhill, by way of the walled lane, to the Peacock Gate, and were shut into the
little
, enclosed chamber called me Moon Room while the porter, unseen, operated the counter-poise that opened the postern. There was no way between the upper and lower cities except through this gate and the porters, vigilant and uncommunicative as hounds, opened for none whom they had not been instructed to recognize. As Elleroth followed Mollo out into the lower city, the gate closed behind them, heavy, smooth and flat, its iron flanges overlapping the walls on either side. For a few moments they stood alone above the din of the town, grinning at each other like two lads about to plunge together into a pool.

The street of the Armourers led downhill into the colonnaded square called the Caravan Market, where all the goods coming into the city were weighed and checked by the customs officers. On one side stood the city warehouses, with their loading and unloading platforms, and Fleitil’s brazen scales, which could weigh a cart and two oxen as easily as a sack of flour. Mollo was watching the weights being piled against forty ingots of Gelt iron when a grimy-faced, ragged boy, limping on a crutch, stumbled against him, stooped quickly sideways with a kind of clumsy, sweeping bow, and then began to beg from him.

‘No mother, sir, no father - a hard l
ife - two meld nothing to a gentl
eman like you - generous face - easy to sec you’re a lucky man - you like to meet a nice girl - be careful of rogues here - many rogues in Bekla - many thieves - perhaps one meld - need a fortune teller - you like to gamble perhaps -
1
meet you here tonight - help a poor boy - no food today -‘

His left leg had been severed above the ankle and the stump, bound in dirty cloth, hung a foot above the ground. As he shifted his weight the leg swung limply, as though there were no strength from the thigh down. He had lost a front tooth, and as he lisped out his monotonous, inexpressive offers and entreaties, red betel-stained spittle crep
t over h
is lower lip and down his chin. He had a shifty-eyed, wary look and kept his right arm sli
ghtly
bent at his side, the hand open, the thumb and fingers crooked like claws.

Suddenly Elleroth stepped forward, gripped the boy’s chin in his hand and jerked up his face to meet his own eyes. The boy gave a shrill cry and tried to back away, pouring out more words, distorted now by
Elleroth
‘s grip on his jaw.

‘Poor boy, sir, no harm,
gentle
man won’t hurt a poor boy, no work, very hard times, be of service -‘

‘How long have you followed this life?’ asked Elleroth sternly.

The boy stammered with eyes averted.

‘Don’t know, sir, four years, sir, five years, done no wrong, sir, six years perhaps, whatever you say -‘

Elleroth, with his free hand, pulled up the boy’s sleeve. Bound round the forearm was a broad
leather band and thrust beneath
it by the blade was a handsome, silver-hiked knife. Elleroth pulled it out and handed it to Mollo.

‘Didn’t feel him take it, did you? That’s the worst of wearing one’s knife in a sheath on the hip. Now stop howling, my boy, or I’ll see you flogged before the market warden -‘

‘I’ll see him flogged, howling or no,’ interrupted Mollo. ‘I’ll -‘

‘Wait a moment, my dear fellow.’ Elleroth, still grasping the boy’s chin, turned his head to one side and with his other hand thrust back his dirty hair. The lobe of the car was pierced by a round hole about as big as an orange pip. Elleroth touched it with his finger and the boy began to weep sil
ently
.

‘Genshed u arkon lowt tha?’ said
Elleroth
,
speaking in Tere
kenalt, a tongue unknown to Mollo.

The boy, who was unable to speak for his tears, nodded wretchedly.

‘Genshed varon, shu varon il pekeronta?’ The boy nodded again.

‘Listen,’ said Elleroth, reverting to
Bekla
n. ‘I am going to give you some money. As I do so I shall curse you and pretend to hit you, for otherwise a hundred wretches will come like vultures from every hole in the market. Say nothing, hide it and go, you understand? Curse you!’ he shouted, gripping the boy’s shoulder and pushing