Century of the Soldier: The Collected Monarchies of God (Volume Two) (72 page)

Sharing a skin of wine with Marsch and Andruw on the battlements of Hedeby, after their first battle together. Drunk with victory and the comradeship that had enriched it, momentarily believing that all things were possible.

"Yes, I will," he answered when Macrobius asked him the question. And he had the cold gold slipped upon his finger. Odelia looking into his eyes, the years all come crowding into her face at last. When he set the other ring in place she clenched her fist around it as if to prevent it ever slipping off. Her kiss was dry and chaste as a mother's. A few moments later the crown was set upon his head. It was surprisingly light, nothing like the weight of a helm. It might have been made of tinsel and feathers for all Corfe felt it.

When he straightened, the sunlight caught the precious metals of his crown and set it aflame, and all the bells of Torunn's cathedral began tolling at once in peal after jubilant peal, and outside he could hear the massed crowds of people who were now his subjects set up a mighty roar.

And it was done. He had a wife once more, and Torunna a King.

T
HE
M
ERDUK AMBASSADOR
was first in line at the levee that afternoon. Corfe and his Queen received him in the huge audience hall of the palace, flanked by guards and palace functionaries. The new Steward was present - none other than Colonel Passifal, appointed by Royal decree. He stood to one side of the trio of thrones looking uncomfortable but oddly determined. General Aras, also present, had been elevated to Commander-in-Chief of the army, with Formio as a de facto second-in-command. The Fimbrian was Corfe's first choice, but as Odelia had made very clear, even a king had to think twice before placing the national army under the command of a foreigner.

Corfe needed familiar faces about him, and they were becoming increasingly hard to find. The third throne on the dais was occupied by another one, that of Macrobius. Standing beside him was Albrec, and a gnomish old cleric named Mercadius, who could speak fluent Merduk. The strange thing was, Corfe shared a history with almost all of those present. He had fought side by side with Aras, Formio and Passifal. He had saved Macrobius's life. He had escaped from Fournier's dungeons with Albrec. The war had cost him his wife, and the best comrades he had ever known, but had it not been for the war, he would never have known the friendship of men like these, like Andruw and Marsch, and he would have been the poorer for it.

Mehr Jirah entered the audience chamber without ceremony, flanked only by a pair of Merduk clerics who looked surprisingly similar to Ramusian monks, albeit without tonsures. Mercadius of Orfor translated his speech into Normannic for the assembled listeners.

"These are the words I was bade to say to the King of Torunna by my master, the Sultan of Ostrabar:

"'We send greetings to Torunna's new King, and congratulate him on his unexpected elevation. Truly, God has been kind to him. We will suffer ourselves to speak to him now as one soldier to another, in terms as plain as we can make them. The slaughter of our young men has gone on long enough. We have carpeted the world with the bodies of our dead, and in the name of God and his Prophet, we offer the new Torunnan King this chance to end the killing. In our generosity we will withhold the wrath of our mighty armies, and suffer the kingdom of Torunna to survive, if King Corfe will merely acknowledge the suzerainty of Aurungzeb the Great, Sultan of Ostrabar, conqueror of Aekir and Ormann Dyke. He has to but bend his knee to us, and this war will come to an end, and we shall have peace between our peoples for all time. What says Torunna's Monarch?'"

There was an angry stir from the assembled Torunnans as Mercadius translated the words, and Aras took a step forward, his hand going to where his sword should have been. But no-one bore arms in the Audience Chamber save the King alone. Corfe stood up, eyes flashing.

"Mehr Jirah, you are known to some of us here. I have been told you are a man of integrity and honour, and so I ask you to remember that what I say now is not directed at you or the faith you profess - a faith we now know to be almost the same as our own. This is to Aurungzeb, your lord.

"Tell him that Torunna will never submit to him, not if he brings ten times the armies he possesses in front of her walls. At Armagedir he tried to destroy us, and we defeated him. If we have to, we will defeat him again. We will never surrender, not if we must fight to the last man hiding in the hills. We will fight him until the world cracks open at Doomsday.

"Peace we would have, yes, but only if he takes his beaten armies and leaves Torunna's soil forever. If he does not, I swear by my God that I will drive him out. His people will never know a moment of rest while I live. If it takes twenty years, I will throw him back beyond the Ostian river. I will slay every Merduk man, woman and child who falls into my hands. I will burn his cities and salt his soil. I will make of his kingdom a howling wilderness, and wipe the very memory of Ostrabar and its Sultan from the face of the world."

A great cheer erupted in the chamber. Mehr Jirah looked shocked for a moment, but quickly regained his dignified poise.

"That is our answer. Take it back to your master, and make it clear to him that there will be no second chance. I am King here now, and I will not hesitate to mobilise every able man in my kingdom to back my words. He no longer fights an army, but an entire people. This is his choice, now and only now - peace, or a war that will last another hundred years. Tell him to think carefully. His decision will alter the very fate of the world for him and all those who come after him. Now you may go."

Mehr Jirah bowed. He nodded at Albrec, and then turned on his heel and left. Corfe took his seat once more. "Passifal, our next supplicant, if you please." He had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the surf of talk in the hall.

Odelia leaned over the arm of her throne and whispered fiercely in his ear.

"Are you out of your mind? Have you no notion of diplomacy at all? We had a chance to halt the war - now you are set on starting it again."

"No. I may be no diplomat, but I have some military insight. He can't fight on. We've beaten him, and he has to be told that. And I didn't fight Armagedir so that I could place my neck in a Merduk yoke. He thinks he knows what war is - he has no idea. If he is stupid and proud enough to keep fighting now
, I will show him how war can be waged."

There was such contained ferocity about Corfe as he spoke that Odelia's retort died in her throat. At that moment she realised that she had overreached herself. She had thought that Corfe, once King, would be content to lead armies and fight wars, while she negotiated the treaties and dictated policy. She knew better now. Not only would he rule, and rule in all things, but other rulers would want to deal with him and him alone, not with his ageing Queen. It was he who had won the war, after all. It was he whom the common people mobbed in the streets and cheered at every opportunity. Even her own attendants looked first to him now.

She uttered a bitter little laugh that was lost in the next fanfare. All her life she had ruled through men. Now one had come to power through her, and reduced her to a cipher.

A
URUNGZEB RECEIVED
M
EHR
Jirah in silence. In the sumptuous ostentation of his tent he had Corfe's words relayed to him by the mullah and listened patiently as his officers and aides expressed outrage at the Ramusian's insolence. His Queen sat beside him, also silent. He took her cold hand, thinking of his son in her belly, and what world he might be born into. He had the makings of it here, at this moment. And for the first time in his life he was afraid.

"Batak," he said at last. "That little beast of your flits about the Torunnan palace day and night. What say you in this matter?"

The mage pondered a moment. "I think his words, my Sultan, are not empty. This man is not a braggart. He does what he says."

"We have all realised that by now, I think," Aurungzeb said wryly. "Shahr Baraz?"

The old Merduk shrugged. "He's the best soldier they've ever produced. I believe he and my father would have had much in common."

"Is there no-one around me who can give me some wisdom in their counsel?" Aurungzeb snapped. "I am surrounded by platitude-mouthing old women! Where is Shahr Johor?"

The occupants of the tent looked at one another. Finally Akran, the chamberlain, ventured, "You - ah - you had him executed this morning, Majesty."

"What? Oh, yes of course. Well, that was inevitable. He should have died with his men at Armagedir. Blood of God, what happened there? How did he do it? We should have won!"

"We did, at least, destroy those accursed red horsemen, Majesty," Serrim the eunuch offered.

"Yes, those scarlet fiends. And we slew ten thousand more of his army, did we not? He must be as severely crippled as we are! How does he come to be making threats? What manner of maniac is he? Does he know nothing of the niceties of negotiation?"

The gathering of attendants, advisors and officials said nothing. In the quiet they could hear the crowds of Torunn still cheering, less than half a league away. The noise grated on Aurunbzeb's nerves. Why did they cheer him? He had led so many of their sons and fathers to their deaths, and yet they loved him for it. The Torunnans - there was a collective madness about them. They were a people unhinged. How did one deal with that? When Aurungzeb spoke again the petulance in his voice was like that of a child refused a treat.

"I asked him for safe conduct, the reception of an ambassador -
I opened negotiations with the bastard!
Now he must give something in return. Isn't that right, Batak?"

"Undoubtedly, sire. But remember that he is reputed to be nothing more than a common soldier, a peasant. He has no idea of protocol, or the basic courtesies that exist between monarchs. The conventions of diplomacy are beyond him - he speaks the language of the barrack-room only."

"That may be no bad thing," Shahr Baraz rumbled. "At least if he gives his word on a thing, you can be sure he'll keep it."

"Don't prate to me about the virtues of soldiers," Aurungzeb growled. "They are over-rated."

No-one spoke for a time. The members of the court had never seen their Sultan so unsure, so needful of advice. He had always been one to follow his own counsel, even if it meant flying in the face of facts.

"The war must end," Mehr Jirah said. "Of that there is no question. Thirty thousand of our men died at Armagedir. Our army can fight no more."

"Then neither can his!"

"I think it can, Sultan. The Torunnans are not striving for conquest, but for survival. They will never give up, especially with this man leading them. Armagedir was the last chance we had to win the war at a stroke - every one of our soldiers knows it. They also know now that this is no longer a Holy War. The Ramusians are not infidels, but co-believers in the Prophet -"

"That's you and your damn preachings have done that," Aurungzeb raged.

"Would you deny the tenets of your own faith?" Mehr Jirah asked, unintimidated.

"No - no, of course not. All right then. It seems I have no choice. We will remain in negotiation. Mehr Jirah, Batak, Shahr Baraz, the three of you will go to Torunn in the morning and offer to broker a treaty. But no backsliding mind! God knows I have grovelled enough for one day. Ahara - you were once a Ramusian. What say you? Are they right in this thing? Will this new soldier-king fight us to the end?"

Heria did not look at him. She placed a hand on her swollen abdomen. "You will have a son soon, my lord. I would like him to grow up in peace. Yes, this man will never give in. He - Father Albrec told me that he had too much iron in him. But he is a good man at heart. A decent man. He will keep his word, once given."

"Perhaps," Aurungzeb grunted. "I must say, I have a perverse hankering to meet him, face to face. Perhaps if we sign a treaty we may pay him a state visit." And he laughed harshly. "The times are changing, indeed."

No-one noticed how white Heria's face had gone - the veil was good for that much at least.

T
HE WAR BETWEEN
the Merduks and the Ramusians had begun so long ago that no-one except the historians was sure in what year the two peoples had first come to blows. But everyone now knew when it had ended. In the first year of the reign of King Corfe, the same year the Fantyr dynasty had ceased to be.

And five and a half centuries after the coming of the Blessed Saint who had also been the Prophet, the dual nature of Ramusio was finally recognised, and the two great religions he had founded came together and admitted their common origin. All this was written into the Treaty of Armagedir, a document it took soldiers and scholars several weeks to hammer out in a spacious tent erected half way between the walls of Torunn and the Merduk encampment especially for that purpose.

The Merduks agreed to make the Searil River the border of their new domain. Khedi Anwar, which had once been Ormann Dyke, became the westernmost of their settlements, and Aekir was renamed Aurungabar, and designated the Ostrabarian capital. The cathedral of Carcasson was transformed into the Temple of Pir-Sar, and both Merduks and Ramusians were to be allowed to worship there, since it had been made holy by the founder of both their faiths. Those Aekirian refugees who wished to return to their former home were free to do so without fear of molestation, and the monarchs of Torunna and Ostrabar exchanged ambassadors and set up embassies in each other's capitals.