Lord of Janissaries (120 page)

CHURCH AND STATE

26

Castle Fasolt rose proudly from a low hill at the border between Drantos and the Five Kingdoms. Ganton reined in at the top of the path it guarded, and looked down at it with his binoculars. Details were easy to see in the midmorning sun. The ground around the castle had been cleared and plowed for a Roman mile. The gates were closed, and the only road up the hill was blocked with stakes and barbs.

“I see no streams,” Lord Enipses said. “Perhaps thirst will force Ajacias—”

“There are both cisterns and a spring,” Ganton said. “I’ve been there.”

“Ah. Majesty, may I?”

“Certainly.” Ganton didn’t like parting with his binoculars for even a moment, but the request was reasonable. He put the strap over Enipses’ head before letting go of them. The University craftsmen were making single tubes they called
telescopes
that worked much as the binoculars, but the images were never as clear. Some of them even turned things upside down!

Ganton waited until Enipses had finished his examination and he had retrieved his star gift. “Well?”

“It will be no easy task,” Enipses said reluctantly. “Even with the Great Guns.”

Only one of the field pieces was really suitable as a siege cannon. The others could not fire heavy enough balls far enough to be useful against walls. Ganton had been told this often enough that he believed it, although he still did not understand why. Artillery remained a black art practiced by wizards, mostly the sons of craftsmen.
I should have paid more attention to those classes at the University. I know this now. Why didn’t I then?

“Still, we must take it,” Ganton said. “We cannot leave open this gate to Drantos.”

“Majesty,” Enipses said, “without disrespect—can we not take that castle in the same way that we drove Prince Strymon’s armies from Drantos?”

“What do you know of this?” Ganton demanded.

“Majesty, it is common knowledge! The Lady Tylara—somehow enchanted Prince Strymon. The Highpriest Apelles brought him to the knowledge of the New Christ and Your Majesty showed him that his invasion of our lands was a sin. Everyone knows this.”

“Everyone knows this. I see.”
Not only do they not give me credit for victory, I have the least part of this matter. Lord Rick once said there is no limit to what you can accomplish if you do not demand credit for it. I see I am learning this lesson better than I wanted to.
“Does everyone also know how we are going to rest tonight in that castle?”

“No, Majesty, but I am certain you do.”

Yatar’s Teeth.
Ganton lifted the binoculars to study Castle Fasolt again.
A third or more of those I see on the walls wear green and white.
Ganton smiled. “Perhaps I do, my lord. Only perhaps.”

* * *

Rain beat down on the encampment. The Guards had erected enough shelter to keep the royal campfire burning, but it didn’t keep out all the rain.

“Perhaps,” Enipses muttered.

Ganton laughed. “Not even kings have their own way all the time. At least we have a fire.”

“And they have the castle.”

“When I invited you to take Lord Morrone’s place as Companion during his absence, it did not occur to me that you would adopt his manners. May I have more wine, please?”

“At once, Majesty.” Enipses poured from the pewter flagon heating near the fire.

Someone shouted from the distance. “Stand! Who is there?”

“Balquhain do Tamaerthon and guests.”

“Stand and be recognized!”

Enipses jumped to his feet. “Guards—”

“That was Balquhain,” Ganton said. “Didn’t you recognize his voice?”

“Yes, sire—”

“And he would not come here without reason. Sit down before you insult him.”

* * *

“Guests, you said.” Ganton looked at the cloaked figures around his campfire. “Guests. Prince Strymon, what are you doing here?”

Strymon laughed. “Majesty, I am a fugitive.”

“You?”

“My choices were to flee or continue a civil war within my own army.” He glanced nervously at the others around the fire.

“I think it matters little who hears us and who doesn’t,” Ganton said. “Still—” He sighed. “Lord Enipses, if you please, I would be alone with Prince Strymon and Lord Balquhain.”

“Majesty—”

“And Apelles, of course.” Ganton poured wine while Enipses led the others out of the shelter. “Now, Highness, if you are comfortable—”

Strymon sat on the log nearest the fire. “Majesty. The vanguard of the High Rexja arrived as my rear guard crossed the border. Matthias led the Royal bodyguard. He carried a direct commission from Toris relieving me of command, and ordering my arrest for high treason.”

“I—see.” Ganton sat heavily on the log across the fire from Strymon.

“I had sent home most of the Melteme troops as escort for my brother. Only my personal Guard remained. They were sufficient to prevent Matthias carrying out his order immediately, but he and Bheromen Darkon then appealed to the soldiers from the other kingdoms. The host of Ta-Boreas rallied around Darkon, and the others were ready to follow.”

“Highness, could you not have sent for your Meltemes?” Balquhain asked.

“Perhaps, my lord, but it seemed better to let them ride on. I would rather see my brother secure in the Green Palace than have more of my Meltemes killed in a hopeless civil war.”

“Then I confess, Highness, I do not know how you got here alive,” Ganton said.

“My Lord Father Apelles,” Strymon said. “He did what I never could have. As Darkon and Matthias sought to rally the troops against me, and I saw to arming myself, Apelles rode up and down the lines of the army shouting to all the New Christians. ‘Brothers! Will you fight your Brothers? Will you take arms against the Nuncio of Archbishop Polycarp and Highpriest Yanulf?’ ”

Ganton looked quizzically at Apelles. Apelles’ face retreated deeper into the cowl of his robe.

“Great Yatar,” Balquhain muttered.

“His speech was—heard, then,” Ganton said.

“The army dissolved. Some came to me. Some threw their weapons down. Many rallied around my Lord Father Apelles, to stand between him and any who would do him harm.”

“Apelles—”

“With apologies, sire, he deserves his titles,” Strymon said.

Ganton gulped. “My Lord Father Apelles—”

“Majesty?”

“I think we will speak later. I also think Highpriest Yanulf will have something to say.”

“I make no doubt of it,” Apelles said. “But Majesty—I could think of nothing else to do. And soon Bheroman Darkon approached Prince Strymon, to offer him safe conduct from the camp—”

“He ordered me out,” Strymon said. “And I was glad to go.”

“How much of your army came with you?” Ganton asked.

“Perhaps one part in ten. At least that many more simply went home.”

“He has lost a quarter of his strength, then.”

“Of Prince Strymon’s own soldiers, Majesty,” Apelles said. “And one part in ten of those who came with Matthias have seen the True Light. They await Your Majesty’s inspection at the perimeter of this camp. Lord Drumold is with them.”

Lord Rick always said there are better ways to conquer than battles and war. I should have believed him.
“My Lord Father Apelles, you have done well indeed. Prince Strymon, who will command their army now?

“They have sent for Prince Akkilas.”

“The heir himself? Sarakos’ brother?”

“I think the army would follow no one else.”

“He is said to be hotheaded,” Ganton said. “Is this why his father has kept him from command?”

“Hah. High Rexja Toris sent the boy to me to learn the art of war. I think he has listened to too many of the tales of the prowess of his name hero. After a month I sent him back to Teveron to organize reinforcements and supplies. He is intelligent enough, but young and impetuous. It is dangerous to trust such a one with soldiers who will follow without question.”

Something to remember. Lord Rick would do much with this knowledge. Perhaps I can as well.
“Well. In any case, Highness, welcome to my hospitality, such as it is.”

Strymon laughed. “Why, Majesty, I thank you, but will you allow me to offer you mine? I know of a much dryer place we can sleep tonight.”

* * *

The stamping feet of Guardsmen sword dancers and the drone of pipes made the Great Hall of Lord Ajacias’ Castle Fasolt as noisy as a battlefield. The Wanax Ganton watched from the High Table. Prince Strymon sat at his right, and the Lord Highpriest Apelles at his left. Stewards filled their wine cups as fast as they were emptied.

Ganton remembered the last time he had sat at this table in this hall.
Well over a year ago. I received a letter from Octavia. I think it was then I knew we’d marry.

On Lord Rick’s advice he had honored Lord Ajacias with a royal visit. It had been intended to uncover any plots Ajacias might contemplate, and strip him of the gold he needed to carry them out.

Perhaps the High Rexja Toris sent more gold. Perhaps Ajacias was a greater fool than anyone could imagine. For whatever reason, this was one plan of Lord Rick’s that hadn’t succeeded. Ajacias had gone on plotting until he admitted Prince Strymon’s army into Drantos.

Thanks to Prince Strymon, the traitor cannot be hanged.
It was a bitter thought. Before Strymon would order his men to eject Ajacias and open the castle gates, he made Ganton swear to exile Ajacias.

In his place I could do no less. But the Lady Tylara is not pleased, and I think Lord Rick will be no more so. Yet what choice had I? It would take half a year to reduce this castle. My people are better employed growing food for the Time.

Ganton gulped wine, then grinned.
Only five companions chose to go with Ajacias. He will live without gold, without friends, in a foreign court. He may yet wish he had been hanged.

At that last banquet the Lady Cara, Ajacias’ daughter and heir, had partnered the Wanax at dinner. Now she was in the custody of Lady Tylara. Morrone had been King’s Companion and carved the stag. Now he led a ragged band of
guerrillas
Yatar alone knew where. And Lord Rick had watched from his own table, instead of commanding the Army of Chelm somewhere in the west.

The shaggy head of Master Gunner Pinir loomed through the candle smoke. Prince Strymon stood and raised his wine cup. “Ho, Pinir son of the smith!”

Pinir made his way around the dancers and approached the table. He looked like a full-grown war horse passing through a herd of yearlings. Even when he knelt, his eyes were on a level with Ganton’s.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness. I am at your service.”

“Indeed, and good service it has been. A full day of instructing me in the mysteries of the Great Guns. You have my thanks.”

“Highness, you are most welcome.”

Strymon laughed. “Matthias has left me little enough, but you deserve more than thanks.”

Strymon rose, and his chair went over backward with a clatter. He took a ring from his finger and gave it to Pinir. “Wear this, in token of my gratitude.”

Pinir stood and took the ring. It would barely pass the first joint of his smallest finger. “With your Majesty’s permission . . . ?”

“Oh, have it, have it.” Ganton waved his hand. “But I ask you, Prince Strymon, why do you presume to reward
my
master gunner?”

“Is it so great a presumption?”

“Great enough that I must demand satisfaction.”

Strymon laughed. “Indeed, we never broke lances against each other. I rather regret that.”

“I am as sorry as you. But I think that is a pleasure we need not be denied. One course with the lance, then on foot with my axe against whatever you choose?”

“My sword, I think. Ah, what a grand spectacle it will be! We can have three knights from each host as judges, with Chancellor Yanulf to cast a deciding vote if need be. We—”

“You will not have Yanulf, Highpriest of Yatar and Co-Vicar of Christ on Tran, to judge this foolish combat,” came a voice from behind Ganton. Strymon tried to turn around, caught his feet on his fallen chair, and fell on top of it. Ganton jumped, knocking over his wine cup. The wine dripped from the table onto his robes.

“I will not judge this combat. If you are determined on this folly, I shall stand in the middle of the lists, and you will have to ride me down!”