Lord of Janissaries (86 page)

“Gwen Tremaine. Why?”

“Look, can I have a drink?”

“Sure.” Rick gestured to Mason. “And have a seat.” He indicated the bench beside the oak table. “Just remember, my office is a hell of a lot more comfortable than where they’ll take you if I get tired of listening. Now what’s all this about?”

“Arnie wants to come in.”

“Good. We want him. What’s that got to do with Gwen Tremaine?”

“What do we come in as?” Rand asked. “Not just us. Our friends. Wives. Relatives. There’s a lot of us.”

“And Gwen?” Rick kept his voice deceptively calm.

“Bargaining chip. Figured if we had her you’d listen while we talked status.”

Rick’s orderly came in with a pitcher of wine and goblets. Rick poured three. Mason shook his head and stood in the corner. “I’ll pass.”

“Christ, Art, you don’t have to worry about me,” Rand said.

“It’s Major Mason.”

“Well smell—yes, sir. Major Mason.”

“And don’t play games, Rand.” Art Mason sounded tired. “Bargaining chips are fine, but who did you mean to bargain with?”

Rand looked scared.

“Thought so. Colonel, they want to grow goddamn madweed and sell it direct.”

“Cut out the middlemen, so to speak,” Rick said. “That true, Rand?”

Rand gulped wine. “Yes, sir.”

“What made you think it would work?”

“We—”

“Who?” Mason demanded. “One of my troops?”

“I don’t know—”

“Bull shit. You’ve got a spy in the University. Right in Lady Gwen’s office, probably,” Mason said. “That’s one of mine, and I want the son of a bitch dead. If I can’t have him I’ll take your balls to make a purse out of.”

“Dammit Major, I don’t know! Gengrich knows, but I don’t.”

“And he sent you—”

“No.”

Mason started to say something, but Rick gestured him to silence. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Gengrich don’t know nothing about this.”

“I think you’d better explain.”

“I’m trying to! Look, we’re all in the same racket, right? Only you’re doing better than the rest of us. But we’re all in the same damn boat.”

“On the same planet,” Rick said. “So?”

“Captain, we never deserted from you. After Parsons ran you off, we ducked out on him. By the time you were back in charge we had things going down south. Now you get stuff from that flying saucer, and we get dick. Dammit, that ain’t fair.”

Mason snorted.

“Well, okay, Ar—Major. You ducked out with Captain Galloway. Smart move. We cut cards on that. Remember?”

“Damn all. He’s right, Colonel. I forgot. Rand was one of them that volunteered to go with you, only Elliot wouldn’t let but one go.”

“Okay. How does that change things? Who the hell are you working for?”

“Some locals. Daettan of Dirstvaal.”

“Gengrich’s ambassador.”

“Well, yeah, only—look, Colonel, there’s a lot of them. Locals. They’re scared. They figured if they had Gwen, they’d have a chance. We could trade her to Gengrich. Or you. Or something.”

“In other words,” Mason said, “Gengrich is running out of ammo, has a lot of locals mixed in with his troops, and ain’t got a pot to piss in.”

“Pretty close,” Rand said.

“And he didn’t approve this operation.”

“Christ no! But he does want to talk.”

“Right. Mason, take over. I’d better get back to the meeting.”

“What do I do with this one?”

“Dammit—Major—I got a name and you know it. Look, okay, it was a fool stunt and we lost, but I got a right to hire out. Don’t I? What the hell am I supposed to do in this stinking place?”

Good question.
“Just talk to him, Art. Hang in there, Rand. We’ll think of something.”

Rick left the office. A dozen guardsmen fell in around him as he went down the corridor to the Council chamber.

* * *

Clavell and Beazeley stood outside the Council chamber door. Both held battle rifles. A dozen guardsmen with drawn swords were with them.

“Alert’s over,” Rick said. “We got them. Remember Rand?”

“Harv Rand,” Clavell said. “Yeah, he was in my squad back in Africa. Good man with a garotte.”

“Too good for one of our sentries.” Rick spoke in English too rapidly for any local to understand. “Anyway, we got him. And the others. You can stand down.”

“Yes, sir.”

Inside the chamber things looked about the same—except that Elliot, Warner, and Gwen all had pistols lying on the table. Ganton’s Browning was still in its holster, but the strap was undone.

Rick glanced at Tylara. No weapon in sight. But her right hand was in her left sleeve. . . .

Larry Warner was reading from a long document. After a moment it was obvious what it was. The official history of the coming of the starmen.

“Alert’s over,” Rick said.

“You say no more than that?” Ganton demanded.

“No more to say, my Lord Count. Some thieves attempted to rob the house assigned to the Lady Gwen. They have been captured. Two guardsmen were killed, and one wounded.”
That’ll do for now.
“If you’ll continue, my lord?” Rick gestured to Warner.

“Yes, sir.”

Warner read with animation. In ten minutes he had killed Sarakos in a village boobytrapped with a ton of gunpowder, married off Rick and Tylara, delivered their daughter Isobel, and was starting on Marselius Caesar’s rebellion.

Not really rebellion. After our raids into Marselius’ prefecture he could either revolt or let Flaminius the Dotard kill him. Not much choice there.

“So Marselius Caesar, Tamaerthon, and the Realm of Drantos became allies against Flaminius. Their host marched into the Dotard’s land and fought a great battle against the Romans under the Legate Titus Licinius Frugi. The Romans fought gallantly, but to no avail against the star weapons, the balloon, and the valor of the men of Drantos and Tamaerthon. A wise captain, Titus Licinius Frugi yielded to save his men, and thus ended the Roman civil war.”

Ganton smiled. “I see that Lord Rick follows the custom of Drantos, and does not boast of his deeds. The tale of that battle passes over his capturing Titus Frugi with his own hands.”

“It is enough that you know, your—my Lord Count.”

After the Roman alliance came Bishop Polycarp’s vision. One night he had dreamed that Yatar came to him and proclaimed that Christ was His Only Begotten Son, borne of Hestia, who had taken the form of a mortal woman. So the followers of Yatar and the followers of Christ should be as brothers to one another.

For some people on both sides the vision came as a blessing; there was a real “ecumenical movement” growing up on both sides. For others it was like throwing a hand grenade into the middle of a cocktail party. There were the rumors about that madman in the south, and the priests of Vothan hadn’t been heard from yet. Rick didn’t like to think about what the priests would have to say.

The rest of the story was mostly the campaign against the Westmen, ending in Ganton’s great victory at the Hooey River and the withdrawal of the Westmen to the north. After that came a note on Caradoc’s death in a riot, another on the betrothal of Ganton to Octavia Caesar (who’d come to Drantos as a hostage but would remain as a queen), and a wish that Yatar and Christ His Son might bless all who read these words.

Rick led a round of applause.

Warner had the grace to blush. “Thank you, my lords and ladies. Does this mean I can put the scribes on to making copies?”

Ganton nodded. “Speaking for the Wanax, I say yes. I am sure he will want as many of the wedding guests as possible to carry away this wisdom when they depart.”

How many of them would call it wisdom and how many would call it heresy, God (any or all, take your pick) only knew, but they had to start somewhere. In fact, Rick wondered if that might not be a good, if unofficial, motto for the House of Galloway—“You have to start somewhere.”

* * *

Lucius dipped his gullfeather pen in the ink and continued writing. No doubt the young men learning to write now would find the new iron-tipped pens child’s play, but he was too old a dog to learn new tricks.

Also a rather weary one, with little hope of getting a decent night’s sleep before the wedding. The Demon Star was already sinking toward the hills beyond the Roman camp, the wedding would begin shortly after noon, and yet this letter to Marselius had to be completed before he could rest.

The Lord Rick told the Council that thieves invaded the University. They could be no ordinary thieves. My agent with the Guardsmen tells me that one of these thieves had a star weapon, and spoke in a strange language with the Lord Rick. The man was of the party sent by the Star Lord Gengrich. We may be safe in assuming this was no ordinary robbery attempt. I could speculate on the real purpose, but my guesses will be no better than yours.

Could there be opportunity here? It may be that Lord Gengrich would welcome new allies. Certainly we could use assistance in recovering the lost southern provinces, and Gengrich is there.

It was the Wanax’s wish that Lady Octavia be told of the night’s events at once. He grew angry at the suggestion that she might not bear the news well, saying that it was to insult his bride and Caesar’s House to suggest she lacked the courage to hear bad news.

It fell to me to be the news-bringer. Lady Cyra, chief among Octavia’s new Drantos attendants, attempted to bar my path until I had given her the message, which I was strictly instructed to bring only to Octavia’s ears. When Octavia did appear, Lady Cyra refused to depart, and only force could have moved her.

When I gave the news to Octavia, Lady Cyra screamed aloud and flew into a great passion, crying that it was an evil omen for the Wanax’s marriage. Lady Octavia flew into as great a rage as I have ever seen in her, and said that Lady Cyra was a fool. It was a very good omen, that those loyal to the throne of Drantos could so easily defeat an attack by one of its enemies. She would pray to Christ and his Father Yatar that the throne should face no worse enemies in the years to come.

She then asked if the dead Guardsmen had wives or children. When told that one had a daughter of three and a second child to be born in mid-winter, she swore before Yatar, Christ, Hestia, and all the saints to provide the daughter with a dowry when she came of age and to stand godmother to the unborn child.

This silenced Lady Cyra, a feat I had thought impossible. With her present I could not linger, but I assure you that I have never in my life felt so proud of Octavia.

I do not know if Lady Cyra is naturally lacking in good sense or seeks to wield power over the Lady Octavia. I also do not know if such a desire is her own, or given to her by her husband Bheroman Kilantis. He is a leader among those lords who swore oath to Sarakos and were afterward pardoned. Not a few of those are less than pleased with the Roman alliance; they fear that a Wanax of Drantos with legions at his command may seek to rule without the consent of his nobles and knights, in the manner of a Caesar. The fear is all the greater, because Ganton’s father Loron did exactly that, and so brought much suffering to Drantos.

And it is time you bring this letter to a close, Lucius! You are telling Caesar things that he already knows. Next, you will be telling him that his son Publius does not much care to have Titus Frugi commanding the cohorts charged with his safety at the wedding. . . .

Lucius spread sand on the parchment, shook it off, rolled the parchment into a wooden cylinder, and sealed it. Then he stamped the still-soft wax with his signet and rang for a messenger.

4

Archbishop Polycarp wore his pearl-studded mitre and his robes of cloth-of-gold. Highpriest Yanulf wore his robes of blue
garta
cloth and carried his great silver staff set with Father’s Eyes. To Apelles, neither priest appeared half as splendid as the royal couple kneeling before them.

The Wanax Ganton wore his finest robes under a cloak of ermine and the Great Crown of Drantos. Its rubies and amber threw back the light from the hundreds of candles blazing around the altar, until it seemed that the Wanax wore a crown of flame.

Lady Octavia was dressed more in the Roman style, with a mantle of cream-colored
garta
trimmed with gold over a bronze-hued gown of the finest linen trimmed with pearls. She also wore a veil hanging from a circlet of silver flowers, in the manner of the women of the skyfolk. At the end of the ceremony, the Wanax would lift that veil to kiss his bride.