Kushiel's Mercy (29 page)

“Very good,” I said to him. “Where will I find you if I’ve need?”

He jerked his chin at the ship. “We’ll bunk on board until you’ve arranged for proper lodgings and the cargo can be unloaded.”

“Of course.” I fetched a smaller purse out of the inner pocket of my vest and handed it to him. “Make sure your lads have a chance to entertain themselves.”

“We’ve been paid,” Deimos said, but he took it nonetheless. “How long do you reckon we’ll be here?”

I glanced up the hill, past the sprawl of townhouses and multistory apartments, toward the costly villas. “As long as it takes. Does it matter?”

“Not really,” he said. “Just curious.” Deimos lowered his voice. “What exactly is the old ape up to, anyway? He seems deadly serious about it.”

Days at sea, and the man picks a crowded harbor to ask. Gods above, people could be stupid. I gave him my blandest smile. “Spreading goodwill, my lord captain, that Cythera may be left in peace, untouched by any trouble. Happiness is the highest form of wisdom.”

“So I’ve heard,” Deimos said dryly.

I clapped his shoulder. “I’ll send word.”

The porters and the palanquin-bearers were waiting. The latter lowered their poles, allowing me to step lightly into the palanquin. As soon as I was seated, they raised the poles and began moving forward at a smooth, steady trot. The porters followed, carrying my trunks, and a sealed trunk I’d found that bore an engraved plate with Sunjata’s name. I’d no idea what was in it, but it wasn’t listed on the manifest, and I’d thought it best to take it with me. Some business of her ladyship’s, no doubt.

We passed a sanctuary dedicated to the goddess Tanit, who I understood presided over Carthage along with Ba’al Hammon, and a vast, open space marked by a multitude of carved stelae. One of the porters freed a hand to touch his brow in a gesture of deference.

“What is that place?” I inquired.

“It is the tophet,” he said. “Many children are buried there.” After a moment, he added, “Not for a very long time. The gods have been merciful.”

What a thought! I couldn’t imagine gods cruel enough to demand such a sacrifice. “Do you have children?” I asked the porter, curious. “Could you offer them if the gods demanded it?”

“I have a son.” He jogged along, holding Sunjata’s trunk balanced atop his head. “To save my people from famine or conquest? If the gods demanded it, yes.”

“I think I’d find a gentler god to worship,” I murmured.

The porter shrugged, or made a gesture that would have been a shrug if he hadn’t been carrying a heavy trunk on his head. “What use is a gentle god?”

It was an interesting question; oddly, it made me think of the shrine of Blessed Elua in our garden when I was a boy. There had been a field of . . . no, not poppies. I’d no idea what had made me think of poppies. Elua’s effigy had stood beneath a trellis laced with climbing sweet-pea vines. My mother used to send me out there to pray and contemplate when I’d done something bad, like poked Darielle with a pin to make her scream. I’d usually fall asleep, basking in the scent of sweet-peas, feeling safe and content beneath Elua’s enigmatic smile.

I supposed Blessed Elua was a gentle god.

“I’ll think on it,” I said to the porter, who merely grunted.

They took me to an inn on the slopes of the hill, which was indeed quite acceptable. The proprietor as an unctuous fellow, dressed in loose robes of good quality, jewels flashing on his fingers.

“Maharbal is here to serve you, young lord,” he said with a bow, then paused. “My lord is from Terre d’Ange?”

“By birth, yes.” I smiled at him. “But no, my lord is from the Governor of Cythera, and it is there that my loyalties lie.” It was true enough in its own way, so long as his purpose accorded with her ladyship’s. “Leander Maignard. I come bearing gifts of goodwill for General Astegal’s bride.” I gestured loosely toward the harbor. “They’ll be transported once I’ve arranged for a proper household, naturally.”

“Naturally.” Maharbal touched his fingertips together. “I would be pleased to assist your lordship. As it happens, I have a cousin . . .”

“There’s always a cousin,” I observed.

“Indeed.” His smile faded somewhat. “I think you would find her accommodations most suitable for a D’Angeline lord of style.” He cocked his head. “How passing odd that you find yourself in the service of Cythera.”

“’Tis a long, long story.” I spread my hands. “His eminence thought the young princess might take kindly to seeing a fellow countryman. One
without
loyalties to Terre d’Ange.” Another broad smile. “Although of course the princess need not know this. It is understood that there is some delicacy to the situation.”

“I see,” Maharbal said dubiously.

I laughed and patted one of the nearest trunks. “Don’t worry, good Maharbal. My papers were inspected in the harbor. I have letters of introduction from Ptolemy Solon to a dozen of Carthage’s luminaries. You or your cousin won’t find yourself harboring a D’Angeline spy, if that’s what you fear.”

“Of course not!” he protested. “Come, come, let me show you to your chambers.” He snapped his fingers for a servant. “Have his lordship’s things brought.”

Well, of course he feared I was a spy. I’d watched the suspicion emerge when I’d blunted the edge of his greed with the comment about his cousin. It was bound to emerge sooner or later, so best to get it out of the way. And people were predictable. Confronted with the very suspicion in the forefront of their thoughts, they’ll deny it almost every time, even though it’s written on their faces.

And the ironic thing was that I hadn’t exactly lied. I
was
in Ptolemy Solon’s service for this mission. But even among those members of the Unseen Guild in Carthage who knew of her ladyship’s existence, I doubted anyone would suspect that the Wise Ape of Cythera was sufficiently besotted to risk such a dangerous venture as I was undertaking; and moreover, that her ladyship would implore him to risk it on behalf of the son who’d recently sought to have her slain.

I couldn’t fathom it myself.

A gentle god, indeed. Mayhap not.

I followed Maharbal to a pleasant suite of rooms, complete with a pert little serving maid to attend me. She eyed me with interest, not particularly caring if I was a spy. I winked at her and wondered how close-knit the web of intrigue that bound Carthage’s servants and slaves was. To wit, if I bedded the chambermaid in Carthage’s most fashionable inn, would this bit of gossip find its way to the princess’ household staff? And did they gossip with their young D’Angeline mistress?

Mayhap, mayhap not.

Best to be circumspect. As her ladyship had said,
just be safe.

It was growing late in the day. I had the chambermaid show me to the inn’s modest bath, declining with regret her offer of assistance. The evening air held just a touch of coolness. I luxuriated in the warm waters, washing the salt grime from the long sea voyage off my skin, unbraiding and washing my hair, letting it float on the surface of the water. When I climbed out of the pool, clad in naught but my ruby eardrops, there were a handful of peeping gazes. I stood beside the pool, shaking water out of my hair.

“See anything you like, ladies?” I called.

Most of them giggled and scattered. My chambermaid came forward, blushing, to proffer a linen robe.

“If my lordship wishes . . .” she whispered.

“He does.” I lifted her chin with two fingers. “But I have duties to attend to, my peach, and I am weary from my journey.” I kissed her lips, feeling them part beneath mine. “Another day, mayhap.”

The chambermaid trembled a little. “Do you promise?”

I smiled into her eyes and lied. “Of course I do.”

Later, the words haunted me. Unfulfilled desire made me restless. I tossed and turned on my sheets, which were not so fine as those in her ladyship’s household. I should have bedded the chambermaid. After all, who would find that odd? Like as not, it was odder that I’d refused. After all, I wasn’t meant to be coming to Carthage with the intent of seducing the Dauphine. Not so far as the world knew, not so far as she knew. There was no reason I shouldn’t bed a willing girl. It might even have had
more
impact if the princess knew, later, that I’d eschewed all others, ostensibly in love with her. On the other hand, if I established myself as a rake, whatever dragons Astegal had left guarding his household would hardly be inclined to allow me access to his wife.

Gods, this was more complicated than I’d reckoned.

Why did the lie trouble me?

Because, I decided, it wasn’t worthy of her ladyship. Despite all the vitriol leveled at her, she lied very seldom, and only to a purpose. And she never made false promises. She maintained her own unfathomable standards of integrity. And although she did not demand that of her people, it irritated me that I’d fallen short of it for so little reason.

I resolved to do better. I would give the chambermaid some little trinket and an apology; like as not, that would suffice to thrill the lass. And as far as slaking my desire went, I’d err on the side of discretion.

After all, that wouldn’t be a problem. I hadn’t seen Sunjata for a couple of years, but I couldn’t imagine that much had changed between us. And for a surety, one couldn’t ask for a more discreet lover than Sunjata.

Twenty-Six

I
n the morning, Maharbal escorted me to his cousin’s villa. It seemed the lady’s husband was a minor Carthaginian lord and a captain in the service of General Astegal’s army. While he was away, she had retired to their country estate, and Maharbal saw no reason why the villa should remain empty when there was a tidy profit to be turned.

I liked it. It was a bit small, but then I was accustomed to her ladyship’s vast and labyrinthine estate. The mosaic floors were of good quality and the frescoes on the walls were tasteful. The gardens were pleasant.

It wasn’t in the most elite neighborhood, but it was clearly a neighborhood of quality. The surrounding villas spoke of well-to-do families, ambitious without being grasping. Nothing ostentatious, but nothing overly modest. If I wanted to be careful and discreet, this struck just the right tone.

As an added advantage, the lady in question had left a handful of her household behind to tend to the maintenance and security of the villa. All I’d need to hire were bearers for a palanquin.

“My cousin’s servants would be at your service, naturally,” Maharbal said, pointing out this fact.

I pursed my lips. “I prefer to oversee the hiring of my own household.”

He sniffed. “I assure you, they are more than competent.”

I glanced around. “It’s rather small.”

“You are but one man,” Maharbal observed. “It is space sufficient for a small family.”

“Ah, but I may wish to entertain while I’m here,” I said. “One could not hope to dine with more than a dozen folk.”

Maharbal shrugged. “I suspect you’ll find that many of his eminence’s acquaintances are not in residence during wartime.”

We played the game for a while longer; then I relented and expressed grudging interest. Maharbal made an outrageous offer, which I countered. After copious haggling, we came to an accommodation.

“Very good,” he said. “If you wish, I would be pleased to accompany you to the slave-market to purchase bearers. I can tell you which merchants are reputable, and which beat or starve their wares.”

An edge had crept into his voice. I sensed Maharbal was testing me, waiting to see if I would protest out of delicate D’Angeline sensibilities. “Excellent!” I gave him a bright smile. “Let’s go at once.”

Maharbal bowed. “Of course.”

We proceeded to the slave-market in the inn’s double palanquin. In my opinion, it was a singularly stupid and inefficient manner of travel. I’d sooner ride astride or in a carriage, or even go on foot, which would be just as swift and considerably less jarring. But it was clear, travelling the streets of Carthage, that no one of quality walked. The only folk I saw on horseback appeared to be couriers, and many of the streets were too narrow to admit a carriage.

So, palanquins.

The slave-market was in a forum lined with voluminous silk tents. Maharbal gave his bearers leave to rest in the shade at one end of the forum, while we strolled and perused the wares.

“Will you be wanting a girl?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pointed at a tawny lovely with a defiant gaze. “Amazigh. They’re desert folk. Stay away from them. The women are as like to stab you as kiss you.”

“No girl.” I shook my head.

“Ah.” Maharbal raised his brows. “A boy?”

“No,” I said firmly. “My friend, it’s been over ten years since I’ve set foot on Terre d’Ange, but there is one part of my heritage I retain. I’ll not take anyone, man or woman, as an unwilling bed partner.”

“A man of scruples,” he said with amusement. “I see.”

“Oh, one or two,” I replied easily.

Maharbal laughed. “Somehow, I suspect that getting willing bed partners is no obstacle for you, my lord. Come, let’s have a look at the brute muscle. Strytanus keeps a healthy stable.”

We strolled over to a blue tent where the slave-merchant Strytanus did indeed keep a healthy stable.

I’d been to slave-markets before, but only in her ladyship’s company, and only knowing that any slave purchased on Cythera would serve no more than seven years’ time, which really wasn’t much worse than the custom of indentured service in Terre d’Ange. And, of course, any slaves purchased by her ladyship were given their freedom and the opportunity to enter her service, which served the dual purpose of assuaging her ladyship’s deep-seated remorse for her son’s suffering, as well as building her loyal network.

This was different.

Carthage had no such laws. Most of the slaves sold here would live and die as slaves, unless by some chance they were clever or useful enough to rise very, very high in their master’s estimation. And anyone being sold for brute muscle was unlikely to stand such a chance.

“Where are you from?” I asked an older hulking fellow with a squashed nose.

“Hellas,” he said briefly. “I was a wrestler.”

“What happened?” I asked.