Mariners of Gor (62 page)

The marchers were weary.

Given the Ahn, I feared they had marched all night.

They were drawn, and haggard, perhaps thirsting, perhaps hungry. Some men staggered, and some limped. Some men were aided by others. We saw some borne on litters. Many were in soiled, rent garments. Some wore bandages. A number were bloodied.

“How far behind is the column?” I inquired of a marcher.

He looked at me, vacantly, not responding.

Beside me now were Philoctetes, Aeacus, and Tereus.

“How far behind is the column?” I asked a second fellow.

“This is the column,” he said, not looking at me.

“No speaking!” warned a Pani warrior, within, directing the bannermen, and their attendant troops, to follow him, away from the castle.

Turgus now joined me, come down from the parapet.

“There were a hundred Pani,” I said. “I see almost none.”

“Gone,” said Turgus.

“There were four hundred armsmen,” I said. “I do not think more than a hundred returned.”

“The force, obviously,” said Turgus, “was cut to pieces.”

“I saw no Pani officers,” I said.

“Probably most died in battle,” said Turgus. “Others, I suspect, would not return and face Lord Temmu.”

“They fled?” I said.

“That is not likely,” said Turgus.

“Captured?” I said.

“I do not think so,” said Turgus.

“What then?” I asked.

“It has to do with honor,” he said.

“It is no disgrace to be defeated in battle,” I said, “if one is outfought, if one has done one’s best.”

“I agree,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“We are not Pani,” he said.

The first gate was then shut, and then the second, and then that near us.

“I do not think we will soon march,” said Philoctetes.

“The village below,” I said, “has been abandoned.”

“It is likely to be burned,” said Aeacus.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“I spoke to a fellow, who spoke to one, lower on the trail,” said Aeacus. “The enemy is moving toward us.”

“In what strength?” I asked.

“I do not think we know,” said Philoctetes.

“It is speculated,” said Aeacus, “that it is between five and seven thousand
ashigaru
.”

“I would guess,” said Philoctetes, “that the exploratory force encountered little more than its vanguard.”

“We would then, I conjecture,” I said, “be much outnumbered.”

“Yes,” said Aeacus.

I supposed Lord Temmu, who had furnished the hundred Pani who marched with the exploratory force, had some two thousand troops on which he might rely, most housed within the castle grounds. Lords Nishida and Okimoto, as I estimated their warriors, had some three hundred and fifty men. Of armsmen and mariners, I supposed we retained some eleven hundred men, after the apparent debacle of the exploratory force. All in all, as far as I could estimate these things, we must have something less than thirty-five hundred men at arms. Peasants might be impressed as
ashigaru
, but, I suspected, from what I had seen earlier, many of the local peasants might have left their villages and fields, and withdrawn to the mountains. We did have some one hundred and forty tarns back in the mountains, with their riders and auxiliary personnel. Whatever might be the initial psychological impact of the tarn on those unfamiliar with its form of life, it would be only a matter of time before it became clear to the enemy that the tarn, however formidable, was a natural creature, limited, and mortal, nothing dreadfully mysterious, no unnatural and inexplicable dragon bird, sprung from the clouds, gifted with the ability to blight fields, towns, and armies. Too, whereas a tarn cavalry can acquire intelligence, strike unexpectedly, cut supply lines, and such, it is of limited value against a distributed land force. In this way it differs from the crashing thunder of a tharlarion charge, or the swift attack of kaiila-mounted lancers.

“How close,” asked Tereus of Aeacus, “is the enemy?”

“One gathers,” said Aeacus, “its sighting may be imminent.”

“Not necessarily,” said Turgus.

“How so?” said Aeacus.

“I have learned,” said Turgus, “from Lord Nishida, that this holding can withstand a siege of thousands, and has done so more than once.”

“So?” said Aeacus.

“Thus I see no rush to be upon us,” said Turgus.

“But the enemy is advancing,” said Tereus.

“Yes,” said Turgus.

“We will be penned here,” said Tereus. “Waiting to be stormed, or to die, of thirst or starvation.”

“The castle is equipped, of course,” said Turgus, “with reservoirs, and supplies.”

“We are muchly outnumbered,” said Tereus. “Many will see little to be gained by huddling together in this place, without prospects.”

“We are not Pani,” said Aeacus.

“There is honor to be satisfied,” I said. “Many of these men have taken fee.”

“This is not our war, and not our country,” said Aeacus.

“Fee has been taken,” I said.

“I smell smoke,” said Philoctetes.

“The village,” said Tereus.

He looked across the courtyard, where Seremides, seeing him, quickly, awkwardly, hobbled away.

Tereus’ hand went to the dagger at his belt.

He doubtless remembered Thoas and Andros, and Aeson.

At this point, a Pani crier began to cry out. A set of feasts were to be prepared, served in dozens of rooms, and barracks, and in the courtyard, at long tables, celebrating the victory of the exploratory force. I heard then the roll of drums once more, and the soundings of conch trumpets.

“It seems,” said Turgus, “victory is ours.”

“What victory?” said Philoctetes.

“The return of the exploratory force, some of it,” laughed Tereus, and then he turned away from us.

I watched, to make certain he did not follow Seremides.

“Slaves will serve the feast, will they not?” asked Aeacus.

“One supposes so,” I said.

“They are likely to know nothing of what has occurred,” said Philoctetes.

“They will see it as a victory feast,” said Aeacus.

“I suppose so,” I said.

“I hope they will have tarsk,” said a man.

I hoped that, too, as I was growing weary of rice and parsit. The Pani do raise tarsk, verr, and, of course, vulos.

“Perhaps they will break out paga,” I said.

Some had been brought to the castle from the ship.

“Let us have a good time,” said Turgus.

“Let us commemorate the beginning of a siege,” laughed Aeacus, lifting his hand, as though it held a goblet.

“And,” said a man, “let us celebrate the inviolability of the holding of dear Lord Temmu, and rejoice in our safety and security.”

“Surely we dare not meet the enemy in the field,” said a fellow.

“No,” said Turgus.

“Excellent,” he said. “So we will feast aplenty, and drink apace, whilst the enemy, should he invest this place, may freeze, wither, and starve.”

“How long might a siege last?” asked Aeacus.

“One, I learned from Lord Nishida,” said Turgus, “lasted four years.”

“That would require a great deal of paga,” said a man.

“Learn to savor
sake
,” said a man.

I looked up to the parapet. I saw the warrior, Nodachi, looking over the parapet, toward the village. He had his two swords with him. After a time, he began to turn about, and perform martial exercises, with a patient, unhurried grace.

Some of the Pani, I supposed, must know who he was, his background, his motivation to join us.

I, however, did not know. And I did not think that even his students, such as Pertinax and Tajima, the Pani tarnsman, understood the mystery of this unusually skilled, but enigmatic warrior.

I looked about. I had not seen Tyrtaios, after he had left the parapet.

This made me uneasy.

“So there will be feasting,” said Aeacus.

“It seems so,” I said.

“To celebrate the triumph of the exploratory force,” he said.

“It seems so,” I said.

“Some,” said Aeacus, “will see things as they are said to be, not as they are.”

“That is common, is it not?”

“I fear so,” said Aeacus.

“So we will feast,” I said.

“Will you sit at the long tables, in the courtyard?” asked Aeacus. “That might be pleasant.”

“Let us fill our plates and lift our goblets privately,” I said. “Let us seek one of the closed places. There are several. I will arrange one. Let it be only the members of the high watch.”

“You have a reason for this?” asked Aeacus.

“More than one,” I said.

“Where shall we meet?” he asked.

“Here,” I said.

“What hall have you in mind?” asked Aeacus.

“That of the Placid Sea, or that the Three Moons,” I said.

“Splendid,” he said.

Both halls were small, and pleasant, each appointed with the spare taste, the lack of clutter, the movable, painted screens one expected in such places.

“You will arrange the food, the drink, the service,” said Aeacus.

“Yes,” I said.

“Hail the victory of the exploratory force,” said Aeacus.

“Indeed,” I said.

I saw Seremides, now again across the courtyard. I thought him wise to remain in public places.

“So,” said Aeacus, “until this evening.”

“Yes,” I said, “until this evening.”

We could smell smoke, coming from the village.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

In the Hall of the Three Moons;

What is Seen from the Parapet;

I Descend from the Parapet

“Surely you have not forgotten the slaves,” said Aeacus.

“No,” I said.

Many were the savory odors which emerged from behind the screen, from sauces, stews, and soups, rich with shoots, herbs, nuts, spices, vegetables, and peppers, even tarsk and vulo, as well as parsit, crabs, and grunt, emanating from pots brought in from the central kitchens, which served the long tables, outside, the barracks messes, the larger halls, and the smaller halls, such as that of the Three Moons.

“And who will serve us?” asked Leros.

“These,” I said, and, holding them bent over, in leading position, one on my left, one on my right, I produced two slaves, lengthily tunicked, as the Pani seemingly preferred.

“Show them to us,” called one of the fellows.

I then straightened the slaves, and held them upright, each by the hair, standing, half on their tip toes, before the diners.

“Hands at your sides,” I informed the slaves.

“Splendid,” said a fellow.

The diners, at the small tables, some fifteen, those who had held the high watches on the great ship, sitting cross-legged, slapped their left shoulders with their right hands.

Both were beauties.

“First obeisance position,” I informed the slaves.

Both then went to first obeisance position, kneeling, head to the floor, palms of the hands down on the floor, at the sides of their head.

“Speak,” I said.

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the first, “that her service will be found pleasing by masters.”

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the second, “that her service will be found pleasing by masters.”

“Speak,” I said.

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the first, “that if her service is not found pleasing by masters, she will be well punished.”

“It is the hope of this girl,” said the second, “that if her service is not found pleasing by masters, she will be well punished.”

“Kneel up,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” they said.

“Head up,” I told them.

“Yes, Master,” they said.

Sometimes masters have the girls in position keep their heads down, until given permission to raise them.

When the head is up, of course, the girls’ features are well revealed.

They looked straight ahead, kneeling back on heels, back straight, belly in, shoulders back, hands palm down on the thighs.

“Well done, Callias,” said a fellow.

“You must have looked through the kennels early, and well,” said another.

“Pleasant vulos,” said a man.

“Tastas,” said another fellow.

“Master!” said one of the slaves.

“Do you object?” I asked.