The Lions of Al-Rassan (63 page)

Clouds slid from the white moon. Alvar saw the king look at Rod-rigo in the doubled moonlight. “I would not have been displeased. I
was
not, in the event. I will not lie about this. But before Jad, and on the life of my queen, and by whatever else you would wish me to swear, I did not command his murder, nor do I know how it was achieved.”

“Then how,” Rodrigo asked, implacable, “do you know it was Garcia?”

“He told me. He wanted to tell me more. I stopped him.”

Rodrigo’s hands were fists at his sides. “And that is
all
you did? Stop him from telling you? Shall I believe this? No punishment, no exposure? For the killing of a king? You made his brother constable of Valledo. You let Garcia live as he chose, doing what he wished all these years, until he nearly killed my wife and my boys?”

“I did,” said Ramiro quietly. “I let him live his life. Gonzalez de Rada became constable because he was worthy of the post—do not deny that—and because you would not serve me after Raimundo died.”

“After he was murdered!”

The king made a small movement of hands and shoulders. “After he was murdered. Garcia was never given rank, status, office, power . . . none of these things. You might consider that a moment, given what he could have expected from his birth. I thought of having him killed, frankly, because he was a risk and an embarrassment, and because I loathed the man. But I was . . . aware that Raimundo had been killed by him because he thought I would approve and because he had . . . enough reason to think so. I would not kill a man for that. Yes, I let him live. I kept the secret. I allowed Gonzalez to serve me and Valledo. Honorably. You had been my brother’s man. I would not beg you for aid or approval, Ser Rodrigo, at my ascension, or after. I will not do so now. I think you were one of those blind to what Raimundo really was, and that your youth excused this, then.”

Alvar heard the king’s voice change. “It is no excuse now. Not any more. We are no longer young, Rodrigo Belmonte, and all these events are done with, in the past. Though I will not beg, I will ask. What I have told you tonight is truth. It is all truth. Will you be my constable? Will you command this army for me?”

Rodrigo Belmonte had a quality, Alvar had long ago observed, of being able to hold himself utterly, disconcertingly still. He was like that now, for what seemed a very long time.

“I don’t think,” he murmured finally, “that the past is ever really done with us.” But then, in a firmer voice he asked, “Command the army to achieve what end, my lord king?”

“To take Fezana. And Cartada. And Silvenes. Lonza. Aljais. Elvira. Everything I can.” The answer was decisive.

Alvar discovered that he was shivering again.

“And then?”

“And then,” said King Ramiro, as bluntly as before, “I intend to occupy my uncle’s kingdom of Jaloña. And then my brother’s Ruenda. As you said, this campaign is a holy war in name alone. I want Esperaña back, Ser Rodrigo, and not only the land my father ruled under the khalifs’ sufferance. I want
all
of this peninsula. Before I die, I intend to ride my horse into the seas to south and west and north, and up into the mountains to look down upon Ferrieres—and know that all the lands through which I rode were Esperaña.”

“And then?” An odd question, in a way.

“And then,” said King Ramiro, more softly, almost amused, “I will probably rest. And try to make a belated peace with Jad for all my transgressions beneath his light.”

Alvar de Pellino, having struggled through a long year and a terrible day and night towards a new awareness of himself, realized that he was thrilled by this—beyond words or clear thought. His skin was tingling, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing up.

It was the sheer grandeur of the vision. Lost and conquered Esperaña made whole again, one Jaddite kingdom in all the wide peninsula, with Valledo and its Horsemen at the heart of it. Alvar longed to be a part of this, to see it come to be, to ride his own horse into those oceans and up that mountain with his king. Yet, even as his heart heard this call to glory, he was aware of slaughter embedded in the sweep of the king’s dream, or swooping above it like the carrion birds that followed the battlefields of men.

Will I ever,
he thought, with a knifing of despair,
be at peace between these things?

He heard Rodrigo Belmonte say then, very calmly, “You might have told me about Garcia a long time ago, my lord. I think I should have believed you. I do believe you now. I am your man, since you want me.”

And he knelt before the king and held up his hands together, palms touching. Ramiro looked down upon him, unspeaking for a moment.

“You would not have believed,” he said. “You would always have doubted. We needed to grow older, you and I, for me to say this and you to hear it. I wonder if your young soldier can possibly understand that.”

Alvar flushed in the darkness, then heard the Captain say, “You might be surprised, my lord. He’s more than a soldier, though I will tell you later what he did in Fezana this evening. If I am to be your constable I have my first request: I would ask that Alvar de Pellino be named my herald, to bear Valledo’s staff and carry our words to the Star-born.”

“It is an honor,” the king said. “He is very young. It is also a dangerous post in this war.” He motioned towards the hamlet behind them. “The Asharites may not observe the laws of heralds and their codes.”

Rodrigo shook his head. “They will. That much I know. They value their own honor as much as we do ours. Even the Muwardis. In a way,
especially
the Muwardis. And Alvar will acquit himself.”

Ramiro looked at Alvar, that appraising glance in the moonlight. “You wish this for yourself?” he asked. “There is less glory than might be found in battle by a courageous young man.”

Alvar knelt beside Rodrigo Belmonte and lifted his joined palms. “I wish for this,” he replied, discovering as he spoke that he did; that it was
exactly
what he wanted. “I, too, am your sworn man if you will have me, my lord.”

The king placed his hands around those of Rodrigo, and then he touched Alvar’s the same way. He said, “Let us go forward from this place and begin to reclaim our lost land.”

He looked as if he would say more, but did not. They rose then, and began walking back to Orvilla. But Alvar, unable to stop the thought from coming—even now—found himself saying, inwardly,
And whose land will be broken and lost in that claiming?

He knew the answer. It wasn’t a real question. In the newest royal herald of Valledo, pride and bone-cold apprehension came together and warred for dominion.

Then, nearing the hamlet, he saw Jehane. She was standing by the northern gate waiting for them with Ammar ibn Khairan beside her. And looking at her small, straight-backed figure in the mingled light of the moons, Alvar felt love come back, too, bittersweet among the weapons and shed blood, tonight and yet to come.

S
he saw them both kneel: Rodrigo first, and then Alvar.

Beside her, Ammar said softly, “He is being made constable now.” And then, as she looked quickly up at him, “It is best for both of them, Rodrigo and the king. He ought to have been, all these years.”

She took his hand. Smoke drifted behind them, though the fires were mostly out. Husari was with her parents and the two children they had saved from the Kindath Quarter. The queen of Valledo had come to them. She had said that Ishak and his family were her guests and would be, for so long as they desired. She had been gracious and well-spoken, but it was evident—to Jehane, at least—that Queen Ines had never met or talked with a Kindath before and didn’t quite know how to deal with that.

That shouldn’t have bothered her, perhaps, but tonight it did. She had almost wanted to ask Ines of Valledo if there were any plump babies around, to cook for a proper Kindath breakfast, but too many children had died that evening, and Jehane had nothing left in her for the force of real anger. She was very tired.

It was Bernart d’Iñigo, the doctor from the
tagra
forts, who had readied this welcome for them, she understood. It seemed he had saved the life of the queen using knowledge gained from reading Ishak’s writings. He had taught himself Asharic and Kindath years ago, he confided to Jehane. The lanky, sad-faced man was a good physician, there was no denying it.

Why shouldn’t he be?
Jehane had thought.
If he’s bothered to learn from us
 . . .

Not a fair thought, really, but tonight she wasn’t putting much stress on trying to be fair. D’Iñigo had volunteered to take the first watch beside Rodrigo’s son. Diego’s mother and brother were with him as well. Jehane wasn’t needed. Valledan doctors were tending to the handful of people who had survived the assault. Only a handful; the rest were dead, butchered hideously.

They come from the desert,
Jehane remembered, seeing the chopped-up bodies, smelling charred human flesh. Her father’s words, from so long ago.
If you would understand the Star-born of Ashar . . .

“Who are my enemies?” Jehane had said then, aloud, looking around the hamlet.

There must have been something in her voice; a hint of vanishing control. Ammar, without speaking, had placed an arm about her shoulders and guided her away. They had walked around the perimeter of Orvilla but Jehane, unable to be eased, had found herself both looking back at dying fires and remembering them.

Who are my enemies?
The citizens of Fezana? The Muwardis here? The soldiers of a Jaddite holy army who had run wild through Sorenica? The Valledans who burned this hamlet last summer? She wanted to weep, but was afraid to let herself.

Ammar had a gash on one arm, which she examined by torchlight; it wasn’t serious. He’d told her that, but she’d needed to look. She led him down to the river and cleaned the cut and bandaged it. A thing to do. On her knees, she dipped a cloth in the cold water and washed her face, looking down at the rippling lines of moonlight in the Tavares. She took a deep breath of the night air.

They had walked again, following the perimeter fence to the north. And there they saw King Ramiro with Rodrigo and Alvar out among the grasses, the dark, wide emptiness beyond them. At one point, watching, Jehane saw Rodrigo cross his arms tightly over his breast. It was very late. A wind was blowing in the night.

Whichever way the wind blows.

Then they saw Rodrigo and Alvar kneel before the king and then rise.

“Who are my enemies?” Jehane asked, at length.

“Mine, I hope,” said Ammar.

“And yours are?”

“We’ll know more of that soon enough, my love. Watch and listen. I will likely be made a handsome offer soon.”

His tone had a coolness now, but that was as much a defense as anything else, she knew. More than anyone in the world, perhaps, she had a sense of what had come, however improbably, to bind Ammar ibn Khairan and Rodrigo Belmonte, each to the other.

There was an anticipation of partings in her now, Jehane realized: endings had come upon them tonight. As much as anything else, that was what made her want to weep.

They waited. The three men came over the dark grass and approached them by the gate. She saw that Alvar, too, was wounded. There was blood on his shoulder. Without speaking she went over to him and began carefully tearing at his loose shirt to expose the gash below. He looked at her and then away, standing quietly as she examined the cut.

“Ammar. I was hoping to find you,” Rodrigo said quietly. “Have you a moment to speak?” He spoke in Esperañan.

“With you, always,” ibn Khairan said gravely, in the same tongue.

“The king of Valledo has done me the honor of asking me to be his constable.”

Jehane looked over at him. Ammar inclined his head. “He is equally honored if you have accepted.”

“I have.”

Ammar smiled thinly. “Badir of Ragosa will be distressed.”

“I imagine so. I propose to give him, unfortunately, even greater cause for regret.”

“How so?”

It was like a dance, Jehane thought, this formality screening things so much deeper than words could go. She stood by young Alvar, listening, and stopped even pretending to examine his shoulder. It was too dark here, in any case.

“I believe I have sufficient authority to make you a proposal on behalf of the king of Valledo.”

He was right,
Jehane thought. How had Ammar known, so surely? No answer to that, except to remember who and what he was. What they both were. In the wind from the north she could feel something swiftly approaching its end.

Ammar said, “I am always interested in proposals. And yours have ever been intriguing.”

Rodrigo hesitated, choosing words. “As we stand here, King Sanchez of Ruenda is riding for Salos downriver, and the army of Jaloña is approaching Ragosa.”

“Ah! Jaloña rides! Queen Fruela comes to avenge her dead captain?”

King Ramiro’s mouth quirked sideways at that.

“Something of the sort,” Rodrigo said, unsmiling. “There have been a great many dead captains over the years.”