The Warrior's Tale (53 page)

'We'll be on ships,' she said. 'They'll carry us to the fight and back again. So once around the harbour ought to be more than enough.'

'Humour me,' I said.

'And if I do?' she asked, eyebrows arching up mischievously. I whispered in her ear. She giggled. 'Oh, I
like
that. Are you sure you don't want to start on the next five miles right now?'

One day, a grand meeting of all division captains was called. We were to meet our new fleet admiral. I thought I was well prepared for this, but as usual when I attempt to predict the thinking of men when it comes to that cheap jade of command, I was wrong.

My women bristled, but I'd known I wouldn't be in overall command of the expedition against The Sarzana, at least not in name. No matter how much the Council of Purity might have praised me, I knew I'd be no more than an advisor at best, a figurehead at worst. Corais and Polillo had growled privately that once again a woman was being forced to kowtow, but I'd asked them if the same situation occurred in Orissa, and I were from distant shores, how many ships and men would our own Magistrates have let me lead to their deaths?

I thought it was a sensible reminder, but both of them looked at each other, and Corais delicately lifted her lip, and said, 'Rali, my love, of course men will repeat the same stupidity from land to land. We're talking about what an
intelligent
person would do.'

That made me laugh and it was about the only cheeriness the meeting produced.

Cholla Yi and I sat to either side of the new Grand Admiral on the high stage that was framed by a frieze of the gaping bony jaws of some sea monster. The Grand Admiral was named Trahern, and he was awe-inspiring. He was a huge man - nearly as tall as Polillo, and she's over seven feet. His voice rang like a palace bell. He had a great white beard, carefully combed and divided at the chin to sweep to the side in two waves. He must've been in his seventies, but still had a full head of hair, studded with jewels, and knotted behind his head. On the breast of bis silk and leather tunic he wore many medals - all that a grateful nation could confer on their most celebrated warrior.

Unfortunately, the last war Admiral Trahern had fought was twenty years earlier, a skilful if hardly imaginative campaign against some barbaric outer islanders. Then he'd retired to his huge estates and become a noted historian. His entire career had been one of bravery, honour and nobility. Now he'd been brought back to lead Konya into what would be its greatest, and his final, triumph.

When he was named he was cheered and cheered again by the captains. I'd already noticed that too many of the senior captains were natives of Isolde, no matter what other islands their ships and crews hailed from. Once again, I saw a region whose real rulers hailed from a single area. Perhaps The Sarzana had overly favoured men from his native Cevennes, but the barons weren't that different. But while all the men cheered themselves hoarse for Admiral Trahern, what crashed through my own mind was: Hellsfire! It's General Jinnah all over again!

Trahern gave the obligatory heroic address. He said how honoured he was to serve the colours once again, how we all were determined to win, how right was on our side, how we could only triumph, how Konya was honoured to be given the talents of mighty warriors from the far-distant lands of
...
of, and he paused, trying to remember where the strangers had come from, hastily said Larissa, and continued on and on and on.

After he'd been carried around the room on the shoulders of the exulting officers, he met privately with Cholla Yi and myself. He was full of cheer and reassurances. Of course he knew we were the real leaders of the expedition, being familiar with these damned magicians and so forth, 'Especially this one that hailed from your lands, or so I've heard, although damned if I don't find it hard to believe how someone can be slain and come back to fight again; although certainly no one would slight the powers of a great wizard.' He thought he might be of some small assistance to us, since he knew the Konyan waters, and, more importandy, the souls of his people, and how they could be roused to fight like the heroes of old; so each Konyan would be as ten, perhaps twenty, soldiers from another land. We would have a high command founded on mutual trust, faith and determination, united in a common goal of consummate importance to all men and women everywhere.

But to me, all his words were the tapping of the deathwatch beede.

One evening as we were taking a stroll in the garden before Xia departed, I asked her if her father was in the least bit suspicious of us.

'He's been so busy with his duties,' she said, 'that he hasn't had time to think long enough for suspicion to arise. Even if he did, he wouldn't want to make too great a fuss, in fear word would get out to the other members of the Council of Purity.'

'I must say, that group hardly looked pure enough to claim such a name,' I said.

'Believe me, they are not,' she said. 'Many a whore would weep at the prospect of poverty if those men were true to their vows. Of course, there'd be an equal amount of cheering among young slaves of both sexes who have been unfortunate enough to join their households.'

'Chaste, or not,' I said, 'it seems an odd name for a ruling body.'

'It's the fault of one of my more randy ancestors,' Xia laughed. 'He took decadence to such extremes he even had temples - bawdy houses, actually - built to honour some of our more unsavoury gods. He also laid claim to any pretty maid or youth who took his fancy. It got so bad that the barons rose up and forced him to stop. That's when the Council of Purity was formed. Its original job was to make certain the morals of Konya were being upheld. Then, when The Sarzana was defeated, it was the only traditional group under our ancient laws for the barons to take power.'

'Do you think the monarchy will ever return to Konya?' I asked.

Xia grew quite serious. She sat at the edge of the fountain and let her fingers trail through the water. 'My father certainly hopes so,' she finally said. 'And perhaps a few of the other nobles who have royal blood in their veins. But, if it happened, none of them - even my father - would dare declare themselves king. It would seem too grasping. The kings of Konya, you should know, were deposed by the mobs. The Sarzana came later. And my father and the others fear the masses almost as much as they do The Sarzana. So, no, I don't think that generation will seek the throne. But one of their children might.'

'Such as you?' I asked.

'I've never considered it,' she said. 'It would be foolish for me to do so.'

'Has Konya ever had a queen?' I asked.

Xia nodded. 'My great-grandmother - who died long before I was born - ruled here. And her husband had no authority. He was merely her consort.'

I almost asked her again if she'd really never thought of sitting on the throne. But I could see by the look in her eye that I'd be wise to take her word for it. Royalty never lies. It only changes its mind from time to time.

One of the best things Xia's brave volunteering produced was to make the war into a sacred crusade. It's been my experience that wars are begun by noblemen with paper, and ended by peasants with blood; while those who'll benefit the most from a victory make sure to stay as far away as possible from the
battle
field. But following Xia's lead the young aristocrats of Konya flocked to the colours.

Despite Xia's example, however, I noticed that all the volunteers were men, and reflected that as much as I groused about the treatment of women in Orissa, at least such a thing as the Maranon Guard existed. It wasn't much progress, but it seemed large when measured against the dim-witted policies of other cities and kingdoms.

I hadn't realized how popular Xia was with the others of her class and generation until I saw the long lines of richly dressed men, waiting with a measure of patience at the recruiting booths in the marketplace. Those who'd had some training or experience with sword or sail were easy to fit in, but all too many of them had no developed skills beyond hawking, hunting and the other indulgences of court. It didn't matter, they said. They would serve in any manner we wanted them to, quartermaster to galley scut. We took them at their word and, for the most part, they served willingly and well. I was surprised, since I thought these soft youths would never be able to handle being chased up a mast by a mate, or bellowed at by Sergeant Ismet or one of the Konyans' own leather-lungers.

Still, it was amusing to hear, as I did once, a bosun with his nose and rum-breath flush against a pretty lad's face, screaming at the boy as if he were a parade-ground distant, 'Lord Hilmuth, sir, you ignorant excuse for a six-legged pig with no more gods-damned sense than th' gods gave goats, sir, if I ever see you clew up a sheet like that again, you shitbrain, you prickear, I'll have you for my fancy-boy for th' rest of th' cruise, you futtering fool! Beggin' yer pardon, sir.'

Two other benefits these noblemen brought - now we could have anything and everything we wanted. Also, the nobility brought the commoners in as well to serve, and the ships and the men to serve or fight from them were a bottomless barrel. I've often wondered why peasants espouse the most savage hatred for the gentry, but have an abiding fascination for thei
r antics, to the point of relentl
essly aping them.

The fleet was beginning to look like a navy, instead of a
motley
assemblage of ships. We were nearly ready to sail and confront The Sarzana and his far more dangerous ally and secret master, the Archon.

During those long weeks of preparation, I saw
little
of Gamelan, even though he was housed in the same villa with me. When I did seek him out for advice on a thorny matter he was maddeningly non-committal; only saying to do what I thought best. He even refused to attend the morning bone-casting, claiming to be too weary, or sick.
What I missed most was our nightl
y ritual of discussion, where everything under the sun was fair game for debate. I never saw him smile during that time, and he'd begun to shuffle like an old man - he, who even in blindness, always had a youthful spring to his step. The women I'd assigned to attend him said he ate little, no matter how much they tried to tempt him with delicacies, and he drank no spirits at all - only water. All this from a man who'd previously berated us for losing hope; who pressed on no matter how difficult the circumstances.

As I watched his spirit shrivel before my eyes I thought perhaps the experience of the dungeons had been too much for him. I began to fear he might soon die.

I sought him out one night to ask him what was the matter. I thought perhaps there was some elixir he could direct me in making that might help him recover some of his former vigour.

Tm just old, dammit!' he said, his voice quivering.

'But, Gamelan, my friend,' I said. 'I need you.
We
need you.'

'Your needs are sucking me dry,' he shouted. 'Now go away and leave me be.'

I left. What else could I do? I did notice, however, the closer we came to being ready, the more despondent he became. If I hadn't been so busy, I might've found the cause sooner. No, that's not the truth. Hang duty. I should have made the time; but I was too smitten with Xia to do so.

It was a wondrous spell she wove about me; and I'm Vain enough to still believe I did the same for her. She was meat and drink to me. The more I bedded her, the more I lusted for our next bedding. She found forbidden books on sexual tricks and we tried everything, save those that are degrading, or cause pain. We daubed each other with honey and wine and took hours licking off every speck. We rubbed perfumed oils into every
crease in our bodies, then wrestl
ed until one or the other would pretend to give way. Then the victor got to choose her pleasure as a reward.

There were also long, languorous afternoons of talk in which we shared secrets one only tells to lovers. She wept with me when I told her about Otara. But when I spoke of Tries and our fight, she grew angry and turned away and when I attempted to massage her back she snapped: 'Don't touch me!'

'What have I done?' I said.

'You still love her,' she accused.

I sputtered: 'Don't be silly. She left me. It's over.'

'No, it's not,' she said. 'I can tell when you speak her name. It's a game she's playing. The whore! Soon as you return she'll wrinkle her nose and you'll be in her arms again.'

'I swear, Xia,' I protested. 'I love only you.'

She cried and finally let me comfort her. I whispered her name over and over, demanding she believe that I loved no other. Eventually we made up. The sex of forgiveness was hot and violent; and Xia was all sweetness and smiles when she finally left for home. The subject was never raised again. But I must confess, I certainly thought about her accusation. Did I still love Tries? The remarkable thing was, I couldn't swear to myself that I didn't.

The tales of The Sarzana's latest atrocities came with every fresh arrival to Isolde. I imagine his deeds were supposed to send us into paroxysms of panic, and either make us
battle
-foolish or even surrender. But, for the most part, they had the opposite effect. Since his ghouls laid waste to every island and port they came across, whether hostile, neutral or festooned with white flags, resolve actually stiffened. It was very clear to almost everyone that there could be no truce, no compromise, no quarter offered or given. Even those who might've hesitated, or who'd managed to convince themselves The Sarzana's regime wasn't
that
terrible - or even to be preferred to the present rulers - held their tongues and professed patriotism.