“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.
Apelles knew this and many more details of the royal wedding, down to the very undergarments the Wanaxxae would be wearing on this day. As Yanulf’s right hand, he had been set to more labors than Hercules in the matter of the wedding.
Once he had ventured to ask, “I know that the Lord Publius Caesar has no living wife and that his sister is not well enough to make such a long journey so late in the year. Yet could not much of what has fallen to me have been done as well by the Eqetassa of Chelm or the Lady Cyra?”
“Lady Tylara will be chief among the bride’s attendants at the wedding,” Yanulf had replied. “Until then, her duties as Justiciar of Drantos and mistress of the Captain General’s household will prevent her from doing as much as I am sure she would wish to do.
“As for Lady Cyra, she too has much to occupy her in the Lady Octavia’s household. Also, she knows little of Roman customs and might give offense without meaning it.”
It was then and remained now Apelles’ opinion that Lady Cyra knew a great deal about Roman customs and was utterly opposed to seeing any of them introduced into the Court of Drantos. The Chancellor’s tone of voice had spoken whole scrolls about the unwisdom of saying this aloud.
At least his labors had obtained for Apelles a good place in the hall, into which half the Realm seemed to have crowded and in which half the Realm had certainly sought places. The only people closer to the altar than the row in which Apelles stood were the attendants of the bride and groom and the guardsmen double-ranked across the hall between the altar and the guests. A long way for a swineherd to come.
Incense rose in a cloud. So did Polycarp’s thin voice.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of Yatar Dayfather, Christ His Son, Holy Hestia the Mother of Christ, and this noble congregation, to join this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony, which is an honorable estate—”
Apelles felt someone prodding him in the ribs. The dignity of the occasion kept him from prodding back. Instead he turned his head as far as he could, to see Eyan son of Fnor, the guardsman assigned him as a messenger. At least that was Yanulf’s tale; after seeing how many other “messengers” were scattered through the crowd, Apelles suspected they were really there to keep watch on those guests out of sight or reach of the Guards before the altar.
“What of Vothan?” Eyan muttered. “I like not this casting out of the Warlord.”
“What casting out?” said Apelles. “It is written, that when the Christ was upon Earth, he said, ‘I come to bring not peace, but a sword.’ Who else would say that, but Vothan? It is also written that he was hung upon a cross and seemed to die, yet rose again wiser than before. Is that not also said of Vothan?”
“They also call the Christ ‘Prince of Peace,’ ” said Eyan.
“Has this ever kept the Romans from fighting?” replied Apelles. “Or made them fight less fiercely when they marched against us?” Eyan shook his head with a wry grin.
“Even the starmen are Christians,” Apelles went on. “And do they not enjoy the blessings of Vothan?”
“The starmen are Christians?” Eyan frowned.
“Yes, and from his first day in our land the Lord Rick has always honored Yatar and Vothan as well as Christ.”
“That is true,” said Eyan slowly. He seemed to want to say more, but Apelles saw the looks their whispered conversation was beginning to draw. He waved the Guardsman to silence.
Very likely he had awakened as many doubts in the man as he’d laid to rest. Not just in Eyan. I am no warrior, but it would be a harsh world indeed if brave men had no hope of guesting with One-eye Vothan after dying in battle.
Polycarp droned on. “—but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and in the fear of Yatar and Christ, duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.
“First, it was ordained for the increase of mankind, according to the will of Yatar and Christ, and that children might be brought up in the fear and nurture of Them, and to the praise of Their Holy names. . . .”
* * *
Tylara shifted restlessly.
“Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.
“Into which holy estate, these two persons present come now to be joined. . . .”
If the Lady Gwen had not been standing close beside her, Tylara would have shut her eyes. That is as it should be. As it was. And I have forfeited the love of the gods, and worse, of my husband.
I have betrayed them all. Yet what could I have done?
The thoughts raced through her head in well-worn grooves, raced endlessly. Caradoc. Loyal to Tylara and her house. Married to the faithless Gwen. And Gwen’s true husband returning from the stars, returning with a star ship and skyfire. With the means to lay waste all Rick had built.
What could I do?
Kill the Star Lord Les? And as he died his ship would send skyfire. So said Rick. And she had seen the ship. It could do all Rick said, and more.
Kill the Lady Gwen? I owe her nothing. Yet the University is more than nothing. It may be the only inheritance I can leave my children. So say the legends of the Time. So says Rick.
But Caradoc and Les must not meet.
It had been simple enough. Coded orders to the Children of the Eighth House of Vothan. And waiting, which was worse than any battle, wait and wait and—
And comes the news, of a riot and a horse that stumbled, and her protector and rescuer—
Rescue. Sarakos had read her aright, curse him; in the end she would have broken, begging to please him if that would earn her a swifter end. . . . Until Caradoc came, and with Yanulf led her through the caves of Yatar, and away.
And now he was dead. Of an accident. And none knew. My husband probably does not even suspect; he does not think like a Tran lord.
None but me. And it will be me the gods judge. Not my instruments. Yatar forgive the Children. They acted for me. They know no better.
If anyone learns. Blood feud with those most loyal to our house. And no matter. I have brought cold and ruin to our marriage. And what right have I to “mutual society, comfort, and help,” in the eyes of the gods or anyone else?
She did not close her eyes, but she kept them fixed on the rush-strewn floor, fearful of what she might see if she looked up.
* * *
“Octavia Marselia Caesar, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together according to the laws of Yatar and Christ in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, obey, and keep him, in sickness and health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
Publius’ frown deepened. He had been frowning ever since Yanulf began to speak. It
was infuriating that a Roman archbishop should have such a pitiful excuse for a voice while a barbarian priest could thunder like a centurion drilling an entire cohort. Now this damned promise by Octavia to obey her husband!
The barbarians must have put that in their new marriage ceremony on purpose, to cut away his own authority over his daughter. Matters should have been left so that in any dispute between Drantos and Rome, Caesar’s house could invoke the patria potestas it held over Drantos’ Queen.
They would have been left that way, too, if someone among the barbarians hadn’t as good as read Publius’ mind and added that little word! Or was it someone among the barbarians?
Frugi. Yes! That contemplative smile must hide treachery; that gilded legate’s breastplate hides a heart gone over to the barbarians. Who else could it be, but the man who had allowed the Fourth Legion to hail a barbarian king as “Imperator”?
Frugi. You command here. Once in Rome it will be different.
And yet. He is loyal to my father, and he is a good general. Rome has need of generals. Flaminius the Dotard killed his best commanders—and now his bones wash down the Tiber.
And I have no heir. None but Octavia. She will have need of generals no less than I.
So. Live, Titus Frugi. And I will watch you, and send you where I have need.
Publius smiled thinly, hoping that a time would come when he could tell Lucius about this moment. His old tutor had always urged him to think before he spoke, and often doubted that he would ever learn.
* * *
“Forasmuch as Ganton son of Loron, Wanax of Drantos, and Octavia Marselia Caesar have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before Yatar, Christ, and this noble company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth to each other—”
Gwen Tremaine felt her eyes ready to overflow.
Stop it, you twit. Do you want Tylara to see you crying?
I always cry at weddings.
How many have you attended?
Well, there was Beth Allison’s, there’s this one, and both of my own.
Lord of Janissaries Page 60
