The Chernagor Pirates

by Harry Turtledove

  Were those footsteps on the other side of the door? Yes. But they didn’t hesitate; they just went on. And so did Lanius. He tugged Cristata’s tunic up and off over her head, then bent to kiss her breasts and their darker, firmer tips. Her breath sighed out.

  But when he put his arms around her again, he hesitated and almost recoiled. He’d expected to stroke smooth, soft skin. Her back was anything but smooth and soft.

  She noticed his hands falter, and knew what that had to mean. “Do you want to stop?” she asked. “Do you want me to go?”

  “Hush,” he answered roughly. “I’ll show you what I want.” He set her hand where she could have no possible doubt. She rubbed gently.

  Before long, he laid her down on the floor and poised himself above her. “Oh,” she whispered. She might have been louder after that, but his lips came down on hers and muffled whatever noises she would have made … and, presently, whatever noises he would have.

  Afterwards, they both dressed quickly. “That’s—what it’s supposed to be like, I think,” Cristata said.

  It had certainly seemed that way to Lanius. Now, of course, he was screaming at himself because of the way he’d just complicated his life. But, with the afterglow still on him, he couldn’t make himself believe it hadn’t been worth it. They kissed again, just for a heartbeat. Cristata slipped out of the storeroom. When Lanius heard nothing in the hallway, he did, too. He grinned, a mix of pleasure and relief. He’d gotten away with it.

  Grus turned to Estrilda. “The cooks did a really good job with that boar, don’t you think?” he said, licking his mustache to get all the flavorful grease.

  His wife nodded. Then she said, “If you think it was good, shouldn’t you tell Ortalis and not me?”

  “Should I?” The king frowned. “You’re usually harder on him than I am. Why should I say anything to him that I don’t have to?”

  “Fair is fair,” Estrilda answered. “You … did what you did when he … made a mistake. When he goes hunting, he’s probably not making that particular mistake. And shouldn’t you notice him when he does something well?”

  “If he did things well more often, I would notice him more.” Grus sighed, then nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I wish I could tell you you weren’t, but you are. The meat is good, and he made the kill. I’ll thank him for it.”

  On the way to Ortalis’ room, he asked several servants if the prince was there. None of them knew. He got the idea none of them cared. He didn’t suppose he could blame the women. The men? Ortalis seemed to have a gift for antagonizing everyone. That’s not good in a man who’ll be king one day, Grus thought. Not good at all.

  He knocked on Ortalis’ door. When no one answered, he tried the latch. The door opened. The sweet smell of wine filled the room, and under it a gamier odor that said Ortalis hadn’t bathed recently enough. Grus’ son cradled a wine cup in his lap like the son he’d never had. An empty jar of wine lay on its side at his feet. One with a dipper in it stood beside the stool on which he perched.

  Ortalis looked up blearily. “What d’you want?” he slurred.

  “I came to thank you for the fine boar you brought home,” Grus answered. “How long have you been drinking?”

  “Not long enough,” his son said. “You going to pound on me for it?” He raised the cup and took another swig.

  “No. I have no reason to,” Grus said. “Drinking by yourself is stupid, but it’s not vicious. And if you do enough of it, it turns into its own punishment when you finally stop. Once you sober up, you’ll wish your head would fall off.”

  Ortalis shrugged. That he could shrug without hurting himself only proved he wasn’t close to sobering up yet. “Why don’t you go away?” he said. “Haven’t you done enough to make my life miserable?”

  “I said you shouldn’t hurt women for the fun of it. I showed you some of what getting hurt was like. You didn’t much care for that,” Grus said. “If you’re miserable on account of what I did … too bad.” He’d started to say I’m sorry, but caught himself, for he wasn’t.

  His son glared at him. “And didn’t you have fun, giving me my lesson?”

  “No, by Olor’s beard!” Grus burst out. “I wanted to be sick afterwards.”

  By the way Ortalis laughed, he didn’t believe a word of it. Grus turned away from his son and strode out of the room. Behind him, Ortalis went on laughing. Grus closed the door, dampening the sound. Praising Ortalis’ hunting wouldn’t heal the rift between them. Would anything? He had his doubts.

  Not for the first time, he wondered about making Anser legitimate. That would solve some of his problems. Regretfully, he shook his head. It would hatch more than it solved, not just with Ortalis but also with Estrilda and Lanius. No, he was stuck with the legitimate son he had, and with the son-in-law, too. He wondered if Crex, his grandson, would live to be king, and what kind of king he would make.

  Wonder was all Grus would ever do. He was sure of that. By the time Crex put the royal crown on his head and ascended to the Diamond Throne, Grus knew he would be gone from the scene.

  I haven’t done enough, he thought. Bringing the unruly Avornan nobles back under the control of the government was important. He’d taken some strong steps in that direction. He’d fought the Thervings to a standstill, until King Dagipert gave up the war. King Berto, gods be praised, really was more interested in praying than fighting. But letting the Banished One keep and extend his foothold in the land of the Chernagors would be a disaster.

  And, ever since Grus’ days as a river-galley captain down in the south, he’d wanted a reckoning with the Menteshe, a reckoning on their side of the Stura River and not on his. He hadn’t gotten that yet. He didn’t know if he ever would. If his wizards couldn’t protect his men from being made into thralls after crossing the Stura, if they couldn’t cure the thralls laboring for the Menteshe, how could he hope to cross the border?

  If he couldn’t cross the Stura, how could he even dream about recovering the Scepter of Mercy? He couldn’t, and he knew it. If he got it back, Avornis would remember him forever. If he failed … If he failed, Avornis would still remember him—as a doomed fool.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Outside the royal palace, snow swirled through the air. The wind howled. When people had to move about, they put on fur-lined boots, heavy cloaks, fur hats with earflaps, and sometimes wool mufflers to protect their mouths and noses. King Lanius didn’t think the Banished One was giving the city of Avornis a particularly hard winter, but this was a nasty blizzard.

  It was chilly inside the palace, too. Braziers and fires could do only so much. The cold slipped in through windows and around doors. Lanius worried about the baby monkeys. Even the grown ones were vulnerable in the wintertime. But all the little animals seemed healthy, and the babies got bigger by the day.

  Lanius didn’t worry about them as much as he might have. He had other things on his mind—not least, how to go on with his affair with Cristata without letting Sosia find out about it. Cristata, he discovered, worried about that much less than he did. “She’ll learn sooner or later, Your Majesty,” she said. “It can’t help but happen.”

  Knowing she was right, Lanius shook his head anyhow. They lay side by side in that same little storeroom—this time on one of the carpets, which they’d unrolled; the floor was cold. “What would happen then?” the king said.

  “You’d have to send me away, I suppose.” Cristata had few illusions. “I hope you’d pick somewhere nice, a place where I could get by easy enough. Maybe you could even help me find a husband.”

  He didn’t want to think of her in some other man’s arms. He wanted her in his. Holding her, he said, “I will take care of you.”

  She studied him before slowly nodding. “Yes, I think you will. That’s good.”

  “If I don’t find you a husband, I’ll be your husband,” Lanius said.

  Cristata’s eyes opened enormously wide. “You would do that?” she whispered.

  “Why not?�
�� he said. “First wives are for legitimate heirs, and I have one. I may get more. It’s not that Sosia and I turn our backs on each other when we go to bed. We don’t. I wouldn’t lie to you. But second wives, and later ones, can be for fun.”

  “Would I be … a queen?” Cristata asked. Not long before, she’d been impressed at having almost enough to count as a taxpayer. She seemed to need a moment to realize how far above even that previously unimaginable status she might rise.

  “Yes, you would.” Lanius nodded. “But you wouldn’t have the rank Sosia does.” Any more than I have the rank Grus does, he thought unhappily.

  Up until this moment, he’d never imagined taking a second wife. The King of Avornis was allowed six, as King Olor in the heavens had six wives. But, just as Queen Quelea was Olor’s principal spouse, so most Kings of Avornis contented themselves with a single wife. King Mergus, Lanius’ father, hadn’t, but King Mergus had been desperate to find a woman who would give him a son and heir. He’d been so desperate, he’d made Lanius’ mother, a concubine, his seventh wife to make the boy she bore legitimate. He’d also made himself a heretic and Lanius a bastard in the eyes of a large part of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.

  Mergus’ troubles had gone a long way toward souring his son on the idea of having more than one wife … until now. It wouldn’t be adultery then, he thought. But if it’s not, would it still be as much fun?

  Grus could have wed Alca. He’d sent her away, instead. That, without a doubt, was Queen Estrilda’s doing. Would Queen Sosia’s views be any more accommodating than her mother’s? Lanius dared hope. They could hardly be less.

  Cristata asked, “What will Her Majesty say if you do that?” She’d thought along with him, then.

  “She has a right to complain if I take a mistress,” Lanius answered. “If I take another wife, though, how can she be upset?” He could, in fact, think of several ways. But he wanted to keep things as simple as possible for Cristata.

  She, however, seemed able to see complications without him pointing them out. “She’s King Grus’ daughter,” she said. “What will the other king do?”

  “He may grumble, but how could he do more?” Lanius said. “How can he fuss much about what I do after the way he carried on winter before this?”

  “People always manage to forget what they did and to fuss about what other people do,” Cristata said, words that held an unpleasant ring of truth.

  To stop thinking about that, Lanius kissed her. The medicine worked so well, he gave himself a second dose, and then a third. One thing led to another, and he and Cristata didn’t leave the storeroom for quite a while.

  “Tell me I’m not hearing this.” Grus’ head ached as though he’d had too much wine, but he hadn’t had any. “A second wife? A serving girl my own son abused? Why, in the name of the gods?”

  “I said, if I can’t find her a husband that suits her,” Lanius answered.

  “You told her that?” Grus asked. Lanius nodded. Grus groaned. “What makes you think she’ll find anyone else ‘suitable’ if she has the chance to be a queen?”

  Lanius frowned. Grus recognized the frown—it was thoughtful. Hadn’t that occurred to him? Maybe it hadn’t. At last, he said, “Have you paid any attention to Cristata? Say what you will about her, she’s honest.”

  “She’s certainly made you think she is, anyhow,” Grus said. “Whether that’s the same thing is a different question. And here’s one more for you—why are you doing this to my daughter?”

  “Who knows just why a man and a woman do what they do?” Lanius answered. “Why did you do this to your wife, for instance?”

  Grus gritted his teeth. He might have known Lanius would find that particular question. As a matter of fact, he had known it, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself. Now he had to find an answer for it. His first try was an evasion. “That’s different,” he said.

  “Yes, it is,” Lanius agreed. “You exiled your other woman. I want to marry mine. Which of us has the advantage there?”

  “You’re not being fair,” Grus said, flicked on a sore spot. He wasn’t happy about what he’d done about—with—to—Alca, and wasn’t proud of it, either. It had been the only way he saw to keep peace with Estrilda. That might have made it necessary, but he had the bad feeling it didn’t make it right.

  The other king shrugged. “I never said anything—not a word—about what you did with your, women up until now. You might have the courtesy to stay out of my business, too.”

  “It’s also my business, you know,” Grus said. “You’re married to my daughter. I know Sosia’s not happy about this. She’s told me so.”

  “She’s told me so, too,” Lanius admitted. “But I’d be happier with Cristata than without her. I’m King of Avornis … I think. Don’t I get to decide anything at all about how I live—Your Majesty?”

  When Grus used the royal title with Lanius, he was usually being polite. When Lanius used it with Grus—which he seldom did—he was usually being reproachful. Grus felt his face heat. He held his hands a few inches apart. “Only about this much of you is ‘happier’ with this girl. You’re thinking with your crotch, not with your head. That isn’t like you.”

  Lanius turned red, but he didn’t change his mind. “Well, what if I am?” he said. “I’m not the only one who ever has.” He looked straight at Grus.

  He’s going to do this, Grus realized. He’s not going to pay attention to me telling him no. What can I do about it? He saw one thing he might try, and said, “Go talk to Anser about this. He’s closer to your age, but I think he’d also tell you it’s not a good idea.”

  “I like Anser. Don’t get me wrong—I do,” Lanius said. “I like him, but I know he’d tell me whatever you tell him to tell me. And we both know he’s arch-hallow on account of that, not because he’s holy.”

  “Yes.” Grus admitted in private what he never would in public. “Even so, I swear to you, Lanius, I have not spoken with him about this. Whatever he says, he will say, and that’s all there is to it. Talk to him. He has good sense—and you, right now, don’t.”

  “When you say I don’t have good sense, you mean I’m not doing what you want me to,” Lanius said, but then he shrugged. “All right. I’ll talk to him. But he won’t change my mind.”

  Back stiff with defiance, Lanius went off to the cathedral. Grus waited until he was sure the other king had left the palace, then pointed to three or four servants. “Fetch me the serving woman named Cristata,” he told them. His voice held the snap of command. They hurried away.

  Before long, one of them led her into the little audience chamber. “Oh!” she said in surprise when she saw Grus. “When he told me the king wanted to see me, I thought he meant.—”

  “Lanius,” Grus said, and Cristata nodded. He went on, “Well, I do.” He could see why Lanius wanted her, too, and why Ortalis had. But that had nothing to do with anything. He went on, “Are you really bound and determined to become Queen of Avornis, or would being quietly set up for life in a provincial town be enough to satisfy you?”

  If she said she was bound and determined to be Lanius’ queen, Grus knew his own life would get more difficult. She paused to consider before she answered. She’s not stupid, either, Grus thought. Is she smart enough to see when she’s well off? Or is she as head-over-heels for Lanius as he is for her?

  She said, “I’ll go, Your Majesty. If I stay, I’ll have you for an enemy, won’t I? I don’t want that. Anyone in Avornis would be a fool to want you for an enemy, and I hope I’m not a fool.”

  “You’re not,” Grus assured her. “‘Enemy,’ I think, goes too far. But I am going to protect my own family as best I can. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

  “Probably,” Cristata answered. “I have to trust you, don’t I, about what ‘quietly set for life’ means? You were generous paying for what Ortalis did.”

  Grus found himself liking her. She had nerve, to bargain with someone with so much more power—and to make him feel gu
ilty for using it. He said, “By the gods, Cristata, I won’t cheat you. Believe me or not, as you please.” When she nodded, he went on, “We have a bargain,’ then?” She nodded again. So did he. “Gather up whatever you need to take with you. If we’re going to do this, I want you gone before Lanius can call you again.”

  “Yes, I can see how you might.” Cristata sighed. “I will miss him. He’s … sweet. But you could have done a lot worse to me, couldn’t you?”

  Only after she was gone did Grus realize that last wasn’t necessarily praise.

  “You … You …” Lanius’ fury rose up and choked him. What he could do about it, however, knew some very sharp bounds. Grus was the one with the power, and he’d just used it.

  “Think whatever you like,” he said now. “Call me whatever you like. If you’re going to take serving girls to bed now and again, I won’t fuss, though Sosia might. You’re a man. It happens. I ought to know.”

  His calm words gave Lanius’ rage nowhere to light. Absurdly, Lanius realized he never had taken Cristata to bed. Coupling on the floor, even on a carpet, wasn’t the same. “I love her!” he exclaimed.

  “She’s nice-looking. She’s clever. She’s got spirit,” Grus said. “And you picked her out yourself. You didn’t have her forced on you. No wonder you had a good time with her. But love? Don’t be too sure.”

  “What do you know about it, you—?” Lanius called him the vilest names he knew.

  “I think you’re sweet, too,” Grus answered calmly. Lanius gaped. Grus went on, “What do I know about it? Oh, a little something, maybe. Cristata reminds me more than a little of Anser’s mother.”

  “Oh,” Lanius said. Try as he would to stay outraged, he had trouble. Maybe Grus did know what he was talking about after all. Lanius went on, “You still had no business—none, do you hear me?—interfering in my affairs … and you can take that last however you want.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Grus answered, still calm. “Of course I did. You’re married to my daughter. You’re my grandchildren’s father. If you do something that’s liable to hurt them, of course I’ll try to stop you.”