“Oh,” Lanius said, and then, “Oh!” That wasn’t the way he’d thought she would answer his question. “I want to give you a hug,” he went on, “but I’m afraid I’d soak you if I did.”
“You could dry off first,” Sosia suggested.
Lanius still didn’t much want to come out of the tub, even though he’d been in there for a while. For a baby on the way, though, he put what Sosia wanted first. Out he came. She handed him a towel. He rubbed himself more or less dry, then took her in his arms.
She let out a small squawk. “I thought you’d put some clothes on!”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. He didn’t let go of her. In fact, he held her tighter. “What better way to celebrate?”
Sosia squawked again. “In here?”
“It’s as good a place as anywhere else,” he answered, rising to the occasion. “Do you think the tub is big enough for two?”
“I think you’re out of your mind,” his wife said. “What if the servants walk in on us?”
“Then they’ll have something brand-new to gossip about.” Lanius kissed her. “The best way to keep them from walking in on us is to hurry.”
“The best way to keep them from walking in is not to start in the first place.” She tried to sound severe, but her mouth couldn’t help turning up at the corners. “You really are out of your mind.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, and steered her toward the gently steaming tub.
They managed. They did hurry. It was more awkward than Lanius thought it would be, and more water slopped onto the floor than he’d expected. But they had finished and were both dressed by the time a servant did come in.
“Sorry … I was so sloppy,” Lanius said. He’d almost said, Sorry we were so sloppy. That would have given the game away.
The servant only shrugged. “You put towels down, anyways,” he said. “That’s something. Won’t be a lot of mopping to do.”
“Good,” Lanius said. He steered Sosia again, this time toward the door. “A baby!” he repeated.
“It does happen,” she said, and then giggled. “If I’d caught this time instead of before, I might have had a mermaid.” Lanius laughed, too. Sosia turned serious again. “I hope it’s a boy.”
“So do I,” Lanius said. “If it’s a girl, though, we’ll just try again, that’s all.” Ortalis had said the same thing after Limosa had Capella. They had tried again, and now they had Marinus.
Sosia hesitated in the hallway, then asked, “You don’t have any bastards I don’t know about, do you?”
“No. By the gods, no!” Lanius said. “What brought that on?”
“Mother thinks Father may have another one out in the provinces somewhere,” Sosia answered bleakly. “She’s not sure, but some things she’s heard make her think so.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Lanius said. Grus had kept it a secret from him as well as Estrilda—if it was true. And if it was, and if Grus could keep secrets like that … Good, Lanius thought. The way things are, good.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Quite a few Menteshe moving around in front of us, Your Majesty,” a scout reported to King Grus. “Don’t know what they’re up to, but they aren’t likely to be there because they like the weather.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Grus turned to Hirundo. “This is—what?—the fourth such report that we’ve gotten this morning. They’re getting ready to hit us.”
“Did you expect they’d just blow us a kiss and wave us on to Yozgat?” the general replied. “We both figured they had another fight left in them after we beat them the last time. Now we get to see what their great General Bori-Bars has learned—and what we’ve learned, too. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
To hear him talk about it, it almost did. Grus said, “I’d sooner they’d run away, if you want to know the truth. Anything that makes this whole business easier is fine with me.”
“I don’t think they’re going to run away, worse luck,” Hirundo said.
“I don’t, either.” Grus’ gaze sharpened. “In that case, why don’t we run away instead?” Hirundo stared at him. He spent some little while explaining. When he was done, he asked, “Do you think we can bring that off?”
“We’ll have to hurry if we want to try.” Hirundo started to laugh. “Things will get lively if we do—I’ll tell you that.” Grus nodded. Hirundo asked. “Do you want me to give the orders?”
“If you’d be so kind,” Grus said. Hirundo started yelling. Horns started blaring. Avornans started riding and marching in what seemed like every direction at once. Such apparent chaos usually had order behind it. Grus hoped it did here.
He assumed it did, and called for Pterocles. Getting the wizard’s attention in the midst of the commotion Hirundo was stirring up took some doing, but the king managed. He said, “I want you to block any unmasking spells the Menteshe throw this way.”
“I’ll do my best, Your Majesty, but we haven’t set out any masking spells,” Pterocles said, puzzlement in his voice.
“You know that, and I know that, but I don’t want the nomads finding out,” Grus said. “Send back whatever they aim at us. That will give them something to think about, eh?”
“I’ll do my best, but this business doesn’t come with a guarantee,” Pterocles said. “Some of their wizards know what they’re doing. That little affair by the river not long ago could have been much worse than it was.”
“If they realize you’re blocking them, they’ll concentrate on beating down what you’re doing, won’t they?” Grus asked.
“That’s what I’d do, anyhow,” Pterocles replied.
“So would I. Let’s hope they do, too,” Grus said. Pterocles scratched his head. If his own wizard was confused, the king could hope the shamans serving Bori-Bars or whoever was in charge of the Menteshe would be, too.
Along with Hirundo and some of the royal guardsmen, he rode forward in the center of the Avornan battle line. Avornan outriders returned to the main body, driven back by the nomads. Roiling dust ahead hid the main force of the Menteshe. Before long, Grus could make out horsemen through the dust they stirred up. “They haven’t lost their spirit—that’s plain enough,” he said.
“They wouldn’t be so much trouble if they didn’t have nerve,” Hirundo said. “But we’ve already given them two good beatings this summer. If we can manage one more …”
“We’ll know pretty soon,” Grus said.
Before long, arrows began to fly. The Menteshe shouted their ferocious war cries. The Avornans yelled back, roaring out their kingdom’s name and King Grus’. Grus didn’t know if that raised their spirits, but it never failed to lift his.
A Menteshe arrow hissed past his ear. Behind him, somebody groaned. That could have been me, he thought, and shuddered. Even in the best-planned battles, so many things could go wrong. Do I care if we win if I’m not there to see it? Well, I hope we do, but I’m afraid this campaign will fall to pieces without me.
He didn’t have time to wonder whether that was his vanity talking. The Menteshe seemed to have forgotten the Avornans had trounced them twice in recent weeks. By the way they pressed forward, they might have been the ones who’d done all the winning lately.
And the Avornans, who seemed taken aback by the nomads’ aggressiveness, began to drift toward the rear. After shouting and cursing at them, Hirundo turned to Grus and said, “Your Majesty, looks like it’s time to retreat.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Grus said. “Falling back from the Menteshe … They’re going to push us hard. They’ll want to see if they can break us.”
“They’d better not,” Hirundo said. “That would be downright embarrassing.” It would be worse than embarrassing, but Hirundo always looked on the bright side of things.
Grus guided his gelding back to the north. More and more Avornans were riding in that direction. The Menteshe shouted louder and more ferociously than ever. They pressed the Avornans harder—and Grus’ men retreated fa
ster. That encouraged the nomads to press them harder still.
Retreat turned into something that looked a lot like rout. Only a stubborn rear guard kept the Menteshe from smashing the Avornan army to pieces. Even the men in the rear guard kept on retreating for all they were worth. The Menteshe, having lost their earlier fights with the Avornans, pushed hard now, intent on doing the hated foes in front of them as much harm as they could. Any soldiers worthy of their weapons would have done the same.
It ruined them.
Because they had an enemy in front of them, they paid no attention to what lay off to the side—until the stone-throwers and dart-throwers sitting in the shadows cast by a grove of olive trees all opened up at once, throwing them into confusion. Before the Menteshe had a chance to recover, most of the heavily armored royal guardsmen—who’d waited patiently in the olive grove—set spurs to their horses and thundered forward.
Horn calls rang out through what had been the retreating Avornan army, and the Avornans retreated no more, but went over to the attack. When they did, Grus and Hirundo, who were riding side by side, reached out at the same time and clasped hands with each other. A deliberate retreat was one of the hardest things in war to bring off. When an army pretended to fall back, it all too often started falling back in earnest. But the Avornans turned around and struck as fiercely as Grus could have hoped.
The Menteshe broke. Caught with a blow at their flank and suddenly and unexpectedly assailed from the front as well, they fled in all directions. Escape was the only thing that seemed to matter to them. If they could get away …
A lot of them couldn’t. A lot of them went down to the guardsmen’s lances or were hacked out of the saddle by their swords. At close quarters, Avornan archers could hold their own with the Menteshe, too, and they filled the air with shafts, shooting as fast as they could.
Nomads threw down their weapons and did their best to surrender. As on any battlefield, giving up was a risky business. With their fighting blood up, not all Avornans felt like taking prisoners. And a few Menteshe pretended to surrender and then started fighting again, which did neither them nor their comrades any good.
“Bori-Bars!” The shout went up not too far from Grus. “We have Bori-Bars!”
Grinning, the king clasped hands with Hirundo again. That was one of the things he’d most hoped for. Capturing the able general weakened the nomads. And now the Avornans would be able to question him. Who was his commander? Korkut? Sanjar? The Banished One?
Pterocles pointed at Grus. “I know what you were doing.”
“Do you?” Grus said. “I often wonder myself.”
“You can’t get away with being coy, not this time,” the wizard said. “You wanted me to fight the Menteshe so they’d do everything they could to break through my spells—and so they wouldn’t do anything else.”
“Who, me?” Grus said.
“Yes, you.” Pterocles did his best to look severe. “And they were pounding on me, and I was doing everything I could to fend them off, and that only made them pound harder. But we weren’t really masking anything after all.”
“They never found that out, did they?” Grus asked. Pterocles shook his head. The king grinned again. “That was what I had in mind.”
“You know how to get what you want, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Grus answered, the grin slipping as fast as it appeared. “We’ll know better as this campaign wears along, won’t we?”
Before Pterocles could say anything, a soldier called, “Your Majesty, here’s Bori-Bars!” The Menteshe general was still mounted on his rough-coated little horse. His hands were tied in front of him, his feet tied together under the horse’s belly. He had a cut over one eye that splashed his swarthy face with blood and an expression that said he wished he were dead.
“Do you speak Avornan?” Grus asked. Reluctantly, Bori-Bars nodded. The king said, “You make a dangerous foe.”
“So do you, Your Majesty.” The Menteshe scowled. “I hoped you would be the one with ropes.” He raised his hands a little.
“Life doesn’t always give us what we hope,” Grus said, and Bori-Bars nodded again. Leaning forward in the saddle, Grus asked, “Who is your master?”
“At the moment, you are,” Bori-Bars answered sourly.
Grus bowed in the saddle. “Well, so I am. But who gave you the orders to attack my army?”
“No one did,” Bori-Bars said. “My scouts spotted your men. It looked to be a good place to hit you. It was a good place to hit you. But you turned out to be sneakier than I expected. You fought that battle the way one of my folk might. Who would have looked for such a thing from an Avornan?”
“For which I thank you.” Grus bowed in the saddle again. “But for whom did you command that army? Who is your superior?”
“I reckon no man my superior.” Pride rang in Bori-Bars’ voice.
“You are being difficult.” Grus exhaled in exasperation. “I will point out to you—once—that you are in a poor position to be difficult. Now then—does that army you commanded owe allegiance to Korkut, or to Sanjar, or to the Banished One?”
“We all owe allegiance to the Fallen Star. Him I will reckon my superior.” Bori-Bars still sounded proud. Grus did not understand that and did not particularly want to understand it—it struck him as being proud one was a slave—but he had also seen it from other Menteshe.
It was one more thing he would have to think about another time. “Do you also follow Korkut, or do you also follow Sanjar?”
“I follow the Fallen Star,” Bori-Bars said.
“And no one else?” Grus asked. The captured general repeated himself. “If that’s yes, then I know of Menteshe who don’t like it,” Grus told him. “I know of Menteshe who are working against the sorcery that makes it so. I know of Menteshe who want to follow their own will first, and who don’t care to be sent halfway to thralldom.”
That got through to Bori-Bars. His eyes flashed. “You know of my folk who would turn against the Fallen Star? I say you lie.”
“I say you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grus replied. “I could name names. They would be names you know. But what would be the point? The names will do you no good, not after I send you back to Avornis. You have many, many more questions to answer.” He nodded to the men who’d captured Bori-Bars. “Take him away. Put him in the compound with the rest of the captured Menteshe officers, but don’t let him speak to them or they to him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they chorused.
Away went the Menteshe general. Grus summoned the Avornan officer in charge of that compound. He was a stolid, middle-aged fellow named Lagopus. He blinked several times when Grus told him, “I want you to let Bori-Bars escape tonight.”
“Your Majesty?” Lagopus dug a finger in his ear, as though wondering if he could have heard right.
“Let him escape. Don’t be obvious about it—don’t let him know you’re letting him—but do it,” Grus said. “He knows some things now that will make the Menteshe quarrel among themselves, but only if he gets away. He’s the sort who will be looking for a chance. Make sure you give him one.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Just as you say.” Lagopus was nothing if not dutiful. He saluted and went back to that compound. He would do as Grus told him. Bori-Bars would get away. And then … they would see what they would see.
Princess Limosa curtsied to King Lanius when she came up to him in a palace hallway. The serving woman behind Limosa carried little Prince Marinus. “Hello, Your Majesty,” Limosa said. “How are you today?”
“Pretty well, thanks,” Lanius answered. “Yourself?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m very pleased you and the queen are going to have another baby.” She really did sound as though she meant it. Maybe she was blind to the politics all around her. Or maybe she just thought that, with Prince Crex, the succession—at least if it passed through Lanius—was already assured.
“Thank you. So am I. Of cour
se, Sosia will have to do the work,” Lanius said.
Limosa laughed. “That’s the truth!” she exclaimed. “I think women forget how hard it is after every birth. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have more than one baby, and then where would we be?”
“Gone,” Lanius said, which made Limosa laugh again. He walked past her and held out his arms. “Let me see Marinus.”
The maidservant put the baby in his arms. Marinus stared up at him. The baby was at the age when he smiled at anything and everything. By the way he looked up at Lanius, the king made him the happiest baby in the world just by existing. His little pink hands reached out …
Lanius jerked his head back in a hurry. “Oh, no, you don’t, you little rascal! You’re not going to get a handful of my beard. My children have already done that, and I know how much it hurts.” Everything he said around Limosa could turn awkward, even something as innocuous as that. She relished pain. Hastily, he went on, “I think he looks more like you than like Ortalis.”
“Yes, I do, too,” Limosa answered. If the other thought occurred to her, she gave no sign of it. She went on, “Ortalis isn’t so sure. He thinks Marinus has his nose.”
Lanius looked down. The baby’s nose was the small, mostly shapeless blob common to about eight babies in ten. “Where’s the rest of it, in that case?” the king inquired, which sent both Limosa and the serving woman into a fit of the giggles.
“I’ll take him back if you like, Your Majesty,” the woman said. He handed her Marinus. The baby’s face clouded up. He started to cry. Lanius didn’t think that was a testimony to his own personality. Marinus sounded fussy and cranky. The maidservant began rocking him in her arms. Sure enough, his eyelids started to sag. “I’ll wait until he’s sound asleep, then put him in his cradle,” the woman told Limosa.
“That will be fine, Pica,” Limosa said.
She and Lanius chatted. She did most of the chatting, as the king wasn’t overburdened with small talk. He didn’t mind; most people did more talking than he did. After a couple of minutes, Pica carried Marinus away. By then, the baby wouldn’t have noticed anything short of the ceiling dropping on him.
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