Savages

by K. J. Parker

“Actually,” Aimeric mumbled, “I think that was Gesel’s idea.”

  The archdeacon nodded. “A marriage made in heaven, so to speak. I confess, I’d pay good money to see the expressions on their faces on their wedding night. That’s a scene that calls for Calojan’s father, at the very height of his powers. Still, it’s all for the best, now that Apsimar’s gone. A clear-cut succession is the single most important thing in politics. Without it, you simply don’t stand a chance.” He paused, and gave Aimeric a look he didn’t understand. “For which,” he added drily, “I assume we have you to thank.”

  “Me?” Aimeric was mildly stunned. “I assumed it was your idea. I was going to ask you, what the hell were you playing at?”

  “Oh.” For the first time since he’d known him, the archdeacon was completely lost for words. “No, it most certainly wasn’t me, I can assure you of that. In which case—”

  “It’s simple,” Teudel said, twitching the coverlet so that it covered his toes. “Sechimer rules the world, his wife controls Sechimer, Aimeric controls his sister, you control Aimeric. Therefore, you rule the world. Happy now?”

  Orsella pulled a doubtful face. “You’re overlooking the fact,” she said, “that Gesel can’t stand the sight of Aimeric. He told me so himself.”

  “Temporary brother-and-sister quarrel,” Teudel replied airily. “You wouldn’t know, being an only child. Trust me, mortal dudgeon is the normal default state. Doesn’t mean she won’t do exactly what he tells her to, provided he can pull the right strings.”

  Orsella nodded. “You left out a step,” she said. “I rule the world, and you control me.”

  Teudel laughed. “Never in a million years. The Invincible Sun, on a good day, maybe. Me, never. I’m just working for your greater glory. It’s what worshippers do.”

  “You don’t strike me as the worshipping sort, Teudel. Even so,” she went on, twisting a few strands of his hair round her fingers, until he yelped, “getting poor dear Aimeric’s toe in the palace door isn’t a bad idea. And it’s about time he earned his keep.” She sighed, and nestled closer. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Why? I’m not going anywhere.” He paused, and lifted his head off the pillow. “Am I?”

  “Dreadfully sorry. If I’m going to be controlling Aimeric, that’s got to be pretty much a full-time job. Can’t have you around the place, he wouldn’t like it. I suggest you revert to your original plan and head for the Vesani Republic. With your share of the forgery money, you can set yourself up quite snugly. Buy yourself a nice little shop or something. I should think you’d do quite well, you’ve got the right instincts.”

  A three-second pause. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

  “It’s been tremendous fun, Teudel, and obviously this gig won’t last for ever. You will wait for me, won’t you?”

  “Like hell.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not very romantic.”

  “I mean,” Teudel said, “I’m not going.”

  “Sweetheart.” She ran a fingernail lightly down his cheek. “Don’t be tiresome. You’re so much better off than you were six months ago, and all because of me.”

  A much longer silence. Then; “Tell me,” Teudel said. “What exactly did you need me for?”

  “What a peculiar question.”

  “Humour me.”

  “Well.” She smiled at him. “You did lots of boring, tedious work scraping parchment and grinding colours and so on. You wrote the text, which I simply couldn’t have managed, I’m hopeless when I try and write anything.”

  “And?”

  “You made Aimeric jealous, which kept him firmly in the game. And you kept me company. I’d have been ever so lonely without you.”

  Teudel shook his head. “You could’ve hired four professional colourmen for what you paid me,” he said. “And I just came up with the ideas; you translated them into flawless Old Mezentine verse. Making Aimeric jealous hardly calls for a highly-paid specialist, and the same goes for keeping you company.” He drew back slightly, until her hand couldn’t reach his face unless she moved. “What did you need me for, Orsella?”

  “The reasons stated,” she replied blandly. “Oh, and your splendid criminal record, of course. If it had all gone horribly wrong and we all got found out for fraud, I’d simply have pleaded ignorance and put all the blame on you. As a convicted criminal under sentence of death—”

  He wriggled away from her, until he could go no further without falling off the bed. “You really expect me to believe,” he said, “that you translated all the stuff about the spear-maker’s daughter, and you didn’t know what it was about, and you weren’t sufficiently curious to ask?”

  “I thought it was just drivel,” she said. “Padding, to fill in the gaps between the bits we’d discussed. Terribly good drivel, of course.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You can believe what you like.”

  He was perfectly still and quiet for a while. Then he said, “All right, let’s see what we’ve got. Without the spear-maker’s daughter and your hand firmly on Aimeric’s leash, what’d be in it for you? A nice fee for artistic services rendered, but otherwise nothing to show for it except the satisfaction of a job well done.”

  She sighed. “Don’t be all bitter and unpleasant, Teudel. It’s been so much fun, and now it’s time to move on.”

  “Whereas,” he continued, “as things stand, thanks to an entirely unexpected stroke of good luck, you’ve just been handed the empire on a plate.”

  “Which is why,” she said sweetly, “you’ve got to go. You do see that, don’t you?”

  For a moment it occurred to him to wonder roughly how long he’d have left to live if he punched her in the mouth—now, quickly, as hard as he could, before he had time to think better of it; hours, he decided, rather than days, and besides, as he closed his hand to make the fist he discovered that it was the last thing he wanted to do; physically impossible to make himself do it, like flying. So, like a dog chasing a bird, or a man falling from a rooftop, he was left furious, wretched, helpless, choiceless. He was stranded on an island watching his ship sail away.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “About the money.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” she said. “As soon as I get paid, I’ll send your share on to you. Probably best not to send coins; I’ll do you a bill of exchange on the Carloman brothers in Boc Bohec.”

  So; there wasn’t going to be any money, either. On the other hand, to be strictly fair, she hadn’t had him murdered, or at least not yet. “How much are we talking about, exactly?” he asked. “In very round numbers.”

  The figure she quoted was about half what he’d been expecting; not that it mattered, since he’d never see a trachy of it anyway. Even so. “That’ll be fine,” he said. “You couldn’t let me have a few solidi for the road, could you? I’m not particularly keen on walking to Boc Bohec.”

  She explained that she was a bit short right now, what with having to pay for materials up front and other unavoidable expenses. “I can let you have four tremisses,” she said, “but that’s about it. Anyway, gold wouldn’t be much use to you on the road. Nobody’d be able to give you change.”

  He left an hour late, carrying everything he owned in his pockets. A small man followed him. He went to Longwall Street; the woman there was surprised to see him, but let him come in. Yes, he could have the cellar, if he wanted, and was he in any trouble? That, he told her, was a bit of a grey area, but it was all right, he’d only be staying for a week or so. She looked disappointed, which pleased him enormously.

  Everyone was talking about the prophesy, rumours of which were now streaming out, like blood from under the slaughterhouse door. It was because of the prophesy that the emperor had married the plain girl; she would cleanse him of all his sins (what sins? Presumably some they hadn’t heard about) and their progeny would usher in the Age of Gold. That was only the start of it. The drowned man would tip the scales; there was a l
ot of debate about that one. The she-wolf’s whelp would curl up at the feet of the prince of the twilight and save him from the crows; splendid stuff. Two dragons would fight over the lion’s carcass, but the wren would have its heart. The chosen one would nearly die of joy, but he would conquer joy and stand before the gates of the King of Worms. Because of the beautiful stranger, the streets would run with blood; he would lift the Crown of Teeth, but place it on the head of another. And, best of all, if the great enemy of all mankind crossed the river Essa, it would be destroyed; only its head would remain, to be carried back to the City. That one led to a run on maps; quite soon they were sold out at the cartographer’s in Chapelgate, and new stock was having to be drawn, with the Essa helpfully highlighted in Mezentine blue.

  Aimeric eventually gave up on trying to get Gesel to see him and wrote her a letter instead. He got a reply by return—

  …All your fault. I have no idea what you think you’re playing at, but I regard your conduct as unforgivable.

  That said, and bearing in mind that I never wanted a husband in the first place, so far I find that Sechimer and I are surprisingly well suited (no thanks whatsoever to you). He is a deeply spiritual man, with a deep-rooted and utterly sincere faith, something I could never expect you to understand. He has proved to me that he is genuinely concerned about the welfare, moral as well as physical, of the people of the empire, regarding himself as their servant rather than their master. On that basis I have reluctantly agreed to share his bed until the succession is assured…

  …Our mother is properly looked after, I have sent for her to join me here in the palace, where she will have her own suite of rooms and access to the chapel royal for morning and evening worship. The house in Lattenyard will therefore be sold, and I shall give the proceeds of sale to the Golden Spire, for poor relief. I shall arrange for any possessions of yours still on the premises to be put in store, at your expense.

  Please don’t write to me again. I am extremely busy with charitable work, and have no time for frivolous correspondence.

  The good news was that Orsella had finally sent the odious Teudel packing. She’d caught him out in some unspecified act of petty dishonesty, he’d made a dreadful scene, and she’d shown him the door. He was now safely on his way to the Vesani Republic; no great loss, since now that the prophesy was finished she had absolutely no use for him any more. Furthermore, with the job done and out of the way she had plenty of time on her hands; it’d be much more convenient for both of them, therefore, if Aimeric found a nice place for them to live; she was sick to death of the poky little garret on Cornmarket, and there was a rather lovely place in Tiltyards on the market for a very reasonable price; it had a cloistered garden with a fountain, and a genuine minstrel’s gallery in the main hall. Maybe they could go and look at it together, quite soon.

  An embassy arrived from Raffen, king of Selbst. After a brief flurry of activity in the map room of the palace, Selbst was identified as the place where the offcomers came from, and Sechimer and Calojan received the ambassadors in the Old Throne Room. There were three of them; an old man with a shaven head, a thin middle-aged woman and a boy. They were wearing fur coats—the only clothes they’d brought with them—and were suffering terribly in the heat. Sechimer, trussed up like a chicken in chlamys, lorus and divitision, could sympathise; he sent for iced water, which the ambassadors politely declined. There was an awkward silence. Then Calojan said, “Well, what can we do for you?”

  The old man wiped a pint of sweat out of his eyes, opened his mouth, thought better of it and stared at the floor. The woman cleared her throat. “Our king would be interested to hear how our countrymen living in your kingdom are getting on,” she said. “Last time we heard about them, they were living in some sort of camp, out in a field somewhere.”

  The word kingdom had made two of the attendant clerks wince visibly. Sechimer was about to answer, but Calojan spoke first. “They’ve been making themselves useful,” he said. “Extremely useful, in fact. I recruited them into the imperial army, and they recently did a good job for me. I’m happy to tell you the camp’s closed down, they’ve moved into the old barracks in Eastwood, where they’ve settled in nicely, and they’re quite happy and delighted to stay on.”

  The old man nodded. “King Raffen will be relieved to hear that,” he said.

  “In fact,” Calojan went on, “you’ve saved me a job, because I was just about to send someone to see you. Basically, I’d like to know if there’s any more at home like the ones we’ve got here already. If so, send them this way and you’ll be doing us a favour. As many as you like,” he added, “within reason.”

  The woman peered at him, as if trying to decide if he was human, animal or divine. “You’d like to recruit more of our people for your army?”

  “Absolutely,” Calojan said. “We’re offering good money for the right men, and there’s death-in-service benefits which I think you’ll find interesting. Which reminds me,” he added. “Something you can help me with. I have just over five hundred pieces of gold sitting in my exchequer office which belongs to the families of some of your people who didn’t make it in the battle I mentioned just now. Three pieces of gold a head, payable to the next of kin. We know the names, but there’s the matter of actually getting the money out to the families. If you could help us with that, we’d be most grateful.”

  A strange look passed over the faces of the ambassadors. “Three pieces of gold,” the old man said.

  “That’s right. We pay that to the family if one if your lot dies on active service. We feel it’s the least we can do. Also, of course, the family also gets the dead man’s back pay, and any share of plunder he may have been entitled to.”

  “We’d be delighted to help in any way we can,” the woman said quickly. “If it would help you, we’d be prepared to take the money back with us and make sure it’s sent on.”

  “Would you?” Calojan beamed at her. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to dwell on death and casualties and so forth; I’m probably making it sound much worse than it really is. Fact is, the battle in question was a bit of a miracle, really. As regards your people we lost around a hundred and fifty, out of five thousand. The enemy lost fifteen thousand men.” He grinned. “Not wanting to boast, but we’re quite good at fighting wars. Your people would be in good hands.”

  The old man was staring. The boy cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, but if you’re so good at warfare, what do you need us for?”

  Sechimer twitched visibly. Calojan said, “I’m sorry, I don’t quite see what point you’re trying to make.”

  The boy was about fifteen, tall and broad for his age but somewhat baby-faced. He cleared his throat again before he answered. “It seems to me,” he said, “that someone in your position would need a large number of extra soldiers either because he’s lost a lot of his own men and needs to make his numbers back up, or else because he’s planning some big operation, like invading another country. Excuse me for putting it like this, but if it’s the first one, you’re weak, and if it’s the second, you’re dangerous. Either way, maybe our king should be a bit careful about getting too closely involved with you.”

  Calojan looked as though he was about to reply, but he didn’t speak. Sechimer said, “We’ve been engaged in a long and very bitter war with our oldest and strongest enemy, the Sashan. I took over the throne because the previous emperor had been managing the war very badly. During that time, we lost a great many men. However, that war has now been won. The battle your countrymen fought in was the last stage of it, and we were completely successful.”

  “I see,” the boy said. “So now there’s nobody left for you to fight. In that case, why do you need a big new army?”

  Calojan laughed. “We had allies,” he said. “They helped us a lot in the war. But now they’ve got troubles of their own, so they’ve gone home. We’d like your people to replace them. It’s true,” he went on, “there’s no-one left to fight right now. But next year,
or in ten years’ time, who knows? Meanwhile, your people can earn good money. And with any luck, just by having a big new army, we’ll convince anyone who might want to pick a fight with us that it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  The boy nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “I think I understand now.”

  Another slightly awkward pause; then the woman said, “This is Breniolf, one of our leading chieftains. He came of age two months ago.”

  “It was a good question,” Sechimer said. “I hope we’ve answered it clearly enough.”

  “Perfectly clearly, thank you,” the woman said. “We’ll go back to our king and let him know what you’ve said.” She smiled; the effect was rather disconcerting, and made her look ten years younger. “Thank you for seeing us. I hope we didn’t break too many diplomatic protocols. This is the first time we’ve been ambassadors, you see.”

  “You did it very well,” Calojan said. He waited for a moment, then added, “Was there anything else? Only—”

  The old man was struggling with himself; one part of him must have won, because he coughed loudly and said, “May I ask something?”

  Calojan looked at Sechimer, who said, “By all means.”

  The old man looked at Sechimer for three seconds. Then he said, “Since it’s so very hot, why are you wearing that great big embroidered scarf? It must be very uncomfortable.”

  Calojan made a sort of strangled noise and turned sharply away. “Well,” Sechimer said, “it’s called the lorus, it’s very old, and all my predecessors have worn it, right back to Florian’s time. I guess it’s to show people I’m the emperor.”

  “Ah.” The old man looked relieved. “We have something quite like that in our country. It’s a very old helmet, which the king wears. It’s made of hardened oxhide, and it’s decorated with teeth pulled from the jaws of the king’s enemies after their heads have been cut off. At the last count,” he added, “there were six hundred and twenty-four.”