CHAPTER FOUR
Peter sat on his bed, next to the wet spot where the wine had spilled, trying to think. He knew that he ought to be readying himself for bed; his father was quite strict about his bedtime. But images were whirling themselves too fast in his head: Lord Carle smiling as he spoke of the Chara’s law. Andrew smiling at the creation basket. Andrew standing motionless against the wall, his face like that of a corpse.
A knock came at the door. Roused from his thoughts, Peter took an appalled glance at the floor. A bucket, moss, sap, bits of metal, clay . . . and worst of all, a valuable bowl filled with earth. If the Chara had come to bid his son good night, the interview would not be a pleasant one for Peter.
But it was not the Chara, Peter found when he opened the door; the man who had knocked was one of the Chara’s guards, Emmett, whom Peter had always liked. “Your pardon, Lord Peter,” he murmured. “Your slave-servant, Andrew, desires to know whether you wish him to complete the task you set for him, before he retires to bed.”
Peter, having no idea what the “task” was, said immediately, “Yes, let him in now.”
“He will need to be fetched,” Emmett replied. Then, seeing Peter’s frown of puzzlement, he explained, “The slave-quarters are currently being locked for the night. Lord Carle’s free-servant delivered the message from your slave-servant, since Henry has just been checking on his master’s own slaves, and the matter regarding your slave appeared to be urgent.” There was a faintly querying note in Emmett’s voice. Peter guessed that the underlying message was, “Merely say the word, and we’ll have this troublesome slave beaten.”
“He was quite right to deliver the message,” Peter replied. “Please thank him for me. . . . And Emmett?”
“Yes, Lord Peter?”
Peter licked his lips. “I shall need Andrew for the rest of the night. Have Henry tell the slave-keeper that he may lock the quarters once he has released Andrew to my service.”
An expression flicked across Emmett’s face, too quick to be read. “Very well, Lord Peter. I shall see that you and your slave-servant are not disturbed.”
He closed the door before Peter could think to ask what exactly Emmett envisioned he would be disturbing. Perhaps the guard had merely received a glimpse of what lay on the floor of the chamber of the Chara’s son, and he envisioned a lengthy clean-up.
Peter bit his lip, wondering whether he had gone too far. His father had made clear to him that he must not interfere with how the slave-keeper handled the slaves. But Peter simply could not settle matters between Andrew and himself in the brief interval between now and the midnight trumpets.
He must find some way to make an apology. Thinking back on how he had handled the conversation, he was appalled at his cruelty. He had allowed himself to become so absorbed in worries over Lord Carle that he had turned his back on Andrew – had let the slave regard himself as dismissed from Peter’s mind and heart. Andrew had been stripped of his virility, had been sold to a cruel master, had nonetheless trusted his new master enough to pull down his mask . . . and had had his new master turn against him.
What could you give a slave who, by law, could own nothing?
Another knock came at the door. It was Emmett, ushering in Andrew. Apparently Andrew did not even possess enough self-confidence now to enter unbidden. As the door closed, Andrew stood in the posture of an obedient slave: stiff-backed, with his eyes down. In his right hand was an iron bucket, filled with water, with rags tied to its handle. He said, “If it please the Chara’s son, I would like to finish cleaning up after myself.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. Andrew—”
But Andrew had taken his words as an order, not an invitation to conversation; he immediately fell to his knees and began scooping objects into the wooden bucket. Peter, retreating to the bed again, tried to think of what to say as Andrew cleared the clutter on the floor, took up a rag, and began cleaning the floor methodically. Peter could see the slave’s bandaged back from where he sat.
He struggled to find the words he wanted, and then cried out wordlessly as Andrew, with not so much as a moment’s hesitation, stood up, took the creation basket, and dumped its contents into the bucket, destroying the Koretian landscape he had created. Andrew glanced his way, then quickly lowered his eyes. “Have I failed to please the Chara To Be in some manner?”
Peter was beginning to realize why his slave had no friends in the slave-quarters; Andrew’s voice was as cold and hard as a mainland ice-block. Peter made some strangled sound in his throat, which Andrew evidently read as a negative, for he turned and carried the glass bowl over to the pitcher, poured water into it, and began to carefully wash the remaining dirt from it.
“I’ll help you with that,” Peter said, stumbling in his eagerness to reach the sideboard.
“The Chara’s son need not trouble himself.”
A thigh-dagger cutting prisoners in the Marcadian ice-prisons could not have been as chillingly biting as Andrew’s reply. Peter, who had just taken hold of the pitcher, stopped dead, feeling as though his life’s blood had been severed. He stared at the slave, who was masked with his blank expression; then, without any conscious thought of what he was doing, Peter turned and dashed the pitcher onto the floor. “I hate being the Chara’s son!” he cried, and then he fell to his knees amidst the broken pottery and covered his face with his hands.
Dimly, he heard the door open; dimly, he heard Emmett’s voice, making an enquiry; dimly, he heard Andrew respond. Whatever Andrew said must have reassured the guard, for he withdrew quickly. The door shut again, leaving the chamber in silence.
The chamber was so still that Peter guessed that Andrew had left as well. He tried to gather himself together, but he found he was shaking. A full minute passed; the palace trumpets sounded in the new year. Finally, Peter managed to pull his hands from his face.
Andrew was kneeling beside him, mopping up the spilled water.
“I’m sorry,” said the slave, without looking his way.
“Sorry?” Peter automatically reached forward to pick up one of the pieces of the broken pitcher.
“I’d forgotten that it’s the same for you. That you have to wear a mask as well.”
Peter’s mind drifted back to the first conversation he had held with Andrew, concerning their shared burden of having to hide their true natures from other people. “My need isn’t as great as yours. Andrew, I didn’t mean to— I ought to have said—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew replied. “At least you didn’t break the glass bowl. . . . Some of the pitcher pieces have rolled under the bed.”
“I’ll get them.” Peter dived down and squeezed under the bed. As he did so, it occurred to him that, just a week before, he never would have thought to help a slave-servant do so menial a task.
The Chara, he thought, had been more right than he knew. Andrew was helping Peter learn how to rule his subjects, for Peter was beginning to get a hazy sense of why the dominion of Koretia had caused so many troubles to Emor . . . and an even hazier sense of how he might be able to correct matters when he became Chara.
They finished cleaning the floor in silence, and then they worked together to clean the bowl and to place it back in the chest of treasures. Then they stood facing each other. Andrew appeared to be as much at a loss for words as Peter was.
Finally Peter asked, “Would you like to stay here tonight?”
And with those words, Andrew went rigid once more.
Feeling like a bladesman who has made a mortal mistake not once, but twice, Peter said quickly, “What is it?”
“You want me to sleep with you?” The mask, thankfully, had not returned yet, but what was there was nearly as bad: the same horror that had been in Andrew’s face in the moment after he realized that Peter did not know what he was.
Peter, hearing his own statement reworded thus, felt the same horror enter him. He remembered now – too late for the memory to be of use to him – how he had touched Andrew after sayin
g that he liked the slave as a eunuch, and how Andrew had flinched.
May the high doom fall upon himself – how could he have been so blind? He lived in the same palace as Lord Sutton; he should have known what it was that Andrew would fear most from his master. And Lord Carle—
But there his wildly darting speculation ran into a locked gate; he could not imagine Lord Carle in bed with a woman, much less with a eunuch. No, Peter was sure that could not have happened; he had heard Lord Carle speak with contempt concerning Lord Sutton’s penchant for eunuchs. Whatever Lord Carle’s motive might have been for gelding Andrew, it could not have been to obtain a bed-mate.
But there were other lords in the palace, and other dangers for a slave who was considered prime bedding material. Peter had once witnessed a lord pinch Laura’s bottom when she was trying to serve the Chara’s son at a public function. Peter had furiously made clear to the lord that he would not stand for such treatment of one of the Chara’s slaves, and the Chara, thankfully, had backed his words. But would Lord Carle bother to protect the slave whom he had gelded?
And who could Andrew expect to protect him, if the Chara’s son wanted him for such use?
Andrew said, his voice still rigid, “If you want me that way, I’ll do it.”
Peter wanted to cry then – to cry at Andrew’s pain, to cry at the loyalty that forced Andrew to offer himself up to his new master for further pain. Furious at himself, he shouted, “No!” Then, seeing Andrew catch his breath at this evidence of his master’s anger, Peter said quietly but fiercely, “No, I don’t want you that way. You’re a boy. I don’t mate with boys.”
Andrew seemed barely to be breathing now. Treading his way carefully, Peter said, “Don’t you see? That’s why it never occurred to me that you were a eunuch. You’re a boy like me. Whatever Lord Carle may have done to your body, he hasn’t changed what you are inside. You’re still a boy, and one day you’ll be a man.”
Andrew had definitely stopped breathing. His eyes searched Peter’s face, seeking something.
More sure of himself now, Peter said, “You know it’s true, don’t you?”
Andrew said, in a very soft voice, “I’ve always wanted . . .”
Peter waited; then, when Andrew did not speak further, he said, “But you didn’t think anyone else wanted you to be a man?”
Andrew nodded slowly.
“Well, I do.” Speaking firmly, Peter gripped Andrew’s arm hard, as one grips a boy, not a girl or a eunuch. “So don’t pay attention to what anyone else thinks. I’m the Chara To Be, and my opinion is the only one that matters.”
He half expected Andrew to smile at this pompous speech, but instead the boy dipped his eyes. After a moment, Andrew nodded. After another moment, he looked up and said, “So . . . when you said you wanted me to stay here tonight . . . did you mean I should sleep on the floor?”
Peter hesitated. The idea that had formed itself in his mind before seemed absurd in retrospect; worse, it could easily be taken the wrong way. “It doesn’t matter. I was being foolish.”
All of Andrew’s uncertainty vanished in an instant, and Peter had a second in which to feel uneasy. He knew what that sudden change of expression meant. Andrew had the most ghastly talent for being able to tell what people were thinking. There were times when Peter thought their roles should have been reversed, and that Andrew should be the one training to be High Judge.
“On the bed, you meant?” Andrew said. Then, as Peter started to stammer some protest, “But not mating. Just . . . sleeping?”
Peter sighed and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, thoroughly embarrassed now. “I was just thinking . . . it was folly, but I was thinking about pallets.”
“Pallets?” Andrew seemed interested now rather than concerned.
Peter gave a brief, somewhat garbled explanation, omitting only any mention of Lord Carle’s name. “And so I thought it would be nice . . . Well, I was just curious as to what it would be like, sleeping with a frie— Sleeping with someone who was a companion.”
“Such as one of your slave-servants.” Andrew looked puzzled now, as well he might. Peter did not suppose this was the sort of proposal that most noble-boys made to their servants.
“Such as you. I mean, you’re different from the others.”
Comprehension entered Andrew’s eyes. “You mean, because I’m— Because I’m not the sort of boy who might think you were twisted, because you’d asked another boy to sleep with you. You know I know it’s not that.”
Peter nodded. That aspect of his proposal had not even entered his head, though he felt his cheeks grow warm at the thought of the mistake he had nearly made. No doubt Lord Carle, who had slept with a friend in the days when poverty was sufficient excuse for sharing a pallet, had not thought to warn the Chara’s son that a noble-boy’s desire to sleep with another boy could be regarded in a very different fashion.
“It’s for you to decide,” Peter added. “It’s not an order, you know. I just thought you might enjoy it. Sleeping in a bed for once, I mean.”
Andrew ran the tip of his tongue across the corner of his mouth. “Would I need to undress?”
“No, of course not,” Peter said immediately, understanding the reason why Andrew would not want to strip in front of him. “I always sleep in my breeches and undertunic in the winter. You could borrow one of my old undertunics – it’s in a chest over there. And there’s extra water there, near the mantelpiece . . .”
He gabbled on, knowing that Andrew knew as well as he did where the items of toiletry were, since Andrew had placed most of them in the chamber himself. But Andrew could not know, until Peter told him so, that he had permission to use the items.
“I’ll go say goodnight to my father,” Peter concluded, and left while Andrew was still contemplating the bed.
o—o—o
The spears were lowered before his father’s door; the Chara, Emmett told him as he prepared to depart from his guard-shift, was closeted with the council’s High Lord. Peter lingered in the corridor for a while, watching the sparse, late-night traffic of lords and ladies, until the newly arrived guards began to eye him. Knowing that he was not permitted to be in the corridor without his father’s permission, Peter cautiously re-entered his own chamber.
The chamber was dark. The smell of scented wax lingered, even after the snuffing of the candles. Andrew had banked the fire; the logs glowed and shifted, sending down whispers of crumbling wood. The wind had died; cold moonlight slatted through the shutters, falling upon the bed.
Andrew was curled up in a ball under the blankets, facing the wall. Coming closer, Peter saw that the other boy had replaced the wet blanket with a new one. Peter supposed that he should be heartsick with the loss of his favorite blanket, but it seemed appropriate, somehow, that he should sleep under a plain blanket hereafter. He slipped off his belt and tunic and winter boots, laying them aside; then, shivering, he slipped under the covers.
Andrew did not move. Peter could see his hair, striped by the moonlight. Reaching out tentatively, Peter touched his back.
Andrew jerked, letting out a hiss. Hastily, Peter drew his hand back. He had forgotten about the bandages protecting the raw flesh. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” Andrew’s voice was muffled. Peter, knowing that Andrew’s answer was no answer at all, edged away from him.
For a moment, all was still. Peter lay with his eyes open, trying to figure out what part of this process Lord Carle had found companionable. Probably, he thought, the episode had never even happened to the council lord. Probably Lord Carle had lied about this, as he had about so many other things.
Andrew shifted, moving back. Peter, remembering the other boy’s wound, shifted too, in order to allow Andrew more room. Andrew froze. Then he shifted back again.
Peter moved further back, puzzled. He was almost at the edge of the bed now – did Andrew know that? Was the younger boy trying to push him off?
Andrew paused; th
en, once again, he moved back. His legs touched Peter’s legs, folding round the front of them like a sheath that protects a blade.
Then Peter understood. Carefully avoiding contact with Andrew’s back, he wriggled forward and placed his arm round Andrew’s side and chest, embracing the other boy. For a moment, Andrew did not move, and Peter wondered whether he had guessed correctly what the other boy wanted, or whether Andrew was fearfully trying to calculate at what point the Chara’s son would begin removing his clothes. Then, groping like a blind puppy, Andrew moved his hand till it lay lightly over Peter’s.
Peter shifted his head and rested his cheek against Andrew’s bowed neck. He could hear the other boy’s even breathing, and could smell his scent. Andrew’s skin was warm.
For a long time, they lay like that, while Peter’s mind wandered back through the events of the afternoon: The broken pitcher. The mask hiding pain. Andrew’s dreams in Koretia. Andrew smiling at the creation basket. Andrew digging in the snow-covered garden for signs of green. Andrew’s voice saying, “Buried, cold . . . dead.”
Peter said in his memory, “Not dead. Alive and whole.” Andrew stared at him in disbelief, as he had stared disbelieving when Peter spoke of how he would have treated the trapped bird.
And then, like the shock of fire, a memory of Andrew in Lord Carle’s quarters, staring with longing toward the south. Toward Koretia.
“Andrew,” said Peter.
For a moment, Peter thought the other boy was asleep, but then Andrew murmured an acknowledgment.
“Andrew, would you like to go back to Koretia?”
Andrew’s breath caught for the second time that night. His hand tightened on Peter’s. His voice was higher than usual as he said, “You’d take me there with you?”
Such a thought had never entered Peter’s mind. His father, he knew, would never allow the Chara’s heir to return to the land where he had nearly been assassinated, and once Peter himself became Chara, he would be forbidden, by law, from leaving the palace except in wartime. Chances were good that he would never go to Koretia again.
But Andrew could.
What could you give a slave who, by law, could own nothing?
You gave him his freedom.
“At what time of the year would you like to go back?” Peter asked, avoiding a direct answer to Andrew’s question. “Spring?”
Andrew’s breath was quick now, and heavy. After a while he said, “Summer. That’s the best time of the year.”
“Summer, then,” Peter promised. “The trees will be very green then, and the lakes will sparkle with color. The mountains will shine under the sun. The jackals will be hunting for food. . .”
He continued on, painting a portrait based on his single glimpse of the Koretian summer – a glimpse that had lasted roughly half a minute before the assassin’s attack forced him to retreat back over the border. In his mind, he could see Andrew walking under the green coolness of the trees, his skin warmed by summer’s rays, his head high and his smile bright and unshadowed as he stared at the leaves and twigs and moss and vines and nuts and bark and berries and earth. He would be happy—
He would be happy, and Peter would be miserably alone again, because Andrew was different from everyone else. No one else could serve as Peter’s companion in the way that Andrew did. But that was what made Peter’s promise a gift: the fact that he wanted Andrew to stay with him forever, but he would give Andrew back his freedom, so that the other boy could be happy.
He said nothing of the emancipation to Andrew. Chances were that years would pass before Peter became Chara and inherited his father’s slaves; there would be time enough to speak of the matter once Peter acquired the power to keep his promise. But he had made the promise to himself, and he knew that he would keep the promise, just as surely as if it had been an oath he took on the Pendant of Judgment.
Andrew had fallen asleep, lulled into relaxation by images of what he thought would be a brief visit to Koretia. Peter, still holding him, lay awake for a while in the still moonlight, thinking of the gods’ law, and the Chara’s law, and a law that was higher than both.
Then he slept, and while he slept, he dreamt of a new tree growing in a sunny garden, and of Andrew lying beneath it, fast asleep.
o—o—o
o—o—o
HISTORICAL NOTE
Most of the recipes mentioned in this story were borrowed from the Roman cookbook Apicius (4th/5th century).
o—o—o
o—o—o
o—o—o
=== More fiction by Dusk Peterson ===
Excerpt from a volume in the Three Lands series
BLOOD VOW
I took the Chara’s ring from his hand and turned it to show the emblem of the Charas: a balance holding in one scale a blade and in the other scale a bird wounded in the heart.
“This is one of many things which have convinced me that Emor and Koretia were once connected in some way,” I said. “Here is the Chara’s emblem: the Balance of Judgment holding the Sword of Vengeance and the Heart of Mercy. And those are the three attributes of the Jackal as well: the God of Judgment, the God of Vengeance, and the God of Mercy. The Jackal God hides in the shadows during his night-prowls, judging the Koretian people. To his enemies he brings vengeance, and to his loyal servants he brings the mercy of peace. There are even stories of the god allowing himself to be wounded and to suffer for those who serve him. That is why he is so loved by the Koretian people.”
Peter took back the ring, slid it onto his finger, and asked quietly, “Was he loved by you when you were a child? Did you wish to become a thief for the Jackal?”
I looked down again at the map before answering. “The blood vow I once told you of was made to the Jackal.”
The guards, who had been shuffling in their places outside the Map Room, fell silent at this moment, and the loudest sound I could hear was the crackle of the fire behind me. Peter said, “Then I will have to hope that, when I visit Koretia, the Jackal doesn’t place me under his high doom for helping you to break your vow.”
I touched the map very lightly before I looked up to where Peter stood, watching me. “You are going to Koretia?” I said in a dispassionate voice.
“I think that’s the only action I can take to prevent war from breaking out again.” He waited, and then said, “What is on your mind?”
“I was thinking that summer isn’t the best time to visit Koretia.”
Peter smiled. “You’re supposed to say, ‘The Chara never leaves his palace.’ That’s what the council lords will say when I tell them of my decision.”
“You haven’t told them yet?”
“I didn’t decide to go before this conversation. I expect that the council and I will have a lengthy quarrel on the topic, but the law allows me to go, and my duty as Chara tells me to go. Besides, I’d like to see Koretia. I was only there for that one brief visit.”
“Because your father wouldn’t risk putting you in danger’s way again. How will the Chara avoid becoming the Jackal’s next victim?”
“The Chara hopes,” said Peter with a smile, “that his subject Andrew will not be leading him into any more ambushes. But in any case, I won’t be travelling as the Chara. It appears that the Jackal doesn’t murder Emorian lords at random, so I should be safe if I don’t call attention to myself, but instead journey to the governor’s palace in the company of one or two other lords.” He paused, searching my face. “I may take a few lesser free-men along as well.”
I did not move my gaze from his, but my expression remained masked. “Are you asking me to come with you, Peter?”
His voice, when he replied, was gentle. “I wish that it were Peter who was asking. I would like to say that the only reason I am asking you is because I, Peter, would like my friend to be able to visit his childhood home. But the fact is that the Chara is requesting his servant to accompany him so that, with your special background, you can find me information that I may wish to use against the Kore
tian rebels and their Jackal. I need you to be a spy in your own land.”
I still did not move, but now that the words were said, I felt my heart ease somewhat. “Thank you for putting that so clearly, Chara,” I said softly, “but I have only one land, which is Emor, and only one master, which is you. When I gave my oath of loyalty to the Chara, I did not say that I would serve you only on condition that you not give me any hard tasks to do. If you need my help, then I will gladly come with you to Koretia.”
He bowed his head to me, as though he were the servant and I the master. . . .
o—o—o
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o—o—o
o—o—o
Excerpt from a story in the Young Spies series
DANGER IN THE MOUNTAINS
I lay very still. My hands were still raised above my head, the way they had been when I tried to climb, and I felt my wrists and ankles being pinned to the ground by unseen guards. I didn’t resist them. I was afraid that if I moved in the slightest, the lieutenant’s sword would miss the spot he was aiming for, and I would die a more painful death than already awaited me.
There was a pause while a soft shuffle of footsteps gathered round me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that there were more than six guards here; I had been right in thinking that the full unit was after me. My gaze, though, was on the lieutenant, staring down at me with dark hatred in his eyes, and my one thought, outside of terror, was my growing concern as to how long he was going to make me wait like this before he finished his deed.
Softly he said, “Search him.”
Instantly, on both sides of me, I felt hands touching my body, swiftly and firmly. I resisted an impulse to flinch away, mainly because I was uncertain as to what they were doing. What did it matter to them whether I had another weapon? I’d have no chance to use it. The hands ceased to touch me on my front, and then I was rolled over onto my stomach, and I could feel myself being touched again. Still I did not move, for now I could feel the lieutenant’s blade against my spine.
God of Mercy, I thought. Is he really going to kill me in the back? For the first time I felt the impulse to speak – not to plead for my life, which was clearly forfeit, but to ask the lieutenant to give me an honorable death. Then I stifled the impulse. What did I know of Emorian honor? Perhaps in Emor there was no shame attached to being stabbed in the back, as a fleeing man might be killed.
“He is naked,” said one of the guards, meaning of course that I was unarmed. There was another pause, and my shoulder-blades began to draw toward each other, bracing for the moment.
Then the lieutenant said, “All right, get him up. And bind his eyes too; we take no chances with this one.”
My momentary bewilderment was ended by sharp pain as one of the guards jerked down my upraised hands down and began to bind them behind my back with a leather strap. Another guard was tying a cloth over my eyes. Then I was pulled to my feet.
This was worse than I had expected; I was not even going to be granted the quick death I had dreaded. They were going to take me some place where they could give me a slow, painful death – perhaps they would torture me for days. I felt myself begin to shiver once more, and this time I knew that it wasn’t from the wind.
Given the fact that I had been travelling in near darkness, I ought not to have had any trouble travelling eye-bound, but there is a great difference between walking forward in the darkness on your own feet and being propelled forward without having a chance to feel the ground beneath you. I never fell; the hands holding me on either side wrenched me upward each time I stumbled. After a few minutes of this, I discovered to my fury that moisture was forming at the edge of my eyes. Death I could accept, pain I would endure somehow, but this march of humiliation seemed calculated to break my spirit.
Presently the hands released me, and someone pushed me sideways, then forward. On either side of me I could feel rocks brushing against my arms; from the hollowness of the footsteps before me and behind me, I could tell that we were in the tunnel leading to the hut. The patrol guards must have marched me over the wooden plank across the pit, for the echoes of my footsteps ceased. I felt grass under my feet for a while, then the hands took hold of me again, and I travelled through open air for a short space before being suddenly thrust forward. I stumbled and fell to my knees, just saving myself from falling entirely to the floor. The ground beneath me was dirt, the air felt warm, and there were low voices speaking around me that had a hollow tone to them. I must be in some sort of enclosure again.
I heard the lieutenant saying something soft to his men. I was raised to my feet, less harshly than I had been thrown forward, and the cloth was removed from my eyes.
I found I was standing in a small room – this must be the hut I had seen in the hollow. Immediately in front of me was an open hearth-fire that was the sole source of light in the room. Beyond it, most of the soldiers were crowded around a dark, open doorway. Then they stepped back, and from the room beyond the main chamber stepped the sublieutenant.
He took no notice of me. He went over to the lieutenant, who was standing near me, and pulled his sword from his sheath. For a moment, he held the blade flat against his face; then he sheathed his weapon once more.
“How is he?” asked the lieutenant in Emorian.
“He will live.” The sublieutenant’s gaze wandered over toward me for the first time, and his brows dived low. “He caught Fowler’s side – the wound is bad, but his life’s blood has not spilled without measure. Gamaliel says that he should be taken back to the city. He doubts that Fowler will recover before the snows fall.”
The door in the back was closing, and the other soldiers had begun to turn my way. The lieutenant was looking at me now as well; his expression had not grown any lighter since he first captured me. I felt my lungs being squeezed short at the same moment that my breath quickened. Now, I thought, they will begin.
“Very well, sir,” said the lieutenant to me in Common Koretian. “You obviously wanted badly to cross the border. You may as well tell us why.”
I must have gaped – at least, that was what I was feeling inside. But perhaps my expression came across as defiance, for the next thing I knew the lieutenant had me pinned by both shoulders against the wall. “Listen, Koretian,” he said, his voice still even and cool, though his hands were pressed hard against me, “you just wounded one of my best men. I am not in a mood to be patient. You will answer the questions I ask you.”
My voice came out in a feeble sort of tremble. “You won’t believe me.”
“You have nothing to lose by telling me the truth,” said the lieutenant, still very cool. “You have a great deal to lose by not speaking.”
Blocked from my view by the lieutenant, the sublieutenant said, “He is probably going to say that his gods made him do it. That is what Koretians always say when they break the law.”
The one, small part of me that was still functioning rationally put out an urgent message that I must not mention the gods in my reply. This created a difficulty – I had never before tried to censor all reference to the gods in my speech – but the lieutenant was clearly not prepared to wait long, so I switched over to Emorian, which gave me an excuse to stumble slowly through my speech. “I wanted to be Emorian,” I said. “I knew that you wouldn’t let me into your land without a letter of passage, but I wanted to become one of you. I wanted—” I hesitated before remembering what Fenton had said about the law. This was how I could find a substitute for speaking of the gods. “I wanted to take a vow of service to the Chara.”
There was a good deal of murmuring going on between the soldiers now, but the lieutenant didn’t move his gaze. He still had me pinned to the wall, and his face was but a hand’s span from mine. �
�I see,” he said. “Is there any particular reason you were so eager to do this?”
“My family is in a blood feud.”
The side of the lieutenant’s mouth quirked up, though his eyes remained angry. “You fled to Emor so that you would not be murdered?”
“No. So that I wouldn’t have to murder.”
The lieutenant made no reply; he still hadn’t released me. I thought wildly to myself that I would never be able to explain. He must have heard of blood feuds, but he couldn’t understand what it was like to take part in one. I wouldn’t have understood if it hadn’t happened to me. I might as well remain quiet and let them do whatever it was that they planned to do to me.
But I found myself saying, “I wanted to live in a land where there are no blood feuds. I heard about the Chara’s law – about how murderers in Emor are brought to judgment, and no one has to kill out of blood-lust. I wanted to find out more about this law. It seemed to me that it must be more worthy of honor than—” I faltered, then concluded, “Than the gods.”
The murmuring in the room had died out. The lieutenant straightened his elbows so that, while he was still holding me, he was further back from me now. “Carle,” he said.
The sublieutenant’s head appeared over the lieutenant’s shoulder. “Sir?”
“Is he telling the truth?”
The sublieutenant looked into my eyes, peering as closely at me as I used to look at Emorian writings I was trying to translate. Sublieutenant Carle said slowly, “Yes, sir, I believe he is.”
The lieutenant released my shoulders with a suddenness that startled me. “So you like the idea of Emorian law, do you?”
I nodded mutely.
“Do you think what you did just now was lawful?” asked the lieutenant softly.
I swallowed; my throat was so tightly closed that even that was painful. “I don’t know, sir,” I said. “I don’t know any Emorian law.”
“Let me try another question. Do you think that what you did was just? Do you think that it was right?”
“He has no understanding of justice, sir,” said Carle with disgust. “He does whatever his gods tell him to do.”
I could feel myself growing dizzy with bewilderment again. Was it right for me to have attacked a man who had been keeping me from doing what I wanted? The question would never have occurred to me. If I were in my village— No, that wouldn’t do; if I were in my village, I would either be dead or undergoing torture by now. There must be some reason that the lieutenant was asking me these questions. Well, in the old days, would I have thought that the gods would approve of what I did? Despite Carle’s statement, it seemed to me that that was closer to what the lieutenant was asking me, but I was still unsure of an answer.
“I don’t know, sir,” I said. “Perhaps it wasn’t.”
In the silence that followed, I could hear the crackle of the fire and the moan of the wounded man in the next room, but nothing more. Then the lieutenant said, “I will give you a choice, then. You can return to Koretia now and start your life over again. Or you can undergo judgment by Emorian law for what you did. The maximum penalty for your crime is death.”
It wasn’t clear to me what he was offering. On the one hand, he seemed to be offering to let me go, as long as I went back to Koretia . . . and that was a fate that I was not prepared to contemplate. On the other hand, he was asking me to accept certain death – or was it certain?
“Did you say ‘maximum penalty,’ sir?” I asked.
“Yes. You could be given a lesser sentence.” Then, seeing my blank look, he added, “A lesser punishment. But I cannot promise that; you might be sentenced to death.”
“The question is not which penalty is worse,” said Carle. “By the law-structure, lieutenant, is it not clear that this boy has no understanding? He is just trying to find the easiest way out. He cares nothing about what he has done.”
Somehow, Carle’s words made it clear to me what I was being offered. I felt a burst of joy and said, “Will you do that? Will you show me how the law works?”
“It would not be a game,” said the lieutenant. “You would be on trial for your life.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said impatiently. “I’d rather die than go back to Koretia. But if I could just know first what the law is—” I stopped, thought back to the words I had heard Carle speak at the fireside, and added, “It would be worth dying, to know what the law is and to be obedient to its consequences, even for a short time.”
The soldiers’ murmuring returned once more; I heard one of them mutter, “Heart of Mercy,” but I did not hear the rest of this mysterious oath. The lieutenant was exchanging looks with Carle. After a moment he said, “Very well. What is your name?”
“Adrian son of Berenger,” I replied.
“Adrian, since you are in the black border mountains, you are under my care and therefore under my judgment; I will be the judge for your trial. Carle, who is the witness?”
“Myself, sir.”
“Devin, you are the herald, Payne is the clerk, and Sewell is the summoner; we may as well do this properly for the benefit of the prisoner’s education. As for a guide— Adrian.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Since you know little of the law, you are entitled to a guide to answer your questions during the trial and explain to you what is happening. Sublieutenant Carle is appearing as a witness against you, but he also happens to be the man in this unit who knows the most about Emorian law. Are you willing to accept him as your guide, or would you prefer that I appoint someone else?”
I looked over at the sublieutenant uncertainly. He no longer looked angry, but I couldn’t read his look; it was as if a mask had appeared over his face. “He would be fine, sir,” I said, “if – if he wishes to be my guide.”
The lieutenant raised his eyebrows toward Carle in query. Carle said, with phrasing that appeared deliberate, “I would be glad to undertake this duty, sir. I want him to have a fair trial.”
“Let me know when you are ready, then. I will be in the storeroom in the meantime.” And the lieutenant, without looking my way again, walked over to the room in the back.
o—o—o
More Young Spies stories are available at:
duskpeterson.com/youngspies
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o—o—o
=== Pronunciation guide to proper names in the Great Peninsula ===
Pronunciation of the proper names in the Great Peninsula cycle doesn’t matter a great deal, but for readers who are interested, below is the pronunciation of the names of the countries and of the title for Emor’s ruler.
In the list below, “eh” represents the E sound in bed. “Ah” represents the A sound in chart. “Uh” represents the U sound in hut. You can also listen online to the audio file of the pronunciation guide (https://duskpeterson.com/threelands/resources/pronunciation.mp3), which is in MP3 format and is 76 KB in size. The audio file uses Microsoft’s computer speech to represent the words. (The natural result of this is that the file makes it sound as though everyone in the Three Lands has an American accent.)
Arpesh: AHR-pehsh.
Arpeshian: ahr-PEHSH-ee-uhn.
Chara: CHAHR-uh (first syllable pronounced as in charcoal).
Daxis: DAX-is (rhymes with axis).
Daxion: DAX-ee-awn (last syllable pronounced like the word on).
Emor: EH-more.
Emorian: eh-MORE-ee-uhn.
Koretia: ko-REE-shuh.
Koretian: ko-REE-shuhn.
Marcadia: mahr-KAY-dee-uh (rhymes with Arcadia).
Marcadian: marh-KAY-dee-uhn.
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=== Chronology of the Great Peninsula ===
This timeline is a chronology of the stories, major characters’ birthdates,
and political events in the Great Peninsula cycle. The chronology is divided by Emorian periods.
Prehistory
Immigration into the northern portion of the Great Peninsula by “barbarian” people from the northern mainland. Immigration into the southern portion of the Great Peninsula by desert people from the eastern mainland.
The two groups meet at the black border mountains, which divide the northern and southern peninsula. The people begin to intermarry. The language they form to communicate with each other becomes the borderland tongue (“Border Koretian”), the most ancient language in the Great Peninsula. The languages of the Three Lands are derived from the borderland tongue.
Just to the north of the black border mountains, a territory is established that will become known as Emor. The Council of the Charas is in existence during this period.
The Early Charas (1-300)
Ancient Emorian is spoken in Emor during this period. Immigration continues from the northern mainland into the Great Peninsula, with more people settling to the immediate north of Emor.
Year 1: The Giving of the Law. Appearance in Emor of the law-structure and the original division of powers. The Chara Ysaye is appointed High Judge by the Council of the Charas. The southern peninsula is split into Koretia and Daxis.
100 (approximately): The Great Council of Emor and the Chara (the new title for the ruler of Emor) go to war with one another.
The Middle Charas (300-600)
Archaic Emorian is spoken in Emor during this period. Immigration continues from the northern mainland into the Great Peninsula, with more people settling to the immediate north of the area that would become known as the Central Provinces.
300 (approximately): Reign of the Chara William, who makes a peace settlement with the Great Council through the second division of powers. The first law books are written. The Chara’s palace is built (later extensively renovated).
321: Christopher son of William becomes Chara. His reign ends abruptly, for reasons that are hidden from later generations.
Year 322: Lionel son of William becomes Chara – the so-called twenty-fourth Chara. The Battle of Mountain Heights takes place during his reign, with Emor narrowly victorious over an alliance of small lands just to the north of Emor. The conquered lands become dominions of the Emorian Empire, and later become the Central Provinces of Emor. The original territory of Emor is eventually renamed Southern Emor.
The period following includes the reign of the Chara Luke, who argued with his council over a proclamation changing the Law of Succession, and the reign of the Chara Rufus, whose brother abdicated the throne and who himself died from stepping on some nettles during wartime.
568 (approximately): The Chara Rowland issues a charge under the Law of Vengeance. The Emorian palace is renovated.
The Late Charas and the Transitional Government (600-1050)
Old Emorian is spoken in Emor to about 900.
875: Purvis becomes Chara. He requested a Slave’s Death for a free-man and later died of an assassin.
899: Duncan son of Purvis becomes Chara. He suspended his High Lord from office and issued a proclamation allowing the transfer of a prisoner’s care. The Koretian Ambassador stole candlesticks from the Council Chamber during his reign.
902–6: The only remaining territories between the Emorian Empire and the northern mainland – Marcadia and Arpesh – are conquered and become dominions of Emor.
911: Birth of Fenton.
915: Birth of Quentin.
919: Births of Nicholas and Emlyn.
920: Birth of Griffith.
921: Birth of Carle.
922: Birth of Hamar.
923: Anthony son of Duncan becomes Chara.
924: Births of Adrian and Siward.
928: Birth of Erlina.
940: An unexpected chain of events give rise in the following year to civil war in Koretia.
Law Links (Young Spies). Set in Koretia and Emor between 940 and 943.
949: Nicholas son of Anthony becomes Chara. Beginning of the Border Wars.
Death Mask (The Three Lands; upcoming). Set in Emor, Daxis, and Koretia between 949 and 963.
950: Births of Peter and Brendon.
951: Birth of John (at midwinter).
953: Birth of Andrew.
955: Birth of Brian.
961: Koretia is conquered and becomes an Emorian dominion. End of the Border Wars. Koretian resistance to Emorian rule begins.
Blood Vow (The Three Lands). Set in Emor and Koretia in 976, with flashbacks to Koretia and Emor, 961–975.
962: Birth of Ursula. A threatened rebellion in Arpesh is subdued by Emor.
964: Unrest occurs in Arpesh again.
Re-creation (The Three Lands). Set in Emor in 965.
966: Peter son of Nicholas become Chara.
976: The Koretian resistance against Emor reaches its peak.
986: The Chara Peter expels the Koretian court officials from Emor, causing the threat of war between Emor and Koretia.
Law of Vengeance (The Three Lands). Set in Emor between 986 and 987, with flashbacks to Emor and Koretia, 964-976.
Breached Boundaries (The Three Lands; upcoming). Set in Daxis in 985 and in Daxis, Koretia, and Emor in 990.
992: The Golden Chain of Peace begins – an unprecedented period of peace between all of the lands of the Great Peninsula.
998: Birth of the man who will become known as the Lieutenant.
1004: Birth of the man who will become known as the Commander.
1019: Birth of Dolan.
1020: Immigration into the Emorian Empire is halted by the ruler of Emor. Pressure builds on the northern mainland against the anti-immigration policy.
1034: The Golden Chain of Peace is broken. The Northern Army – an alliance of Marcadia, Arpesh, and some mainland tribes – declares war against Emor.
Bard of Pain (The Three Lands). Set in Koretia in 1050, with flashbacks to Emor, Koretia, and Marcadia, 1008–1042.
The Long Night
A long, undated era following the fall of the Three Lands. The God’s Language, closely descended from the ancient borderland tongue, is spoken throughout the Great Peninsula during this period, alongside tribal tongues.
Mystery (The Three Lands). Set in the Northern Peninsula, near the end of the Long Night.
o—o—o
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o—o—o
=== Back matter ===
AUTHOR’S WEBSITE, BLOG, E-MAIL LIST, AND CONTACT INFORMATION
For Dusk Peterson’s e-books, free fiction, and series resources, please visit:
duskpeterson.com
For notices of new fiction, please subscribe to the updates e-mail list or blog feed:
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You can friend/fan/follow Dusk Peterson at these social networks:
duskpeterson.com/lists.htm#socialnetworking
Author’s contact information:
duskpeterson.com/#contact
E-BOOKS BY DUSK PETERSON
All of the e-book series listed below are available at major e-bookstores and at:
duskpeterson.com
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs
Tough (noun): a tough and violent man; a street ruffian; a trouble-maker.
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs is a cycle of alternate history series about adults and youths on the margins of society, and the people who love them. Set in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the novels and stories take place in an alternative version of America that was settled by inhabitants of the Old World in ancient times. As a result, the New World retains certain classical and medieval customs.
Young Toughs. During the turbulent years between the cannonballs and the atom bomb, life is not easy for young people. ¶ Young Toughs is an alternate history series about the struggles of youths in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
Waterman. How can a youth from a bay island boarding school survive when he is sent to a futuristic prison? ¶ Waterman is a
speculative fiction series set in an alternative version of the Chesapeake Bay region during the 1910s and during the future as it was envisioned in the 1960s.
Life Prison. They are imprisoned until death, and their lives cannot get worse . . . or so they think. But when an unlikely alliance forms against their captors, the reformers risk losing what little comforts they possess. ¶ Life Prison is a speculative fiction series about male desire and determination in nineteenth-century prisons.
Commando. The nautical nation is backed by the military might of an empire. The mountainous republic is populated by farmers and shopkeepers, and it has no standing army. The nautical nation is about to make the mistake of attacking the mountainous republic. ¶ Commando is a speculative fiction series that imagines what the South African Boer War could have been like if it had been fought on American soil.
Michael’s House. In a world where temples are dying and sacred theaters have been replaced by brothels, what will happen when a hard-headed businessman joins forces with an idealist? ¶ Michael’s House is a speculative fiction series set in a Progressive Era slum.
The Eternal Dungeon. In a cool, dark cavern, guarded by men and by oaths, lies a dungeon in which prisoners fearfully await the inevitable. The inevitable will be replaced by the unexpected. ¶ The Eternal Dungeon is a speculative fiction series set in a nineteenth-century prison where the psychologists wield whips.
Dark Light. Only in the dark can one truly see the light. ¶ Dark Light presents short reads from Turn-of-the-Century Toughs.
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs series resources.
The Great Peninsula
Koretia, Emor, and Daxis were all founded on the same day, but as the centuries have passed, the Three Lands of the Great Peninsula have become increasingly divided by religion, government, and culture. Koretians worship many gods, Daxions worship one goddess, and Emorians revere only their law. Emorians claim that Koretians are vicious and superstitious, Koretians think that Daxions are vile oath-breakers, and Daxions charge that Emorians abuse their children and slaves.
If a god were to appear in the Three Lands, would his appearance bring an end to the fighting between nations? Or would he merely help to spark an inferno of war?
As the inhabitants of the Three Lands struggle to adjust to the appearance of an unexpected visitor into the human world, two people will play crucial roles in the conflict. One is a young Emorian – clever, courageous, and affectionate – who will come to understand the Koretians with a depth and intimacy that few others of his land can match. The second person is a young Koretian whom the Emorian will seek to destroy.
The Great Peninsula is a cycle of fantasy series about an epic battle between cultures, set at a time when a centuries-old civilization is in danger of being destroyed.
Young Spies. With the entire Great Peninsula at war, even the youngest inhabitants need to fight and spy against the enemies. Unfortunately, one of the youths is a god. ¶ Young Spies is a fantasy series about a world at war, in which young men and young women take part in warfare and espionage. The series is inspired by conflicts between nations during the Roman Empire and the Dark Ages.
The Three Lands. He vowed himself to his god. Now the god is growing impatient . . . ¶ The Three Lands is a fantasy series on friendship, romantic friendship, romance, and betrayal in times of war and peace. The series is inspired by conflicts between nations during the Roman Empire and the Dark Ages.
The Great Peninsula series resources.
CREDITS
Editor: Parhelion.
Cover border: William Morris (1834-1896).
Cover photography, cover design, and interior design: Dusk Peterson.
Mask icon: Maskalin freeware font. (c) Apostrophic Laboratories.
Re-creation: gift for a slave (The Three Lands) Page 4
