The Gorgonian fleet was swinging northward to pass through this wide strait, the Hesperians following at a respectful distance. Evidently the Gorgons were not heading for Amferé, to march through Zhysk to attack Lorsk. Then what? North on the coast of Poseidonis lay the smaller Zhyskan city of Azaret, after which there was not a decent harbor until one came to Diöprepé, a mere village in rocky Lotör. As there was nothing in Lotör worth stealing, what then? Did the Gorgons mean to fall upon Avalon, or the Saturides, or fare even farther north to Aremoria or the coasts of wild Ierarné?
If they did land at Azaret, Lorsk would have little to fear, for the road thence to Lorsk led through lofty mountains where a resolute squad might hold up an army.
Vakar Zhu watched for over an hour while the Gorgonian fleet, growing smaller and smaller, crept away northward. Then, seeing that the sun was near its apex, he turned back towards the beach.
-
Several days later Prince Vakar trudged into Sederado— for, as he had soon learned, he was on Ogugia. He had lived by stealing from farmers and now was looking for means of subsistence with no assets save the naked sword thrust through his girdle. He felt that he could relax as far as the Gorgons were concerned, as they evidently did not mean to assault Lorsk. Queen Porfia might still have it in for him because of Thiegos, but he hoped that between his beard and the prominent scar across his left cheek he would pass unrecognized.
What had he to offer? Though rated a scholar in Mneset, a provincial princeling like himself could hardly, capitalize on his modest learning in the City of Philosophers. On the other hand, while no great warrior or athlete at home, being bigger than most Ogugians he might be valued for his modest attainments in those lines here.
He found his way to the barracks of the Royal Guard, Ogugia's only professional, permanent force of fighting-men, for like the other Hesperian nations the Ogugians put most of their trust in their navy. Most of the Guard were foreigners, because the native Ogugians were more concerned with philosophy and their creature comforts than with martial glory.
Viahes, the commandant of the garrison, asked: "Who are you, and where do you come from, and what do you want?"
"I am Znur, a Lorskan." Vakar had given some thought to his alias; it would not have done to call himself Thiegos" of Seder ado again. "I have been travelling for months on the mainland, which explains the sunburn and the garb. Now I seek a livelihood, and thought the Guard might use me."
"What can you do?"
"Ride, and use this." Vakar touched the sword.
"Let me see that. Look at it, Gwantho. What is it?"
Vakar replied: "Something I got in Tartaros. The black smiths have a magical method of treating bronze."
"How did you get to Ogugia, with all ships hugging then-harbors for fear of the Gorgons?"
"The Gorgons brought me."
"What?" cried Gwantho, Viahes's legate. "Are you a spy for them?"
"Not at all. They caught me, but I escaped when then-fleet stopped on your shore to rest men and take on water."
"It could be," said Viahes. "We will have one of our Lorskan troopers question you in his own language to see if you are genuine, and then if you can demonstrate your skills we will take you on at three pounds of copper a month plus food and quarters. We will issue you a shield, helmet, and spear which you shall pay for at one-and-a-half pounds a month for six months."
"That is agreeable to me," said Vakar.
"Fine. You may have a chance to show your skills this afternoon, when the queen will make a short inspection." Viahes flashed a grin at his legate.
While Vakar was wondering how to get past the Queen's inspection without recognition, the Lorskan trooper came in: Riazh of Lezôtr, who looked sharply at Vakar and said:
"I'm sure I've seen you."
"Maybe. Though I'm of Mneset I've often passed through Lezôtr. I usually stop at Alezu's inn."
"He is a Lorskan," said Riazh to the officers in Hesperian. "I should know that affected accent they use in the capital anywhere."
-
The guardsmen were lined up with helmets and spear-points gleaming from their morning's polish. Vakar, whose arms had not yet been issued to him, stood to one side as Queen Porfia walked down the line—not exactly lurking, but trying to keep out of the queen's immediate range of interest. As she came close he felt his blood run faster; what a woman! Fantasies crossed his mind, of sweeping Porfia up in his arms, covering her with kisses, and bearing her off to the nearest couch. But much as he esteemed the Queen of Ogugia, Vakar valued his head still more and so kept quiet.
The queen finished her inspection, pudgy Garal jerking along in her wake, and turned away. Viahes said something to the queen, then called: "You there! You with the hatchet-face, whatever your name is, Znur!"
"Who, me?" said Vakar in a meek voice.
"Yes, you. Since you claim to be an expert rider, you shall show your skill by riding Thandolo."
"A horse?" said Vakar, realizing that the queen and Minister Garal were looking at him with that same expression of puzzled near-recognition that he had seen earlier on the face of Riazh.
"And what a horse! Here he comes."
Two grooms were dragging in a big black stallion who rolled his eyes ominously. Vakar, with an inaudible little sigh, walked towards the animal, pulling up his long Kernean jelab through his girdle.
Thandolo wore a bridle but no saddle-pad, not even the girth just back of the forelegs with which the Hesperians equipped their horses. He made a set of teeth at Vakar as the latter came close.
"Behave yourself!" barked Vakar, and cuffed the animal's nose, jerking his hand away in time to avoid a riposte with equine incisors. "Give me the reins," he said.
He got a firm grip on the reins and vaulted aboard. As he came down he clamped his knees on the beast's barrel and got a fistful of mane in his free hand just as Thandolo bucked.
Vakar clung with all his might, hauling on the reins to bring the angry animal's head up. It seemed to have a mouth of iron. Up came its back in another stiff-legged buck-jump. Vakar felt his knees slip a little on the glossy hide, but as the beast came down he dug his toes between Thandolo's forelegs and body to keep from flying off at the top of each jump. Up—down; up—down; Vakar vaguely realized that he was yelling Lorskan curses and beating the horse with the slack of the reins. Up—down. The watching guards, Commandant Viahes, and Queen Porfia fled past in saw-toothed jerks ...
Then Vakar missed his timing by a fraction of a second and felt the horse's barrel slide out from between his legs. He saw the ground come at him with a circular motion, and landed on his left hip with jarring force.
Thandolo trotted off shaking his head while the grooms began the weary business of rounding him up. Vakar got shakily to his feet. No doubt the grinning Viahes had cooked this stunt up to have a laugh at his expense. While Vakar had never seen anything very funny in jokes on himself, he would not have minded so much if the commandant had not arranged that he be disgraced in front of Queen Porfia. He thought of challenging Viahes to a fight, but then told himself not to be silly. He was unarmed, and lame and battered from his fall, and Viahes would probably order his troopers to fill the Lorskan full of spears at the first hostile move.
His only course was to hobble out (since he had evidently flunked the test) with such dignity as he could muster. Perhaps he could work as a longshoreman ...
He was limping towards the gates when Viahes's bellow came after him: "Ho there, Znur! Where are you going?"
As Vakar looked back blankly the commandant bawled: "Come back! What is the matter with you?"
Vakar walked back to where Viahes stood with fists on hips, wondering if he were to be offered another chance. "Well, sir?" he said.
"Why were you running away? You are the best rider in Ogugia!"
"What?"
"Of course! No man has ever stayed on Thandolo's back for more than three heart-beats!"
"We can use men like you," said a familiar fema
le voice, and there was Porfia: green eyes, black hair, and figure to drive men to madness.
"Did you hear that?" cried Viahes heartily. "Now get back to barracks, where Gwantho will give you your arms."
Vakar bowed and departed. He was thoughtfully shining his new helmet until he could see his narrow, scarred face in it when a man came in. Vakar recognized Dweros, one of Porfia's lackeys.
Dweros said: "Prince Vakar, the queen asks that you come with me to the palace."
-
XVIII. – THE PHILOSOPHY OF SEDERADO
Vakar looked up narrowly. So she had recognized him! Was she trying to lure him to his death? If she were, wouldn't she more likely have sent a squad of soldiers to seize him?
He pulled his mustache in perplexity. Strike down Dweros and flee? This time he had no ship waiting, and on such an island it was only a matter of time before he was hunted down ...
He made his decision, told Dweros: "Wait here," and a few minutes later was back with his magical sword (in a borrowed scabbard) at his side. Now let somebody try to disarm him!
He followed Dweros through the streets, scowling somberly. At the palace gates he saw no sign of ambush: only the usual bored-looking guards leaning on the helves of their zaghnals, and the thin traffic of petitioners and officials going in and out. Inside, Dweros led him through the anteroom ahead of his turn, so that he was conscious of sour looks from those who waited. He tensed as Dweros pushed the curtains aside, ready to whip out the star-sword …
And Porfia's arms were around his neck and she was pressing her lips to his. Then she thrust him back, saying:
"Well! By Heroé's eight teats, when I kiss a man, he does not usually stand like a statue with his hand on his sword!"
Vakar smiled, his eyes darting around the chamber, ready to seize Porfia for a hostage if need be. He said:
"Excuse my caution, dear madam, but I thought you might have cause to kiss me with sharpened bronze."
"So that is why you skulk about my kingdom under a false name with that bush on your face! Why should I kill you?"
"Thiegos," he said dryly.
"Oh, him! I was disturbed by his taking-off, true, but you did the only thing you could. Anyway I had ceased to love the cowardly jackanapes, with his airs and his sneers."
"Well then?" said Vakar, making a movement towards Porfia and raising his arms.
She held out a hand. "Not until you are cleaned up. Elbien! Take Prince Vakar ..."
In the chamber he had occupied on his first visit he found a fine Ogugian tunic laid out: a knee-length garment of sky-blue linen embroidered with sea-monsters. There was also a razor, with which he removed the beard, leaving the luxuriant mustache. In the silver mirror the pallor of his newly-exposed jaw contrasted oddly with the swartness of the rest of his face, which bore a lean, worn look, like an old and oft-whetted knife-blade.
He dined alone with a radiant Porfia. When she saw him she said: "I wonder I knew you, you look so much older."
"Oh, is that so? The things I have experienced in the last seven months would age a god."
"Where did you get that great scar?"
"I forgot to duck." He entertained her with a slightly censored account of his adventures. She commented:
"I always thought those Pusadian epics to be mere barbarous bombast, but here we have such an adventurer-hero in the flesh."
"I am neither hero nor adventurer, but a quiet bookish fellow who would like to settle down in Sederado and study philosophy. In all these fights and flights I have never known that mad joy of battle of which the epics speak. Before the combat I am frightened, during it I am confused, and after it I am weary and disgusted."
"Well, if that is what you can do when you are frightened, confused, and disgusted, I hate to think of the slaughter you would wreak if you really took to the trade. Are you sure King Awoqqas tried to net you before the headless woman's temptations had time to take effect?"
"Quite sure, madam, though I do not claim any special virtue. I have merely been fleeing my ill-wishers for the past few months too fast for dalliance." Vakar thought it more tactful to say nothing about Tiraafa the satyr. "But now that we are being frank, who is the lucky successor to Thiegos?"
As he spoke, Vakar tried to keep the glitter of interest out of his eyes and the pant of passion out of his voice. He could not look at Porfia without feeling the blood rush to his face. Though he had as a matter of course been introduced to the arts of love early, he had never met a woman who affected him like this.
She said: "In truth I have the same tale to tell as you. For seven months I have slept in a cold bed; I have foresworn all light loves and resolved to hold myself inviolate until I find another consort, as Garal has been plaguing me to do. But I will not have that grasping Shvo; I will have none of your Pusadian polygamy."
Vakar nodded sympathetically. Though in Poseidonis the male ruled the roost absolutely, his detachment enabled him to appreciate a different point of view. Porfia continued; "Besides, it is time I produced some heirs, lest I die and leave my cousins to fight for the throne and rend the kingdom in their struggles."
"Can you?"
"Surely. I bore a girl to Vancho who died, poor thing. Thiegos was my only other. But enough of me. Tell me of your plans. You will be off to Lorsk on the first ship, I suppose?"
"That depends. What have you heard of the Gorgon fleet?"
"When our combined Hesperian fleets broke off following them they were still headed north."
The servants had taken away the food. They faced each other across a single small table supporting a jug of wine. Porfia sat on a new carven chair of pretence, replacing the serpent throne, while Vakar sat on an ivory stool. The flames of the lamps made little highlights in her green eyes.
"Then," he said, "they cannot intend to attack Lorsk, and I need not hasten home." He set down his goblet and stretched. "Do not worry about having to keep me, Porfia darling. I will send home for funds to live on while I study philosophy under your Ogugian masters and tame that stallion Thandolo."
"Really?" She gave him an eager smile.
"Yes." He rose and stepped around the table and look her hands and gently raised her from her throne.
With an easy fluid motion their arms went around each other and their lips met. After a while he sat down on the chair of pretence and pulled her down upon his lap, marvelling again at her lightness. Vakar rapped the oak of the chair with his knuckles, saying:
"Let us hope this chair does not act in the uncanny manner of the other, the last time you sat in my lap."
Porfia giggled. They kissed. Vakar slid one hand over her shoulder and down inside the thin robe, but she snatched it out and gave it a slight slap.
"No," she said. "I told you I had foresworn light loves, and that includes you, Vakar dear, even though those big black eyes of yours almost turn my will to water."
"Who said light? I madam, am heir to the throne of Lorsk, and do hereby most solemnly propose myself as your consort and wedded spouse."
"Oho! That sheds another light upon the matter. But what should we do when you are King of Lorsk? Where should we dwell?"
"Let us ford that stream when we come to it. Perhaps we can spend our summers in Lorsk and our winters here."
"And how if we return to one of our kingdoms to find our regents have seized the throne in our absence?"
"That is a matter of choosing reliable surrogates. But think of the advantages: The bronze and brawn of Lorsk wedded to the philosophy and fleet of Ogugia! Who would dare molest such a combination?"
"You bring weighty arguments to the conference-table, sir. But we should take into account one other slight matter."
"Yes?"
"Whether our personal natures are such as to ensure the growth and endurance of love and affection between us."
"Do we not love already? I, at least, burn for you with white-hot passion."
"I speak of the other kind of love, not mere carnal lust, which for all its delig
hts both of us know for a sly deceiver. Oh, I know you would give me a tumultuary time beneath the drugget; but how about the long pull, when teeth decay and skins wrinkle and sag and tempers grow short?"
"I have thought of that too," said Vakar, who had not considered the matter at all until that moment. "Do you wish a quiet reliable husband, who would rather chase obscure tomes than lustful wenches, but who can if need be prove an adequate man of his hands?"
"You make it sound wonderful, sir. Could I but be sure …"
"Wait to be sure of anything and you will find yourself looking out through the sides of a funerary urn, your quest unaccomplished. As it says in The Death of Zormé:
The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales Page 21
