by John Norman
Then, the flaming tent behind us, bright in the darkness, we made our way across the fields to our camp, where the Tesephone was beached.
Chapter Twenty-One
I Visit with Nicomachos, Admiral of the Fleet of the Farther Islands.
“I know you,” said Nicomachos, Admiral of the Fleet of the Farther Islands, rising, angrily.
“We have met,” I said.
“Access to this enclave is denied,” said Nicomachos.
“Not to those who intimate they have information pertaining to Bosk of Port Kar,” I said.
“How could you know that?” he asked.
“Let us say it was judiciously surmised,” I said. Surely one needed not disclose one’s sources, particularly if they were collared and subject to discipline. Slaves, as noted, love to speak. And who does not wish to be thought important, and to be privy to knowledges unavailable to others, but which might, at sufficient urging, be shared with others? The slave often delights in intriguing other slaves, even tormenting them, with mysterious hints, and then delights in revealing their hitherto concealed information. What pleasure it is to share confidences, even secrets, which must now be guarded, of course, ever more closely than before. How important they then become in the eyes of their sister slaves. It is little wonder that Masters often strive to keep much from their slaves. A casual remark at a private supper may become common knowledge by the next day. Along these lines, the trysts, liaisons, and affairs of free women may not be secrets as well kept as the free women are likely to believe. Much bubbles about at the laundry troughs.
“You are not one of my spies, one of my agents,” said Nicomachos.
“I do not have that honor,” I acknowledged.
“What is it you carry?” he asked.
“Samples,” I said. “I am a merchant of wines.”
“How did you know I was at the fair?” he asked.
“I am sure many know,” I said. “How is one to conceal the presence of a giant, how overlook the blazing of a star, how not notice the sun in the sky?”
“My presence here is to be unremarked,” he said.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I said.
“I do not think you are here to tell me of Bosk of Port Kar,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“I do not think you are a simple merchant,” he said. “I did not think so, even in Sybaris, in the audience chamber of the governor.”
“Yes,” I said. “Let me now expand on the hint I gave you in the chamber of Archelaos. I represent a consortium of merchants in Brundisium, concerned with the safety of the seas between Cos and the Farther Islands.”
“I supposed as much,” said the Admiral.
“As I thought you would,” I said. “I fear the governor is less quick than the Admiral of the Fleet of the Farther Islands.”
“He is a larcenous bureaucrat, crude and without subtlety,” said Nicomachos, “well posted to the Farther Islands.”
“‘Larcenous’?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Nicomachos.
“Rumors suggest,” I said, “that even you, Admiral of the Fleet of the Farther Islands, sometimes accrue profits in wily ways.”
“When money lies about,” he said, “one is not to be blamed for picking it up.”
“I have heard that governors often return from remote posts, the provinces, and such, far richer than when they took office, that they bleed their jurisdictions,” I said.
“Sacrifices, virtual exile, and such,” he said, “deserve compensation.”
“In Sybaris,” I said, “I was amazed to discover that one such as you, one of your intelligence, family, experience, and talent, indeed, the famous Nicomachos of Cos, was on Thera.”
“You have looked into such things?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “in Brundisium.”
“I am known in Brundisium?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Your reputation shines even in Brundisium.”
“I am feared in the court at Jad,” he said. “I have enemies. Others have the ear of the glorious Lurius, who can do only so much. He is distracted by the affairs of the ubarate. He must delegate authority. His self-seeking minions manage much. Vulos are preferred to tarns, urts to larls. Preferments are wheedled. Rank is for sale. Offices are auctioned off. And I find myself on Thera.”
“Tragic,” I said.
“But,” he said, “if I could achieve a master stroke, if I could ignite a blaze of glory visible across the seas, even to the towers of Cos, I could no longer be ignored. I would be summoned to Cos. They would send a hundred-oared ship for me, decked with flowers, to bring me to the harbor of Jad. Lurius himself, with a retinue of a thousand, would greet me at the dock.”
“If,” I said, “you could encounter and destroy the fleet of the notorious pirate, Bosk of Port Kar.”
“Yes!” he said, striking his right fist savagely into the palm of his left hand.
“I suspect your presence at the fair is pertinent to that end,” I said.
“Precisely,” he said. “I am sure that the pirate, Bosk of Port Kar, or his spies, will be at the fair, to assess the wealth of villages, to note the cargos of what ships are bound where, and so on. It is here that I hope to obtain information which will allow me to meet his fleet and wipe it from the sea. But what is your purpose here, noble Statercounter?”
“Much the same,” I said, “hoping, of course, to convey my findings to the proper authorities.”
“Deal with me directly,” said Nicomachos. “It will save time.”
“You do not trust the governor?” I asked.
“He is slow and inefficient, venal and grasping,” said Nicomachos. “I trust that you have your own spies at the fair.”
“Of course,” I said.
It seemed clear to me that Nicomachos did not think highly of the governor. That much seemed to me authentic. On the other hand, I thought it likely that he, in his hostility, far underestimated the shrewdness, the subtlety, the depth, mind, and energy, of the governor. What captain does not wish to be underestimated by the enemy? It seemed likely to me, of course, that he and the governor were enleagued, and that both profited from the depredations of the false Bosk of Port Kar. Did not the fleet of the Farther Islands seem inert much of the time, and had not its searches for the raiders proved invariably futile? Few thieves arrest themselves. Surely Nicomachos and Archelaos were colleagues in crime.
“In Sybaris,” I said, “I urged the surveillance of the tavern, The Living Island, the proprietor of which is a man named Glaukos. I gather that nothing came of your investigations in that quarter.”
“Nothing came of them, as I expected,” said Nicomachos.
“Unfortunate,” I said. Certainly I did not find this outcome surprising. What other result is expected when guilty parties investigate themselves?
“The Inn of Kahlir,” I said, “was attacked, looted, and burned the very night I met you and the governor in Sybaris.”
“An interesting coincidence,” he said. “You were staying there, as I recall.”
“I was absent at the time,” I said.
“That is fortunate,” he said.
“I think so,” I said.
“Should you be successful in acquiring information pertaining to Bosk of Port Kar or his fleet, I trust that you will relay it to me as amply and quickly as possible.”
“You may depend on it,” I said.
“Rumors fly about,” he said, “and we must guard against being misled by contrived intelligence, supplied by the corsairs themselves, to confuse and baffle us, to lead us astray, to trick us into expending our resources fruitlessly.”
“Certainly,” I said.
“I must know when information arrives from a reliable source,” he said. “Each of my spies has a secret device, a signal, a
reference, a code phrase, a password, that sort of thing.”
“That is very wise,” I said. “Let mine be ‘Falarian’.”
“The wine of myth and legend?” he said.
“I am sure that it once existed,” I said. “Much evidence suggests that. I suspect that some still exists, somewhere, only that it is often hidden.”
“To keep thieves and murderers from killing for it?” asked the Admiral.
“Presumably,” I said.
“Very well,” he said, “let your token be ‘Falarian’.”
“I take it we are cohorts,” I said.
“Be it so,” he said.
“Shall we drink upon it?” I asked.
“Rika!” he called.
“No,” I said. “I have wine and slaves babble.”
“Of course,” he said, “you are a wine merchant, of great Brundisium, and no more need be explained to slaves than to other animals.”
“Master?” inquired a blonde, briefly tunicked, entering the inner tent. Such a hair color is unusual in the Farther Islands.
“Bring two goblets,” said Nicomachos, “place them on the table, and then leave us.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, softly, backing gracefully away. I suspected she had received her training on the continent. I had no idea what she would cost in the Islands, but in Brundisium or Ar I would suppose as much as two silver tarsks. Shortly thereafter the two goblets were on the table and the slave had retired.
I reached into the package I had brought with me.
I placed one of the two bottles received from the three female decoys we had encountered earlier at sea, supposedly waiting to be rescued from the seeming wreckage on which they stood, to which they pathetically clung.
The bottle was subtly and quaintly marked. I did not think there would be any mistaking the bottle. Sips from the contents of one of the bottles, I was sure, would have killed those who drank on the Tesephone, and sips from the other, I was sure, would have killed those who drank on the Dorna. Maneuverability and armament are not the only ways to win a battle at sea.
“This bottle is oddly marked,” he said.
“Clearly,” I said.
I watched Nicomachos closely. I detected no sudden cast of apprehension in his eyes, no tiny drawing back of a body, no trembling of a hand.
“It was touted to me as Falarian,” I said, “by three lovely, carelessly veiled free women.”
“You did not believe them, I hope,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“If it was Falarian,” he said, “you should be accompanied by a hundred guards.”
“True,” I said.
“The women,” he said, “should have been immediately stripped, branded, collared, thrown to their bellies, and whipped.”
“It is true,” I said, “they are playing a dangerous game.”
“I gather it was inconvenient at the time,” he said, “to inform them that their behavior was not acceptable.”
“I fear so,” I said.
I undid the stopper and poured a bit into each of the goblets.
“Could it be,” I wondered, “that Nicomachos does not recognize the danger? Is he a master actor, worthy of the stage in Ar? But perhaps the poisoned wine was not known to him. Perhaps it was known only to others, say, Glaukos of The Living Island, Archelaos, governor of Thera, the captains of certain ships, the decoy women, or such?”
Would he insist that I drink first?
He lifted his goblet.
Would he now deliberately spill the wine, as though accidentally? Would he pretend to put the wine to his lips, and then reject it, for some defect of coloration or bouquet?
Perhaps he would pretend to sip the wine, and then wait for me to drink?
But he brought the goblet to his lips.
I feared he was going to drink.
My hand touched his wrist. “Hold, noble officer,” I said. “Forgive me. I am chagrined. I am dishonored by my parsimony. Blame it on the thrift of my caste, the desire to save a tarsk-bit wherever possible. I am shamed. This wine is unworthy to celebrate our understanding. Too, could I really suppose that the Admiral of the Fleet of the Farther Islands, the First Captain of Sybaris, High Officer of Cos, could not tell the difference between a decent wine and a ka-la-na worthy at best to fortify common kal-da?”
I then took both goblets and emptied them into the dirt floor of the tent, outside the rugs on which we sat.
“Save the rest,” suggested Nicomachos, “we can give it to the slaves.”
“I would not give this even to tarsks,” I said, pouring the bottle out, its contents following their predecessors into the now-soaked dirt.
It had been a close thing. Nicomachos, I was sure, for better or for worse, would have died a terrible death. I still had one bottle of poison left, back on the Tesephone. It was dangerous to have it about. I must consider its disposition.
“It had an interesting bouquet,” said Nicomachos.
“Nonetheless,” I said.
I did not doubt but what the poison’s taste, if it had a taste, would have been well masked, intentionally concealed by attractive additives.
I then reached into my container of samples and produced another bottle. With a cloth I wiped the goblets free of any residue of what they had recently contained. I then unstoppered the new bottle and put a large amount of fluid into each of the goblets.
“You are generous,” said Nicomachos.
“I must retrieve my honor,” I said.
I trusted he would find the beverage acceptable. It had cost me a silver stater in Brundisium.
“Excellent,” he said sampling the beverage. “It reminds me of home.”
“It should,” I said, “it is from the Ta grapes of lovely, terraced Cos.”
“Central Cos,” he said.
“Of course,” I said.
After we had drunk and wished one another well, I paused in the doorway of the inner tent.
“Falarian,” I said.
“Falarian,” he said.
I then walked out, into the night. Surely Nicomachos was a confederate of Archelaos, the governor of Thera, and Glaukos, proprietor of The Living Island, both deeply involved with the corsairs. How could it be otherwise? But I was not sure.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Intelligence is Gathered; I Form a Plan
“I feared it might be,” I said. “It has been three days since we have seen him. Where did you find him?”
“Outside The Tent of Flaming Paga, where he had been thrown,” said Thurnock. He and Clitus lowered the large, inert, blanketed form, groaning and soaked with paga, to the sand beside the beached Tesephone, in our camp a pasang or so away from the harbor at Mytilene, near which the teeming streets of the fair were still lit by hundreds of torches.
“He should not have touched it again,” I said.
“One finds a thousand excuses,” said Thurnock.
“When one lives at the edge of a cliff,” said Clitus, “one should watch where one steps. Even a small step can lead to a long fall.”
“Paga loosens the tongue,” said Thurnock. “Who knows where he has been and what he has said.”
The vast sprawling fair, its perimeters changing day by day, as new tents were pitched and stakes drawn on older ones, like cells in a body, was like a transient canvas behemoth, its body breathing, expanding and contracting. This monstrous creature had appeared as though from nothing, and, in a few days, it would vanish as quickly, leaving behind little more than torn, trampled grass, memories, bleakness, and desolation. In this city of canvas what could be bought and sold was bought and sold; copper met silver and silver met gold, and often enough, gold once more met copper; here, amidst concessions, exhibits, and emporiums, mingled with stalls, pens, brothels, taverns, markets, gambling tents
, and theaters, friends met and enemies clashed, rumors were credited and truths ignored, fortunes were made and fortunes lost, and information was gathered and plans were made.
“Have they gone?” asked Sakim, sitting up.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” he said. “I would first speak to you alone.”
“Are you not drunk, wasted, helpless, and inert?” I asked.
“Not at the moment,” he said.
“I thought that you had succumbed, that you had betrayed yourself, that you had once more surrendered to paga.”
“I hoped to convey that impression,” he said. “I have made my way about for three days, to dozens of paga tents.”
“You must have drained buckets of paga,” I said.
“It is one thing to buy paga,” he said, “but another to drink it.”
“You reek of paga,” I said.
“When one spits paga, and drains paga, into one’s garments, soaking them with paga, that result is only to be expected,” he said. “Do not fear, nor abandon camp. I will shortly burn my robes and blanket and wash in Thassa.”
“I do not understand the purpose of your absence,” I said. “You explained nothing.”
“Had I explained my purpose,” he said, “I feared you would have forbidden its pursuit.”
“Quite possibly,” I said.
“When men drink they become less aware of their surroundings,” he said. “Too, they commonly speak freely to one another when no one is about, or no one they need take seriously, such as the stupidly and blindly drunk, the somnolent and unconscious.”
“Granted,” I said.
“Ctesippus and Laios, henchmen of Glaukos, proprietor of The Living Island in Sybaris, are at the fair.”
I looked at him, narrowly.
How much did he know?
“Of what interest could this be to me?” I asked.
“Of great interest, I suspect,” he said.
“Continue,” I said.
“Dear Captain,” he said, “I, too, was once a captain. I am not a fool. You have told me little but I have gathered much. You muchly conceal your vessels. You chart unusual courses. Your crews are not common oarsmen and mariners, but fighting men, well armed. Your larger ship, the Dorna, is no round ship. Nor is the Tesephone. They are knife ships, fighting ships. Indeed, I gather from an overheard conversation that the Dorna, recently lying near to the ruins of Nicosia, has a ram mounted, and shearing blades. A word is dropped here and there, and connections are made. Even in Sybaris I heard tell of The Village of Flowing Gold, and the discomfiture of the fleet of Bosk of Port Kar.”
