by A. J. Demas
“Hm.” She looked uncertain. “Best for me, or best for the women?”
“Best for everyone.” He smiled wryly at her. “Don’t worry—I’ll have your back.”
“I appreciate that.” She returned the smile.
Nione and Aradne went back into the warehouse to gather up the women, and for a moment Damiskos and Varazda were left alone on the beach.
“That was magnificent,” Varazda said.
“What was?”
“All of it. ‘These are our weaknesses, and we’re going to build a rampart, here’s how it will all go.’ That whole display of competence. It was marvellous.”
Damiskos shrugged self-consciously. He really hadn’t given it much thought; it had all just come so naturally, the analysis and the strategy following in orderly fashion. He was feeling like himself.
“Easy as breathing.”
“I know. It’s your element. It’s what you do the way I dance.”
Damiskos glanced at him and away, and he heard Varazda draw in a breath, and then felt his touch, feather-light, as Varazda slipped an arm around his waist.
“I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me. No one has taken the dancing away from me.”
“Did you learn to dance in the king’s household at Gudul?” Damiskos asked after a moment, an easy change of subject. Varazda’s arm was still around his waist.
“No. The sword dance was my clan’s. I learned it in my father’s house before I was gelded. I didn’t use real swords then, just wooden ones. I learned other dances at Gudul, but I always practiced my family’s dance, even when no one wanted me to perform it. Of course in Boukos they love it, and I dance it all the time now.”
“I’m glad,” said Damiskos. “That you got to keep something of your own.”
Damiskos had been right in thinking that Nione’s slaves would make short work of trenching and fortifying the small area around the beach huts. The women from the vineyards took care of the digging while the rest went into the brush, with a couple of small hatchets from the factory, to cut branches to Damiskos’s specifications, which they brought back to the beach and began planting in the top of the rampart as soon as a section was finished. Some of the older children helped and were quite adept at weaving the branches together to create a denser barrier. The thing began to take shape and look businesslike very quickly. Varazda worked with the diggers, stripped to the waist, with his hair in a single braid, teasing and trading banter with them in the easy way that Damiskos had already seen him do.
Once work was well underway and Damiskos was no longer needed to give orders, he and Aradne went back to the factory site, where they found a handcart and began loading it up with supplies to ferry back to their camp.
“Remind me why we’re not making our base here,” said Aradne, as she hefted a jar of olives into the cart. “Where the food is, and where there’s walls that aren’t half fallen down.”
“Fresh water at the other location, direct access to the sea here could be a liability, we’re less visible from the villa there, and, frankly, the other location’s more comfortable. This place stinks.”
“Hah. Yes, good points.”
Their cart loaded, they did a thorough search of the three buildings, looking for anything that could be used as a tool or a weapon.
“I remember you,” Aradne remarked as they exited the factory. “At first I didn’t, I thought you were another one of these men come to badger the mistress about marrying. But you were her friend from back in the Maidens’ House.”
“That’s right. I remember you too. Was it your idea or Nione’s to have so many women in the household?” He thought he could ask that now; he also thought he knew the answer.
“Bit of both, I suppose,” said Aradne after a moment. “I never really gave it any thought.”
He’d been right. “You were used to it, I guess.”
“I guess. Though now you mention it, I think some of the men feel … odd about it. Being so outnumbered. As if we’re trying to make some kind of empire of women here, and they don’t belong. Wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them have made common cause with those gods-cursed students. Well. Fuck ’em if they have.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
They collected the loaded cart, gathered up a few other items, and trudged back over the sand to the sheltered cove. The fortifications were more than half finished, the ditch fully dug, some of the diggers resting in the sand near the waterline, while the children played in the shallows.
“They’ve made even better progress than I expected,” said Damiskos approvingly. “They’re hard workers.”
“They are,” said Aradne. “And they like the mistress. They have good lives—for slaves. But they’re still slaves.”
“You think she should free them.” It was a radical idea, but there were people doing it, philosophers in the city arguing that everyone should do it.
Aradne gave him a sharp look. “I didn’t say that. Never mind what I think.”
Varazda came strolling out to meet them, his shirt on again but unbuttoned, a little boy in a dirt-smeared tunic following him, chatting cheerfully.
“We’ve finished digging,” Varazda reported.
“So I see,” said Damiskos.
“He was impressed,” Aradne added. “Thinks you’d all make good soldiers.”
Varazda laughed. “What do you think, Chari?” He looked down at the boy, who had wrapped one arm around his leg.
“I don’t think we can be soldiers,” said Chari, wide-eyed and serious. “I’m little, and everybody else is girls.”
Varazda ruffled the boy’s hair. “It doesn’t necessarily signify, Chari. Remember that.”
“So what do we do now?” Aradne asked. “Do we have a plan?”
“I do, actually,” said Varazda. “At least, I have the rudimentary beginning of a plan.”
“The postal ship comes on Moon’s Day morning?” Damiskos clarified, as they sat in the sand discussing the plan. Around them, the fortifications were finished, and the women and children were making a meal of food they had brought over from the warehouse. “And it’s Seventh Day today. So we should set the signal tomorrow night.”
“Unless the postal ship is early,” said Aradne.
“Is that likely?”
She shrugged. “It was early last week. It arrived on the morning of Hesperion’s.”
“That was because Aristokles and I were travelling on it,” Varazda said, “and we wanted to get here as quickly as possible.”
Damiskos nodded. “Right. So we wait until tomorrow night. If you agree.” He looked to Nione.
She looked startled for a moment, forgetting again that she was in charge. Then she nodded. “Yes. It’s a good plan.”
They had finished their meal by the time the emissary from the villa showed up. It was Gelon. He came swaggering down the beach, knife prominently displayed in his belt, and tried unsuccessfully to look nonchalant as he approached the women’s ditch-and-rampart defence system. They saw him coming from a long way off, and all the children and the household girls were inside the barrier by the time he arrived, leaving a small group outside to meet him.
He stopped a judicious distance away and jerked his chin at the fortifications.
“What’s that supposed to be?”
No one answered him. After a moment, Nione took a step forward and said, “Have you something to say to us, Gelon?”
“Yes, ma’am. Helenos says you should come back to the house.”
“Tell Helenos I will do that when he and his fellow students leave. They are no longer welcome in my home.”
“How’s that?” Gelon feigned exaggerated shock. “You wouldn’t offend against the laws of hospitality, would you?”
Nione narrowed her eyes at him. “You laid violent hands on my servants and my guests. Tionikos and Demos are dead. So is Aristokles Phoskos. You have no claim on anyone’s hospitality.” Her voice rang with a priestly note in the last words, as if
she pronounced a solemn malediction.
Gelon looked at her for a moment with a sour expression. “Fine. If that’s how you want it to be. We’ve got things that we want. We’ve got the upper hand now, and this is going to go the way Helenos says it’s going to go.”
“We will see about that,” said Nione.
“We want the use of your villa for our headquarters. We’ll let you live in it so long as you don’t interfere with our work. Or you can give the villa to Eurydemos and go back to Pheme. We’ll let Damiskos from the Quartermaster’s Office escort you back. Out of harm’s way.” He looked at Damiskos. “Sorry about the fire and everything. Not our idea. Some of the idiot fishermen took matters into their own hands.”
Damiskos frowned at him.
“And my women?” said Nione. “What about them?”
“Take them with you.” He waved a hand contemptuously. “We don’t want them. They’re mostly foreign-born and wouldn’t make good wives for free Phemians. We do want the Sasian eunuch, though.”
“I’m not sure he would make a good wife for a free Phemian either,” said Damiskos, deadpan.
Gelon huffed an angry breath through his nose. “That’s not why we want him.”
“You don’t get him.” Aradne spoke up. “You don’t get any of this. We’re taking our house back.”
“I’m not here to negotiate with you, you—”
Nione cut him off. “You spoke of using my house for your work. What is the ‘work’ that you imagine you are going to do here? It isn’t just discussing philosophy, I realize that.”
“It’s the work of restoring Phemian purity,” Gelon replied, predictably. “Helenos has a vision. And this is a strategic location.”
“Outside of the city and beyond the reach of its laws,” Damiskos supplied. “Or so you can tell yourselves. But within easy reach of both Pheme and Boukos by sea. You can play at being a little republic of your own, distributing state secrets and stirring up wars in the name of Phemian greatness.”
Gelon gave him a prim look. “When we restore Pheme to its former glory, you’ll wish you had been on our side from the beginning.”
“I doubt it.”
“So … ” Gelon looked around, stumped for a moment. “What is it to be?”
“I believe they’ve already told you,” said Varazda. “Nione Kukara is not going to give you her villa, I’m not going to marry you, and First Spear Damiskos is not going to run errands to Pheme for you. Perhaps you had better go in and tell Helenos.”
“I am not here to negotiate with you,” Gelon repeated peevishly. “Look, Damiskos from the Quartermaster’s Office, we’re willing to let you go if you’ll take Nione back to Pheme with you now. Just come up to the house, get your horse and so on … ”
It was not an unreasonable gambit. If they let Damiskos go now, they had no reason to think he would come back, and at least they’d be rid of him. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that he’d be eager to escort Nione to safety.
Or they might have a trap prepared for him up at the house. That seemed equally likely.
“Not interested,” Damiskos said shortly.
“Look, there’s no trick. You just … go back to Pheme—get your things and go back to Pheme, take her with you, she’s safe, you’re fine—right?”
“Yes, I understand what you want. The answer is no. I’m staying here.”
Gelon glowered at him. “You’re making a stupid mistake.”
“Nevertheless.”
A bit more glowering, then Gelon sneered openly. “I’ve heard the Quartermaster’s Office is a dumping-ground for officers who have been reduced in rank but not turned off. Everyone knows it.”
Damiskos said nothing.
Gelon was getting red in the face now. “What did you do to get sent there, First Spear of the First Koryphos?”
“Second Koryphos. There’s no First Koryphos. Schoolchildren know that.”
“What was it, then?” Gelon all but snarled. “Rape too many women in Sasia? Or boys—I bet it was boys, the Sasians hate that kind of thing. Or you like to pretend to, don’t you?” he spat at Varazda. “Really you like it, you degenerate sons of—”
“You shut up,” Aradne burst out in a voice like melodious thunder. “You shut your filthy, gods-cursed mouth, go back to whoever the godsdamn fuck you answer to, and tell him we’re staying where we are until you all clear out of our house. You heard us. Nobody’s leaving at your say-so. Now fuck off.”
Gelon raked his eye over the four of them, standing abreast, then turned abruptly, hitched up his trailing mantle, and scurried back across the beach.
“Sorry for the language, ma’am,” said Aradne gruffly.
“Oh, not at all, dear.”
Aradne turned to Damiskos. “It was some political bullshit, wasn’t it? The reason you were reduced in rank.”
He looked at her for a moment. It was a rather nice compliment, in a way. “I wasn’t reduced in rank. I was honourably discharged on account of injury—I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m lame.”
She looked embarrassed. “Right. I apologize.”
“Not at all.” He went on, to smooth over the awkwardness. “I, er, I went back to work for the Quartermaster’s Office instead of drawing a pension because I wanted to be useful. It is a dumping-ground for disgraced officers, and someone told me they were in need of good men. And the pay is slightly better—the Second Koryphos may be a famous legion, but the pay is terrible and the pensions are worse. The joke is that you’re not meant to retire—you’re meant to die in battle or be promoted on to commander.”
CHAPTER XV
THE REST OF the students arrived as the last sliver of the sun disappeared into the sea, striding in a ragged line in silence down the beach. They stood around outside the women’s defences, dark shapes with here and there the glint of moonlight on knife blades. The effect was sinister, and Damiskos was pleased to find the women remained calm behind their barricade.
“Let them come within range, and then we’ll hurl a few stones,” he instructed in an undertone.
The order was relayed in whispers. The children and some of the household women were in the southern hut, some already asleep. The rest of the party was sitting in the sand behind their defensive perimeter. They had lit a fire to cook fish for dinner, but it had died to embers by this time, and everyone had been yawning before the students arrived.
The women sat in quiet readiness. The students had stopped at a cautious distance. From inside the southern hut, a baby gave a gurgling chuckle, an eerily ordinary noise. Damiskos smiled to himself, and caught Varazda’s eye on him.
“You’re not worried,” Varazda whispered in Zashian.
Damiskos wasn’t sure what to say. It was true he wasn’t worried. What he felt was exhilaration, but that wasn’t what he would have expected anyone else to feel.
“There is danger,” he whispered back finally, answering the question he thought Varazda was really asking. “They’re armed and angry, they have killed before, and we have already refused an offer of amnesty. But we’re well fortified, and I don’t think they’re here to attack, just to intimidate.”
“You’re not intimidated.”
“Not at all, no.”
Varazda smiled, tense and beautiful in the shadows. “It’s the thought of those children being in danger … ”
Damiskos thought of the painted shell with the picture of the little girl, and felt heartless.
“We’ll protect them,” he said firmly.
“I know.”
The minutes crept by, and the students stood around on the beach, not coming any closer. Damiskos could not spot Helenos in the dark, but assumed he was there. This was an organized action, planned beforehand, not a spur-of-the-moment thing with shuffling and discussion. It bore Helenos’s stamp, if Damiskos had judged him right. It was just a matter of waiting them out.
Aradne moved quietly among the women, speaking a reassuring word here and there, and after wat
ching her for a moment, Nione got up and followed her lead. The low murmur of voices was comforting. There was even a soft laugh from time to time. Inside the hut, the baby gurgled again, and one of the women began singing to it.
Damiskos was just wondering whether he should offer some gesture of comfort to Varazda, and what it should be, when Varazda reached out in the dark and slipped his cool, slender hand into Damiskos’s. Damiskos gave it a squeeze, and Varazda moved to nestle lightly against his side.
It felt so good to be trusted with this, to have Varazda turn to him, however subtly, for reassurance. To be able to give it.
“They don’t have any projectile weapons,” Damiskos whispered, because he could offer more practical forms of reassurance than hand-holding. “Any slings or bows.”
“No,” Varazda agreed. “You’re right. There aren’t any up at the villa.”
“There aren’t. How did you know that?”
“I made Aristokles try to put together a hunting party to get everyone out of the house on the second day we were here. It didn’t work. Apparently no one in the household hunts, and none of the guests brought their own bows.”
After a moment, in the interest of complete honesty, Damiskos said, “I did, but I hid it at the back of my closet along with my sword.”
“I doubt they’d be able to string it if they found it,” said Varazda. He ran his fingertips delicately up the muscles of Damiskos’s upper arm. Damiskos tried to suppress a shiver.
By this time the students, who had probably expected screaming and pandemonium to greet their appearance on the beach, had begun to get restless. A buzz of disagreement arose, from which Damiskos could separate out the voice of Gelon, and the voice of Helenos telling Gelon to shut up.
If they were going to approach the perimeter, Damiskos thought, they would do it soon. He looked up at the roof of the nearest beach hut, judging whether there was enough light for the tactic he had envisioned earlier in the day.
“You’re thinking of getting up on the roof to throw stones down on them?” said Varazda.
“I, ah. I couldn’t do it myself.” Gods. That was hard to admit. And he’d thought he was used to it by now. “The roof is too steep, I’d … ”
