Part 2 (1/2)

'Very small-scale,' the colonel replied. 'But it caused a brief flutter on the exchanges. There's also a brother who's some sort of minor warlord in a place called Mesoge. And of course, our man was in charge of the last defence of Perimadeia.'

'Really.' Honeysuckle? No, it was a different sort of sweetness; not as dry. 'Quite an ill.u.s.trious family, then.'

'Actually, no,' the colonel replied, smiling. 'Their father was a tenant farmer somewhere. But that's all by the by. A remarkable man, for an outsider. We should do something for him. The army would like it.'

The legate inclined his head slightly. 'I'll have to think about that,' he said. 'The line between rewarding merit and fostering the cult of personality is painfully thin in these cases. As a matter of policy -' (Honey; it was honey flavoured with something. No wonder it was so elusive.) '- as a matter of policy,' he repeated, 'nowadays we prefer to put the accent on team effort and group achievement; and from what I gather, that would be entirely appropriate in this case.'

The colonel nodded. 'Of course,' he said. 'To a certain extent, that's precisely what we should be doing. But Sergeant Loredan has already become something of a legend in the army. If we don't recognise him officially, it may prove counterproductive to recognise the unit as a whole. The soldiers are very loyal to their own; that's what gives them their edge, of course.'

'Indeed.' The legate didn't frown, but he didn't much like what he was hearing. Nevertheless, it was a minor issue. 'Well,' he said, lifting the cup again, 'I don't suppose it'll hurt if we give this man his moment of glory. A laurel crown, I suggest, and a prominent place in the triumph, if he's going to be up to it. And then a promotion.'

The colonel acknowledged the suitability of the suggestion. A promotion meant a transfer, a transfer would take him away from the soldiers who'd chosen him as their immediate object of loyalty. 'Citizens.h.i.+p?' he asked. 'Or perhaps not. There are precedents, of course.'

'I shall have to refer that back to the provincial office,' the legate said. 'A precedent isn't the same thing as a rule, or even a custom of the service. Just because something's acknowledged to have happened once doesn't necessarily mean it has to happen again.'

The colonel didn't say anything, but he let the issue lie between them. The legate had his political masters, but he had an army to motivate. And after all, he had just taken Ap' Escatoy.

'Forgive me,' said the legate suddenly, 'but I really do have to know. Is it the honey?'

The colonel smiled. 'How extremely perceptive,' he said. 'Yes, indeed; it's quite rare, a speciality of this region. At least, it's not from here, they import it from away up in the north, but this is the only known outlet for it. It's the heather.'

'Heather,' the legate repeated, as if the colonel had suddenly started talking about sea-serpents.

'The bees feed on heather,' the colonel explained, 'and that's what gives the honey its distinctive flavour. On its own it's nothing special, but suitably blended, the effect is rather fine, don't you think?'

Heather honey, said the legate to himself, whatever next? It was almost worth a concession on the citizens.h.i.+p issue; but the provincial office wasn't that decadent. Not yet. 'Your sergeant,' he said. 'I'll tell you what I'll do. Probationary citizens.h.i.+p, conditional on length of service. I'd say that strikes the proper balance between recognition and incentive, don't you?'

The colonel smiled. 'Excellent,' he said. 'I'm sure it'll do wonders for morale.' He lifted the silver-gilt jug and refilled the legate's cup. 'It's very important, I've always found, to make sure victory doesn't get out of hand.'

The merchants of the Island reacted to the news of the fall of Ap' Escatoy, after three years of siege and attrition, with characteristic speed and decisiveness. They immediately raised the price of raisins (by a quarter a bushel), saffron (by six quarters an ounce), indigo, cinnamon and white lead. As a result, the markets steadied before they had a chance to go into free-fall, and the base lending rate of the Shastel Bank actually ended the day up half a per cent. More people made money than lost it, and by close of trading it was safe to say that no lasting harm had been done.

'Still,' said Venart Auzeil, pouring himself another cup of strong wine, 'I don't mind admitting I was worried there for a while. We were dreadfully exposed. I suppose we should all be grateful it wasn't a lot worse.'

'It'll get worse,' muttered Eseutz Mesatges, wiping her lips on her wrist. The new look for lady merchants (basically the year before last's Warrior-Princess look, but with less gold and more leather) suited her very well, but there wasn't an obvious place for a handkerchief. 'There's absolutely no reason to believe they're going to stop there. Not unless somebody makes them,' she added firmly. 'They're a d.a.m.ned nuisance, and something's got to be done. And I don't know what you're grinning about, Hido. If the Imperial Army decides to go up the coast instead of down like everybody's a.s.suming, you won't be able to give away those pepper concessions we're always hearing so much about.'

Venart frowned. 'That's not likely, though, is it? I mean, surely the whole object of the exercise is to secure their western frontier. If they go north instead of south, they'll be extending it, not consolidating.'

'G.o.ds, Ven, you're so b.l.o.o.d.y naive,' Eseutz said impatiently. 'Securing frontiers my a.r.s.e; this is crude old-fas.h.i.+oned expansionism, as anybody with half a brain could have told you three years ago. No, we should have stopped them at Ap' Escatoy; dammit, we should have stopped them before that even, at Ap' Ecy or before they even crossed the border. The further they get the harder it's going to be, and that's just a plain fact.'

Hido Glaia yawned and helped himself to another handful of olives. 'If you'll just listen,' he said, 'you'll find I'm not disagreeing with you. I think they're worse than a pest, they're a serious danger, and thank the G.o.ds we live on an island. The comic part is you thinking we could do anything about it.' He opened his mouth and picked out an olive stone. 'Now possibly us, and Shastel, and Gorgas Loredan's merry band of cut-throats down in the Mesoge, and King Temrai's people - if anybody should be worried right now, it's them; if I was the provincial office, I know what'd be at the top of my shopping list - if all of us got together, pulled our fingers out, really got behind Ap' Seny and told them, that's it, no further-' He shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Well, it could go either way, depending on what other calls the provincial office's got on its resources right now (and that's something we just don't know, though we should, and it's a scandal we don't). But face facts, it ain't going to happen. No, the best thing we can do is start talking very sweetly to the provincials about non-aggression pacts and tariffs and possibly preferred-carrier status. They aren't savages, you know. If we could learn to love the plainspeople, we can get along just fine with these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.'

Venart's sister Vetriz, who'd been lying back on her couch pretending to be bored, sat up. 'You can't be serious about that, Hido,' she said. 'Us, get into bed with the plainspeople? After what they did to the City?'

Hido grinned. 'We trade with them. You trade with them. Even the Shastel Bank does business with them, and G.o.ds know, if anybody's got the right to bear a grudge, it's her.' He leaned forward and scratched the arch of his foot. 'Where is Athli, by the way? I thought she'd be here.'

Eseutz scowled. 'Oh, she's off being terribly high-powered somewhere. I don't know; she runs that office like she owns the whole d.a.m.n bank.'

'Eseutz tried to get a loan to take up those spice options,' Hido explained, 'and Athli turned her down flat, bless her. I could have told you if you'd asked me,' he went on, treating Eseutz to a warm, patronising smile. 'Athli may dress like an Islander and talk like an Islander, she's got a better nose for a deal than most of us who were born and bred here, but when it comes to lending money, she's Perimadeian to her socks and always will be.'

Eseutz sniffed and reached across the table for the wine jug. 'It's all your fault for bringing her here in the first place,' she told Vetriz. 'Well, the h.e.l.l with that. You can tell her I got my loan, and at only one per cent over base.'

'You had to put your s.h.i.+p up as security,' Hido pointed out. 'Definitely rather you than me. I think Athli was doing you a favour, personally. Who the h.e.l.l's going to want to pay your prices for peppers and cinnamon once the provincial office starts dumping the stuff on the spot market at half what you're paying for it now?'

Eseutz growled and banged the jug down. 'If that's your att.i.tude,' she said, 'you might as well start memorising the names of the Great b.l.o.o.d.y Kings right now, so you can reel them off to impress the provincial when he comes stomping in here with a garrison.'

Hido dipped his head. 'It might be a sensible precaution, at that,' he said. 'If we're going to have to do business with these people, as seems increasingly likely, it might be sensible to learn how to crawl to their officials.'

When the evening was over and their guests had gone home, Vetriz kicked off her shoes and poured herself the last of the wine. 'I can't figure those two out,' she said. 'Are they or aren't they?'

Her brother shrugged. 'Both,' he replied. 'Which is odd, I'll grant you. I mean, it's obvious what he sees in her but not the other way round. Not in a million years.'

Vetriz raised an eyebrow. 'Funny,' she said, 'I'd have said it was the other way round. Oh, well, I suppose that means they were made for each other after all. In which case, I can't help wondering why they spend so much of their time trying to do each other down in business.'

Venart yawned. 'Their way of expressing affection, I suppose,' he said. 'But what she was saying about the Empire, it makes sense, you know, in a way. Mind you, so does what Hido said. This Ap' Escatoy thing's really brought it home.'

'If you say so,' Vetriz replied, slowly getting up. 'I'm going to bed while I can still move.'

'All right.' Venart hesitated for a moment, then continued, 'When I was down at the Nails this afternoon, I did hear one thing about Ap' Escatoy.'

'Hm? Tell me in the morning.'

Venart shook his head. 'Really,' he said, 'I should have mentioned it earlier, except of course it's just a rumour, and I haven't the faintest idea where it comes from or if there's anything to it. I was waiting to see if Hido or Eseutz had come across it too, but apparently not.'

Vetriz yawned. 'Oh, for pity's sake, Ven,' she said. 'Stop hamming it up and tell me.'

'All right.' Venart looked away slightly. 'What it is, someone was talking about the end of the siege, how it actually happened, and he said the man who finally broke through in the mines and brought down the wall was called Bardas Loredan.'

Vetriz didn't turn round. 'Really?' she said. 'That's interesting.'

'I thought you should know,' Venart said. 'Well, there it is. Like I said, there's absolutely no confirmation or anything like that, just a rumour.'

'Of course,' Vetriz replied. 'Well, I'm off to bed. Good night.'

After that snippet of information it was inevitable that her dreams should return to the mines - she knew every inch of them by now, so that her knees and the palms of her hands ached at the thought of them - and the darkness and the stale air and the smell of clay and herbs. Once again she was crawling blind towards the source of the noise, the indecipherable confusion of steel and voices; this time she hoped she'd be able to pick out one voice among them, but that was completely unrealistic. Perhaps what she'd learned explained why she had to keep coming back here, but nothing else made sense. It was just a dream where she crawled along tunnels in the dark, and sometimes the roof caved in on her and sometimes it didn't. Maybe she'd been right the first time, and it really was divine retribution for eating blue cheese just before going to sleep.

But this time she called out his name; though whether she was telling him she was coming to help him or asking to be rescued herself, she wasn't quite sure. All night she slithered and stomped and crawled her way through the galleries and spurs of her dream, sometimes having to squeeze past and crawl over men who'd been dead a long time, sometimes people she'd known all her life, sometimes people she recognised for the first time; but the noise never got any closer and the voices stayed confused. She woke up sweating, the bedclothes twisted round her, the pillow on the floor where she'd thrown it after thanking it for its forbearance.

When Temrai opened his eyes, the light appalled him.

He shook his head like a wet dog, as if trying to get the dream out of his mind. Beside him, Tilden grunted and turned over, pulling the covers off his toes. She could sleep through anything, even the stifled yell he'd woken up with. If Tilden dreamed strange and terrible dreams, they were of ca.s.seroles spoiled by overcooking, or long-awaited tapestries which, when they finally arrived, didn't go with the cus.h.i.+ons after all. The thought made him smile, in spite of himself.

He sighed and sat up, carefully s.h.i.+fting his weight so as not to disturb her. In fact, the light was nothing more than a gentle smear of moons.h.i.+ne leaking through the smoke-hole; remarkable that it could have seemed so unbearably bright a moment ago.

Methodically, like a conscientious witness in front of the examining magistrate, he recalled the dream. He'd been in darkness, in some cave or tunnel underground; he'd been scrabbling frantically along, trying to get away from something, or someone, either the roof caving in or a man with a knife, and most of the time it had been both together. When his pursuer had caught up with him, and he'd felt a hand gathering his hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat to the cutting edge, he'd heard a voice thanking him, and another saying that the dead man was Sergeant Bardas Loredan, sacker of cities, bringer-down of walls, responsible for the deaths of thousands - - Which was all wrong, of course. He, King Temrai the Great, was the sacker of cities and slayer of thousands; he was the one who'd brought down the walls of Perimadeia, after first burning to death all the thousands and hundreds of thousands of people trapped in there when he burst in. The wise and expensive Shastel doctor he'd sent for when the dreams he'd had since the fall of the City made him dangerously ill had told him that it was all perfectly natural, that it was hardly surprising that in his dreams he should put himself in the place of one of the people he'd burned to death; somehow, the wise and expensive doctor had left him with the impression that it was so normal as to be positively good for him, like drinking plenty of milk and taking regular exercise. He wondered what he'd have made of this new development; the caves, the man with the knife who was Bardas Loredan, the sacker of cities. He could work some of it out for himself; his guilt and self-loathing had made him identify himself with the most frightening and destructive man he'd ever encountered, so that in his mind he'd become Loredan, the ultimate degradation. No need to spend good money to be told that.

He yawned. Absolutely no chance of getting back to sleep; what he really wanted was company. Gently he slid off the bed, feeling with his toes for his soft felt shoes, pulled on his coat and crept out of the tent.

Who would be awake at this time of night? Well, the sentries, for a start (or else they were all in trouble) and the duty officer and the duty officer's friend - there was a specific military technical term, but he hadn't a clue what it was; basically, the job consisted of staying up all night playing draughts with the duty officer to keep him from falling asleep. Fairly soon the bakers would be up and about, starting off the next day's bread. Almost certainly, somewhere in the camp, there'd be a bunch of young fools who'd stayed up all night drinking, and here and there a few men unable to sleep for worrying about whether they were going to die in the battle tomorrow. Quite likely he wasn't the only man in twenty thousand who'd been turfed out of bed by a bad dream. A short walk through the streets of the camp would find him someone to talk to.

He yawned again. It was a warm night, with a smell of rain. To his surprise, he realised he was feeling hungry. What he really needed, in fact, wasn't human companions.h.i.+p or someone to pour out his troubles to. What he really needed was a couple of white-flour pancakes smothered in sour cream and honey, preferably with a sprinkling of redcurrants and nutmeg. For a king spontaneously accorded the epithet Great by a devotedly loyal nation, that oughtn't to be too much to ask.