Later, Gianni learned that the other fish had struck squarely in the courtyard of Castle Raginaldi, breaking its back and splitting its skin. Gar had barked commands, and a dozen marines came running to ring the object with spears—if they had any fear, they didn’t show it. When four people in dark gray came staggering from its bowels, the marines clapped them into irons and hurried them into a tower room, where they mounted guard over the prisoners until their commander was ready to deal with them.
On the wall, Gianni wrenched his eyes away from the wrecked fish in the middle of the prince’s army, recovering both himself and the initiative. “Fire!” he shouted, and his crossbowmen came to themselves with a start and loosed a flight of bolts at the enemy soldiers. Some went down, screaming; most ran, or hobbled with bolts in their flesh, away from the walls.
“Cannon, fire!” Gianni shouted, and three cannon fired buckets of nails. The cannoneers had aimed high, and the nails came down in a lethal rain. The prince’s soldiers shouted in panic; demoralized by seeing a sky monster plunging at them afire, by bolts and raining nails, but most of all by the huge golden disk that still swelled above them with its promise of lightning bolts, they ran. This was no retreat, but a rout—and the troops Gar had hidden in the woods atop the ridge recognized their signal for action. They stormed downward, loosing arrows and bolts, catching the prince’s men between two fires and shouting, “Surrender!”
Thoroughly demoralized, soldiers threw down their weapons and held up their hands, crying, “I yield me!”
It spread; in minutes, all the prince’s men were surrendering, and Gar came up before Gianni, shouting, “Sally forth! Take surrenders, bind prisoners!” The gates opened, and the army of Pirogia charged out with a shout.
But across the valley, fifty picked men didn’t stop to take prisoners—they bored on, and finally came to a knot of soldiers who still fought: men-at-arms and knights, the prince’s bodyguard. The fifty Pirogians called for reinforcements, and other soldiers left off taking surrenders to help. In minutes, the knot of men had swelled to hundreds, and the fight was bloody, but brief.
“Keep the command, Gianni!” Gar shouted, and ran to take horse. He leaped astride and went galloping out the gate and across the valley.
Gianni wasn’t about to be left behind at such a moment. “Vincenzio! Command!” he cried, then ran to mount up and ride after Gar.
He caught up just as Gar was dismounting and walking slowly toward the circle of spears that held the prince and a handful of noblemen at bay—immobilized, but sneering. Gar walked up to them, erect as a staff, hand on his sword. The circle of spears parted just enough for him to enter. “Surrender, my lords,” he called. “You cannot escape.”
“And dare you kill us?” the prince spat. “Be sure, lowborn churl, that if you do, every nobleman in Talipon—nay, in the whole of the world—will not rest until he has seen you flayed alive!”
“I dare,” Gar told him, “because I am the son of a high lord and great-nephew of another.”
Gianni’s mouth dropped open. Never would he have dreamt of this!
The prince stared, taken aback. Then his brows drew down, and he demanded, “What is your house and lineage?”
“I am a d’Armand of Maxima, of the cadet branch,” Gar told him. “My home is far from here, very far indeed, Your Highness—perhaps even as far as the world of your Lurgan Company. But even they will not deny that Maxima exists, or that it is home to many noble families.”
“I would deny that if I could.” The prince’s eyes smoldered. “But your bearing and your manner show it forth; blood will tell, and breeding is ever there to be seen, if it is not deliberately hidden.” Then outrage blazed forth. “But you did deliberately hide it! Why in all the world would the son of a nobleman soil his hands with trade, or defend the baseborn tradesmen and merchants of Pirogia?”
Gar’s manner softened, became almost sorrowful. “Because, Your Highness, my lords, all of life draws its sustenance from the ebb and flow of money and the goods and food it represents. You who draw your wealth from land alone are doomed to poverty and ignominy if you do not learn the ways of trade, for the merchants bring the wealth of a whole world to your doorstep—aye, and the wealth of many worlds, as your Lurgan accomplices have shown you. It is not to be gained by stealth or theft, but only by nourishing and caring for the ebb and flow I speak of. Trade is like the grain of your fields, that must be tended and cared for if you would see its harvest. This world has ripened into trade now, and will grow by trade and gain greater wealth for all by trade—unless that ripening is ended by burning the field before the harvest. If you blast Talipon back into serfdom, it will be centuries before Petrarch flowers again, and when it does, it will be the noblemen of another land who reap the wealth—wealth ten times your current fortunes, fifty times, a hundred. But if you nurture and encourage that growth, Talipon will lead the world of Petrarch, and if you come to understand the ways of trade, you shall lead Talipon, and reap the enormous first fruits.” He smiled sadly. “Noblesse oblige, my lords, Your Highness—nobility imposes obligations, and your obligation in this new era is to learn the ways of trade, that you may guide its swelling and its flowering. Trade may be only the concern of the commoner now, but it must become the concern of every aristocrat, or you will fail in the calling of your birth.”
He stood silent, looking directly into the prince’s eyes, and the gaze of every one of the lesser noblemen was fixed upon him.
At last, the prince himself reversed his sword and held it out to the giant. “I yield me to a man of noble blood—but when the ransom is paid and my home restored to me, Signor d’Armand, you must explain this chivalry of trade to me, that I may determine for myself if it is as much the duty of the aristocracy as you say.”
Gravely, Gar took the sword and bowed. Then he turned to the other noblemen and, one by one, collected their swords, too. They never even noticed when the great golden disk above them receded, and was gone.
Looking back on it, Gianni was amazed that they stayed in Tumanola only two weeks, and the time went very quickly—but it seemed far longer, for each day was packed with what seemed thirty hours’ worth of events. The prince’s army had to be disbanded and the soldiers seen to depart for their homes, then watched carefully to make sure they didn’t try to rally. The city had to be searched for weapons, and anything that might be used to wage war brought to a central piazza, loaded onto wagons bound for the coast, and shipped home to Pirogia. The whole matter had to be explained to the prince’s subjects, and the Pirogian army carefully policed to make sure the soldiers didn’t take advantage of the prince’s subjects—Gar was very insistent that there be no looting or pillaging, and especially no rape. It did make the matter difficult for Gianni when several of his troopers fell in love with local women—but he was able to ascertain in every case that not only had there been no rape, but also that the lovers hadn’t even been able to be alone together. There were some cases where he was clearly able to determine that the women in question were prostitutes, but he punished his soldiers anyway, even though there were no charges of rape. When the sergeants came to him to demand if he expected them to behave like alabaster statues of saints, he simply answered, “Yes,” then explained why they had to behave as examples to the prince’s subjects.