“He said he’s ready to fight against Tastis,” Palastinas said, his gaze turning to his boots again. “He’s told us he will never be disloyal. Tegestu’s a man of his word. Why not stand the army down?”
“Because he’s Brodaini, that’s why! Haven’t you heard of aspistu?” Necias demanded. “If he’s after revenge he’ll hand us a hundred lies if he thinks they’ll work — that’s what aspistu’s all about!” Gods, he thought, what if that assassin didn’t come from Tastis at all, but from Tegestu’s camp? There was no way to tell. And it had been Tegestu who’d tried to suggest that Little Necias be killed for his failure — and who would that benefit but the rebels? Gods, how could he ever know?
He spun away from Palastinas at the sound of hoofbeats, and saw Campas pull his horse to a halt on the bank. Necias strode to meet him.
“Tanta’s men are still in their lines,” he said, smiling grimly. “Handipas said they fought well against the sortie last night — drove Tastis right back to the moat, in fact.” A worried look crossed his features. “But they’re under arms in their camp — standing ready.”
“Ai, gods, that does it,” Necias said, twisting his rings in anxiety. “I’ve got to tell Handipas.” And lose every piece of cimmersan I’ve ever had with the man, he thought. Admitting that I’ve let Tegestu and his entire force get away and fort up in a situation in which he can join the enemy and outnumber us. There’s no getting Handipas to accept a subordinate position now... no possibility in the world. And it would weaken him with the Elva as well.
Aiee, the Elva! With Tegestu protesting loyalty and claiming the city as a gift, how could he ever convince the Elva ambassadors, and their Denorrin-Deissin back home, that he hadn’t intended to give the city away as part of some plot to increase his own territory by gifts to his Brodaini? They’d all lay the credit for this disaster at his door, however they chose to interpret the matter, and who could blame them? The only way to keep the Elva on his side would be to disavow Tegestu entirely, and that would mean losing him to the enemy.
Necias looked up at the grey towers of Calacas, feeling sweat popping up on his forehead as the midsummer morning heat lapped at him. Gods, he had to get the gates of the city open and quickly. He had to think. Take the first galley back to Arrandal, disassociate himself from this disaster? No, too late. He’d expected to take the credit for a victory; now all blame would be his.
Think! There had to be some escape. He pounded his fist rhythmically into his hand. He couldn’t see Handipas until he had explanations for him, and as yet there were no explanations. What could he do?
He glanced up, irritated, at the sound of hoofbeats; but when he saw it was one of the mercenary officers from the outposts near the city pounding up on a sweating horse, he turned to face him. How much did the flenssin and the militia know? he wondered. They were standing to arms, facing the banners on the city wall they knew were friendly: surely they were aware that something was wrong; but did they know what? Rumors must be circulating frantically in the camp. He’d have to make them an announcement soon.
“Abeissu!” the officer called from his horse. “Messengers from Tegestu, come to see you!”
“How many? And who are they?” Necias barked, feeling relief and anxiety mixed. At last he’d find out what was happening — but how badly did he really wish to know?
“A man named Hamila. His standard-bearer, and an escort of four.”
Necias gnawed his nether lip. Hamila he knew, one of Tegestu’s trusted commanders, but not a major figure by any means, which meant that Tegestu was not risking sending one of his welldrani lest he be taken hostage or killed in return for treachery. Necias reached into his memories about Hamila, and produced the fact that he was absolutely ignorant of Abessas. Why was Tegestu sending Necias a herald who couldn’t speak his language?
“Captain Acragas!” he barked to Little Necias. “Alert all your guards! You and three of your best to be with me at all times. Only Hamila is to be allowed on the barge — the others are to wait on the bank.” He turned to Campas. “You’ll greet him as he’d expect to be greeted, then escort him below to meet me.” he said. He jabbed Campas in the chest with his thumb, seeing him wince, and grinned. “We’ll get to the bottom of it yet, hey?” he said. “Hamila can’t speak Abessas — so you tell me what you think he’s thinking as well as what he’s saying. He may be able to understand what you’re doing, but he won’t understand what you say. Understand?”
“Yes, Abeissu Necias!”
Little Necias put his hand on the hilt of his sword and gave a grin as if he enjoyed the possibility of having to give a swipe at Hamila. Necias frowned at him, hoping it wouldn’t come to that, and wished he was wearing armor. For a moment he considered donning his breastplate, chain skirts, and helmet, but decided against it: it might indicate he was afraid, and that would cost him cimmersan. At the moment, he thought, the little he had left had become just that much more precious.
Followed by three guards, Necias went below decks to his receiving room, placed a Brodaini stool about ten paces before his own massive chair, placed the three guards in positions to intercept Hamila if he lunged out at him, and ordered tea and cakes. He sat in his chair and drummed his rings on the arm of his chair until Campas entered, followed by Hamila and Little Necias. Hamila stood by his stool, knelt, then rose again. Necias looked at him carefully for a long second, locking eyes. Hamila’s seemed lively, as if he were interested, perhaps even enjoying himself. Gradually, as Necias stared at him, the liveliness faded, was replaced with hooded stubbornness. There was a trace of uncertainty there as well. Good, Necias thought; he doesn’t know for certain that Tegestu holds trumps.
“Sit,” said Necias.
Hamila was elderly, seventy or so, burly with a face leathered by the elements. He was wearing light leather armor of the sort that was easy on the limbs of an old man, with a mantle of chain that covered his shoulders and upper chest. The chain rang lightly as he sat.
Hamila leaned forward earnestly, spoke in rapid Gostu to Campas — Necias had the impression that he was reciting a speech he’d been given — then he straightened and watched Necias with interested eyes as Campas translated. Necias watched him back. Neither of them watched Campas.
“He carries a message from lord Tegestu,” Campas said. “Tegestu kneels before you as his canlan and lord and does you homage for the city you so generously have awarded to his aldran. Lord Tegestu believes that his folk will prosper in their new domain, and that he will order a ceremony which will do public homage to you as the benefactor of the Calacas Brodaini and all their dependents.”
“Ah,” Necias said, and held up a hand. He thrust out a finger and pointed it at Hamila. “Tell General Hamila that the Abessu-Denorru appreciates the homage that Lord Tegestu has paid us,” he said. “But that the Abessu-Denorru knows that he had forbidden lord Tegestu and his people from taking Calacas for their own. The Abessu-Denorru would like to know why lord Tegestu has disobeyed his explicit command.”
Hamila listened to the translation with a placid expression and no hint of surprise. His answer came back swiftly, as if, once again, it was memorized.
“General Hamila says that the lord Tegestu was surprised when you yourself reversed the order, and was so surprised to hear it that he forgot to thank you at the time, for which he apologizes.” Necias snorted in disbelief. “The lord Tegestu begs you to remember,” Campas continued, “the conversation after the banquet four nights ago, in which he renewed his request for you to allow him to seize the city in the name of his aldran. He says that you granted the request at that time, Abeissu.”