Pressure, Necias thought. Gentle pressure at first, to worry them, then increase later on. And I’ll be forever busy in the background, keeping everything dancing, and ready to strike when I see my time.
The interview over, Hamila knelt once more, then was escorted out of the room by Little Necias. Necias bounced out of his chair and clapped his hands gustily. “Well, Campas?” he asked. “Have I handled him well?”
“Very well, Abeissu Necias,” Campas said. “I think you’re right not to make demands, now.”
Necias clapped him on the back. Campas staggered a bit, his chain coat jingling. “Thanks to you, hey,” he boomed. “That warning of yours was right on target.” He reached down to the plate of untasted tea-cakes and swallowed two.
“I’ll need the ambassadors here right away, and then alert the scribes,” he said. “I’ve got to send some messages to all the Elva cities, and to the Denorru-Deissin.” He grinned. “I’m going to have a few orders to give concerning the Brodaini that Tegestu was unfortunate enough to have to leave behind. There are more ways than one to apply pressure, hey?”
CHAPTER 22
“Brilliant,” Campas said. He was stretched out on Fiona’s bed, his hair still wet from a recent bath, while Fiona knelt over him, her nimble magician’s fingers working at the tense, knotted muscles over his ribs. He’d been crouching over his scrivener’s table for too many hours, and he’d cramped.
“Necias was brilliant,” Campas continued. “And afterwards with the Elva ambassadors — incredible! Here he was, faced with half a dozen angry, suspicious, confused political men, all of them half-convinced he’d connived at Tegestu’s occupation of the city, with General Handipas ranting up and down about Arrandalla treachery and Brodaini double-dealing — and before the meeting was out Necias convinced them to issue the statement he’d had me draft before the meeting ever started, and furthermore he had them all thinking it was their idea. Aiee, woman! Careful of my bones!”
Fiona jabbed her thumb again into the tender place below Campas’ rib, hearing him hiss in pained response. “You’ve got a knot there,” she said. “Best we work on it.” Fiona oiled her hands, and Campas suffered in silence while the muscle was eased. She bent down to kiss his clavicle, then looked up at him.
“What was in the draft?” she asked.
“Hm? Oh. An announcement that Tegestu’s claim on Calacas was unauthorized, and that the Elva will not recognize it. But it stopped short of ordering Tegestu out — that was what Necias had to fight longest for — since ordering him out would serve as an excuse for Tegestu to claim we were not fulfilling our obligations as his overlords, and to join Tastis.”
“Will he anyway?” Fiona asked. With three Brodaini armies in the vicinity, the Elva forces were, perhaps, outnumbered, certainly outclassed, and furthermore divided by the river.
“I don’t think so,” Campas said. “Not right away. He’s going to try to negotiate with both sides in order to get what’s best for his people.” He looked up at Fiona with a grin. “You’re as good as the Brodaini masseurs,” he said. “They were what I missed most, after I stopped living with them.”
“Mm.” She bent over him and kissed his neck. He put his arms around her and hugged her.
“Fiona?” he said, close to her ear. His tone made her sit up and look carefully down at him.
“Yes?”
“I think Necias knows about us.”
Fiona shrugged. “Probably half the camp knows by now. Does it matter?” She tossed her head. “I’m past caring what people think of me. I know it should matter, as I’ve got to deal with them and a good opinion helps, but I don’t. I can’t seem to muster up any concern on that account any more.”
“It might affect me,” Campas said. “Necias may be afraid I’d pass on any of his secret decisions to you. I think he may be wondering that already — he’s been asking me questions about you.”
Fiona grinned, then bent to kiss him again. “If he lets you go, I’ll hire you as embassy staff. I’ll be around longer than Necias, and I won’t work you nearly as hard.”
He looked at her sharply. “What d’you mean by that?”
“By what?”
“That you’ll be around longer than Necias.” She sat up again, looking at him carefully. He was looking at her with a frown creasing his brow, his eyes uncertain.
“I meant,” she said, “that I’ll be living longer than Necias. I’m younger. That’s all.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, love.” He reached up to touch her cheek. “I just thought you might have heard something through your... your sources.”
“No,” she said simply. “I haven’t.”
“Forgive me. This situation has everyone on edge.” She nodded, stretched out her legs, and lay down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Fiona,” he said again. It was the same tone as before: something else was coming.
“Yes.” Patiently.
“Don’t be surprised if, in a few days, Necias requests that you stay in the ambassadorial compound. For your own safety, he’ll say.”
With a sudden movement Fiona propped herself up on her elbows and looked at Campas carefully. “Where did you get this?” she asked.
He frowned. “Necias mentioned it today, very casually,” he said. “He said that Handipas had started him thinking, and that you’re too dangerous to be at liberty in the camp. But he doesn’t want to give the order right away, because it would look as if he was doing it at Handipas’ suggestion.”
“Damn the man!” Fiona said in her own language. Seeing Campas’ baffled look, she changed back to Abessas. “If I’m confined to the compound here,” she said, “I may as well go back to Arrandal. I won’t be able to do any of my work.”
Campas looked grim. “I’m not sure you’ll be doing any back in Arrandal, either. You’d be staying in the Acragas palace, and your movements could be restricted there as well as here. Better, perhaps.” He reached out to stroke her hair. “I’m sorry, love,” he said. “I wish I had more comforting news to bring you.”
He hesitated, then spoke thoughtfully. “The odd thing is, I think he wanted me to tell you. I got that feeling from him, the feeling I get when he’s got some plot in mind.” He shook his head. “But I’ve no idea what it is.”
Fiona considered, chin cupped in her hand. “What could it be?” she wondered. “Could he be trying to see whether I’ll declare for Tegestu? I won’t — I couldn’t — but since I helped that Brodaini patrol last week perhaps he thinks I sympathize with them.”
“Do you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not politically,” she said. “I think Tegestu’s behaving like a bandit.” She looked at him candidly. “But there’s a lot to admire about the Brodaini, isn’t there? They have a code of honor and stick to it. They’re honest. Their women aren’t treated like expensive bits of furniture, to be collected, decorated, and shown off to the neighbors.” She gave a short, sorrowful laugh. “In a way, it’s a pity they’re doomed.”
Campas looked at her in surprise. “Are they?” he asked.
“Yes,” Fiona said. Was she giving away too much by answering that question? Possibly; but in the long run this, too, didn’t matter. “Even if Tastis wins this war and keeps his city, his people are doomed in the long run. The Elva cities will win in the end. Cities like Arrandal are the future. The nature of power has changed: it’s based on trade rather than ownership of land, and the Elva cities dominate trade. Already they control almost all the overseas trade in the Brodaini homelands: before they know it the Brodaini will be dependent on them. Plus the cities have a flexible enough system of government to be able to respond to changing conditions. In another few hundred years they’ll have absorbed the baronies and be sending colonies abroad.” She looked at him. “The Brodaini aren’t flexible enough to survive; their system is too rigid, and it’s based on land tenure, not trade. Either you’ll absorb them, or they’ll have to become like you in order to survive — and that will happen, though much more slowly, in the Brodaini homelands as well. Either way, your people win.”