Tylara stared. "A proven captain in the kind of war we used to fight! The kind of war which would have destroyed us a year ago. For the kind of war you have taught us, the fewer like Dughuilas we have, the better."
"Perhaps, up to a point. But I cannot be everywhere at once-"
"The more reason for not having Dughuilas in any of the places where you are not."
"Are you then glad that he is dead?" Rick demanded.
"I am not as unhappy as you seem to be. Why, I cannot understand. He was no friend to you or your cause."
Ah, but you do understand, my love. Don't you? "He was yet a brave man. A proven leader, a man of courage… and if we seem to care little for finding the killers, people may wonder why. You say Dughuilas had enemies. This is true. He also had fellow clansmen, who will be at my back on campaign."
"The Guardsmen can keep watch."
"How many of Clan Calder can we afford to kill?"
"None. But I doubt we must kill any. Dughuilas's killers will be found."
"And if they are not?" Rick asked.
She shrugged. "It is in the hands of Yatar." She wriggled into the bed and pulled the covers about her. The bed was large, so that there remained a little distance between her and Rick. "Vothan One-eye has done us no ill turn by this."
"Exactly what everyone will be saying. He was our enemy, and he is dead. It is not much of a secret that Dughuilas is suspected of planning the balloon accident."
"It is also not much of a secret that Dughuilas has been the leader in half of what the knights and bheromen have done against you. Do you care so little for your plans that you will fret over the death of one of their worst enemies?"
"I do not. But there are honorable and dishonorable ways-"
She looked ready to spit on the floor, or even in his face. "You are not the only judge of honor here. I also have to judge what honor demands, for us and for our plans and for our children. Have you forgotten that? Or was Andrй Parsons perhaps right? Are you too soft toward enemies to live long among us?"
"Enough!" Rick leaped from the bed. "I will go to my rooms. I have never laid hands on you, but by Christ-" He stalked toward the door, then stopped and turned. "I've lived longer here than Parsons," he said. "But then perhaps this is because I'm a coward. Go on, you can say that. Everyone else has."
He fumbled with the bolts of the heavy door. Can't even make a decent exit, he thought. Crap.
"My love." She stood next to him, and her face held grief. "My love. Forgive me." He gently gathered her into his arms and held her while she cried into the fur of his robe. Her hair had its old silky springiness back, now that she'd completely recovered from Isobel's birth.
"Forgive me, my love," she said finally. "Nor I, nor anyone doubts your courage or your honor. Only you. You have doubts enough for all of us, foolish doubts, for you are the bravest man I have ever known."
"Not likely-"
"Enough for me, then. Now come to bed. How can we let a man like Dughuilas ruin our last nights together? Come to bed, my love…"
Later, after they had made love, he woke and lay sleepless. In a few days he would lead an army to war. Vothan One-eye would be loose in the land again. And how many soldiers have told themselves that what they do is right? All of them?
Now I've got to fight, and if I'm killed, will any of my plans be carried out? I think I'm indispensable. Necessary. Have to stay alive or no one will. Easy thing to talk yourself into. Easiest thing in the world.
Reasonable. Makes sense. Hah! The man who wondered if he was a coward because he'd gone out for track instead of football in college still lurked inside the Eqeta of Chelm. Not very far inside, at times like these.
I can change what they think. I can prove myself. If I don't- Dundee. John Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount
Dundee, the only man since the Bruce to unite the Highlanders; the man who might have kept Scotland independent of England and the Stuarts on its throne.
He'd known he was indispensable. So had the chiefs. But at Killiecrankie, Dundee personally led the army. "Once," he promised his allies. "Once only. But until they know I am worthy to lead them, I cannot lead them where we must go."
And he'd fallen at Killiecrankie, ending the Highlander cause…
I have to win their respect. How, I don't know. But I have to do something…with Dughuilas dead by assassins it's even more necessary. Reasons of state. And I have to live with myself as well.
She stirred slightly, and he covered her bare arm, resisting an impulse to waken her and lose himself in her. Then he stared at the ceiling again.
PART THREE
Angels and Ministers of Grace
12
"Pass in review!"
Drums thundered and pipes skirled as the massed forces of Rick's army marched across the parade ground.
"Eyes-RIGHT!"
The First Pike Regiment marched past, their pikes held aslant, the regimental banner dipped in homage to Rick and the others on the reviewing stand. The banner held three battle streamers; one, Sentinius, might be an embarrassment under the circumstances, but most of Rick's units had been there and were proud of it.
He glanced to his right where Publius stood at attention, but gained no clue as to what the Roman was thinking. Publius was an enigma; his manners were perfect when in public with Rick, but spies said he was given to cursing the barbarians whenever there was the slightest reason. He was also interested in women, and his success as a Don Juan impressed even the lustiest of Tamaerthan lords.
And what, Rick wondered, must Bishop Arrhenius think of his Emperor-to-be? The Roman Christian Church seemed considerably less preoccupied with chastity than did its counterpart on Earth, but even so there was the Sixth Commandment… More to the point, though, what did His Lordship think of all these pagan allies? Whatever he thought, he said nothing. He stood next to Publius, splendid in his cope and mitre; and if he longed to go make converts among Rick's army, he showed no signs of it.
Second Pikes marched past, then Third and Fourth. They kept their lines straight enough, although they were not expert at parade ground formations. Rick wondered again what impression he was making on the Roman officers. His army was hardly uniform; it seemed that no two men wore the same equipment. Some had breastplates, some mail byrnies. Some had Roman helmets, others had modified captured Roman equipment until it was hardly recognizable; some men wore leather jerkins and no armor at all. None had a lot; the pikes were supposed to be lightly armed, able to march hard and fast, then fight for a long time. Rich knew their value; but would these haughty Roman officers understand?
"Present-Arms! Eyes-RIGHT!" Battalion guide-on banners rose high, then snapped downward to the salute. There was another thunder of drums, then fifty pipers; and finally the archers.
Rick saw Publius nod sagely as they went by. They were impressive enough even to look at, their long bows held at high port, and over their backs quivers filled with grey gullfeathered arrows a clothyard long, tipped with a deadly bodkin point that would penetrate armor at short ranges, and kill a horse at two hundred paces and more. There were never enough archers; it took years to train them, years spent at the archery butts when you might be doing something more lucrative. Many wealthy enough to become archers would not; they considered themselves part of the chivalry of Tamaerthon, and learned to ride and fight with lance, usually neglecting the art of the bow. Most of the archers were sons of yeomen and freeholders, the closest thing to a middle class Tamaerthon had.
The archers wore kilts of bright colors, and colored shirts, and many had jewelry, particularly bracelets. They'd fared well in Rick's previous battles, and being lightly armed and mobile they'd been able to get extra loot despite Rick's orders about sharing the booty.