"Shall it be peace, then?"
"If the Spirit wills. Come, let us talk."
Raj gestured, and the troopers retreated down the slope, out of immediate earshot and with their backs to the supreme commanders. The two men walked into the shade of the carob. Tewfik's eye caught the bread and salt; also the fact that they hadn't yet been offered to him. There was wary respect on his face as he turned to face his enemy and let the saddlebags he carried over one shoulder drop to the ground.
Carefully, carefully, Raj told himself. Take no chances with this man.
indeed, Center said. A brief vision flashed before Raj's eyes: the same meeting, but with the relative positions reversed. if my physical centrum had been located in al kebir, rather than east residence. .
I'd be the one trying to salvage something from the wreck, Raj acknowledged.
"I will not waste words," Tewfik said abruptly, into the growing silence. "You have won this campaign. Without even fighting a major battle. My compliments, young kaphar; it is a feat for the manuals and the historians to chew over."
"More than the campaign," Raj said quietly. "The war. And I would betray my ruler and my State, if I did not use this advantage to ensure the Colony is no longer a threat to the Civil Government. We have fought you every generation for nearly a thousand years; it's irrelevant who was at fault in any given war. It must cease."
Tewfik nodded, his face still cat-calm. "Yet it is said that Heneralissimo Whitehall fights also for the cause of civilization on Bellevue," he said. "We of the House of Islam brought man to this world. We built its first cities. We preserved much of what learning survived the Fall, and we are the other half of civilized life on this world. Would you see our cities burn and the books with them, while the howling peoples camp in the ruins?"
Raj inclined his head. "You admit that the Colony is ruined if your army is destroyed?"
"That is as God wills; but too many of our high nobles are with us, our best commanders and the leadership needed to maintain the unity of our state. And our best troops; we left nothing but garrison forces on the frontiers. If they do not return, there will be civil war-fourscore separate civil wars; instead of one Settler, we will have a hundred malik al'taifas, petty kings ruling factions. They will not be able to maintain the irrigation canals, nor guard the frontiers against the Skinners and the Zanj."
"Or us," Raj pointed out.
Tewfik shook his head. "Conquering a hundred splinter realms would be impossible. You would have to garrison them heavily and there would be constant revolt; our people will not tolerate direct rule by unbelievers, not without such punishment as would destroy what you tried to govern."
"What do you propose?"
The Arab nobleman took a deep breath. "I cannot rule," he said, touching his eye. "And Ali. . he is my brother, but he is a disaster for all Muslims. One way or another, sooner or later, he would have ruined the Colony. Already he has killed many of our best men-and anyone else who was there at the wrong time.
"What I propose is this: half our army to be disarmed and sent to East Residence. I suggest that you use them to garrison the Southern and Western Territories; there they will be hostages against the Colony's good behavior. I will take the other half back with me to Al Kebir, and there rule as Vice-Governor in Barholm Clerett's name. My daughter Chaba will go to East Residence and wed Governor Barholm."
He shrugged, and for the first time smiled slightly. "I have no sons, and I fear I have been too indulgent with her-even allowing her to be taught to read. Perhaps it will be better for her thus."
Well, Raj thought, slightly dazed. That's emphatic enough. Center's sensor-grid came down over Tewfik's face, tracing blood flow, temperature, pupil-dilation.
subject tewfik is sincere, the computer-angel said. probability 82 %±7.
Raj was slightly startled. Usually the percentage was much higher, one way or another.
subject tewfik has an unusual degree of control over autonomic body functions. in your vernacular, a poker face.
"A moment," Raj said.
He turned and looked out over the dusty plain of the Drangosh. Then he turned back.
"That sounds acceptable, in outline," he said. "We'll have to settle a few details. Release of all Civil Government prisoners in the Colony, for instance; and an annual tribute sufficient to pay the twenty-five thousand men you'll be giving us. Customs, tariffs, that sort of thing the bureaucrats can settle."
Tewfik nodded, hesitated, then stroked his beard. "My offer, of course, would apply to any other Governor as well," he hinted. "From all reports, Governor Barholm is somewhat preferable to my brother Ali. . but that is not a strong recommendation."
Meaning, take the Chair yourself and rule the world, Raj thought.
interpretation of subtext correct, probability 98 %±1, Center clarified.
"How do I know this isn't a ploy to save Ali and half your army?" Raj said. "You could be planning to write the other half off. It'd still be a larger force than I have in the field, and campaigning down to the Drangosh delta would be a nightmare, particularly with this area too devastated to use as a base."
Tewfik smiled grimly and opened the saddlebag he'd brought. His curly-toed boot hooked it over to lie at Raj's feet. A head rolled out; fairly fresh, although the flies were already crawling around the hacked stump of the neck and the staring eyes. Raj did not need the ruby-clasped turban that rolled from the shaven skull to identify it.
"That for Ali," Tewfik said, and kicked the head to one side. "I should have done that years ago."
Raj raised his brows slightly. I shouldn't be surprised if he's. . decisive, he decided. He gestured to the blanket. They sat down across from each other cross-legged, and shared the bread and salt. Raj laid the sword between them and Tewfik touched his hand to the hilt and blade.
"There shall be peace," Raj said. "I accept. . in Governor Barholm's name."
"Wa sha' a-l-lah," Tewfik said, the formula full of a tired sincerity. He shrugged and spat on the head. "May God will it."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"All off!"
Raj swung down off the train. The East Residence station was crowded, full of the heat and smoke and steam of a busy summer's day. It felt humid after the Drangosh Valley; he rested his eyes on the hints of green higher up the hill and the fleecy clouds scattered across the sky. It was after 1900, near sunset, with Miniluna and Maxiluna both up, huge translucent globes hanging in a purpling sky.
"Move it, soldier!" the conductor said.
Raj smiled wryly and hopped down, ignoring the wooden steps the Central Rail slave was putting by the passenger car. He had a bandage over half his face, and he was dressed in common soldier's clothing-as a Descotter cavalry sergeant, which was probably what he'd have been if he hadn't been born to a noble family. The uniform brought a few cheers and careful claps on the back as he walked out through the station, a garrison bag slung over one shoulder.
That was unusual. Questions flew at him:
"Is it true Heneralissimo Whitehall cut off Ali's head with his own hand?"
"Are they going to march the prisoners through the streets?"
He smiled lopsidedly and pointed to his bandage; somebody thrust a goatskin of wine into his hand, and a free ticket to the bullfights. He dropped both of them off at the porticoed entrance to the train station-another of Barholm's construction projects-and plunged into the streets. They were thick with people, even though it was still normal working hours. Municipal flunkies were hanging ribbons and streamers from the standards of the gaslights, and a great cheer went up as an ox-wagon piled with huge wine casks halted at a corner.