Marian nodded. "I warned you of it, the last time we spoke," she said. "I also offered you terms."
Isketerol's teeth showed slightly, in what might have been a smile. "A King is the guardian of his people's honor, and their pride," he said. "I could not betray oaths and allies so easily."
"A good many people have died and towns have burned for the sake of that pride," she said grimly. But it does argue he'll keep an agreement with us. "Is it enough?"
The Iberian's fist clenched on the table. "You Islanders talk much of civilization-but it was you who made allies of the highlanders, who know only to burn and torture and kill."
Alston shook her head. "We armed them. We made no agreements or alliances."
"Ah," Isketerol said, thoughtful.
She could see the drift of those thoughts: The Amurrukan will not seek to prevent me pacifying the wild tribes once more.
"And you wouldn't have had so many problems with runaways and uprisings, if you hadn't had so many slaves who were ready to take any chance to strike back at you," she pointed out.
Isketerol shrugged: "Who would go down into the silver mines of the Black Mountains, who was not a slave in fear of the lash? Or work in the road gangs, or another man's fields? Not everyone can be a freeholder or master of his own workshop… but enough of that. I am ready to treat for terms." A wry gesture. "It is also the duty of a King to know when he must humble his pride, to preserve the kingdom's life."
Alston glanced at Sarsental. "Your father is a wise man," she said. Then to the King: "The terms will be harsher than last time," she said. "I'm here because the Republic sent me, and so are my sailors and Marines, but our allies…"
"… are here for loot," Isketerol nodded. "Yes. But my own people have suffered much; we can spare less."
Marian shrugged-he'd been the one to prolong the war- and slid a map across the table. It showed a chunk of coastline from Cadiz to Gibraltar shaded, and a similar patch on the northern coast of Morocco from Tangier to Ceuta.
"I thought you were not here for land," Isketerol said dryly; anger flickered in his eyes.
"That was the last time. Now we have thousands of refugees to care for. Some we'll send back to Nantucket; some can find employment in Alba; most we'll settle here in this strip around our bases, together with some of our own people and our al-lies-we'll give them all sixty-four acres and a mule. That'll make it easier for us to keep an eye on you. What we're demanding is a good deal less than the area we actually control now. And before you say that's intolerable, consider the alternatives."
Which is that your jury-rigged empire falls into its component pieces. And it wouldn't be nearly as easy to conquer it again as it was the first time.
Should we have held out until you were wrecked, damn the delay, to weaken a potential enemy in the long run? Oh, well, not my decision, thank you Lord Jesus.
"I agree," Isketerol said harshly.
They dickered through the terms of the war indemnity, access to supplies for the Republic's forces, temporary disarmament of the Tartessian fleet.
"And hostages," Isketerol said wearily at last. "I suppose you will want more."
"Not too many more," Marian said. "But hostages of weight. To begin with, your heir." She held up a hand. "For no more than five years, and he can visit home, and you him. He'll be treated with honor, I assure you-he can reside with the chief or with me, as you choose. And he'll get an excellent education."
Sarsental hid a start of alarm, then a dawning eagerness; he whispered urgently in his father's ear until silenced with a gesture. Isketerol rose and paced, hands knotted behind his back. At last he returned to the table.
"That is a bargain with several aspects," he said. A glance aside: "My son is wild to see the wonders of the fabled place. You hope to make him a friend… but you bribe me with the promise that he will truly learn things I only grasp as a man grasps shadows passing in the night. You are more subtle than I thought, Commodore."
Alston spread her pink-palmed hands and smiled slightly. "Blame the chief, and Doreen Arnstein."
"So." Isketerol's fingers rasped on the blue-black stubble of his chin. "Agreed-subject to a discussion of the details-on one condition." At Marian's arched brow, he went on: "Among the other hostages shall be my daughter Mettri; she has nine years. And she and Sarsental shall both study in due time at your… what is it called? OCS, yes. And the Oceanic University-they shall be free to take any course of study they will, as an Islander might…"
Later that night Swindapa chuckled in her ear: "Sarsental, he would like to do that."
"He would," Marian said, sliding further down in the narrow bed. "So soft…"
A wailing cry interrupted her. "Oh, sweet suffering Lord Jesus, is that the change me or the I'm hungry?"
"Both, I think," Swindapa said, stretching luxuriously and lying back. "Your turn."
"How did we get from maybe we'll keep him to it's your turn this feeding?" Marian muttered, sliding out into the dank, dark chill of the HQ tent's bedroom.
A few sounds came from the great camp outside; a challenge-and-response, the rutch of boots on gravel, the endless lapping of the sea not far away. Marian hitched on her robe, sighed and went to the cradle.
"Both," she said.
She tossed the used diaper into the bin, secured the lid, pinned on the new, washed her hands and tested the temperature of the milk from the heater on the inside of her wrist.
The baby looked up at her through the dimness as she cradled the blanket-wrapped form against her with four infancies' worth of experience. She smiled down, and the infant responded with an enormous toothless grin, reaching for her and gurgling. Her heart turned over.
"All right, little'un," she crooned. He transferred his attention from her to the bottle eagerly, used to it by now. "Here you go."
Feeding, burping, and tucking-in over, the child went to sleep again with limp finality.
"That's a relief, after Heather," she said, sliding back into the bed. "She always wanted to stay up and play. Where was I?"
"Aywo! Cold hands!"
"The water's cold," Marian said reasonably. "You'd object a lot more if I hadn't washed them."
"Mmmmm. Did we… how's it go… suck in Isketerol with the hostage scheme, or did he suck in us?"
"That's 'sucker,' sugar, 'sucker him,' or 'take him in.' We'll find out in about ten years, I suspect…"
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
December. 10 A.E.-Nantucket Town, Republic of Nantucket
December, 10 A.E.-Rivendell, Kingdom of Great Achaea
February, 11 A.E.-Central Sicily, Kingdom of Great Achaea
February, 11 A.E.-Syracuse, Kingdom of Great Achaea
April, 11 A.E.-Central Anatolia, Kingdom of Hatti-land
Why in the name of God didn't we deep-six this ridiculous so-called tradition right after the Event?" Jared Cofflin demanded.
"Because keeping it up made people feel better," Martha Cofflin said succinctly. "We did condense it. Hold still."
He did, as she stuck the white mustache to his upper lip. At least he wouldn't be sweating as much in this damned Santa suit when they got outside; late December in Nantucket was God-damned cold, Gulf Stream or no Gulf Stream. The Coast Guard tug was warm enough, with the boiler right below this miniature bridge. Not far away her skipper pulled on a lanyard, doing a creditable imitation of "Jingle Bells" in a series of cheery toots from the steam whistle.