"So," Kashtiliash said, shaking back the sleeve of his robe and holding out his cup. A servant slid forward silently and poured, each movement as graceful as a reed. "You will not plead your brother's case?"
"Nope," Kathryn Hollard said, reaching for a date. "He can do that himself. You're the King here, Kash, and he's the commander of allied forces. It'd be a good idea to hear him out, but you decide, and I'll back you up whatever your decision is. It's going on for God-damned November; it'll be the Year 11 before we get to Walker, if we keep dicking around with this stuff."
The Kassite's thick-muscled shoulders relaxed slightly as he sipped.
Kathryn gave him a slow smile, and went on: "Actually, I had a different sort of discussion in mind for this evening."
Her eyes traveled to the arched doorway that led into the bedchamber. Kashtiliash grinned back at her.
They were dining in one of the smaller chambers in the King's private rooms-or as private as anything could be, in this ant farm of a palace. One wall was carved cedar screen-work, giving out onto a section of flat roof that in turn overlooked a courtyard planted with palms and flowers. It was still warm but not uncomfortable, especially with the overhead fan that swept back and forth above, to the pull of a cord in the hand of someone sitting in the corridor outside-she'd gotten the idea from rereading a book of Kipling's short stories. A punkah, they'd called it in the days of the Raj.
She and the King reclined on couches of carved boxwood, cushioned in something remarkably like Moroccan leather, and ate from a low table set between them with lion's-paw feet done in ivory, its oval Egyptian-ebony top inlaid with lapis, ivory, and semiprecious stones. The platters bore the remains of roast chicken, a dish of beef and lentils with apricots, skewers of grilled lamb, salads, breads, pastries, spiced steamed vegetables. The palace artisans had learned to produce creditable bronze-and-gold imitations of the plain metal fork in a Marine field kit, too, which made eating a lot less messy.
"Makes a nice change from tents and dog biscuit," she said, stretching and nibbling on the fruit.
They had been down to hardtack for a while, when the supply lines up from the navigable Euphrates got shaky. Not to mention the grit and dirt; nothing like a couple of weeks in the field in the deserts of Mitanni-northern Syria, in the twentieth-to really work up an appreciation for a good bath and a soft linen robe. Gentle music tweetled from a corner, vivid tapestries billowed slightly along the walls, curious beasts and flowers and scenes from myths she hadn't had time to learn; the ceiling was smooth plaster set with rosettes of burnished copper. The Islander kerosene lamps made the room brighter than it would have been a year ago, but the yellow light suited the room, turning it into a fantasy of soft color amid the scents of cedarwood and incense.
"A king's wealth is some small compensation for being nibbled to death by ducks," Kashtiliash said. "I would ten times rather be in the field with my troops myself." He extended his hands. "Yesterday the ashipu-diviners of Nabu said that my armpits should be plucked with tweezers because a two-headed lamb was born near Nippur."
Kathryn held out her hands likewise. Servants glided in, one to pour scented water, another to wipe her hands with a towel, a third to hold the basin beneath.
Still feels a little creepy having everything done for you like this, she thought with a corner of her mind.
The rest of it was sympathizing with Kashtiliash. His administrative duties were bad enough, but there was a whole clutch of religious stuff that only the King could deal with. Kash might be absolute monarch, but the priesthoods could still tie him in knots by selective omen-reading-ignore them and the whole kingdom from nobles to peasants would expect disaster, which was a self-fulfilling prophecy if there ever was one. The queen had equivalent tasks, but so far she'd been able to plead off on grounds of military necessity and a foreigner's ignorance.
Once the war's over I'll have to settle down and plow my way through this stuff, dammit. Oh, well, I can study up on the religious twaddle while I'm pregnant.
When his hands were clean, Kashtiliash clapped them together. "Leave us," he said.
"But King of the Universe-!" a eunuch chamberlain bleated, from where he'd been standing to direct the choreography of the meal.
Eunuchs still creeped her out more than a little, but she ignored the plump shocked face. Usually the King's retiring was an elaborate ritual, each undoing of sandal strap or sash a jealously guarded privilege of some official or flunky or whatever; it all reminded her of things she'd read about the court of Louis XIV, only with oracles and diviners mixed in. At least upper-crust Babylonians washed a lot more frequently than eighteenth-century Frenchmen.
"Leave us! The King speaks!" Kashtiliash said, not taking his eyes off her.
Everyone prostrated themselves and backed out. The King's grin grew wider. "Good," he said. "It has been much too long, my golden lioness. It would shock them, did I vault over the table and ravish you upon the supper couch."
"You couldn't," she said. "Because I'd meet you in midair."
She stood, reached down with crossed arms, and pulled the robe over her head.
"Golden lioness indeed," Kashtiliash said, hoarse through a throat gone tight.
"Let's see if you can catch me, Bull of Marduk." Kathryn laughed.
"While I am at war, I leave the realm in the hands of Odik-weos son of Laertes, Wannax of Ithaka among the Western Isles and ekwetos in Mycenae."
Walker's voice rang out across the square. Odikweos went to one knee and bowed his head before he held out his hand for the signet ring that would make him Regent of Great Achaea while the King of Men was abroad.
And I am a much safer regent than any of your own Wolf People, he thought. They will watch me and I will watch them.
Then he walked beside his overlord down the marble steps and waited while the King poured the incense into the coals that smoldered in the bowl of the golden tripod. The translucent grains fell on the low hot flames of burning olive wood and then burned themselves in an upward spiral of blue smoke, sweet and bitter at the same time. Walker lifted his hands, his voice rising in the Invocation:
"Hear me
Lord of the battle-shattering aegis, whose power is set above Olympos
Who are lord in strength above the countries, Father of All,
If you are pleased that I built your sanctuary
If ever it pleased you that I burn all the rich thigh pieces
Of bulls, of goats, then bring to pass this wish I pray for;
Let your almighty hand shield me in battle,
For when the bright bronze spear stoops like the stallion-crested eagle,
Then safety is hard to find and only your hand…"
White-robed priests then led a garlanded bull of sacrifice up to the altar. Behind them came a chorus of handsome youths and another of maidens richly clad, flower garlands on their brows, singing as they came. The watching crowd-cityfolk, the ordered ranks of the regiments, great lords and their retainers summoned to follow the hegemon to battle-held their breath. It was the worst of omens if the sacrificial bull should bellow or fight. This one came unresisting, with a slow majestic tread. The priests gripped its gilded horns; Odikweos had to acknowledge that such things were done more neatly now, when priests were full-time specialists paid by the Throne rather than men of rank serving only for the God's honor and their own.
Behind the impassive mask of his face he shuddered. And the King had pointed out-how casually, how easily!-that priests appointed by the government could be relied on to get the omens right.