The high seat against the southern wall was empty and shadowed as he crossed the geometric pebble-mosaic of the floor. The Achaean underking was seated in a chair not far from the hearth, his cloak thrown over the chairback; a table and another seat waited, splendid with ivory and gold inlay of lions and griffins in a fashion that was centuries old.
Odikweos leaned his chin on one fist and watched as a housekeeper in a long gown showed Arnstein to his seat, set out jugs of water and wine and spun-glass goblets, a tray of bread with olive oil and honey for dipping, and departed.
Then he leaned forward, hairy muscular forearm braced on one knee, and spoke:
"You are from the days that are yet to come. You and all your people."
Ian hid his startlement by reaching for a jug and pouring wine. Unwatered, it lay sweet and thick on his tongue. Well, here's a bright boy. Isketerol had gone into hysterics for a day or two when he got the idea back on-Island in the Year 1; a lot of people just couldn't grasp the concept.
"How did you find out?" he asked.
"I… what is your word… deduced it," Odikweos went on. "Not long after the King-to-be came here to the Achaean lands. From a few things he let drop; and my guest-friend Isketerol of Tartessos is not quite as good at keeping secrets as he thinks. Now and then one or the other would say, in the time of the Eagle People, or 'in my time,'' instead of 'my land.''
"Pretty slim clues," Arnstein said.
A shrug. "And it was sensible. Legends tell of a time before men knew of bronze or tilled the earth, and of a time before Zeus let slip the secret of fire. Our bards sing of the days when the Achaeans were new in these lands, coming down from the north to rule the Shore Folk and mix their blood with them; and in those days we knew not the arts of writing, or of dwelling in towns or building in stone. Those we learned from Crete, before we overran it."
For a moment sheer scholar's greed overwhelmed Ian Arnstein. Those poems I've got to hear! Then he wrenched his mind back to present matters.
"How did you know that Walker didn't just come from a land with more arts than yours?"
Odikweos nodded. "That was my first thought, and it is what most here believe. But the King and his Wolf People lords, they knew too much of what was here. The mines of iron not a day's travel from this city; I saw the maps they had-wonders themselves-made of these same lands. They even seemed to know somewhat of the men of Mycenae and the other Achaean kingdoms.
"So," he went on, turning his hand palm-up, moving his fingers as if counting off points and then clenching it into a fist. "Either these men were Gods in disguise, or demigods, or seers-or they must know these things because they were from years yet unborn."
He poured wine, watered it, and spilled a few drops in libation. "And I swiftly saw that these were men as other men- weak and stupid men, many of them. Some of them were wicked men-and a wicked woman-in ways cursed by the Gods. Even Walkheear… yes, a great fighting-man,- and of a cunning that might seem divine. But still a man, as men are."
"Perhaps not as clever as you think," Arnstein said. At Odikweos’s raised brows: "Men gather more than arts." He turned his beard toward the copper smoke-hood for a moment. "They also gather the memory of tricks and stratagems of war and kingcraft. Especially in lands where everything is preserved in writing."
"Ahh," Odikweos said, nodding. "That puts in words a thought long stirring in my mind."
"So… what do you wish to know?" Arnstein asked.
"This," the Achaean said, his callused hand sculpting a graceful gesture through the air. "What manner of men are you? That you have many arts, that you are wise in the ways of war, this I know.
"I also know," he went on, "that we Achaeans have mounted the lion and however much danger there is in riding, we cannot let go-too much of the knowledge from the years to come is abroad in these lands ever to return to the ways that were. Men will grow back into children and then crawl into the womb before they will sacrifice wealth or advantage in war. What I would know is what manner of men you are-are you all as Walker is, differing only in faction, or is he truly an outlaw among you for his wicked deeds?"
His hazel eyes bored into Arnstein's. "For if you are all such as Walker, then we must cherish Walker as our rightful lord, for at least he rules from the Achaean lands, and his followers of the Wolf Folk are too few to govern without many of our men at their sides in positions of honor. But if not…"
Ian felt his spine prickle. "You speak boldly," he said.
"I speak as I must." A grim smile. "For one thing, your mouth can be stopped. For another, you would not be believed if you accused me-a condemned man seeking safety. For a third, time snaps at my heels like a wolf indeed. In another ten years-especially with victory in this war-the King of Men will be strong beyond assailing. He will rule so many lands that we Achaeans will be but a minor part of his domains, of his followers."
His expression grew altogether harsh. Arnstein felt a trickle of fear, more immediate than the low-grade dread that had been with him constantly since Troy. This was not a man you could anger safely…
"I have spoken. Now you will speak. And you are not my only spring of knowledge in this matter. I will know if you lie; Athana Potnia is my patron Goddess, and she has given me the gift of plumbing the truth in men's words."
All right, Ian, Arnstein thought, licking his lips and running a hand over his balding head. Now's the time to talk for your life.
War was beginning to look like something simple and straightforward.
"You liked him," Swindapa said quietly, as the Islander truce party rode south once more.
"I'll still kill him if I can," Alston said meditatively, looking up.
The ultralight had turned southward to base, after checking that the Tartessians were headed back northwest. The first stars were out, bright light against racing scuds of cloud, clouds white-outlined by the waning moon; the wind had cooled notably.
"That's not what I meant," her partner said, cocking her head to one side slightly. "I'm surprised."
"So am I," Alston said.
One of the good things about riding a horse was that it wouldn't fall over or run into a tree if you lost yourself in thought for a few moments.
"I think he's changed," she said at last. "He's still pretty loathsome to our way of thinking-" which would apply from a Fiernan's point of view as well, although not for exactly the same reasons "… but being a King, I'd say it's changed him. Responsibility can do that."
"To some, maybe," Swindapa said. "I don't think so, for Walker."
Marian's face went hard. "No. Not him."
Ritter's bicycle came rapidly up from behind them. "Ma'am!" she said. "The scouts confirm the enemy delegation are withdrawing as agreed."
For an instant a flicker of regret went through Alston's mind; someone with a telescope-sighted rifle, or a long burst from the Gatling, and the enemy would be headless… No. Victories won that way were poisoned fruit. If nothing else, they didn't convince the other side they were beaten the way a real fight did, and getting the other side to admit defeat was the whole reason you made war in the first place. There was no point in winning one war at the cost of laying the seeds of defeat in the next; that way lay destruction.