"You-" She pointed to the Sicel. "Dakenterar. Your people are no longer numerous enough to hold this island by themselves. The Achaeans are as many as you, and their slaves twice as many."
Those were the proportions the Intelligence people had gotten from Foreign Affairs; the Arnsteins' numbers were pretty reliable. Of course, the whole population was a good deal smaller than it had been a month ago, but the reductions seemed to have been roughly similar all 'round.
"You Achaeans," she said. "If you continue to fight us, you can't hope to win. A few forts may hold out, but most of you will die; and even those who live will lose everything." She smiled unpleasantly. "We have a saying: If you want to know the enemies in your household, count your slaves."
To the slaves: "You've won your freedom. Now is the time to see about winning new lives."
One of the rebels laughed. "Why not go on until the masters are our slaves?" he said, in Greek even she could tell was broken. So were his teeth, and stained brown. "Then we will have all their good things."
"Because you can't fight without us, and we won't help you do that-unless the Achaeans decide to fight to the death."
"Never will we betray our lord!"
That was the Achaean soldier who'd spoken first. Two of his neighbors exchanged glances, then grabbed a leg each. Daggers flashed; Marian flung up a hand to hold the Marines back as the lethal brawl spread among the Achaeans. It was over quickly; three bodies lying limp, and another moaning and clutching a bleeding head.
Walker had sworn men who were personally loyal to him, but Achaea hadn't been a nation even before he came and vastly expanded it-the whole notion would be alien to these people. Only a few of the Kings and great nobles even thought of the Achaean lands as a unit at all. For the rest, local loyalties were to kin and place; and Walker hadn't had time to build up the sort of dynastic legitimacy that an established royal family here could call on. Another generation or two, and his system might have set down deep roots…
But as it is, he hasn't. And oh, does that make a difference! Not while he's winning, but given a defeat, and an enemy on his soil… Plus his best troops were in Anatolia or Greece, not this backwater.
"Hear my word," she went on. "Here is my proposal. We are willing to let the Achaeans here live… so long as they promise to take no more part in this war and open their fortresses. They can keep their lands and goods as well."
That brought shouts of rage from the Sicels and slave rebels as well. She turned to them and made a soothing gesture; the Marines brought their rifles around to present the points of the bayonets.
"The lands of the King and the dead and those who don't live here, those are forfeit." Which would be a good two-thirds of the island. "Every slave who wants one can have a farm, or the tools of his trade; and so that nobody need fear his neighbor, let it be proclaimed that the taking of folk into slavery shall never be allowed here again. There will be land for you Sicels, too; not as much as you might want, but it's better than being hunted like game through the mountains or caught and sent to the mines, isn't it?"
The Sicel chiefs looked interested. They all came from the wildest parts of the mountains; the coastal tribes where most of the settlers were located had been wiped out long ago…
"But who shall till our fields?" a well-dressed Achaean asked in bewilderment. "If there are no slaves?"
Marian held up her hands and moved the fingers. "We have another saying: He who does not work, does not eat. You have your machines and the strength of your hands. For those who have more land than they can work, some of your former slaves might want to rent land, in return for tools and beasts and seed-grain. Or Sicels from the highlands, where making a living is so hard."
They weren't looking happy about that, but most of the bigger slaveowners had been absentees, or had died in the first explosive flare of the uprising because they and their retainers were so heavily outnumbered. The rest were farmers with moderate holdings or townsmen; Walker had handed out a lot of quarter sections, a hundred and sixty acres. That was riches by the standards of the Bronze Age, but he'd also had nineteenth-century farm equipment manufactured. A family could make a good living without killing themselves.
"More important-who shall rule?" another man asked.
Okay, let's see if we can get this across, she thought, and took a deep breath. "We don't wish to rule here. We suggest that each of your factions elect-get together and choose by show of hands"-none of these languages had a word for vote, but an assembly of the tribe's warriors was a familiar institution- "a man, a consul. The three consuls will rule, and each district should hold an assembly which-
It took all day just to get the idea across. Probably the Sicilian Republic would dissolve in chaos as soon as the small Islander garrison departed-she was going to use a couple of battalions of Alban auxiliaries for that, as long as she needed Syracuse as a base.
Then again, it might not; and it would serve Nantucket's purpose either way.
Spring came late to the uplands of central Anatolia, but when it did it came with a rush. Kenneth Hollard inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the flowering cherry trees and the fresh green of the grass underfoot; the breeze was from the south, carrying a kiss of warmth. It was good to walk freely, out of the fusty closeness of winter quarters, to air out the body and the soul.
Even better with a girl, he thought.
Raupasha's hand rested shyly in his. A dusting of the blossoms rested on her raven hair and the dark linen shoulders of her robe. He smiled down into the scarred, lovely face. Sabala sniffed at them, then raced off to make lunging snaps at butterflies.
"I did not dream a great warrior could be so… so sweet," she said a bit breathlessly, after they broke the clinch and walked on.
I didn't dream I could be so goddamned horny and not mind waiting… well, not mind it much, he thought. And: By God, an Islander upbringing gets you mileage here. Men here didn't have much technique; they didn't really need it.
As if to confirm his thought, Raupasha went on: "It is so strange, this custom you have of men and women arranging their own marriages… doesn't it lead to much foolishness, as youth lacks the wisdom of age?"
He nodded. "We marry later than your folk, usually. But yes, about as much unhappiness as any other way… but we have a saying, that it's better to be ruled by your own mistakes than someone else's wisdom."
That shocked her a little; he could see her frown. "But… then, how can a man be sure his bride is a virgin? If she has gone about seeking a man on her own."
He chuckled gently. The question made complete sense, in her terms; for that matter, his own ancestors-unless they happened to be Fiernan Bohulugi, or Trobriand Islanders-would have agreed with it.
"We don't think more of virginity in a woman than in a man," he said. Most of us, at least. "And as for married women, people can either trust each other, or they can't."
"In that case," she said, halting again and putting her arms around his neck.
A few minutes later her fingers were scrabbling open the buckle of his webbing belt with desperate eagerness. He pulled the hem of her robe upward and she raised her arms to free it, gasping as his mouth sought a breast and they both sank toward the soft spring grass-