By the time he was up and breathing normally again, the meaningful part of the battle was already over, leaving only abattoir chores. Some guardsmen hustled Temrai out of the crowd and back to the calm and quiet of the tents, where an armourer had to cut through the straps of the dented and misshapen gorget before he could get the thing off. A surgeon examined the ugly swollen bruise, dabbed it with witch hazel and assured Temrai that there was no permanent harm done.
‘Just as well you were wearing the thing,’ Tilden said later. She was holding the twisted, mutilated gorget and looking at it thoughtfully. ‘If it wasn’t for that little raised bit round the edge, you’d be dead. I suppose the raised bit’s there for precisely that reason.’
General Kurrai shook his head. ‘Actually, no,’ he said. ‘It’s just to stop the edge rubbing against your neck and cutting you to pieces.’
‘Oh,’ Tilden replied. ‘Well, in that case it was definitely a slice of luck.’ She put the gorget down with a little squeamish shiver, as if it had been covered in blood. ‘Do you really need to do this?’ she asked. ‘Go to all the battles, I mean. Can’t you stay near the back or something and let someone else do the actual charging about? After all, you’re the King, heaven only knows what’d happen if you got yourself killed. And it’s not as if you’re a mighty warrior or a crack shot or anything.’
‘Thank you,’ Temrai said gravely. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
Tilden frowned. ‘Well, you’re not,’ she said. ‘And don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right really.’
‘Of course you are,’ Temrai replied with a sad little smile. ‘You could also point out that every time I get myself into trouble in a battle, it means other people have to risk their lives getting me out again, which is dangerously irresponsible behaviour by any standards. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Isn’t there?’ Tilden stood up, her arms filled with the heavy wool blanket she’d been darning. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I mistook you for the King. My mistake.’
Temrai sighed. ‘Yes, I’m the King,’ he said, ‘that’s why I haven’t got any choice in the matter. The people need to see me in there with them, fighting beside them, sharing the same dangers…’
‘But you aren’t,’ Tilden pointed out, the middle of the blanket tucked under her chin as she stretched it out to fold it up. ‘You’re surrounded by bodyguards. You’re dressed head to foot in expensive imported armour. And besides, what makes you think that everybody’s got their eyes glued to you all the time? If I were a soldier, I’d be watching the enemy, not peering over my shoulder to see if I can just make out the top of the King’s head over the crowd. I don’t suppose for a moment that anybody except you gives it a moment’s thought.’
‘That’s not really the-’
‘And anyway,’ Tilden went on, ‘if I were a soldier I wouldn’t want my King and commander-in-chief stuck down in the front line, where he might easily get himself killed and where he hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. I’d want him to be standing on top of a hill somewhere, where he can see the whole of the battle and give the army its orders.’
‘All right,’ Temrai said. ‘Point taken. It’s not a very sensible way of doing things. But it’s the way I do things, and I can’t stop now without giving everybody the wrong message. You think I enjoy being the mark for every suicidal lunatic in the enemy army who wants to be a hero and end the war at a stroke?’
Tilden arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Just because you don’t enjoy it doesn’t necessarily mean you have to do it,’ she said. ‘Look, if you’re so worried about what people think, why don’t you get one of the generals to make a public appeal to you, in front of the whole army so everybody can hear, and implore you not to take unnecessary risks? Then you’d say something like it’s terribly sweet of everybody to be concerned, but you feel it’s your duty and all that nonsense; then they’ll all turn round and say, No, the general’s right, you ought to take better care of yourself. And then you’d be off the hook and doing what your people want you to at the same time. Simple.’
Simple, Temrai reflected as he lay awake in bed that night. Simple; and the truth is, I’m so terrified these days that it’s all I can do to keep myself from running away as soon as I set eyes on the enemy. Ever since – well, ever since the burning of Perimadeia, when I was on the wrong end of Bardas Loredan’s sword.
He closed his eyes, and there was the image again; Colonel Bardas Loredan staring at him down the length of a sword blade, his eyes reflected in the brightly polished metal. All that was a long time ago now, and the last he’d heard was that Colonel Loredan was a sergeant in the army of the provincial office, on his way to some administrator’s desk deep inside the Empire. Out of my life for good, he tried to tell himself, but he knew he was wasting his time. I burned Perimadeia just because I was terrified of one man, and he’s still out there, and here I am, waiting for him to come and get me. Temrai couldn’t help smiling at that; rebellions at home, the Empire pressing on the borders of his territory, the sort of threats that were worth losing sleep over, and he was so preoccupied with the phantom of Bardas Loredan that he scarcely had the time or the energy to be frightened of anything else. The silly part of it is, I won; I destroyed the biggest city in the world, and I’m the one who’s too scared to close his eyes. I don’t suppose he’s lying awake obsessing about me -
‘Gannadius,’ the boy whispered, loud enough to be heard in the next valley. ‘Are you awake?’
Gannadius rolled over and opened his eyes. ‘No,’ he said.
The boy glared at him. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Awful,’ Gannadius replied. ‘How’s yourself?’
He looks annoyed, Gannadius thought. I expect I’d have been the same at his age. Flippancy really aggravated me when I was young. The boy’s scowl deepened.
‘You do realise, don’t you?’ he said. ‘These people are plains, they’re the enemy. Just our luck, to be rescued by them.’ He winced and pulled a face, as if a wasp had just stung him. ‘What are we going to do now?’
Gannadius rolled his eyes. ‘Speaking purely for myself, ’ he replied, ‘I’m going to lie here till I’m better. You can do what you like.’
‘Gannadius!’
‘I’m sorry, Theudas.’ Gannadius lifted himself awkwardly on to one elbow. ‘But the fact is, there’s not a lot we can do. I’m in no fit state to get out of this bed. You can try to get home if you like, on your own, but don’t ask me how you’d go about it, because I haven’t a clue. Besides,’ he added, ‘I like it here. Nice women bring me food and ask me if I’m feeling better, and I don’t have to do any work.’
Theudas Morosin turned away sharply; too well brought up to be rude to his elders and betters. Where did he learn such good manners? Gannadius wondered; probably not from Bardas Loredan, so presumably from Athli Zeuxis, on the Island.
‘All right,’ Theudas said, ‘if that’s your attitude. I just hope you still find it all so wonderfully amusing when they realise who we are and stick our heads up on poles in the middle of the camp.’
Gannadius sighed. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘So who are we, exactly? What are these dreadfully secret identities we’ve got to hide from them at all costs?’
Theudas winced. ‘We’re Perimadeian,’ he hissed. ‘Or had you forgotten?’
Gannadius shook his head. ‘You may be,’ he said, ‘I’m not. I’m a citizen of the United Maritime Republic, more usually referred to as the Island, just like you. And last time I heard, relations between the Island and King Temrai have never been better. That’s the lovely thing about belonging to a neutral country, people tend not to kill you just for where you live.’
Theudas opened his mouth and then closed it again; Gannadius could almost see the thought crossing his mind, like a big flock of rooks going home to roost. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘that’s not right. You’re a Shastel citizen, aren’t you? Not that that matters in this instance,’ he added.