Kebra thought about the question. 'There was a time,' he said, 'when I could outshoot any archer alive. Then, as the years went by, I noticed I could no longer see quite as clearly. When I turned fifty I could no longer read small script. That was when I began to think of going home. Nothing lasts for ever. But Bison is not a thinker. As far as he is concerned the king has just told him he is no longer a man. And he is hurting.'
'There is some pain for all of us,' said Nogusta. 'The White Wolf will be leading almost two thousand men home. Every one of them will feel some sense of rejection. But we are alive, Kebra. I fought for the king's father — as you did — and I have carried my sword through thirty-five years of warfare. Now I am tired. The long marches are hard on old bones. Even Bison must admit to that.'
Kebra shook his head. 'Bison admits to nothing. You
should have seen his face when they called the roll. He could not believe he had been chosen. I was standing beside him. You know what he said? "How can they send me back with all the old men?" I just laughed. For a moment I thought he was joking. But he wasn't. He still thinks he's twenty-five.' He let out a soft curse. 'Why did he have to hit a Ventrian? And what if the man dies?'
'If he dies they will hang Bison,' said Nogusta. 'Not a pleasant thought. Why did he hit the man?'
'He made a joke about Bison's age.'
'And the others?'
'I have no idea. We'll ask him when we find him. The officer was one of Malikada's men.'
'That makes it worse,' said Nogusta. 'He might demand a hanging, regardless. He's a hard man.'
'The White Wolf would never allow it.'
'Times are changing, Kebra. The White Wolf is being sent home with the rest of us. I doubt he has the power to oppose Malikada.'
'A pox on Bison,' snapped Kebra. 'He's always been trouble. You remember when he and Orendo stole that pig. .?' The bowman's voice faded away. 'I'm sorry, my friend, that was crass.'
Nogusta shrugged. 'Orendo took part in a rape and a murder. It saddens me that he is dead, but he was the victim of his own actions.'
'Strange, though,' said Kebra. 'I am a fair judge of men and I would never have believed Orendo capable of such an act.'
'Nor I. Where shall we look for Bison?' asked Nogusta, changing the subject.
Kebra shrugged. 'He was drunk when he thrashed those men. You know Bison. After a fight he'll look for a woman. There must be two hundred whorehouses
within walking distance. I do not intend to spend the night scouring them.'
Nogusta nodded, then he gave a wide grin. 'We could try just one, though,' he said.
'For what purpose? The odds against finding him are enormous.'
Nogusta leaned forward and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. 'I was not thinking of finding Bison,' he said. 'I was thinking of soft skin and a warm bed.'
Kebra shook his head. 'I think I'll return to the barracks. I have a warm bed there.'
Nogusta sighed. 'Bison refuses to get old, and you refuse to stay young. Truly, you white men are a mystery to me.'
'Life would be dull without mysteries,' said Kebra.
After Nogusta had gone he ordered another flagon of wine, then made the long walk back to the barracks. The room he shared with Nogusta and Bison was cold and empty. Bison's bed was unmade, the blankets in a heap on the floor beside it. The Senior Cul no longer made inspections, and without the threat of punishment Bison had reverted to slovenly behaviour.
Nogusta's bed was tidily made, but he had left a tunic upon it.
Kebra's pallet was immaculate, the blankets folded into a square, topped by the pillow, the undersheet pulled tight, the corners overlapped with a perfect horizontal fold. Kebra moved to the hearth and lit the fire. He had cleaned out the ash and re-laid it that morning, the kindling placed with perfect symmetry.
Just about now Nogusta would be lying beside a fat, sweating whore. He would be, perhaps, the twentieth man she had opened her legs for that day. Kebra
shuddered. It was a nauseating thought.
Silently he padded out to the bath house. The boilers had not been lit and the water was cold. Even so Kebra undressed and immersed himself, scrubbing at his body with soap. There were no clean towels on the rack. Angry now he searched through the large laundry basket and dabbed at his cold body with the cleanest of the used towels.
The collapse of discipline unnerved the bowman. Carrying his clothes he returned to the room and sat, shivering, in front of the fire. Then he took a nightshirt from his chest and slipped it on. It was crisp and clean and he could smell the freshness of the cotton. It eased his mind.
Ilbren's words haunted him. 'It is way past the time when you should have settled down with a wife and raised sons.'
Kebra felt the weight of the words, like a stone on his heart.
Most of Palima's customers thought of her as a whore with a golden heart. This was a view she cultivated, especially as she grew older, with age and the laws of gravity conspiring to ravage her features. The truth was more stark: Palima's heart was like gold, cold, hard and well hidden.
She lay now on her bed, staring at the hulking figure by the window. Bison was well known to her, a generous giant, unhindered by imagination or intellect. His needs were simple, his demands limited, his energy prodigious. For a year now — ever since the Drenai had taken the city — he had come to her at least once a week. He paid well, never troubled her with small talk or promises, and rarely outstayed his welcome.
This night was different. He had come to her bed and had cuddled her close. Then he had fallen asleep. Bison usually paid with a single silver coin upon leaving. Yet tonight he had given her a gold half raq just after he arrived. Palima had tried to rouse him — not usually a difficult feat. But Bison was in no mood for sex. This did not concern Palima. If a man wanted to pay for a hug with gold she was more than happy to oblige. He had slept fitfully for two hours, holding her close. Then he had dressed and moved to the window. Bison had been standing there in the lantern light for some time now, a huge man, with great sloping shoulders and long, powerful arms. Idly he tugged at his bristling white, walrus moustache and stared out at the night dark square below.
'Come back to bed, lover,' she said. 'Let Palima work her magic.'
'Not tonight,' he told her.
'What is wrong?' she asked. 'You can tell Palima.'
He turned towards her. 'How old do you think I am?' he asked, suddenly.
Sixty-five, if you're a day, she thought, staring at his bald head and white moustache. Men were such children. 'Maybe forty,' she told him.
He seemed satisfied with the answer, and she saw him relax. 'I'm older than that, but I don't feel it. They're sending me home,' he said. 'All the older men are going home.'
'Don't you want to go home?'
'I was one of the first to join the White Wolf,' he said. 'Back when Drenan was beset on all sides and the king's army had been all but destroyed. We beat them all, you know. One after another. When I was a child my country was ruled from afar. We were just peasants. But we changed the world. The king's empire stretches for — ' he
seemed to struggle for a moment with the mathematics. '- thousands of miles,' he concluded lamely.
'He is the greatest king who ever lived,' she said, softly, hoping that was what he wanted to hear.
'His father was greater,' said Bison. 'He built from nothing. I served him for twenty-three years. Then the boy-king for another twenty. Twenty-six major battles I've fought in. There. Twenty-six. What do you think of that?'
'It's a lot of battles,' she admitted, not knowing where the conversation was leading. 'Come back to bed.'