“I would say it’s because women don’t make a fuss about losing a few drops of blood every now and again,” said Enid, deadpan, and we all laughed. “But in plain truth it was Urdo, and it was Urdo that fixed it on again, with the help of the ax there.”
“Whatever will your mother say?” growled Thurrig.
“She said ‘I’ve been telling you that having a dog painted on it is no substitute for keeping your shield close in between you and the enemy’s weapons for the last two years. Just be glad that Jarn didn’t have the reach to try for your head.’ And I had to allow she was right. It’s just as well it’s my shield arm though.” She paused. “It was my father said ‘Turth’s tusks, girl! How will we ever find you a husband with a face like that?’”
“Speak to Amala. Not that she consults me, but I think she’s looking for a wife for Larig,” said Thurrig. Enid made loud retching sounds. “I mean it. We Malms aren’t so particular, we don’t look for a pretty face. Breasts, hips, brains, that’s all that matters. Strong arms, too. As long as he fixed it back on the right way round that is?” As Thurrig leaned forward to pretend to check, Enid pushed him backwards while he was off-balance. Osvran and I leapt aside, and he rolled through where we had been and came back to his feet on her other side.
“So, husband of Amala, you can move quickly—” With a great bellow, brandishing the ax, Thurrig rushed towards Angas, who charged away across the yard, dodging and weaving. It did me more good than I can easily say to laugh like that, after so long at Thansethan.
10
Anyone accustomed to a civilized climate will find the island chilly and damp. This makes it also very green, and there is nowhere a shortage of sweet flowing water. I came up the River Tamer from the sea to the place where Castra Tanaga had been before the fire.
The place is on the north bank of the river, on a low hill, at the crossroads of all the main highways of the province. There were docks on the river and much coming and going of goods and people. It was clear to me in the first moment that to try and build the new capital anywhere else would be folly.
I spent many days there among the ruins, looking at the lie of the land. As I walked the ash-strewn streets an old woman came out of a shack and spoke to me, saying that her son was an oracle, who had seen in the flames while the city burned that it would burn twice more and be rebuilt each time. I asked her where her son was now, but she just smiled with toothless gums and fled. I learned from others that he had thrown himself into the flames. I decided that the new town I would build must be able to withstand another such conflagration.
I had at first imagined something in the style of mother Vinca, but I soon saw that this would be inappropriate. Pillars and columns do very well for sunlit lands, but in Tir Tanagiri they are best kept indoors. I realized I would have to visit the other cities and spend time deciding what would best suit this place graced by nature with all a city needs.
At long last when I returned I brought with me red stone from the west, white stone from the east, clear sand from the south and an idea that was old in the north. I built the walls of layered stone, with tall fluting towers rising from the curve of the hill. The city had no need to be defensible—what enemy could come here so far from Vinca’s long frontier? Yet they are strong enough to stand forever. Three years it took to build it to the design I had sketched in one night. Each stone was set in place, the red-and-white patterns rising to echo the hill’s shape. I covered the walls with the sand, doing the work myself when I saw that my assistants could not understand what I intended. Then we piled up wood beside and between the walls and fired it. The flames leapt up high, and the sand melted and glazed to the stone as color to a pot. When the marks of the fire were washed away with the rains I saw that I had completed the task I had come to the island to do—I had built for my emperor a city that shines.
— Decius Manicius, From My Foundations
If I set down every bruise and skirmish of my training I will be here until I die, yes, and use up four whole sheeps’ worth of parchment and still not have it all in. It was little different from any armiger’s training, except that we were among the first to learn the way of it. It is enough to say that summer I learned lancework enough that I was fit to ride at the charge. Many days I came in aching and fit only for an hour in the hot bath. “Relax enough to let the horse do its share!” Angas would bellow at me, until at last I learned the knack of holding shield and lance with a light arm until strength was needed. I put long hours into picking up stakes and tilting at the target until I no longer infuriated myself with my clumsiness.
At the turn of autumn, at Harvest Home, when the winds are too strong for the pirates to cross the sea, there is always a time of truce. That year at that time half the kings of the island crowded into Caer Tanaga to see Angas married. There were so many of them it seemed impossible to go anywhere in the streets of the citadel without running into little knots of them and their people, talking. One would have needed a good map to know where all their kingdoms were. They did not all style themselves king, but they were all rulers and they all acknowledged Urdo over them. There was no way to tell from looking at them if they ruled a domain of two thousand families like my father or ten times that number like the lord of Angas. There was much feasting and fussing and formality. Gwilen ap Rhun was in despair about finding space to put everyone and driven to distraction with questions of precedence.
Of the kings I did recognize, the High King’s mother, Rowanna, was the most obvious. She seemed gracious and regal and was always at the side of some king or other. She ruled the Royal Domain of Segantia, which was in name Urdo’s but which she had controlled since her husband’s death. Sometimes I saw the bride, Eirann Swan-Neck. She dressed much like everyone else, but stayed always veiled, as highborn Jarnish women do before they are married. Her parents were also obvious, as there were so few other Jarnsmen in the city. They looked splendid but barbaric in their Jarnish regalia. Their names were Guthrum and Ninian, and they were king and queen of Cennet. Ninian was Rowanna’s sister. To the rumored horror of some of the other kings, Urdo had accepted their homage as lesser kings, and with that their right to rule Cennet. I was far more surprised to see Ayl, who ruled the Jarnsmen on the east side of the Tamer. We had fought him in the spring, and had truce with him only until spring came again, but he dared to show his face here with the others.
Duke Galba came. He hailed me as I was on my way across one of the citadel courtyards to the practice yard.
“I have letters from your parents,” he said. I took them and read them rapidly. It seemed the new town was thriving. My mother’s letter said more about the problems they were having with retting flax and storing linen than anything else. My father was well. He said that Morien was doing better with his riding. He mentioned also that Aurien’s betrothal to young Galba had been agreed in principle, as far as might be without them having yet been able to meet. This was good news, and I congratulated Duke Galba on it.
“I expect they’ll marry in three years or so,” he said, smiling. “I have seen your sister. Although she is young yet it seems you are right, and she will be a good lady for Magor. I hope you are well? I hear the king has been honoring you with horses?” I would have spoken to him longer, for I liked nothing better than to talk of my horses, particularly the way Starlight was developing. We were prevented, however, for just then Rowanna came out of the baths, two of her veiled Jarnish attendants with her, and called to him.
“No doubt she wants to talk to me again about her new method of harvesting hay,” said Galba, sighing a little. He bowed to me as if I were of equal rank, surprising me not a little. I ran off towards the practice yard, where the others would be waiting. The wedding parade still needed practice if it was going to be perfect.
The day after that I received less welcome news in a reply from Arvlid at Thansethan. She wrote that she did not believe the accusations of demon summoning Morwen had made against me. She said she thought Father Gerth
mol did. She advised me not to go back there soon. She said Darien was well and growing, he was eating mashed food and sitting up well. I felt hot tears burning behind my eyes, but I hid the letter among my clothes and tried to put the news out of my mind.
Three days before the wedding Urdo spent a long time talking with Angas. Many people suggested that he would be given some high honor. I said nothing. When Osvran came walking down to the practice field in the afternoon I was glad enough to get my aching legs off Beauty’s back and join my friends who were pressing round to find out what he knew. The rest of the pennon seemed very surprised to hear that Angas had been given command of the ala of Caer Gloran.
“He’s very young to be praefecto, but he deserves it,” said Osvran decisively.
“It doesn’t hurt that he made a good choice of father,” muttered Emlin into his beard.
“He might not have had this promotion so soon without that,” said Enid, patting her horse’s nose to quiet her. “But it wouldn’t matter who his father was if he wasn’t good enough.”
“Marchel’s a praefecto, and she’s a Malm. She’s not even a highborn barbarian. Thurrig was nothing special in Narlahena, he says so himself, and when he came here he was just an exiled pirate,” said Glyn. There was a mutter of agreement.
“Urdo’s officially given Thurrig the title of Admiral of the Fleet,” said Emlin, smirking. Thurrig had been calling himself an admiral since before most of us were born. We all liked Thurrig.
“He’s going back to Caer Thanbard with King Custennin after the wedding to get on with building some more ships,” said Osvran. “So he can be an admiral in truth as well as in name, and catch the Jarns before they get to the coast. Marchel is being promoted, too—she’s taking the new ala up to Dun Idyn. I pity everyone in the north, between Marchel’s ala and Teilo’s new monastery it won’t be very peaceful up there even without the Isarnagans invading from the west and the Jarns raiding from the east.”
“Will the new ala be under Angas’s father’s control?” I asked. Osvran raised his eyebrows.
“Oh no. All the alae are under the High King’s control, always. Talorgen of Angas will feed them, of course, and they will fight beside him and his men as necessary, but Marchel is sworn to Urdo and not to any other king.”
“Are we going with Angas or up north?” asked Emlin.
“We’re staying here for the time being. Urdo told me. We’ll be having more training and new people coming for training, and we’ll all be trying new things. We’ll be practicing a lot, as well as fighting when need be. I may as well tell you the rest of it. I’m going to have command of our pennon.”
“Well that nicely settles the issue of whether people are promoted on merit or because of their family,” I said. There was a sudden appalled hush, in which the jingling of harness seemed terribly loud, then Osvran threw back his head and laughed. A moment later, everyone else joined in. I could feel my cheeks heating. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry, I shall certainly take it as a compliment on my merit, and promise not to repeat it to my mother,” Osvran said, almost choking with laughter at my confusion. Everyone came crowding around to congratulate him, and I tried to disappear into the background. What I’d said was even worse than it appeared, for there was a rumor, although I’d neither believed it nor paid attention to it, that Osvran had been fathered by Angas’s father and not by Usteg, his mother’s husband. The two men were too much unalike for me to give that credence. Osvran was as tall as I was, almost half a hand taller than Angas, and temperamentally they could not be more different. Although I had meant no harm I wished that the mud would swallow me up.
Amala and Marchel arrived at Caer Tanaga the next day. Marchel went in to see Urdo as soon as she had washed off the dust of the road. Amala caught me coming in from the stables. I had been picking up stakes with my lance all morning. I had promised to help young Galba with his sword strokes after lunch.
“How are you!” she cried. “And how is your little one? Did it all go well? You are looking healthy. I am sure you have grown two thumbs’ height since I saw you last! I am looking for Thurrig.”
“I am well, and my son is thriving in the latest news I have. But if you want your bold and noble husband you’ll have to wait until this evening. He’s taken a boat out on the river to show Duke Galba and the Dowager Rowanna how it is he gets it to turn to the wind when he goes out to catch Jarns.”
Amala’s face fell at this. I took her off to the barracks with me. I was ravenous, and she looked weary from her long journey.
I put my head into the kitchen as I went past. “One extra, ap Cadwas,” I said. Ap Cadwas waved a hand without looking up from his pots, and then when we were almost into the eating room he did look up, started in surprise, and bowed deeply to Amala. Then he went back to his bustling, seeming to move twice as fast as before and calling to his assistants.
“I do hope Marchel manages to persuade the High King not to send her up to the wild north,” she said, as we sat down at the end of one of the long benches beside the tables.
“Why?” I asked. “I think he’s set on it, it suits everything very well for him to have someone he really trusts up there.” Amala frowned. I ladled our mutton stew for her from the crock set in the middle of the table, then filled my own bowl.
“You cannot build a kingdom by tearing families apart. My Thurrig must be in Caer Thanbard, well. I could be there, except that Marchel and her little boys need me, and I am more use to Urdo as key-keeper in Caer Gloran. Now he will send Marchel up to the barbarians in Dun Idyn, and me with her.” It seemed strange to hear this tiny Malmish woman talking of the northerners as barbarians. Yet she was right in a way—Vincan ways had hardly touched the lands of the north. “This would be all right, too, I suppose, though it is pleasant to see Thurrig now and again. But Marchel is young and has only two children, and her husband will not go.”
“He won’t? Why not?” I blew on the stew and swallowed rapidly.
“He is a swordsmith. A good swordsmith. A Tanagan, a good man. Ap Wyn the Smith they call him. His passion is making swords, and Marchel’s passion is fighting, but they do well enough together.” I nodded. I had thought they had looked fond of each other in the bathhouse. “Always he bought the raw iron for the swords from Narlahena. That was how they met the first time, at Caer Thanbard, which is the port where the Malmish ships come, when they can come. He was bargaining for the raw iron, and Marchel helped translate what the traders were saying. Every year he goes down to the port if the Malmish ships can come, to buy good iron. Sometimes he goes off to look for iron in the hills, but he never finds any.”
“Now he has found iron in Tir Tanagiri, and it is all your doing, actually. He went down to that place you come from, Derwen, because there was a ship put in from Narlahena to buy linen. On the way between he found good iron, he says, nearly as good as the Narlahena iron. So now without buying any more iron from Narlahena than before he can make more swords, swords and spear blades and maybe make other things, too. Scythes the king said he needs when he wrote, scythes for cutting hay enough for all these horses. He needs very many people to work at his iron, he has been trying to steal my bathhouse workers.” She smiled, and I thought that I would not like to try to steal her workers. Then she sighed. “But ap Wyn will not leave his iron of course. He wants to go and live right down there.” I wondered which of the hills I had ridden over was made of iron. Apple’s hoofs had not struck sparks, which was how one could distinguish iron mountains in the stories. I wondered how my parents had dealt with the news. “Caer Gloran he can bear—he can get to his iron in a day there and a day back—but Dun Idyn is too far. She doesn’t want to go without him.” One of the cooks came out of the kitchen bringing hot bread, fresh from the bakestone. A spontaneous cheer rose up from the armigers. We didn’t often have bread when it wasn’t a special day.
I sighed. “I don’t know who else he’ll send, but I expect he’ll listen to that as an argu
ment. There isn’t likely to be another iron mountain up in Demedia.”
“He could send my Larig, perhaps. Or he could send steady old ap Meneth from Caer Rangor? Or there is Gwair Aderyn at Caer Asgor. But that will leave him short somewhere. The trouble is that he has six alae now and only five commanders. Urdo needs more good commanders, I have been saying that for some time. Larig would rather be on a boat like his father. Angas is very young, really. King Custennin is not much good for leading a charge, even if he rides with the White God beside him. Worse, he is a very cautious man, even if he has my Thurrig and Bishop Devin with him to give good advice.” I passed her the bread, and she took a piece and smiled. It was a larger piece than one would have expected such a small woman to take.
“I think he is training them as fast as he can,” I said, indicating the people eating around us. Amala smiled, and lowered her voice.
“All my life I have been around fighters. My father fought for his hire, and so has Thurrig, all the time we have been married, which is more than thirty years. Taking the best of the sons of your lords you will find some who are very good, but if you want real leaders you must find professionals. If he wants year-round fighters he should send to Narlahena or Jarnholme. There are landless enough to come.”
I looked around, but fortunately ap Cathvan wasn’t there. I didn’t know what to say. I could see the disastrous consequences of explaining to someone a Malm herself that if you hire a thief to catch a thief, the first thief will not leave you in peace afterwards.
“Why are there? I mean, why are there plenty of landless people there? They don’t have more children than anyone else, do they?”
“No. Of course not.” Amala rolled her eyes. “There are plenty of Malms in Narlahena who do not like the place though—it is a hundred and fifty years since their ancestors conquered it, and they are growing restless. There are always wars in Narlahena, Malm against Malm, and the losers looking for new homes. As for the Jarns, well, the sea is rising and their country is shrinking, they must leave, will they or no. They will come here across the Narrow Seas whether anyone likes it or not, and it seems to me it would be better if we were sensible about it.”