Sunbird (78 page)

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Authors: Wilbur Smith

Tags: #Archaeologists - Botswana, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Adventure Fiction, #Historical, #Archaeologists, #Men's Adventure, #Terrorism, #General, #Botswana

BOOK: Sunbird
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'It's a monster,' panted Huy. 'The biggest I have ever seen.'

'You called me a fool,' said Lannon.

'Nay, Majesty, I was talking to myself,' grinned Huy, and he unstoppered the amphora and poured wine for them.

Lannon lifted his bowl to Huy, and grinned at him over the rim.

'Fly for me, bird of the sun.'

'Roar for me, Gry-Lion.' And they drained the bowls at the same time, then laughed together like children.

'It has been too long, Huy,' Lannon told him. 'We must do this more often. We grow old too swiftly, you and I, our cares and duties envelop us and we are caught in a web of our own making.' A shadow passed across Lannon's eyes, and he sighed. 'I have been happy these last few days, truly happy for the first time in many years.' He looked up at Huy almost shyly. 'You are good for me, old friend.'

He reached out and clasped Huy's shoulder awkwardly. 'I do not know what I would do without you. Don't ever desert me, Huy.'

Huy flushed, clumsy in his embarrassment, this was a mood of Lannon's to which he was unaccustomed. 'Nay, Majesty,' he answered huskily, 'I will be with you always.' And Lannon dropped his hand and laughed, echoing Huy's embarrassment.

'Sweet Baal, but we grow sentimental as girls - is it old age do you think, Huy?' He rinsed his wine bowl over the side, making a great show of it, and avoiding Huy's eyes. 'There are still fish in the lake, and an hour or two of the day left, let us use it.'

In the dusk they returned to where their old shack stood, neglected and forlorn beneath the graceful ivory palms above the beach. As Huy poled the skiff around the point of the island, and they cleared the reed banks, they saw the galley lying at anchor in the bay. The royal standard of house Barca stood at her masthead, and there were lamps burning at stem and stern. The reflections of the lamps danced on the dark waters, and the sound of voices carried clearly to them.

Huy stopped the skiff and leaned on the pole, and in silence they stared at the long ship. Then Lannon spoke.

'The world has found us out, Huy.' And his voice was tired and resigned. 'Hail them for me.'

The lamp hanging in its chain from the roof of the stern cabin lit their faces unnaturally, highlighting cheeks and noses but leaving the eyes in shadow. Their faces were grim as they gathered about the table, and listened to the messenger from the north. Although he was young, an ensign in his first year of military service, yet he had the poise of high birth and he gave his report lucidly.

He described the ripples of unrest that had lapped along the northern borders in the last few weeks, small incidents, movements of large bodies of men seen at a distance, the smoke and fires of vast encampments. Spies reported rumours of strange occurrences, of a new god with the talons of an eagle and the claws of a lion, who would lead the tribes to a land of grass and water. Scouts had watched the sailing of many Drav vessels along the eastern reaches of the great river, an unusual coming and going, talk of secret meetings between nobody knew whom.

There was a restlessness, a vast stirring and muttering, a sense of pressures and tensions building, of secret affairs afoot. The itching of storm clouds gathering and lightning brewing. Things felt but not understood, signs pointing into the unknown.

Lannon listened quietly, frowning a little, his chin propped on his fist and his eyes in shadow.

'My commander bids me tell you of his fears that you might find all this fancy and starting at the hooting of owls.'

'No.' Lannon brushed aside the boy's plea for his report to be taken seriously. 'I know old Marmon better than that. He does not call out snake for an earthworm.'

'There is more,' said the boy, and he laid a leather bag upon the table. He loosed the drawstring and shook out a number of metal objects.

'One of the river patrols surprised a party of pagans attempting to cross in the night. They carried these, all of them.'

Lannon picked up one of the heavy spear-heads, and examined it curiously. The shape and workmanship were distinctive and he glanced up at Huy.

'Well?' he asked and had his own opinions confirmed when Huy answered,

'Drav. No doubt of it.'

'Carried by the pagans?'

'Perhaps they were taken from dead Dravs, or stolen.'

'Perhaps,' Lannon nodded. He was silent a while longer then he looked up at the young officer. 'You have done well,' he said and the lad flushed with pleasure. Lannon turned next to Habbakuk Lal. 'Can you take us on another night run to Opet?' And the admiral smiled and nodded.

Lannon and Huy stood together at the stern rail and watched their island merge into the darkness as the galley drew swiftly away, leaving its wake shimmering in the light of the moon.

'I wonder when we will next return here, Huy,' Lannon asked softly, and Huy moved restlessly beside him but did not answer. 'I feel as though I am leaving something behind here. Something valuable which I will never find again,' Lannon went on. 'Do you feel it also, Huy?'

'Perhaps it is our youth, Lannon. Perhaps these last few days were the end of it.' They were silent then, swaying to the easy motion of the galley under oars. When the island was gone Lannon spoke again.

'I am sending you to the border, Huy. Be my eyes and ears, old friend.'

'It is not for long, my heart,' Huy apologized, although Tanith had said nothing, and was fully engaged in daintily devouring a bunch of purple grapes. 'I will be back before you know I have gone.'

Tanith pulled a face as though one of the grapes were sour, and Huy studied her face with exasperation. It was serene and lovely and as unyielding as that of the goddess herself.

Huy had come to know all of Tanith's moods, every expression or tilt of the head that heralded them. He had watched with fascination as she changed from child to full woman, from bud to ripe bloom, and he had studied her with the patience and dedication of love, but this was one mood he had not learned how to distract.

Tanith licked her long tapered thumb and forefinger with the tip of a pink tongue, then examined her hand with interest, twisting it from side to side to catch the light.

'There is nobody else that the king can trust to send on this mission. It is a matter of grave importance.'

'I am sure,' Tanith murmured, still examining her hand. 'Just as there was no other who could go with him to stick fish.'

'Now, Tanith,' Huy explained reasonably. 'Lannon and I have been companions since our childhood. We used to go out to the islands often in the old days. It was like a pilgrimage to revisit our youths.'

'While I sit here with a bellyful of your child, alone.'

'It was but five days,' Huy pointed out.

'But five days!' Tanith mimicked him with her cheeks flushing, signalling the change of her mood from ice to fire. 'I swear on my love of the goddess, that I do not understand you! You profess your love for me, yet when Lannon Hycanus crooks a finger you run to him, panting like a puppy dog and roll on your back that he may tickle your belly!'

'Tanith!' Huy began to grin. 'I swear you are jealous!'

'Jealous, it is!' Tanith cried, and snatched up the fruit bowl. 'I'll give you jealous!' She hurled the bowl, and while it was in flight she was reaching for fresh missiles.

Old Aina, nodding in the sunlight at the end of the terrace, awoke in the midst of the storm and joined Huy in flight. They found shelter behind an angle of the wall, and from there Huy cautiously reconnoitred the field and found it deserted, but he could hear Tanith weeping somewhere in the house.

'Where is she?' quavered Aina.

'In the house,' answered Huy, combing fruit from his beard and mopping at wine stains on his tunic.

'What is she doing?'

'Weeping,' Huy said.

'Go to her,' commanded Aina.

'And if she attacks me again?' Huy asked nervously.

'Spank her,' instructed Aina. 'Then kiss her.' And she gave him a toothless but utterly knowing grin.

'Forgive me, Holy Father,' whispered Tanith and her tears were warm and wet upon Huy's neck. 'It was childish of me, I know, but every moment I spend away from you is a piece of my life wasted.'

Huy held her, stroking her hair, gentling her, and his chest felt congested and swollen with the strength of his love for her. He was close to tears himself as he listened to her voice.

'Is it not possible for me to go with you this time?' She made one last appeal. 'Please, Holy Father. Please, my love.'

Huy's response was regretful but firm. 'No. I go fast and hard, and you are already in your third month.'

She accepted it at last. She sat up on the couch and dried her eyes. Her smile was only a little lopsided as she asked, 'Won't you tell me again of the arrangements you have made for the baby?'

She sat beside him, soft and warm, with her pale skin glowing over the faint bulge of her belly and the new heaviness of her breasts m the lamplight. Her eyes were intent as she listened, and she nodded and smiled and exclaimed as Huy told her how it would be - of the foster mother he had selected in the cool and healthy air of the hills, on the estate at Zeng. He told her how the child would grow healthy and strong, and how they would visit it there.

'It?' Tanith demanded playfully. 'Never it, my lord - her!'

'
Him
!' Huy corrected and they laughed. But beneath Tanith's laughter the sadness persisted. This was not the way it would be. She could not see this, she could not catch the happiness of it, could not hear the laughter of a child nor feel the warmth of its little body against her.

For a moment the dark curtains of time opened, and, as sometimes happened, she glimpsed the future, saw dark shapes and men and things that terrified her.

She clung to Huy and listened to his voice. It gave her comfort and strength, and at last she asked softly, 'If I fetch your lute, will you sing for me?'

And he sang the poem to Tanith, but there were new verses now. Every time he sang it, there were new verses.

Marmon was the captain of the north, governor of the northern kingdom and commander of the legions and forts that guarded the northern border. He was an old friend of Huy's, thirty years his senior but with the bond of scholarship between them. Marmon was a keen military historian, and Huy was helping him with a manuscript history of the third war with Rome. He was a tall bony man with a fine mane of silver hair of which he was inordinately proud. He kept it shampooed and neatly clubbed. His skin was smooth as a girl's and firmly drawn over the prominent bones of his skull, but the shivering sickness had yellowed the tone of his complexion and yellowed the whites of his eyes also.

He was one of the empire's most trusted generals, and for two days he and Huy discussed the situation along the border, poring over a clay-box map of the territory so that Marmon could show Huy exactly where each piece of the puzzle fitted in. Marmon's fine-boned hands touched each of the counters, or drew out the lines and areas of disturbance and dispute, while Huy listened and asked his questions.

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