The Bastard King (55 page)

"Oh," Alca said in a small voice. Yozgat - where the Scepter of Mercy was held. She bobbed her head to Grus. "Those are good points. Plainly, I would never make a general."

"Well, I would never make a wizard, and that's even plainer." Grus stared down into the amphitheater again. It was alarmingly like watching animals in a cage. It didn't feel like watching people at all. Realizing that hurt.

Alca didn't disagree with him. She went back to the problem he'd been worrying at, too, and asked, "If we got into a fight with any one of the Menteshe princes, won't all of them rush to his aid?"

"I don't think so," Grus answered. "It hasn't worked that way up till now, anyhow. The Menteshe have a lot more - freedom of will, I guess you'd call it - than thralls do. They wouldn't be much use to the Banished One if they acted like ... that." He pointed into the amphitheater. "He needs them able to think and to fight. And they
do
fight - among themselves, too, sometimes. They won't come to each other's aid unless that looks like a good idea to them."

"I see." Alca frowned as she worked through what that was likely to mean. "Then ... even if the Banished One disappeared tomorrow - "

"Gods grant that he would!" Grus exclaimed, and then, "Excuse me for interrupting."

"It's all right, Your Majesty." The witch went back to her own train of thought. "Even if the Banished One disappeared tomorrow, the Menteshe would still be just as dangerous to us as ever."

"Not quite," Grus answered. "They wouldn't have his magic, his might, backing them. But they would still be dangerous, the same way the Thervings are dangerous. They're on our border, they're tough fighters, and they wouldn't mind taking our land away from us."

"I see," Alca said again. Now she looked down at the thralls. After a minute or so, biting her lip, she turned away from the amphitheater. "That is a monstrous sorcery, robbing them of so much of what it means to be human."

"Yes." Grus went on, "I wonder if the Banished One feels the same way about Olor and Quelea and the rest of the gods. When they cast him out of the heavens, didn't they rob him of most of what it means to be divine?"

Alca started to answer, then checked herself. "I never thought of that," she said slowly. "I wonder if anyone has ever thought of it. You should talk it over with a high-ranking cleric, not with me. If we understand the Banished One, perhaps we'll have a better chance of doing something about him. How clever you are, Your Majesty! That would never have occurred to me."

Grus didn't feel particularly clever, and he had his doubts about whether understanding the Banished One would do much to hold him back. The problem with trying to oppose him was his divine, or nearly divine, strength. How much would understanding him let the Avornans, or anyone else, undercut that? Not much - not as far as Grus could see.

But he could see other possibilities if Alca happened to be impressed with him. "Will you have supper with me tonight?" he asked, as casually as he could.

The smile Alca gave back wasn't one of eager assent. It was a woman's amused smile. "Remember what happened the last time you asked me that, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," he said. "I don't think that will happen again."

"How do you mean that?" she asked. "Do you mean you won't try feeling me up, or do you mean you think I'll enjoy it more this time?"

He muttered under his breath. He thought he'd phrased that so slyly. He didn't seem as clever as he thought he was, let alone as she thought he was. "I mean whatever you want me to mean," he said at last.

"Do you?" Alca said. Grus gave back a nod that challenged her to call him a liar. For a moment, he thought she would. But then she smiled again, the same mostly wry smile she'd used before. "All right, Your Majesty. How could I possibly doubt you?" The words said she couldn't. Her tone said something else altogether.

Well,
Grus thought with an inward sigh,
no seduction tonight.
He still looked forward to the supper. Alca was good company, regardless of whether she cared to let him take her to bed.

Here in Cumanus, the supper would be better than with an army on campaign. The cook had the leisure to do things right, and could buy the best in the marketplace instead of depending on whatever foraging soldiers brought in. The leg of mutton he made was a masterpiece of its kind.

"So much wine?" Alca asked as Grus poured his cup full again.

"If I get drunk, I won't have to think about thralls for a while," he answered. "The less I have to think about thralls, the happier I'll be."

The witch nodded. "Well, I can certainly understand
that,"
she said, and filled her own mug from the jar on the table. After drinking, she asked, "What
will
you do about them, Your Majesty?"

"I don't know. I wish I did." Admitting he didn't have all the answers was something of a relief. Grus could do that with Alca, for she already knew it. He could even ask, "What would you do if you were in my place?"

"I would never want to be queen," Alca said. "How can you go through life never trusting anyone?"

"I don't," Grus answered. "But I'm careful about the people I do trust. That's one of the reasons I wanted you with me when I came down here to the south."

"One of the reasons." Alca's eyebrows rose. "What were some of the other ones?"

She didn't mind mocking him, whether he was king or not. He smiled his blandest smile. "Funny you should ask. I'm afraid I don't remember." He wondered if she was trying to tease him into making advances so she could slap them down. He hoped not - he'd thought better of her than that - but it struck him as anything but impossible.

"No, eh?" Alca wagged a finger at him. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Believe what you please," Grus said. "You will anyhow."

"And what would you have me believe?" Alca asked.

"That I'm doing what I promised earlier today," Grus answered.

"You think so, do you?" The witch filled her wine cup yet again.

What was that supposed to mean? Grus almost asked the question aloud, but checked himself. He said, "I do thank you for all the help you've given me."

"You're welcome, Your Majesty," Alca said gravely. "You're very welcome." She raised the cup. "Your good health."

"And yours," Grus said. He would have a headache in the morning, but morning seemed a long way away.

"Thank you." Alca drank. So did Grus. She eyed him. "Have you decided why so many thralls are coming over the river and into Avornis?"

"My best guess is, the Banished One wants to make trouble and to see what we can do about it," he replied. "We have to take anything seriously if it's got anything to do with the Banished One."

"Yes!" The witch's agreement startled him with its vehemence.

He said, "If only we could strike at him as easily as he strikes at us."

"Yes." Alca sipped again. "I wish ..."

"What?" Grus asked.

"Nothing. Never mind. I didn't say anything."

"You started to." Grus got to his feet and walked - carefully - toward her.

"If you can't see for yourself, you've got no business knowing."

"Can't see what for myself?"

"Whatever it is you're not seeing, of course."

"You're no help. All I see is you."

"Well, then," Alca said, as though that explained everything.

Grus reached for her like a drowning man reaching for a floating plank. Her arms tightened around him. When their lips met, she kissed him as he was kissing her.

"I didn't think - " Now he was the one who had trouble going on.

"It's all right," Alca answered. "You said you wouldn't do anything I didn't want. You aren't."

"Gods be praised!" Grus said. He kissed her again. He held her tight, tight enough that she couldn't possibly doubt kissing her wasn't the only thing he had in mind. She didn't pull away.

His hands began to wander. Alca purred, down deep in her throat.

The bedchamber wasn't far. She hurried toward the bed. Later, he wondered if she went ahead to keep from giving herself time enough for second thoughts. That was later.

They lay down together. It was everything Grus had dreamt it would be, which said a great deal. Alca clutched him with arms and legs. He drove deep into her, and she clutched him inside herself, too. They both groaned together.

No sooner had they spent themselves than Alca pushed him away, saying, "We shouldn't have done that. No good will come of it."

Grus set the palm of his hand on her left breast. Her heart still thudded. When he teased her nipple between thumb and forefinger, her heartbeat sped up again.

She twisted away even so. "We shouldn't have," she said. "It's not what we came here for."

Grus just said, "All we can do is make the best of it now."

"What sort of best is there to make?" she said. "I betrayed my husband, you your wife. No good anywhere there."

"What we did was good by itself, and you can't tell me you didn't think so, too, not while it was going on."

"While it was going on, I didn't think at all, and neither did you." That was true, but it didn't make what Grus had said any less true. With a sigh, the witch went on, "Yes, you pleased me."

"I should hope so," Grus said. "You, ah, pleased me, too, you know. I'll tell you exactly how much when I'm able to see again."

She snorted, not altogether a happy sound. "You know, your hand could please you, too, and you wouldn't talk nonsense to it afterward."

Grus' ears heated; that was bawdier talk than he was used to hearing from a woman. Alca sat up at the edge of the bed and started dressing. Grus almost told her to stop. But he was leery of pushing too hard and antagonizing a witch. And he wasn't sure of his own second round. In his younger days, making love twice in a row would have been nothing. Now,
nothing
was what was more likely to happen the second time.

He said, "You mean a lot to me, you know."

That she noticed - noticed and took seriously. "You mean a lot to me, too, Your Majesty. I wouldn't have done this if you didn't, no matter how much wine I drank. But that doesn't mean I wasn't foolish - or that you weren't foolish. Suppose I bear your bastard. Will you make
him
arch-hallow one of these days?"

"I thought you could ... know if you'd caught," Grus said. He hadn't thought about a baby at all.

"I'll know if I catch ... when the time comes, in the usual way. Meanwhile ... Meanwhile, good night, Your Majesty. I was foolish. We were foolish. We'd best not be again." She left the bedchamber before he could reply, which was probably just as well.

In charge of the royal treasury was a man named Petrosus. Grus had appointed him after the previous treasury minister, a graybeard, retired to a monastery. As far as Lanius knew, that retirement was voluntary; Grus hadn't required or even suggested it. Petrosus was a sharp-nosed fellow with a nearsighted squint. Lanius didn't much like him. He had trouble imagining how anyone, including Petrosus' wife, could like him very much. But that wasn't to say the fellow didn't know his business.

At the moment, his business seemed to consist of driving Lanius out of his mind. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but there's nothing I can do," he said. Even his voice was irritatingly scratchy.

"What do you mean, there's nothing you can do?" Lanius demanded. "My household needs more money. You're the man in charge of the money. I know it's in the treasury; tax receipts have been up lately. So kindly give me what I need. I'll have to let some servants go unless you do."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Petrosus repeated, sounding not the least bit sorry. "There's no allocation for any further funding for that purpose."

"What do you mean, there's no allocation?" Lanius was repeating himself, too. "Why in the name of the gods do you need an allocation, anyway? Am I the King of Avornis, or aren't I? If I need money, do I get it or don't I?"

Petrosus scratched the end of his pointy noise. His fingers were stained with ink. "Well, Your Majesty, it's like this. You're
a
King of Avornis, sure enough. But are you
the
King of Avornis? As a matter of fact, since you're the one that's asking, I have to tell you the answer is no."

Lanius knew exactly what that meant. He'd had his not so pointy nose rubbed in it, the past few years. Grus was the one who gave the orders. Lanius understood that, no matter how little he liked it. But even so ... "This is money for my household!" Yes, he was repeating himself.

So was the treasury minister. "You already told me that, Your Majesty. And I'm telling you there's no allocation for any more money than you're already getting."

Voice dangerously calm, Lanius asked, "Are you saying King Grus doesn't want his own daughter getting what she needs? Are you saying I can't pay for the servants she has?"

But Petrosus didn't seem to feel the danger. "I'm saying there's no allocation. No allocation, no money. Simple as that, Your Majesty."
Simple as that, you moron,
he might have said.

"Suppose I write to King Grus," Lanius said. "Suppose I tell him how - how obstructive you're being. What do you suppose he will have to say about that?"

"Probably something like,'Congratulations, Petrosus. Good job. You're not supposed to spend any silver without an allocation,'" the treasury minister said cheerfully. "So if you want to write him, you just go ahead."

That wasn't the answer Lanius had expected or wanted. He stared at Petrosus, who squinted back. After a long pause, Lanius asked, "Are you telling me King Grus doesn't want me to have the money I need?"

"Don't ask me what he wants or doesn't want. I'm telling you I don't spend money without an allocation. That's my job. No allocation, no money. That's all I'm telling you, Your Majesty."

"And how are you supposed to get an allocation?" Lanius asked.

"Why, from King Grus, of course," Petrosus answered. If he'd been asked where light came from, he would have said,
Why, from the sun, of course,
in just that tone of voice.