The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition) (87 page)

"I take it that John is safe, since you came back here?"
"Oh, yes," said Peter. "I would say that John is quite safe."
His words were a tad too light, and there was a touch of coldness to his smile once more. I said, "Heart of Mercy, Peter, don't keep me in suspense. What happened after Ursula and I left?"
"Well," said Peter, tracing a knothole on the table with his finger, "the first thing that happened was that John handed back the dagger to the Koretian."
I was slow to reply. "He hates to fight. He always did."
"Yes, I remember you telling me that. From what you told me, I assumed that John did his fighting with words."
This time I did not reply. I was beginning to see where the story was headed and why Peter's manner had been so restrained. Peter leaned his elbows onto the table, clasped his hands, and rested his chin on the knuckles, saying, "The Koretian was eager to explain why all half-breeds are renegade rabble – parasitic, perfidious miscreants who deserve to die painful deaths. He explained all of this while waving his dagger at John." There was a pause, replete with significance. "John appeared to agree with what the Koretian said. When I left him, he was keeping a careful eye on the dagger and nodding to every word the Koretian spoke."
"Peter . . ." I said, and then stopped, unsure of how to comment.
"I'm sorry, Andrew," he said gently. "I would very much like to believe that your blood brother isn't a coward, but perhaps he has changed since you knew him last."
"John is
not
a coward!"
I looked over my shoulder and saw Ursula standing at the back door, her arms full of vegetables and her face red. She marched over to us, dumped the vegetables onto the table, and stood with her arms crossed.
Peter was already on his feet. I joined him and said hastily, "Lord Peter, may I present Ursula, who is John's—?"
"He is not a coward, and you wouldn't say that if you knew him!" Ursula was too angry to notice the introduction. She thumped the table with her fist for emphasis. "Anyone can tell you that John's the bravest man in this land. He is always helping people, even at his own risk."
Peter was staring at Ursula with his mouth agape. I supposed that no one had addressed him in this manner for quite some time – perhaps not since the last time he and I had fought. He recovered himself, though, and said firmly, "Madam, I have certainly heard that your husband is generous to his neighbors. But it seems to me that the most important thing a man can do is protect those who are under his care, and I cannot see that he has done that today, by allowing your honor to be sullied."
"What do you know about caring for others?" cried Ursula, throwing a carrot down on the table in Peter's general direction. "You Emorian lords hide yourselves away in the Chara's palace and never go out to see how others live their lives. John lives here amidst the people of our land, and while he cares for me, he also cares for the others here. He does what is best for
all
of us, not just for those whom he has under his immediate care. He's not like the Chara, who cares only about his friends and family and not about what goes on outside his palace."
I looked back at Peter, wondering whether I would see him angry or amused. What I witnessed was a look of respect that I suspected few people besides myself had ever seen. He said quietly, "The Chara has no wife, but if he did, I think that he would count himself lucky to be married to a woman who showed such loyalty to her husband."
Like an emptied wine bladder going flat, Ursula's anger drained out of her, and she looked at Peter uncertainly. Then the door to the street opened, and John slipped inside.
He did not appear to be harmed in any way except for the cut on his cheek, where the blood had begun to dry. As he closed the door, his gaze travelled between Ursula and Peter, but he did not ask the Chara why he had come. It was Peter who took the initiative, saying, "He let you live, then, even though you're married to one of the rabble."
John went over to the mantel and adjusted the mask of the Jackal, which had fallen crooked. Without looking Peter's way, he said, "Yes."
Ursula came over and hooked her arm around his. "Did you convince him?"
A faint smile travelled onto John's face as he looked down at Ursula. "In the end. We decided that a half-Emorian woman must by definition be half-Koretian. We also decided that anyone who insults a half-Koretian woman is demonstrating a lack of respect for Koretia. And we agreed that, if any Emorian soldier dared to insult you, we ought to defend your honor to the death."
I stood halfway between John and Peter; thus I could see the change in Peter's face as John spoke. When he had finished, Peter said quietly, "So your peacemaking methods work. I would not have guessed that they would be so effective."
John's dark eyes rested upon me for a moment before turning toward Peter. "They work, Lord Peter, because I am Koretian, and I know my land's customs. This is not Emor, where you can maintain discipline by beating others into submission. If you do not allow a Koretian to state his grievances, he will refuse to listen to anyone, even the gods. If you allow him to tell his troubles, then he may be willing to accept the possibility that he is wrong."
"I suppose," said Peter awkwardly, "that it is hard for an Emorian to correctly interpret small confrontations such as this."
I caught my breath as John curled both of his hands into fists. Ursula had taken a step back and was biting her lip; only Peter was unaware that anything had changed.
John said softly, "And how many small confrontations is it going to take, Lord Peter, before you and the other Emorian noblemen realize that you cannot treat Koretians the way you treat your slaves? How many Koretians will have to go to prison because they refuse to humble themselves sufficiently when in the presence of the governor and his officials? How many priests will have to die because they refuse to stop bringing the gods' law to the Koretians who request it? How many more Koretians must endure the Chara's discipline by being burnt alive or raped or sent to Emor in slavery, to face mutilation of body and spirit?"
My gaze was fixed upon Peter. By tremendous strength, he succeeded in keeping his own face, but his eyes were as cold as when he was in judgment. He made no reply, and after a moment, John said, "I apologize, Lord Peter. I ought not to have spoken to you in such a manner – particularly since you are a nobleman."
Peter hands gripped the hilt of his dagger. His fingers on it were as white as the bone itself. He said shortly, "Koretians must have their say, as you just told me." There was a pause; then he added, "I asked you to tell me what the Koretians think of the Chara's rule. I cannot blame you for being honest in your answer. But I think it is likely that both of us have gone astray in our judgments today."
"You may well be right," John said very quietly. "It is hard to get to know another person's character quickly, and I assume that Andrew, who has known you for many years, sees aspects to you that I do not. I am only sorry that you and I will not have more of a chance to get to know each other." He glanced toward the doorway, and I knew that he was thinking that the chance that the palace guards were eavesdropping on this conversation was even greater than the chance that Lord Carle had eavesdropped on his conversation with Peter in the priests' house. This was not the place for whatever uninhibited conversation John wished to hold with Peter.
Peter nodded, perhaps in agreement with John's assessment of the situation, but he made no suggestion of an alternative place for discussion. He was still watching John as warily as he might watch one of his conniving council lords. John turned to me and said, "Andrew, I came to the market to tell you that some of my friends are gathering at a tavern nearby at noonday. I'd like to be able to introduce you to them, but I would rather not leave Ursula alone. Would you mind if she joined us?"
I could not see why he was asking me permission to bring his own wife, and I opened my mouth to say that I would enjoy her company. But Peter cut in swiftly, saying, "If you wish, and if it is agreeable to your wife, I would be glad to keep her company while you and Andrew are gone."
John had turned to pull his satchel off the wall hook. He looked over his shoulder at Peter, and the Chara added, "You may be sure that I will not allow any harm to come to her. You have my oath as an Emorian."
John flicked the briefest of glances over at Ursula. Despite my training in reading people, I missed whatever message passed between them. Turning his attention back to the Chara, he said, "Thank you, Lord Peter. We appreciate your offer."
"At least I have
somebody
to prepare a meal for," Ursula said, gathering her vegetables together. "Lord Peter, is there any Koretian food you especially hate?"
We left Peter assuring her with convincing sincerity that he loved all Koretian food. We started to walk out the back way through the small garden, but had not gone far when John turned to look back, and I saw that Peter had followed us out.
He came up close to John and said in a low voice, "I may be ignorant of a good many Koretian customs, but I do at least know the Koretian tradition of hospitality, and that a man may not enter a Koretian's house without first giving his name and title. Therefore I would like to give you mine."
John shifted the satchel on his shoulder so as to hug it tighter to his body. He said softly, "I learned who you were when we first met; there is no need for us to exchange names. However, I'm sure that Ursula would be interested in hearing about life at your palace." Then he turned, leaving Peter to stare after him with a disconcerted look.
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We did not ride this time, but instead wove our way by foot through the threadlike streets. I could see that the governor had made an attempt, when rebuilding the city, to recreate the symmetric pattern of the Emorian capital, but it appeared that the Koretians had simply abandoned use of the broad roads and had instead crowded into the narrow, eccentric alleys.
John and I were silent. I longed to ask him questions, but since he had not asked me about my secrets, I could not ask him about his. With an effort, I cast my mind instead on the scenery around me: the men and women clustered around the large shop windows, ordering their wares; the beggar-boys fighting each other on a heap of rubbish; and a hand-bound Koretian man being escorted by soldiers, protesting his innocence of whatever crime he was charged with.
John said, "I suppose that I should have let you stay in the cave after all. It would have saved you the trouble of having to go to Emor to meet him."
I looked over at him. My blood brother was staring straight ahead, a smile on his lips. "John," I said, "how can you continue trusting me when I keep such secrets from you?"
"When you worship the Unknowable God, you get much practice in trust. Trusting you is easy by comparison." He ducked his head under the sign of a candle-maker, and then took a wide berth of an argument that had arisen between a candle-maker and one of his customers. An Emorian soldier stood nearby, watching to be sure that the peace was not breached.
I said, "You guessed from his name? Because you knew that the Chara was in Koretia?"
"I saw him in the cave as well, you remember. He hasn't changed so much."
"I'd forgotten that you were there."
John did not reply for a minute. Then he said, "I think that in the cave you also forgot I was there."
His eyes were still focussed straight ahead, watching a hay-cart head relentlessly our way – Koretian carts do not stop for obstacles in their path. John's voice held a tone I had never heard in him before. The tone was not of pain or anger, but it brought suddenly to my mind an image: John standing silently in the doorway of our priests'-cell, watching Peter give him the free-man's greeting, and knowing in that moment what the Chara was to me.
I was trying to find something to reply when we were hailed by a thin man in a leather work-apron, who was travelling down an alley we were crossing. As he came close to us he said, "This is a piece of good fortune, John! I was just coming to your house to see whether I could beg a bit of your service."
John shifted the strap on his satchel to another position on his shoulder. "I wish I could be of help, Nathan, but I am on my way to a meeting with friends. In any case, I thought I had explained that I cannot take on any new trades at this time."
"I know, I know, you explained it quite well," said the man. I could see him watching me out of the corner of his eye; otherwise he ignored me. "This is not a new trade, though; it is a failed old one. I bargained by word of mouth with Harold the butcher for a load of his meat, and now neither of us can agree to what the other said."
"You ought to have had a witness," John replied.
"I knew that you would say that," replied the man. "You are right, of course; we should have hired a trader. Still, what can we do now? I've already delivered my wine, and it would be more trouble than it is worth for me to take all of it back. Could you not come and help us sort this through? We ask you to judge the matter and decide what is fair, nothing more. It will take little time."
"And Harold agrees to this?" John cocked his head to one side.
The vintner laughed. "You do not believe me, I can see. But yes, Harold has for once agreed to let another man decide the matter. I have told him I will keep my cart parked in front of his shop until that happens."
"Well, then, I had better come, if not to keep peace, then at least to see this miracle for myself." John took a step in the direction the vintner had come, and I followed. The vintner shot another look at me, and John said, "This is my blood brother Andrew."
The vintner's eyes narrowed, but he said, in a pleasant enough voice, "Good day to you, Andrew. John, while I have your attention on business matters, I may as well ask you . . ."
The alley was cramped, and I allowed John and the vintner to walk together a few steps ahead of me. When I caught up, John was just ducking his head under a doorway into the butcher's shop. The butcher, a large, sturdy man, was giving him a loud and friendly greeting.
His greeting cut off as I reached the door. I stopped, and the butcher looked from me to John. This time John did not introduce me, but he stepped back out onto the road next to me.
The butcher, stone-faced, said to me formally, "I beg that you impart to me your name."