Gonji: Red Blade from the East (40 page)

“For the present he has declined any such meeting,” Flavio said.

Lydia reached Gonji with the serving platter of steaming fish.

“Domo arigato,”
he said, smiling, as she finished serving him. “And what does the councilman’s wife say of the men and monsters that have invaded her city?” He sat with his plate in one hand, the other propped on his knee, an eyebrow cocked archly, less interested in her answer than in simply hearing the beautiful woman speak.

* * * *

What a swaggering rascal
, Lydia thought. And I don’t like the way he looks at me at all. An infidel, thinking only of his loins. A soldier-for-hire, and all such men believe themselves irresistibly attractive to women....

But she considered the question seriously, pondered the incredible things she had come to know since their return from Italy. She snorted sharply, daintily, in her curt-dismissal manner.

“Men are men, and should be dealt with as such. Monsters and giants are to be avoided—like steep cliffs and poisonous mushrooms—” She arched her eyebrows unconcernedly, a lovely, beguiling disdain. “—steer clear of them and they won’t bother you. There’s nothing supernatural about these things. They’re all
very
natural, just from the dark side, things that plague man because of his fall into sin, that’s all. Michael knows the theology much better and can explain it to you, isn’t that so, Michael?”

Michael sat with his head back, groaned something. Lydia worked as she spoke, setting pewter plates before the raptly attentive men.

“Someone has learned to bring this big...
bird
or whatever under his power. It’s as simple as that. There are all kinds of creatures about that we can’t possibly know of; and those we know of, but can’t understand. It’s all in God’s hands. Nothing happens but that He ordains it. And it’s certainly nothing to fight about—like
children
!”

This last was intended for her sullen husband, but as he again whined his rationale for entering the fight, she removed the old cloth from his swollen nose and slapped on a freshly wet one. He moaned in pain.

“Now—this house is in mourning, and we’ll have no more violent talk. We’ll fight the soldiers by
not
fighting. We’ll show them kindness that will shame them.”

Lydia padded off to the kitchen, hoping these wayward men had learned something from her counsel.

* * * *

Gonji smiled as Lydia disappeared, finding himself admiring her for her sturdy practicality and conviction—even if he knew her to be wrong. She seemed a very special woman.

Two men at the fringe of the conclave had been bickering in quiet hisses for a space. Now their argument became more impassioned, fired by the notice the others had taken. The two were similarly of medium height and broad-shouldered construction, but there the similarity ended. Karl Gerhard, a fletcher and hunter, had hair the hue of ripened wheat atop a long, fair face perpetually set in sadness. Aldo Monetto, a biller—who always carried one of his axes in his belt by way of advertisement—was dark and bearded, round-faced, a small mole highlighting the corner of his left eye. His features danced with constant mirth and zest for life.

One had to listen to them a long while before understanding that these two were best friends:

“I’m not going to ask him—
you
ask him,
dummkopf
!”

“Speak Italian! It’s obvious he prefers Italian. And I’m not going to ask him. It’s improper.”

“Oh—now it’s improper, after you tell
me
to ask him—”

Gonji held up a hand. “I wish
someone
would ask me already!”

The two looked at Gonji, then at each other. Finally Monetto advanced uneasily, “We’ve heard...that you had to fight several men single-handedly to retrieve Mark’s body. Is that so?”

Gonji’s heart leapt to his throat. He reached inside his kimono and scratched pensively as he shot Wilf a menacing look. Wilf gulped and shook his head. All stared at Gonji. Michael seemed about to say something.

“Where did you hear this?” Gonji asked.

“From Wilf’s brother Strom, out in the hills today,” Gerhard replied.

Gonji slumped in his seat. “Does your father keep spare muzzles on hand, Wilfred-san? That brother of yours doesn’t say much, but when he does he makes sure it’s confidential information.”

“I don’t think you said not to speak of it.”

“Well, if I didn’t, it must have been the wine.” He saw they waited for further clarification, continued: “
Hai
, it’s true. There was no other way for me to bring in the boy’s body—and I would appreciate your keeping this to yourselves please, eh? We’ll have a talk with Strom, for whatever good that will do. But now I must cover tracks quickly, and so I must be frank—

“Master Flavio, I want you to understand that I’m an educated man. I’m not the savage some of you think, not like these dregs who’ve invaded you. I was schooled in the arts and sciences of my homeland, and in some on this continent. I’ve been in the employ of kings here—their private employ. I understand propriety and protocol, better than most do. I have business here and wish to stay on for a time. Among other things I seek the secret of this legendary Deathwind I’ve spoken of, and I’ve been led to this territory by Christian priests. But the way things are happening I’ll soon be ripe with worms if I don’t have a justification for my presence here. This army is small, ill-trained for proper search and interrogation. They have their hands full just holding the province. They’re stretched out thin, judging by what I’ve seen. But sooner or later....

“Anyway, here’s my proposition: I need money and I need time here, and that can only mean a job. I’ve been the bodyguard to emissaries and ambassadors. I’m asking you to hire me as
your
bodyguard, for any reasonable fee you name.”

Flavio was already shaking his head sadly against the positive urgings of some of the others.

“I wouldn’t dog your steps,” Gonji promised. “But certainly in affairs of state you might want protection from...accidents,
neh
? Eventually you’ll have an audience with Klann at the castle, and I want very badly to see this storied fortress from the inside.”

“We might need a military man’s views on the troop disposition and strength,” Wilf sagely observed.

“That’s right.”

“A bodyguard,” Flavio was echoing into his goblet. “All this planning for violence. You don’t seem to understand, this is a Christian settlement. It’s wrong for those of us who embrace the cross to actively plan for violent engagement.”

Mutters of protest.

Lydia approached them. “Papa Flavio is right—enough of this talk.”

Gonji cast her a disdainful look. He found himself perversely glad to be opposed to her, in view of the futile attraction he felt for her.

“Violence is not unknown to the followers of
Iasu
—of Jesus,” Gonji said. “And it has always been my opinion that much of what I’ve heard could have been avoided. A bodyguard is hired to keep one
out
of trouble. Michael could have used one today.”

There were voices raised in agreement.

“I think it might be a wise idea,” came the gently commanding voice from the doorway that hushed the others.

There stood Tralayn the prophetess, imposing in her flowing robes, framed as she was in waning sunlight. Her emerald eyes regarded Gonji, a thin smile on her pale lips. She entered and tendered greetings to each in turn, according to his state. By her very detachment and self-importance she seemed to Gonji an awesome personage. It was no wonder these people held her in such high esteem. She could be a formidable enemy in the wrong circumstances.

Michael came up to Gonji, a curious set to his face, when the prophetess had finished her greeting.

“Thank you,” he said, “for bringing us Mark’s body.”

“
Do itashimashite
—you’re welcome,” Gonji replied. But he felt no sincerity in the councilman’s thanks, merely social propriety. Something was ill between them.

Then Tralayn approached Gonji, returned his bow, and, after introductions, indicated that she wished to speak to him alone.

Careful, Gonji-san
, he thought. That smile masks the crackling mind of a brilliant manipulator.

“I’ve been told,” she began pleasantly, “that we have a mutual acquaintance—Simon Sardonis.”

Gonji’s heart was racing. “
Hai.
And we alone seem to know of him, although, judging by the message I bear him, he ought to be a fairly well-known personage here.”

“Who gave you this message?” Her sparkling green eyes cut straight to the soul.

“A friend who’s concerned about him.”

“He has few like that. But you were directed to convey the message through me, isn’t that so?”

Gonji’s mind whirled. She was making an assumption there, and how could she be so sure? He could feel the proximity of something great and important. He dearly wished not to alienate this woman of mystery. Yet he said, “I think I’d like to tell him for myself.”

She paused. “He’ll not see you.”

Then he felt it screaming inside him, that exuberant sensation of destiny floating within reach just waiting to be grabbed. He allowed his suspicions, his unconscious calculations, to float to the surface. Then, bringing his sudden trembling under control, he impulsively stabbed out in the dark.

“Indeed? I think I saw him earlier today.”

The prophetess stiffened. Wariness crept into her eyes for an instant, then was supplanted by an impenetrable blankness.

Lydia had come in from the kitchen again, the cook in tow. She said something to the others in the Rumanian tongue, then excused herself to Tralayn coldly—there seemed to be no great affection between the two women. Lydia motioned for Gonji to follow her into the kitchen. Her eyes were narrowed to accusing slits as he complied, bewildered.

In the kitchen stood the slim dark girl into whose chamber Gonji had hurtled the night before. She held a tall bundle wrapped in a blanket. By its outline it could only be his bow and quiver. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. The girl smiled under sparkling eyes.

“I—” Gonji stammered, “why do you take such a chance? These weapons are forbidden in Vedun now. You must have heard.”

“She heard nothing,” Lydia said matter-of-factly. “She’s a deaf-mute.”

Gonji felt his face flaring hotly. “Oh...spirits of my fathers—now I understand.” He made no effort to disguise the embarrassment he now wore at the recollection of his frantic efforts to keep the girl quiet. “I’m so sorry.”

She only smiled, more compassionately now, to see Gonji’s concern. Then she unwrapped the bow and quiver. Gonji felt like a helpless clown on display. He could feel Lydia’s disapproving stare.

The bow was unstrung, and with an adroit move and a considerable effort, the girl strung it. Quite a show of strength for her size. She made a series of signs to Gonji. He glanced to Lydia self-consciously for an interpretation.

“Her name is Helena,” Lydia said. “She’s telling you that her father was a famous Polish archer in the king’s dragoons. That he taught her to string the bow. After her father’s death in a battle, she came here with her mother because superstitious peasants said she was possessed by demons who blocked her ears and tongue.”

Lydia eyed them both speculatively, then turned and left the room after a space, arms crossed over her bosom. Gonji and Helena were alone in the kitchen.

Gonji spent some time clumsily conveying his gratitude in crudely extemporized sign language that, more often than not, simply made Helena smile at his awkwardness. She taught him a few rudimentary signs, and they shared a quiet jest over his difficulty. Then it became more strained, as Gonji found it increasingly less advisable to show her the things he was feeling.

She was beautiful in an unspoiled, unstudied way. Her skin was of an unblemished creamy whiteness. Her fragile form, the soft curve of her shoulders, beckoned the gentle caress. Her gracefully sculpted lips quivered slightly, parted as if to speak words that were denied her. Long nightwing tresses fell over one shoulder to her breast, where Gonji could trace the almost imperceptible heaving of her quickening breath.

Then the stirring he felt within was mirrored in his eyes and the girl became unnerved, shamed to be with him. She spun on her heel and departed through the rear door.

Gonji felt at once unclean and lead-footed. He shook himself and strode proudly into the parlor, reestablishing control of his center.

Jacob Neriah had been discussing his firm hope that Vedun would still be standing on the plateau on his return visit. He fell silent when Gonji entered the room. Most of the strangers had been cleared out, he was comforted to see. Those who remained stared self-consciously at anything but Gonji. Only Tralayn watched him closely.