Rebels of Gor (10 page)

I had anticipated the reunion with Cecily with much pleasure, though I knew it would be brief. The slaves had been sequestered in the indoor housing area, as noted, where they would be safer, but also, by the edict of Lord Temmu, given the rigor of the siege and the scarcity of resources, and the need for the strictest of disciplines, had been denied to the garrison. I deemed this wise. Survival might depend on a keen eye and an undivided attention. Might not a climber, dark in the night, as silent as a snake, attain the parapet, cut a throat, and set meager stores ablaze? Might not a rush to a gate, up one of the high trails, perhaps that from the wharves below, be too belatedly recognized? What if a thousand fire arrows should be launched at midnight, and those who must ascend to the roofs of the castle and other buildings with their dampened mats and cloths not respond with alacrity? The unrestricted presence of the slave, like that of sake, or paga, or ka-la-na, which, too, were currently forbidden, was not to be risked. Not only might their presence be distractive, for who does not fail to note the flanks and figures of slaves, their glances, and the turns of their heads, but, too, it was feared that, if they were about, openly, rather like tabuk amongst starving larls, the mercenaries might seize them and fight amongst themselves for their use. Such squabbles were not only deleterious to discipline, but might result in bloodshed, which might reduce the number of swords at the disposal of the holding. It was felt that each sword was needed; would not each sword, when the major onslaught came, if it would come, be important and precious? Given the honor and discipline of the Pani, and their sense of propriety, even privately owned slaves had been placed in the indoor housing area. For example, Lord Temmu himself had placed his own slaves amongst the others, as had other high officers. The high Pani did not exempt themselves from the hardship and suffering, the long Ahn, the shortness of rations, the denials of pleasures, which they imposed on the men. And I myself, long ago, thinking Cecily safer at the holding than she would be at the new encampment, which I feared might be discovered and attacked, as had been the first encampment, had turned her over to the slave keepers, housing her with the others.

I now well understood the reference to goods which had been exchanged for food, presumably limited supplies of such, which I had heard on the dais. For some reason, at the time, it had not occurred to me that the goods were slaves. Now that I thought about it, that inference would have been almost inevitable. Pani would seldom destroy valuable objects, and most such objects, then, would be available to the intruders once the holding was taken. On the other hand, under conditions of scarcity, amounting to the brink of starvation, slaves, certainly objects of value, might, as might others, say, the men of the garrison, perish and be lost. If one wished to preserve them, then it would seem plausible to turn them over to the enemy and hope to recapture them later. It would be the same with, say, kaiila. Too, of course, in removing the slaves from the holding, one would conserve resources, not having to feed them, and would also remove a possible object of distraction, even contention, from the holding. They could constitute no distraction then, nor would their use be the prize in any squabble, bloody or not, if they were not in the holding.

“When was this done?” I inquired of the Ashigaru.

“Days ago, Captain
san
,” said he.

“I was not informed,” I said.

“I am lowly,” he said.

“I am interested in two,” I said, “Cecily and Saru.”

“I do not know the names of animals, Captain
san
,” he said. “I count them, like verr.”

“They were sold,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“How many?” I said.

“All,” he said.

That I supposed would be something in the nature of one hundred and fifty slaves.

“For what were they sold?” I asked.

“Rice,” he said.

“Lord Yamada is generous,” I said.

“He is a great lord,” said the Ashigaru.

“Much rice?” I said.

“Most,” he said, “were exchanged for one
fukuro
of rice, some for two.”

“That is not much,” I said. The most common
fukuro
of rice, or bag or sack of rice, as I had seen it measured out in the holding, and at the encampments, would weigh less than a half stone.

“They are only slaves,” he said.

“All were exchanged?” I said. I still wondered about Cecily and Saru.

“All,” he said.

I wondered if this were true.

“I should have been informed,” I said.

“I am lowly,” said the Ashigaru.

I bowed, slightly, turned about, and proceeded to the quarters of Lord Nishida. Men removed themselves quickly from my path.

* * *

“Why was I not told?” I demanded.

“It was feared you might not approve,” said Lord Nishida.

“I do not,” I said.

“It is as we feared,” he said. “Would you care for tea?” Lady Sumomo, the younger of his two contract women, was nearby, and ready to pour. Her kimono was of yellow silk. Her glistening black hair was high on her head, and held in place with a long comb.

Tajima wished to buy her contract but, of course, lacked the means to do so. It is easier with slaves, as it is with other beasts. One does not expect to pay much for them. Most are priced reasonably. It is not difficult to pick out a nice one. One examines them, one bids on them, one owns them.

“No,” I said. “I am returning to the encampment.”

“The onslaught is imminent,” he said.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I do not, of course,” he said, “but it seems likely, given the outcome of this morning’s conference.”

“Were I Lord Yamada,” I said, “I would bide my time, letting hunger do my fighting.”

“Despite the asseverations of our friend, Tyrtaios,” he said, “Lord Yamada is not a patient man.”

“You know him?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“How is that?” I asked.

“The house of Yamada and that of Temmu have been enemies for years,” he said.

“I suspect,” I said, “General Yamada has confederates within the holding.”

“I fear so,” he said. “Tea?”

“I am returning to the encampment,” I said.

“Have you leave from Lord Temmu?” he inquired, softly.

“No,” I said.

“We expected much from the tarn cavalry,” he said.

“I am sorry,” I said.

“You are leaving?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Things grow dark,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Lord Okimoto believes you will abandon us.”

“He is mistaken,” I said.

“You will return?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Lord Yamada,” he said, “seems to be well apprised of conditions within the holding.”

“It seems so,” I said.

“How can this be?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“There are ways in which one might communicate with his pavilion,” he said.

“Doubtless,” I said.

“For example,” he said, “by tarn.”

“It is true,” I said. “That would be possible.”

“Lord Okimoto,” he said, “suspects you of treachery.”

“I am aware of that,” I said. “So, too, do others.”

“Such suspicions,” he said, “are unfounded.”

“I trust so,” I said. “What of Lord Okimoto?”

“He is a daimyo,” said Lord Nishida. “He is above suspicion.”

“Might not a daimyo, consulting likely eventuations, change banners?” I inquired.

“It is unthinkable,” said Lord Nishida. “First, one would apply the ritual knife.”

“I see,” I said.

“You are not sure of that?” asked Lord Nishida.

“No,” I said.

“You are not of our people,” said Lord Nishida. “Deceit, treason, treachery, and such are more to be expected amongst others.”

“Amongst hirelings, fighters for fee, mercenaries?” I said.

“Lamentably so,” said Lord Nishida, quietly.

“Such as Tyrtaios,” I said.

“Clearly,” he said.

“And others?” I said.

“Possibly,” he said.

“Such as Tarl Cabot,” I suggested.

“Your loyalty is beyond question,” he said.

“The slaves were bartered for rice,” I said.

“Even the slaves of the shogun,” said Lord Nishida.

“For rice!” I said.

“More valuable than gold at present,” he said.

“How long did it last?” I asked.

“Lots were cast into a helmet, and drawn,” he said. “Most had nothing. Some were slain.”

“Even so,” I said, “how long did it last?”

“Three days,” he said. “You are angry?”

“Would that the siege might be broken,” I said.

“There is no way to do so,” he said.

“Tarns,” I said.

“Too few,” he said.

It was difficult not to share this assessment.

“We should have sallied forth when we had strength, weeks ago, risking all on a desperate charge,” I said.

“Numbers cannot be ignored,” he said. “The urt gains little by casting himself into the jaws of the larl. In the midst of the Ashigaru of Lord Yamada we would have disappeared like water into sand.”

“It would have been honorable,” I said.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida, “but, one supposes, less than wise.”

“Now the men are weak,” I said. “I understand many cannot meet the muster.”

“I fear doom is upon us,” said Lord Nishida. “I fear, at last, we lie within the shadow of the iron dragon.”

“What is this business about an iron dragon?” I asked.

“A figure of speech,” he said. “Do not concern yourself.”

“But there is a legend involved?” I said.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida. “The dragon is a creature of legend, a mythological beast. When it awakens and spreads its wings, it signifies loss and defeat, the changing of things, the darkening of the sun, the coming of night, the downfall of dynasties, the end of great houses.”

I had heard of this sort of thing before. Too, I recalled that Tyrtaios, oddly, had referred to this presumably mythological beast.

“Surely none subscribe to such a superstition,” I said.

“Many do,” he said.

“Lord Okimoto?” I said.

“Possibly,” said Lord Nishida.

“Such thoughts are absurd,” I said.

“What lies within the hearts of men,” he said, “is seldom absurd.”

I rose to leave.

“Do not depart angrily,” he said.

“For rice!” I said.

“Better that than that they should languish and perish in the housing area,” he said.

“I see Sumomo is about,” I said.

The lovely contract woman lifted her head, quickly.

“She is not a slave,” said Lord Nishida. “Contract women are refined, trained, and precious.”

“Contracts can be bought and sold,” I said.

“Do not be angry, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said, angrily. “I should remove the cavalry.”

“I am sure they would follow you,” he said.

“None could stop us,” I said.

“None,” he said.

“Call the guards,” I said. “See that I do not leave the holding alive.”

“No,” he said. “I trust you. You are Tarl Cabot, tarnsman. You were selected with care.”

“Selected?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“By whom?” I asked.

“Surely you do not think it a mere happenstance that you once found yourself on a remote, unmarked beach some fifty pasangs north of the Alexandra.”

“By whom?” I asked.

“That is not known to me,” he said.

I shuddered, for I had been landed at such a place long ago, a cold, narrow beach, bleak and stony, deserted, distant from settlements, bordering the northern forests, landed from a slaver’s ship, one which had exited the locks of a steel world.

Were there wars behind wars, I wondered.

“You joined us,” said Lord Nishida.

“I was curious,” I said.

“Of your own free will,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Had you not joined us,” said Lord Nishida, “you would have been slain.”

“I see,” I said.

“You recall the wands, the perimeter, the guard larls, the fate of deserters,” said Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” I said.

“Secrecy was of the essence,” he said.

“An essence poorly secured,” I said. “The camp was discovered, and attacked. Forces were waiting at the mouth of the Alexandra to deny us the sea.”