There was a scratching on her bedroom door, and Tibro’s soft voice. Fiona called her in. “Campas is here, Ambassador,” Tibro reported. “He has a message from the Abessu-Denorru.”
Fiona shook the woolly morning thoughts out of her head and blinked. “Very well,” she said. “Show him into the study. Offer him tea or wine if he wants it. I’ll be with him directly.”
Tibro bobbed and backed from the room. Fiona changed from her sleeping-caftan to one of her receiving gowns — in her own apartments she’d given up wearing her privy-coat — and combed her hair into some kind of order, then stepped out of her bedroom, down a passage, and into her private study door. Campas, dressed in a tunic of dark red with the Acragas insigne, the god Pastas, on the shoulder, rose to greet her. She waved him back to his chair and found a chair herself.
“The Abessu-Denorru regrets he will be unable to visit you today,” Campas said. “He’ll be busy all day reviewing the army.”
“I thank the Abessu-Denorru for his courtesy,” Fiona said, wondering if this was the entire message.
“He has authorized me to tell you,” Campas added, “that war with Neda-Calacas will be declared officially tomorrow, which will be followed shortly thereafter by declarations from all the cities of the Elva. The fleet will sail immediately to commence a blockade, and the army will march as soon as logistical preparations are concluded, probably in a few days.”
Fiona nodded. “I thank the Abeissu Necias for the information,” she said.
Campas leaned forward, lowering his voice to a more intimate tone, his ringed fingers linked in front of him. “Because of the policy complications bound to arise with all the allied armies in the field,” he said, “the Abessu-Denorru will be accompanying the army himself, along with Marshal Palastinas and the drandor Tegestu. He would count it a favor, Ambassador Fiona, if you would accompany him.”
Fiona felt her chin jerk upward in surprise, and she deliberately paused for a second, composing her answer.
“I am surprised,” she said. “Why should the Abessu-Denorru feel my presence would be of value? I can give no military advice, you know.”
Before Campas could answer came a scratching at the door, followed by Tibro’s entering with tea and cakes. She bobbed to both of them, poured tea in silence, and then backed from the room, leaving the door open.
There was a reason for that open door, Fiona knew, and it annoyed her. Passion was so constrained in this society that it was assumed that if an unattached man and woman were alone for more than a few seconds, nature would take its course. That the couple might deny that anything transpired counted for little: they were alone, yes? He is a man; she is a woman — what could be more natural? The door was open, not so that Tibro could spy on them, but rather so that she could act as a discreet chaperone. Because of her own cultural antecedents the assumptions behind that open door drove Fiona to fist-clenching fury; and she was irrationally tempted to closet herself with all manner of men simply to outrage as many conventions as she could. Let them gossip all they want, she thought. What does it matter to me?
But, of course, it did matter: she was here on sufferance and could not afford to outrage local opinion, not yet — and so the door stayed open. And through the door came the sounds of Tibro’s reed flute, allowing discreet conversation.
“The Abessu-Denorru wishes me to accompany the army,” Fiona said. “Why?”
Campas’ answer was quick. “Your peoples — the Igaralla, I mean — they have sent an ambassador to Neda-Calacas, yes?”
“That’s true,” Fiona said.
“The Igaralla are neutral in this war, you have made that clear,” Campas said. “There’s no other power on the continent that can make that claim. And you can communicate with your people in that, that star-ship of yours; the city walls are no barrier. It may be useful to have a neutral representative on hand — we may have to conduct negotiations regarding prisoner exchange, for example, or — eventually — for surrender. We will win, you know,” Campas said, matter-of-fact. “It may take a year or two, but Neda-Calacas can’t hold out against all of us.”
Fiona was silent for a long moment, taken completely aback. The proposal, of course, was completely logical; she could see nothing wrong with offering the kind of assistance requested here, and there might be some interesting data coming out of the campaign — on the Brodaini, for example — but on the other hand wars had a way of involving people in unforeseen ways. She decided to temporize.
“I regret I can’t give an immediate answer,” she said. “I’ll have to communicate with my superiors.” Which, to be sure, was truthful enough.
“There will be a delay of several days before the army marches,” Campas said. “Will that time be sufficient?”
“I should think so.”
Campas leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him, crossing them. He looked at her with a careless smile. “You are satisfied with your conditions here?” she asked. “No problems with the staff?”
Welclass="underline" the official part of the visit seemed to be over. Fiona relaxed as well, picking up her teacup. “No complaints. The embassy will have to acquire its own building sooner or later, of course,” she said. “But I’m being treated very well, thank you.”
“An embassy of one is unusual, here,” Campas said.
“It serves two purposes,” Fiona said. “A single ambassador, traveling on her own, was thought to be less threatening — we didn’t want to alarm you, not with a lot of people swooping down from the sky. Also, since we had a limited number of people on our ship, and we intend to be here for a very long time, there’s a problem with personnel. We have to plan far ahead, especially since we intend to have an embassy in every major country, if we can.” She sipped her tea, shifting in her seat. “But I will have an assistant in a year or so, I expect. With the Abessu-Denorru’s permission.”
“You didn’t want to alarm us, you say, with a large embassy,” Campas said. “Is that why your people sent a woman?”
Bull’s eye, Fiona thought with surprise. Campas was quick, quicker than she’d thought.
“That — idea had occurred to us,” she said. “But not all of our ambassadors are women. It was more a matter of interest and aptitude among the candidates.” This conversation was beginning to get too close to matters she preferred the Arrandalla not to know, at present; she moved swiftly to change the topic.
“Will you be going with the army, Campas?” she asked.
Campas accepted the change of topic without comment. “Alas, yes,” he said with a wry grin. “I’ll be with Necias in the field. They’re putting me on staff, to help deal with the Brodaini.”
“The Brodaini, now — you’ve lived among them, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Campas said noncommittally. “Necias wanted me to learn their language. A curious people.”
“A violent people,” Fiona said. “How do you advise an outsider, someone like myself, to deal with the Brodaini?”
Campas grinned. “Learn to apologize quickly and sincerely,” he said.
Fiona smiled and spoke in Gostu. “Ban-demmin, may your arm never weaken, I intended no offense,” she said, and Campas laughed — it was a genuine laugh, filling the small room, a hearty, healthy reminder that the Arrandalla laughed loudly and often, as did her own people. A needed reminder: they were all careful around her, a little in awe, their speech formal and very... diplomatic. She joined his laughter, achingly aware of how long it had been since she had laughed with someone.
Tibro’s flute hesitated, then continued its song.
“Bro-demmin would be better,” Campas said, still smiling as he settled in his chair. “More subservient.”