“Not from an ambassador.”
He nodded, conceding the point. There was a small silence as each waited for the other to fill it; then Fiona spoke.
“Do you know Tegestu? I’ve only seen him once, the night of my last performance.” Campas frowned, his fingers plucking at his doublet as he considered his answer.
“I’m acquainted with Tegestu,” he said. “I’ve met him many times. But I can’t say I know him, no. Yet I know he’s a very remarkable man.”
“Remarkable? In what way?” Fiona asked. Her recorder had been turned on and was quietly collecting every word. Data, to be transcribed later: The Brodaini, as described by an Arrandalla Observer.
“He’s very intelligent, very quick,” Campas said. “And he’s made the compromises necessary to live here, and made them understandable to his followers in their own terms — that’s his great achievement, I think,”
“Compromises?” It was easy enough to prod most people into talking about themselves, about their ideas: so it was with Campas.
“Their society is very rigid, you see,” Campas said. “It doesn’t take easily to compromises — Brodaini consider tradition and honor more important than life, and in one sense it would have been easier for Tegestu’s people to hold their ground and be killed by the conqueror, rather than alter their way of life to take service with us. But Tegestu saw a chance to survive, and to do it with a minimum of change, and that change slowly.
“It took him time, you see. Years. He had to hold off the Clattern i Clatterni for the first of those years, while he made his deal with Necias; and then he had to make his deal with the conqueror. He would evacuate his country over a period of ten years, taking as many of his dependents as wished to go, and in the end the conqueror would have the territory without having to fight for it — with its castles intact, its fields unscorched by war. The treaty was very complex — I’ve seen it — but it was eventually hammered out, and both sides abided by it. Tegestu evacuated his people; the Abessu-Denorru found land for his peasants and wars for his warriors; and that created a demand among the other cities for other Brodaini.
“Tegestu was cunning in all this negotiation,” Campas said; then he smiled. “Subtlety isn’t supposed to be a Brodaini trait; but I think it’s that they have different ways of being subtle. Tegestu would make a good deissu, crafty as he is.”
“Do you like him?” Fiona asked. She found herself genuinely curious: Campas, she thought, was a likable man. A good observer, she thought — had he been born on Igara he could have had her job, had he wanted it.
Campas thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t. I admire him, but the Brodaini are not for liking. There’s something strange about them, so fierce and so — alien.” He looked as if he were repressing a shudder. He looked up at her, speaking candidly. “Even to someone who has lived among them, like myself, they’re unpredictable. We don’t know what sets them off. And now Tastis has gone mad and seized an entire city.” He leaned back in his chair, frowning in thought. “But that will be an end to him. The change will come too fast.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Campas looked up at her quickly. “Don’t you?” he asked softly. His lips twitched in a little, cynical smile, his eyes holding steadily on hers. “It’s obvious,” he said. “Tegestu was given the Old City here, walled off for his people; and he settled his peasants in little communities of their own guarded by Brodaini soldiers. It was to lower the incidence of contact, obviously, to minimize the shocking contrast between one people and another. But the contacts were there, unavoidable, and all Tegestu’s care wouldn’t keep them from happening, and once that happened his way of life was doomed. They’re brave, but they don’t fit in here; their way of life is too different, and our numbers are overwhelming. Whether he realized it or not — and I think he did realize it; he’s a canny man — he was trying to keep the changes from happening so quickly that his people would be overwhelmed by them, perceive them as threats, and react violently, as Tastis has done. So that the changes would come slowly, and so that some of his way of life might be preserved — changed but not destroyed, as it will be destroyed with Tastis.”
Campas leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea, his blue eyes watching Fiona intently. “You’ve been asking me a lot of questions, Ambassador,” he said. “Most people in your situation wouldn’t bother to inquire after the opinions of a mere messenger. I wonder at your interest.’’
“Your question isn’t very diplomatic,” Fiona said.
“Neither were yours,” Campas said, his face hard. “You’re studying us, and for that reason you’re interested in what we think; but you’ve drawn your own conclusions well ahead of time. I don’t think you like us very much, but you try to be polite. I recognize what you’re doing, you see.” His lips twitched in a bitter smile. “I lived among the Brodaini and studied them, and I didn’t like them, either.” He put down his tea, then looked up, his gaze frank, and frankly hostile. “Your people are after something, and I’m not sure what it is. Not conquest — I believe you there — but it’s not trade, either. You’re not as disinterested as all that.” He stood, looking down at Fiona with an odd mixture of puzzlement and stubbornness on his face, as if he were still trying to sort out his impressions, his conclusions. “I haven’t forgotten what you said to the Abessu-Denorru, when he asked you what you wanted in return for your suggestion about the sail. We ask nothing from you, you said; I noticed the emphasis even if Necias didn’t. But you do want something in the end, if not from Necias. And I wonder what that is.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Ambassador. I’ll remove myself.” He gave an exaggerated bow. “Your servant,” he said, and walked toward the door.
“Sit down,” said Fiona, and when he only hesitated she repeated herself, with emphasis. “Sit. Down.” Campas stopped, then turned and faced her, an expression of anger on his face — but then he shrugged again, smiled his cynical smile, and in the end obeyed.
Fiona looked down at her hands grasping the arms of her chair; their knuckles were white. Deliberately she relaxed her grip, relaxing as well the jaw muscles that had clenched her teeth together.
Campas looked at her expectantly.
“That was a remarkable performance, Campas,” she said. “You’re quite an actor, aren’t you? And now I’m compelled, like you, to wonder why. What offends you, Campas? My private judgments? Why should you care at all what I think?”
“Your thoughts are of no concern,” he said. “Your attitudes are. Do you think you can fool us so easily? Necias may be satisfied for the moment, but once he has a little time to think he’ll begin to try to reason out what you’re doing here, and he’ll begin to wonder the same things I’ve been wondering.”
“So you simply think me dishonest?” Fiona asked, frankly disbelieving. “You consider that we Igaralla have concealed motives of our own, and for that reason you choose to despise me?” She barked a short, contemptuous laugh. “Give me something better, Campas,” she chided. “Someone demanding candor should be candid himself.”
Campas sat silent for long seconds, his eyes burning into her. “Brito thinks you’re a witch,” he said. “They haven’t executed witches here for a hundred years, but I think she’d see you chopped up in the public square if she could. You frighten her.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Fiona said. “But you’re not arguing for the revival of the laws against witchcraft, I take it?”