Rick bowed in return, then bowed even deeper to Ganton as the boy came in.
"Majesty," Rick said. "I trust you have enjoyed the celebrations."
"We have," Ganton said. He looked around at the minor nobility and others who had come into the hall.
The boy's all right, Rick thought. Got a pretty level head. And he listens to Tylara. Then there's the rest of these. Half of 'em want to make me a god, and the other half want to put a knife in my ribs. "Majesty, I would ask a favor," Rick said. "The use of your hall to receive these starmen."
"This is your house," Ganton said ritually. "I wear no crowns while you and your lady are here. I would ask that you allow me the pleasure of watching you receive your friends."
"Certainly, sire. And my thanks."
One end of the room was dominated by a throne on a high dais. Below that was a lower dais with less elaborate chairs. Yanulf, chief priest of Yatar Day father, was already there. So was Sigrim, high priest of Vothan One-eye, Chooser of the Slain. They did not rise when Rick came to the dais. As he took his seat on the lower platform there was a stir at the door. Tylara had arrived.
She looks pale, Rick thought. She's still so damn beautiful it almost hurts to look at her, though. Her raven black hair shone as always, and her eyes were startlingly blue. There wasn't much to show that she'd been through a difficult labor, forty hours in the House of Yatar. Rick shuddered at the memory. If he'd lost her- He couldn't follow that thought. "Sweetheart," he said in English. Then more formally for the court, "My lady. Will you join me?"
"Thank you." Her voice was like ice, and there was winter in her smile as she sat beside Rick.
Christ. I didn't send for her, Rick thought. I should have, but I just forgot. But-"I am pleased that you were able to join us. When you did not come I worried." And that ought to make her wonder. "Chamberlain, summon our guests if you please."
"You sent for me?" Tylara demanded.
"Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval and Lafe Reznick do Bathis, Star Lords and Merchant Traders of the Sun Lands," the chamberlain announced.
"Ah," Rick said to himself as Murphy came in. I remember him now. Belfast Irishman. Made a bundle playing poker until most of the others wouldn't play with him. Nobody thought he was cheating. Just good. Good man with the light machine gun, too.
He couldn't recall very much about Reznick, except that he always teamed with Murphy.
Murphy and Reznick came to the dais, followed by two women and four men, obviously armed servants. The men carried something heavy and bulky wrapped in silk and cloth of gold. They reached the dais and looked at Rick in mild confusion. Then Murphy stamped to attention and saluted.
Automatically Rick returned the salute. Then he laughed. "You're supposed to bow or kneel or something," he said in English. He heard a strangled grunt from Tylara as she suppressed a laugh. "Welcome to my house." Rick changed to the local dialect and raised his voice. "It is good that we meet again. Your other friends among the starmen will welcome you also."
"Yeah, well, I'm happy to be signing up with you again, Captain," Murphy said. "And I've brought you something-"
"Yes. I'm damned glad to get the recoilless back. That is the one-oh-six, isn't it?"
"Sure is." Murphy turned and gestured. His companions unwrapped the tube. Another took the cover off the tripod stand, and clapped the barrel onto it.
"You've trained them to use it?" Rick asked.
"Not really, sir," Reznick said. "But they have seen us use the thing."
"Yes. We'll continue this in private," Rick said.
"Meanwhile, there's a ceremony. We'll coach you." He motioned to Murphy to kneel, and said in the local language, "We will accept you to our service. Do you offer me service, of your free will, according to the customs and uses of this land?"
"We do," Murphy and Reznick said in unison.
"Then your enemies shall be my enemies, and who wrongs you wrongs me," Rick said. He held out his hands. "Place your hands between mine. There. Now repeat after the chamberlain…"
"Thank Ghu that's over," Rick said.
"Who is Ghu?" Tylara asked seriously.
"Uh-a local deity back on Earth. Probably no jurisdiction here." He watched Murphy and Reznick leave the audience hall, and felt an overpowering urge to go with them. Fat chance, he thought. Now that the fireworks are over we have to go show Isobel off to every goddam bheroman and knight in the joint, and get the king's blessing and-"You needn't smirk about it," Rick said.
"Your desire is obvious," Tylara said. "It will do you no harm to be patient. Tonight you must be with me."
"Yeah." It was important. Tonight's ceremonies were supposed to be fun, but they would also mark his formal acknowledgment of Isobel's paternity. Until he did that, she was officially no more than a little bastard.
And Isobel was the most beautiful little thing he'd ever seen, and he certainly wanted everyone to know she was his-which still seemed like a miracle-but Lord, Lord, those lords were dull…
2
"What now?" Reznick asked.
"The first thing I want is a drink," Ben Murphy said. They were led through corridors, then up stairs, then down a flight. "And I think I'm lost. Ho, guide there, where are our companions?"
"Your ladies have been shown to their chambers. You are wanted in the Orderly Room." The trooper who led them obviously spoke no English; but they had no difficulty recognizing the last two words.
Reznick laughed. "Just like the real army." They followed their guides until eventually they were led to a stone doorway guarded by two kilted archers. Murphy nudged his companion. "More of those MP's. Okay, let's go in…"
"Hats off in the orderly room," a voice said in English.
"Bat puckey," Murphy muttered, but he took off his hat. He stared at the heavily bearded man who'd spoken. The man stared back, grim-faced. "Who-Warner? Larry Warner?"
"Sure is." Warner grinned broadly. "Here to welcome the geeks bearing gifts. How are you, Ben? Lafe? You're looking good. New beards and everything."
"Warner, for God's sake, we thought the locals took you off to sell you."
"They did. Sold me to Lord Rick."
"You look pretty rich," Reznick said. "For a slave."
"I'm no slave," Warner said. "Fact is, I've got the softest duty there is. Here, have a drink." He poured generous dollops into silver cups. "Go on, drink up."
"Yeah." Murphy drank. "Holy Mother, Larry, what is that stuff?"
"Potent, eh? You bet your arse it's potent. That's McCleve's work. Can you imagine him doing without a still?"
"No. What's the old lush doing now?"
"He's Professor of Medicine at the University of Tran."
"The which at what?"
"Professor of Medicine. At the University. Of Tran."
"Tran's the name of the whole goddam planet," Reznick protested.
"Right on," Warner said. "And now it's got a university. Come Murphy, surely you've been hearin' of the University?"
"Oh, crap," Reznick said.
"Yeah," Murphy agreed. "One of the best things about staying down south was not having to listen to your crazy accents-Hey, what are you doing?" Warner had gone to the door and was gesturing to the guards outside.
"Sending for the MP's," Warner said. "You man, get the Corporal of the Guard."
"What for, because we didn't like your stupid accent?"
"No, you'll see, it's nothing to worry about. A detail somebody forgot to attend to. Anyway, about the University. About half teaching and half research. McCleve teaches the acolytes of Yatar about sanitation and cleanliness. I teach math. Campbell does engineering. Even the Captain takes a stint at teaching. But mostly we've got teams of students and acolytes doing research. Soap. Substitutes for penicillin. Grinding microscope lenses. Figuring out how to make nitric acid. All kinds of stuff. And history, too."