Brett spoke at length, waited for a reply, and said, “He says he is honored to meet a great prince from the south. He says he knew you could not be from the city. He asks how you will catch him.”
“Say that we will come to his home in midwinter. We will burn his food and kill his beasts. But we do not wish to do this, for many of my strong men will die, and many of his brave warriors, and all for nothing.”
“That ought to impress him,” Brett said. He chattered to the plainsman.
This time there was a long pause, then a longer reply from the mari.
Brett listened carefully. “You’ve impressed him,” the singer said. “He’s afraid of that walking wall of yours. He can imagine your troops pounding along in the snow, and it bothers him. They don’t like to fight in the winter, and he doesn’t think you would like it much either. He wants to know why you would go to so much trouble.”
“Say I’m a madman,” MacKinnie said. “Or will that work?”
“It might. They’re familiar with fanatics.”
“Good. Then I’m a fanatic dedicated to saving the Temple.”
Brett spoke again, listened, and said “He’s about ready to believe anything about you. He asks you to speak again. That means he hasn’t any reply.”
“Tell him any way you want to,” MacKinnie answered, “but here are my terms. They can have two days to get out of here. They burn nothing else, but they may carry away whatever they can. At the end of that time, we’ll kill every one of them we find. And if they make any more hostile moves after today, we’ll follow him to the end of the continent and burn all his villages and kill all his livestock. Make sure he knows that’s not an idle threat.”
“He’s not responsible for all of the maris,” Brett said.
“Just his own clan. He can’t promise for the rest.”
“Is this the leader of the biggest group?”
“One of the largest clans, yes.”
“Then he’ll have to figure out how to drive the others out. He ought to be able to do it, but anyway that’s his problem, not mine. Tell him that.”
Brett looked pale for a moment. He seemed about to say something to MacKinnie, but Nathan’s look stopped him. He turned to the mari chief and spoke at length.
The sinewy chief answered, then another of the attendants shouted. Brett shouted back and their voices rose angrily before the chief spoke again more calmly. Finally Brett turned back to Nathan. “He’ll try. Some of the others have already left. He’ll get the rest to go along. They wanted more time, but I told them you really were a madman, that you’d taken an oath never to end the war if it didn’t end now. They’re still arguing about it, but it’s obvious they’re afraid of your army. I think they’ll go.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE HOLY RELICS
They entered the city in triumph. Although MacKinnie sent no word ahead, the wagons loaded with grain told enough; by the time the army reached the city gates, thousands had turned out to line the streets. Hundreds more spilled outside the gates and ran emotionally to greet the soldiers. The sound of their cheering was deafening.
It took nearly an hour to march up the winding streets to the Temple’s huge courtyard. MacKinnie sent a group ahead to keep the courtyard clear of civilians, and eventually brought the troops and commissary wagons inside. “There’ll be celebration enough tonight,” he told his officers. “For the moment let’s get the men fed and give them some rest.”
“We have won a great victory,” one of the knights protested. “Now we enjoy the rewards …”
“Certainly,” MacKinnie said. “The knights are excused. But we can’t totally disperse the army. The maris seem to be leaving, true enough, but we’ll need to be able to back up my threats if any of them change their minds. There’ll be plenty of revelry right here. I’ve sent for a whole warehouse of wine. One of you go invite all the Temple soldiers who had to stay behind. They were willing to go, and they ought to share in the fun.”
He dismissed the officers, but kept Stark back. “I need the headquarters company now,” MacKinnie said.
“Yes, sir. They’re ready. It’s all planned.”
“Good. Send them in. And send a runner for those Imperial churchmen.”
“Your reverence,” MacKinnie told Casteliano, “you are now in command of this Temple.”
The Archbishop was startled. “How is this?” he demanded.
“The only military forces left in this city are a couple of hundred archers, about that many swordsmen, the knights, and my army. Most of them — including the Temple swordsmen — are getting drunk out in the courtyard. The only comparatively sober troops are my headquarters company.”
“But — what does this mean?” Laraine asked.
“It means we own the place,” MacKinnie said. “Who’s to oppose us? The knights aren’t any match for the pikemen in a street fight, and the pikes will stay loyal to me for a while at least.”
“Surely you do not expect to make war on the Temple,” Laraine protested. “We have no wish to wade in blood to the high altar.”
“It shouldn’t come to that. We’ve sent a picked force to the key points. The Temple itself is already ours. Now we’ve got to tell their ruling council and that Pope of theirs who’s in charge.”
“Would your men really fight against the Temple?” Casteliano asked.
“Most of them would,” Stark said. “Remember who we recruited. They were mostly slaves, and peasants down on their luck. And they’ve won victories under the — the Trader. They’d fight for him.”
“We’d rather not,” MacKinnie said. “It’d be hard to control the looting, and there might be fires. Civil wars are never pretty—”
“No. They are not,” Casteliano said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And you have not yet informed the ruling council of the changed state of affairs? Good.” He turned to Laraine and Deluca. “Go quickly and get vestments. The best we have, and our most ornate trappings. Trader MacKinnie, will you lend us some of your men as attendants? And if you will have your most regal clothing brought to you that would help as well. I believe there is a way this can be done without bloodshed.”
“I hope so,” MacKinnie said. “Stark will see that you get what you need from us.”
“Excellent.” Casteliano went to the battlement and looked down at the courtyard. The guards at the gates had left their posts. Civilians, Temple swordsmen, archers, knights, commissary troops all danced in great circles, pausing only to scoop cups of wine from open barrels.
“Look there,” MacKinnie said quietly. He pointed to the wide battlemented walls above the courtyard. Grim-faced pikemen and shieldsmen stood in knots of five at all the crossings.
“I see.” Casteliano continued to stare down at the courtyard. “I also see that you brought back none of the Temple swordsmen, and not all of their archers. How did Father Sumbavu die?”
“He was killed with his men in an ambush,” MacKinnie said slowly.
“But you were not caught?”
“Sumbavu was bringing supplies back to the city. I went to his aid, but we were too late. We could avenge him, but we couldn’t save him.”
“I see. A thousand brave men, who served you well. A high price to pay for a city.”
“Damned high,” MacKinnie muttered. “God help me, there was no other way. You’ve seen those Temple fanatics. We’d have to kill every one of those soldiers before they’d let us inspect their holy relics.”
Casteliano turned from the wall. “The relics. What is your interest in those?” He inspected Nathan carefully. “Whatever your reason, you have done the Church a service, and we will not forget.”
“Thank you.”
“And now we must speak to their council. Your pardon, Trader, I must find a room where we can dress properly for the interview — and I would be most grateful if you would bring a dozen of your most loyal men.” He paused. “I doubt it will come to battle. Most of those on the council are practical men. As are we. Our demands will not be excessive, and we must be careful not to humiliate them. And of course the maris are not yet gone-”