"Still," Eric said, "not enough."
"Sir, you're a head of state!"
"Yes, Peter, I am. The head of a minor state, coming to make great demands on Middle Kingdom for cooperation in war. I think going modestly will better serve the purpose. – Margaret, only four or five presentable men come with us. Men only, the Kingdom doesn't approve of women soldiers."
"Margaret's a woman soldier," Howell said – and was elbowed again.
"Margaret," Sam said, "will be an exception, and a useful lesson to them."
"You don't want us going up with the army?" Jaime said.
"Stupid question," Elvin muttered through his bandanna.
"No, Jaime. You two don't go up. If this ends badly, take the people into the Sierra and find a wiser Captain-General." Sam took his sword from the weapons rack, and walked out. They heard him say, "Louis," then murmured talk to the mastiff about behavior.
"'Into the Sierra.'" Howell made a face. "I can see myself, an old man eating goat hooves and setting ambushes."
"He will not come back," Jaime said.
"Shut your mouth." Elvin, looking tired, sat with his eyes closed.
"Perhaps he'll come back," the little librarian said, "but not the same. A Captain-General is one thing. A future king, is another."
Neckless Peter, carrying a lamp, was skirting frozen puddles to the tent lines when Eric Lauder caught up with him. They walked side by side though gusts of bitter wind, so Lauder had to lean close, raise his voice a little.
"Your opinion, Librarian?"
"If one thing goes wrong, all goes wrong."
"Yes – but if all goes right?"
"Ah… Then, it seems to me, Toghrul will be destroyed, and Middle Kingdom will have our Captain-General for husband to their princess – and likely, heir to their throne."
"Then to be our king, as well."
"Yes."
"And should the Khan be destroyed – regrets?"
"I will have regrets. He was a wonderful boy. And his mind… you know the Empire's fine-cut gems?"
"Yes."
"So, Toghrul's mind."
Peter slipped a little on ice, and Lauder took his arm. "But this fine mind seems interested only in war, conquests."
"Of course, to battle boredom – the cancer of all conquerors."
"Not our reluctant Sam." They'd come to Peter's tent.
"No. His sickness is sadness at what must be done."
"Well…" Eric patted the frosted shoulder of Peter's cloak. "Well, welcome to us, Wisdom."
Peter called after as Lauder walked away. "And am I now trusted?"
Eric turned and smiled. "By all but me," he said, and went into the dark.
CHAPTER 13
Sam, his farewells said in camp at Better-Weather – farewells only by-the-way in the hustle and hurry of the army's business – rode along the frozen path to meet Margaret and the others, come from south stables. They and the baggage waiting on the road leading to Saltillo, then Montemorelos… and finally the port of Carboneras on the Gulf Entire.
Howell already gone to La Babia to join the First Division of Cavalry, then move north. Ned gone, too – west to gather what spavins were left, gather Charmian and the Light Infantry as well – allowing any surviving squadrons of Kipchaks there free rein to plunder and burn vacant farms and fields.
Phil Butler, circumferenced by little dogs – was that a correct use of the Warm-time word, 'circumference'? Phil would be muttering in his tent, peering over copy-maps many centuries old, showing ways to go to many places nowhere now. His captains would be scratching at the tent-flap to ask questions, only to be told he'd answer when he damn well pleased, and meanwhile, get out!
The brothers still the irascible center of it all; the gathering army's every problem coming to them. And almost every problem solved…
Sam was tired – sleepy, really. Last evening, he'd gone down for a hot-water bath in the laundry at the fort, and found Ned there, submerged in the deep stone tank, all but his bandaged stump. He'd held that up out of the steaming water… They hadn't spoken of war or the campaign at all. Hadn't even mentioned it, splashing, scrubbing with lye soap. They'd spoken of old sheep stealings, recalled boyhood friends. Remembered, laughing, Catania coming up one morning to north pasture, where they'd folded two fine stolen rams – Catania walking up the mountain with a slender peeled pine branch in her hand. When she'd seen them, higher, poised to run away, she'd called, "Stand still."
And they had. She'd walked up the slope to them, loosed their belts as they stood, then yanked their sheepskin trousers down. And as they still stood, not moving, not avoiding, she'd whipped them until their legs and asses were striped, and bleeding here and there.
"Steal," Catania'd said, tossing the pine branch aside, "steal – and pay the thieving bill." Then she'd said, "In these times, those who are men find better things to do."
That night, sore and stiff-legged, they'd taken the rams back down the mountain to Macleary's place – and the next day, went west to serve under Gary Jeunesse, fighting the Empire's soldiers.
Sam and Ned had recalled and laughed… claimed scars still from the whipping. Ned's mother had been long dead then, and it had seemed to Sam at the time that while he might have run after the first few blows, Ned never would, so hungry for a mother's attention, even though punishment.
They'd laughed, splashed, and not spoken of the war at all.
Sam – for some reason never at ease in fortress chambers – had dried, dressed, went out the postern gate, and trudged over frozen mud to his tent, finding Margaret there amid possibles, garments, and a large cedar chest.
"What's this?"
"A clothes chest."
"We'll leave it. Duffels will do."
"Sir – Sam, you're going to a kingdom, a queen's court! They'll expect you to look like a Captain-General. It will hurt us if you look otherwise."
"No."
"Why? We have gold and silver, jewels and jeweled weapons. We're not savages."
"Why? Because, Margaret, they will have more gold, more silver, more and finer jewelry, furs, and velvets. If we try to meet them on that field, we will seem savages."
"Alright… Alright. What do you want me to pack? Just tell me and I'll do it."
"Don't be angry."
"Sam, I'm not angry. What do you want me to pack? I don't give a damn how I look before those ladies."
"We pack as if for campaigning. New woolens, warm and clean. Good cloaks, ponchos. Best-quality leathers and good boots. Plain fine-steel weapons, plain fine-steel armor – showing signs of use."
"Going too far the other way…"
"Yes, it would be, so I'll take one set of rich cloak-and-clothes for ceremony, and each of us will also wear a ring from the treasury – one of the imperials' we took at God-Help-Us. Gold, with a considerable stone."
"So, at least something."
"And a matching bracelet for you."
Margaret gave Sam a wife-look. "And that's to bribe me to silence about appearing in Middle Kingdom looking like a file of lost troopers?"
"That's right. Margaret, it's our army standing behind us that they'll see. We dress to remind them of that army."
"Well, I'm not going to argue with you. I'm tired of arguing." She dropped the chest's lid closed with a thump.
"Good. Finish packing, then go to Charles' people and wrestle that treasury jewelry from their grip. They'll want a signed receipt."
"They'll want several receipts."
Margaret gone unsatisfied, Sam had lain on his cot, holding a vodka flask for company – and found, oddly, that even holding it helped.
He'd tried to sleep, but only planned dispositions in Map-Arkansas. On the border, really, between North Map-Arkansas and Map-Missouri. He'd seen, as he lay there, how quickly the Khan was certain to act when he realized what they'd done. Toghrul wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't consider – he'd turn back from Kingdom's river and attack. There would be no delay.