Alexius smiled. ‘A bit of a headache, that’s about all.’
‘I see. A headache headache, or an industrial injury?’
‘A genuine headache, I think,’ Alexius replied. ‘So what happened? With Anaut Mogre and the army?’
Bardas shrugged. ‘It all seemed remarkably quiet and tame when we left,’ he said. ‘If all goes well, there won’t be any trouble.’
Alexius nodded. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘You saved a lot of lives, handling it the way you did.’
‘Did I?’ Bardas shook his head. ‘Well then, good for me. To tell you the truth, I didn’t particularly care what happened. It made better sense not to have another battle.’
Alexius reached out, put his hand on Bardas’ wrist. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what happened between you and Gorgas? You did something that made him cut and run.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Bardas said.
‘Please yourself. In any event, it ended the war, so whatever it was it was worth it.’
Bardas laughed. ‘I suppose I did, yes,’ he said. ‘I guess you could call that coming to good through evil. But it was the last thing on my mind at the time, so it doesn’t really count.’
Alexius looked at him, but there was nothing to see in his face. ‘Have you thought what you’re going to do next?’ he said.
Bardas shook his head. ‘Something that has nothing to do with carpentry,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve suddenly become allergic to the smell of glue.’
A man and a child, in flight from the fall of their city-
The big bald man grinned at the thought; city after city, a pattern emerging. He could elaborate; city gates opened by a brother – he’d heard the news from Scona when they made landfall at Boul. Bardas had done well.
‘Niessa.’
The little girl in his lap opened her eyes and looked up at him.
‘What’s the matter?’ she said. ‘I’m sleepy.’
‘Niessa, Mummy won’t be joining us. She’s staying at home.’
‘Oh.’ Niessa looked thoughtful. ‘Why?’
Gorgas sucked at his lower lip. ‘Mummy and Daddy don’t want to live with each other any more. So you’re going to come and live with me on the farm. It’ll be great fun; there’s cows and sheep and horses and all sorts of animals.’
‘Oh.’ Niessa considered the matter for a moment. ‘If we’re going to live on the farm, can I have a rabbit in a cage?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Gorgas said. ‘Your Aunt Niessa had a rabbit when she was a little girl. In fact, the hutch is probably still around the place somewhere.’
The girl nodded. ‘And then we’ll go home and see Mummy again, won’t we?’ she said.
‘We’ll see,’ Gorgas replied. ‘Go back to sleep now.’
When she was fast asleep, Gorgas tucked her into the bed and went up on deck. ’How much longer?’ he asked the helmsman.
‘At this rate, a couple of hours and we’ll see Tornoys Point,’ he replied.
Gorgas nodded. ‘That’s good,’ he said, and looked back over the stern of the ship at the two sails following close behind. ‘Where’s the master-at-arms?’
The helmsman pointed, and Gorgas hopped down onto the main deck. There were details to be sorted out – always details to be sorted out, whether the army is fifty or four hundred – and one neglected detail can destroy an army as easily as a shower of arrows.
‘It ought to be child’s play,’ he told the master-at-arms. ‘After all, they’ve got no standing army, no government, most of them haven’t even got weapons, and there’s no towns or even villages, so there’s nowhere for them to gang up on us or hide.’
The master grinned. ‘A bunch of peasants stand up to the man who wiped out the Shastel army? Don’t see it myself.’
Gorgas accepted the compliment with a polite nod. It was touching, the faith these men had shown in him, their loyalty; enough for them to leave their homes and families and follow him. Now, the army was their family, and his too.
‘Nor me,’ Gorgas said. ‘Which is why I reckon a hundred and fifty men’s going to be more than enough. Just so long as we take it steady, don’t antagonise them unnecessarily, they should just give up and cave in. It’s a national characteristic, really.’
‘You should know,’ the master replied. ‘Funny sort of a place to want to invade, though.’
Gorgas smiled at him. ‘Don’t think of it as an invasion,’ he said. ‘That’s got all the wrong connotations.’ He turned his head and looked out to sea, in the direction of Tornoys Point, gateway to the Mesoge. ‘I prefer to think of it as the home-coming of the local boy who’s finally made good.’