His tone of voice suggested that participation wasn’t optional.
Outside, it was beginning to get dark. The rain had turned the bottom end of the yard into a swamp; the drainage ditch was blocked with cow-parsley again, and nobody had got around to clearing it out yet. Niessa, who only had the sandals she’d been wearing in the desert, could feel the mud between her toes.
‘How much longer do you think we’ll have to put up with this?’ It was Iseutz, whispering in her ear. ‘Does he really think we’re going to stay here and play let’s-pretend-nothing-happened for the rest of our lives?’
Niessa turned her head away. ‘I don’t care what he thinks,’ she said out loud, ‘or what you think, for that matter. This is obviously ridiculous. Now go away and leave me alone.’
Iseutz grinned. ‘You think you’ll be able to snap him out of it,’ she said. ‘Pull rank on him, as if you were both still on Scona. Well, I don’t think it’s going to work, he’s way too far gone for that. Still, look on the bright side; as I understand it he’s practically given this horrid country to the Empire; sooner or later they’ll round him up and put him out of his misery, and then we can get on with what we’re supposed to be doing.’
The pig house smelt bad. Nobody had got around to mucking it out for a week and the rain was pouring through a hole in the roof and flushing a stream of slurry under the door and out into the yard. Gorgas didn’t seem to mind the rain; his new silk shirt was probably ruined already, but he hadn’t noticed, or he didn’t care. He’s like a young kid, all excited at being allowed to help, Iseutz thought. Too bad. On balance, it would be fun to have Uncle Bardas here as well. He and Uncle Gorgas could bash each other to death, knee-deep in pigshit.
‘Come on, Zonaras, get me the rake,’ Gorgas was saying. ‘Niessa, you get the shovel.’ (Niessa stayed exactly where she was.) ‘Clefas, where’s the wheelbarrow? Oh, for crying out loud, don’t say you haven’t mended it yet, I thought I told you to do that last week. Doesn’t anybody else do any work around here, except me?
‘Family reunion,’ said Bardas Loredan, staying where he was. ‘I suppose I ought to say haven’t you grown, or something like that.’
Theudas Morosin stopped dead in the doorway of the tent. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me,’ he said.
Bardas closed his eyes and let his head loll back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just wish you hadn’t come here.’
Theudas stiffened. ‘Oh?’
‘If I said I hoped you were out of my life for good,’ Bardas went on, ‘you’d think I was being horrible. What you probably wouldn’t understand is, I hoped it for your sake.’ He opened his eyes and stood up, but didn’t approach the boy. ‘I’m really pleased that you’re safe and well,’ he went on, ‘you’ve got to believe me when I say that; but you shouldn’t be here, not getting mixed up in this war. You should have stayed on the Island, you’ve got a future there.’
Theudas was about to say something, but changed his mind. He looks different, he thought. I was expecting he’d look different, probably older, thinner, I don’t know, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks younger. ‘I want to be here,’ he replied instead. ‘I want to see you defeat Temrai, pay him back for what he did. I know you can do it, and I want to be here when you do. Is there anything terrible in that?’
Bardas smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but don’t let it worry you. You’re here now, we’re together again; I suppose you might as well make yourself useful.’
Theudas grinned with relief; it was the tone of voice when he said make yourself useful, just like the old times. He should have known there wouldn’t have been any show of emotion, no hugs or tears; he wouldn’t have wanted that anyhow. What he really wanted was for things to pick up where they’d left off, that day when the Shastel soldiers broke into their house and everything changed. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Bardas yawned; now he did look tired. ‘Let’s see what Athli’s taught you about keeping books,’ he said. ‘If you’ve been paying attention, you could come in quite handy. And nobody could ever make sense of paperwork like Athli. How is she, by the way?’
There was something in the way he’d said that – he hasn’t heard yet. Why? Why haven’t they told him? ‘She was fine,’ Theudas said cautiously, ‘the last time I saw her.’
‘That’s good. And what about Alexius? How’s he doing? Have you seen him lately?’
This time Theudas didn’t know what to say. He really didn’t want to be the one to tell him – not if he also had to break the news about what had happened on the Island. But he’d have to do it sooner or later, and he didn’t want to have to lie… ‘Alexius,’ he repeated. ‘You haven’t heard.’
Bardas looked up sharply. ‘Haven’t heard what? He’s not ill or anything, is he?’
‘He’s dead,’ Theudas said.
Bardas sat very still. ‘Both of them,’ he said.
‘What?’
Bardas shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘sorry. I just heard yesterday, another friend of mine’s died, a man I used to work with at the proof house. When did he die?’
Theudas’ mouth was dry. ‘Quite some time ago,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry, I thought you must have known.’
‘It’s all right,’ Bardas said (it’s customary to die first after all, even if there are exceptions). ‘He was an old man, these things happen. It’s just – well, odd. I’d have thought I’d have known, if you see what I mean.’
‘You were quite close at one time, weren’t you?’ Theudas said, knowing as he said it that he couldn’t have put it much worse if he’d really tried.
‘Yes,’ Bardas replied. ‘But I haven’t seen him for years. If you remember exactly when he died, I’d be interested. Now then, let’s find something for you to do; or do you want to have a rest? I suppose you’ve been travelling all day.’
‘That’s all right,’ Theudas said. ‘Did you say you wanted me to do the accounts or something? I suppose there’s a lot of paperwork and stuff, running an army.’
Bardas smiled. ‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Or at least, there is with this army; somehow we never seemed to bother with it when I was with Maxen’s crowd. These people, though, they need dockets and requisitions and reports and gods know what else, or nothing gets done.’
Theudas sat down behind the small, rickety folding desk, the top of which was covered with bits of paper and wax tablets. He hadn’t served any formal apprenticeship or term of articles while he’d been on the Island, but he knew enough about clerkship to recognise a pig’s ear when he saw one. ‘I can make a start on reconciling your sun-and-moon ledger if you like,’ he said. ‘Have you got any counters?’
‘In the wooden box,’ Bardas replied. ‘What’s a sun-and-moon ledger?’
Theudas smiled. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s what they call standard double-entry format where I come from – I mean, on the Island.’ The smile was still there on his face, like the visor of a bascinet, a false steel face. ‘You know, receipts and expenditures. We draw a little sun on the left-hand side and a little moon on the right.’
‘Ah. Well, yes, by all means. That’d be a great help.’
Theudas opened the box; it was cedarwood, sweet-smelling, pale with a faint green tinge. Inside was a little velvet bag, drawn tight at the neck with silk braid. He loosened the knot and shook out a handful of the most exquisite counters he’d ever seen – butter-yellow gold, Imperial fine, with allegorical figures in high relief on both the obverse and reverse. Neither the figures nor the legends in the exergues meant anything to him, of course; these were Imperial make, illustrating scenes from the literature of the Sons of Heaven and inscribed in their script.
‘They belonged to a man called Estar,’ Bardas said. ‘I inherited them, along with this army. You can keep them if you like; I hate doing exchequer work.’
‘Thank you,’ Theudas said. In the box with the counters was a small piece of chalk, which he used to draw his lines – full lines for full tens, broken lines for the intermediate fives. ‘But are you sure? They look as if they’re pretty valuable.’