To Thu-Kimnibol’s surprise, his heart did not resist the act of clasping Salaman to him, nor was there any insincerity in it. So it must be true, then: whatever grievance he had had against Salaman, or had thought he had, had burned away with time. The slights Salaman had visited upon him, or had seemed to visit upon him, when he was a young man, no longer mattered.
“We have our finest hostelry ready for you,” said Salaman. “And after you’re settled, a feast, eh? And then we’ll talk. Not the official business, not so soon. Just a talk, between two who once were good friends. Eh, Thu-Kimnibol?”
Fair enough, and friendly enough, thought Thu-Kimnibol. He let them take him to his rooms. Esperasagiot went off to find stables for the xlendis, and Dumanka to see about housing for the ambassadorial entourage, and Simthala Honginda to meet with officials of the city and discuss the local rules of diplomatic courtesy.
It was only much later, in the huge dark stone-walled ceremonial hall of the palace, after the feasting and after too much wine, and after Thu-Kimnibol had presented the gifts he had brought with him for Salaman from Taniane, the fine white cloths and green-tinged porcelains, and the expensively bound volume of chronicles that Hresh had assembled, and also personal gifts of his own to the king, casks of wine from his own vineyards, pelts of rare animals from the far southlands, preserved fruits, and more — it was only then that tensions finally began to surface between Thu-Kimnibol and Salaman.
Perhaps it was the language problem, which had bothered him from the first, that caused him finally to flare up. Salaman, who spoke the pure Koshmar speech, seemed genuinely annoyed by the Beng words and intonations Thu-Kimnibol habitually used. Thu-Kimnibol hadn’t realized how much the language of the People had changed in Dawinno since the union with the Bengs, how filled with Beng it had become. Salaman had never liked Bengs, ever since the golden-furred helmet-wearers had declined his invitation to settle in Yissou after being crowded out of Vengiboneeza by the hjjks, and had gone off to Hresh’s new Dawinno instead. And apparently the grudge had never left him, if the mere sound of Beng phrases in Thu-Kimnibol’s speech could so offend him.
Still, Thu-Kimnibol was taken by surprise, after an evening of drinking and entertainment, when Salaman suddenly said in a blunt way, as they lay comfortably sprawled side by side on ornate divans, “By the Five, I admire your gall! That you should come boldly dancing back to Yissou after the things you said to me the night you left.”
Thu-Kimnibol stiffened. “They still rankle in you, do they? After all these years?”
“You said you’d throw me from the top of the wall. Eh? Eh? Have you forgotten that, Thu-Kimnibol? By the Five, I haven’t! What do you think I made of your words, eh? Did I take them as pleasantries, do you think? Ah, no. No. The wall was much lower, then, but I took them to be a threat against my life. Which was correct, I think.”
“I would never have done it.”
“You could never have done it. Chham and Athimin were watching you the whole time. If you had laid a finger on me they’d have chopped you in pieces.”
Thu-Kimnibol took a long drink of his wine: the sweet strong wine of the district, which he hadn’t tasted in years. Over the top of the cup he glanced at the king. No one else was in the room but some of the evening’s dancers, exhausted, who sprawled like discarded pillows along the far wall. Were Salaman’s odious sons lurking behind the curtains, ready now to burst in and avenge the ancient slight he had given their father? Or would the dancers themselves suddenly come to life, with knives and strangling-cloths?
No. Salaman is simply playing games with him, he decided.
“You threatened me also,” he said. “You told me I’d be stripped of all rank and perquisites, and sent to scrub slops in the marketplace.”
“It was said in anger. If I’d had more of my brains about me, I’d have put a man of your size and strength to work on the wall, not in the market.”
The king’s eyes gleamed. He seemed immensely pleased by his own wit.
Best to ignore the insult. Thu-Kimnibol said only, “Why do you reawaken all this now, Salaman?”
Salaman smiled and stroked his chin. Long white tufts of hair sprouted from it now, giving him an oddly benign and almost comic appearance, probably not his intention. “We haven’t spoken in — what, twenty years? Twenty-five? Shouldn’t we at least try to clear the air between us?”
“Is that what you’re doing? Clearing the air?”
“Of course. Do you think we can simply ignore what happened? Pretend it never took place?” Salaman refilled his wine glass, and Thu-Kimnibol’s. He leaned across and stared at close range. In a low voice he asked, “Did you really want to be king in my place?”
“Never. I wanted only the honors due me as Harruel’s son.”
“They told me you meant to overthrow me.”
“Who did?”
“What does that matter? They’re all dead now. Ah, it was Bruikkos. Do you remember him? And Konya.”
“Yes,” Thu-Kimnibol said. “They came to resent me, when I was grown, because I had higher rank than they did. But what did they expect? They were only warriors. I was a king’s son.”
“And Minbain,” Salaman said.
Thu-Kimnibol blinked. “My mother ?”
“Ah, yes. She came to me, and said, ‘Thu-Kimnibol is restless, Thu-Kimnibol is hungry for power.’ She was afraid that you’d do something foolish and I would have to put you to death, which of course she would have regretted greatly. She said to me, ‘Speak with him, Salaman, ease him, give him at least the pretense of what he wants, so that he’ll do no harm to himself.’”
And the king smiled.
Thu-Kimnibol wondered how much of this was true, and how much simply some dark and devious amusement. Of course, Minbain might well have worried that her son would fatally overreach himself, and had taken steps to avert trouble. But that wouldn’t have been much like her. She’d have spoken to me first, Thu-Kimnibol thought. Well, no way to ask her about it now.
“I’d never have tried to displace you, Salaman. Believe me. I took an oath to you: why would I break it? And I knew that I was too young and hotheaded to be a king, and you were too powerfully entrenched.”
“I believe you.”
“If you had given me the titles and honors I wanted, there’d never have been trouble between us. I tell you that truly, Salaman.”
“Yes,” the king said, in a suddenly altered voice, all anger and harshness gone from it. “It was a mistake, my treating you the way I did.”
Instantly Thu-Kimnibol was on his guard.
“Are you serious?”
“I am always serious, Thu-Kimnibol.”
“So you are. But do kings ever admit their mistakes?”
“This one sometimes does. Not often, but sometimes, yes. This is one such time.” Salaman rose, stretched, laughed. “What I wanted was to goad you, to push you to your limit, to drive you out of Yissou. I thought you were too big for this city, too strong a rival, bound to grow even stronger as the years went on. That was my mistake. I should have cultivated you, honored you, disarmed you. And then put your strength to good use here. I saw that later, but it was too late. Well, you’re welcome here again, cousin.” Then an odd expression, half jovial, half suspicious, came into the king’s eyes. “You haven’t come here to seize my throne after all, have you?”
Thu-Kimnibol gave him a chilly look. But he managed a chuckle and a pale grin.
Salaman thrust out his hand. “Dear old friend. I should never have driven you off. I rejoice in your return, however brief it is.” He yawned. “Shall we get some rest, now?”