In Search of Spice, page 27
“We are Harrhein,” Sara answered, her head high. “Over the years we fought with our neighbours. With two, different people, we reached agreement and leave each other’s countries alone. The young men fight when they wish, but the countries do not.” The Ratu grunted in approval.
“Two other countries we fought with and they became part of us, now we are one. Suzanne is from one country, Pat from another. Now they are part of us and only think of themselves as Harrheinian.” Suzanne wasn’t sure of that, she felt the cultured part of her hailed from Galicia, but stayed silent as the Ratu’s hand closed on her thigh, preventing interruption.
Sara indicated the Spakka by looking at them. “Those warriors are from a neighbour with whom we fight, always at war. They do not wish peace, and live by a strict code of honour. These ones I took in war and now I am their leader, their Ratu.”
The Ratu stopped her with a hand and called to the nearest Spakka, Esbech, who stared blankly at him. The Ratu gestured and Esbech lumbered forward, accepting the proffered bread fruit with dark suspicion.
“This one says she beat you in battle and is now your leader. How did this happen?”
Esbech blinked at him while he bit into the breadfruit and grimaced in distaste. He was slowly learning Harrhein, but was damned if he was going to speak this bloody language.
“He does not speak Belada, and his Harrhein is not very good,” said Suzanne. “I can translate his Harrhein for you, but you are better getting Sara to translate his Spakka. She speaks his language.”
The Ratu watched Sara speak in Spakka, Esbech’s brief reply which Sara translated to him, repeating the story Esbech recounted. The Spakka warriors were not literate, and consequently were skilled story tellers. Esbech told the story, and the other Spakka warriors came up alongside, now and then interjecting a correction. Esbech’s hands moved with his words, his axe grasped by the hilt and swung at remembered Harrheinians. The Ratu watched in rapt fascination, as indeed did the Harrheinians, hearing the story from the other point of view.
“We had the ship, but they did not know it,” translated Sara. “We were ready, about to unleash the rage, the valour, and overwhelm them.”
“What is the rage?” asked the Ratu, and Esbech hesitated, seeing all the questioning looks. He looked at his comrades, who appeared troubled but Stiphleek the Bard nodded to him.
“When the God takes us,” explained Esbech. “We drink the fiery Milk of Fryssa, the God takes us and nothing can stop us.”
“It is a fury they experience,” Sara clarified. “Once in this state you must kill them to stop them, or take off a leg.”
“What is this milk?”
“Fryssa is the War Goddess,” cut in Stiphleek, casting his eyes down with her name. “I am her acolyte and I make the milk from grain. Fryssa blesses me and the Milk comes alive to allow the God into us.”
Silence greeted this revelation, Corporal Little’s eyes lit up and he slipped off his stool to join Stiphleek. Esbech ploughed on with his story.
“The fury took Havic first, he leapt up too early, struck the shields and died. Erin followed him and a few others who could not restrain themselves. Then the singing started. We heard the Princess, for whom we had come. Thorvald leapt to see if he could see her and we all saw her kill him. Thorvald was the Noble Hilario’s shield bearer, and the Noble saw his death and went too early, before the rage could take us. The Princess struck him back into the dragon ship, pierced through the lungs and we were dying as we rushed too few at a time. We faced our death when the Princess called to us, fearless as she came alone aboard the dragon ship. We stayed our axes. She blessed the Noble Hilario and gave us honour.”
Esbech fell silent and would speak no more, ignoring the Ratu’s questions and turning away, followed by the rest of the Spakka. The Ratu’s voice rose, demanding to know what he meant by blessed.
“She ran her sword through his shitty head,” said Corporal Little, grinning as he stole a mango and followed after Stiphleek. There were no swear words in Belada, so Little created his own.
“She gave the Noble an honourable death,” interjected Suzanne, with a glare at Little. “As is their custom, a great honour to receive from the enemy.”
The Ratu turned to Sara, still and lost in her memory.
“So, Princess, you fight wars.” Sara inclined her head.
“In wars you need warriors. Always you want more.” She nodded again.
“You give me axes, I give you warriors. Best warriors in all the world.” He pointed at Mactravis with a bit of breadfruit. “This man train them. I come too. We conquer everywhere.” He beamed enthusiastically and patted her knee. “You not need to put sword through my head.”
In the afternoon, Captain Larroche, Master Taufik and Mage Walters came over to continue the negotiations, as Sara was no longer allowed to take part. Instead the Ratu took both girls off to discuss various plans, with an arm around each of them.
Sara packed off Pat with a couple of local guides and Grey Fox to locate ore bodies, while Hinatea took some of her girls and spears to protect them.
They inspected the wounded, and the Ratu watched in fascination as Perryn set the broken shoulder. He loved Little’s insistence on pissing on fresh wounds and thought this likely to be highly effective against the malignant spirits that brought infection. On the grounds royal urine would be the most effective, he insisted on producing an impressive member and giving extra irrigation to his own wounded warriors, who meekly submitted. Suzanne was darkly suspicious as to the real reason behind this, though she did admit to herself she was impressed.
They settled down in the shade of coconut trees, each with a fresh young coconut to drink from, Suzanne tucked up close to the Ratu with Sara and Mactravis opposite, discussing warfare. This fascinated the Ratu, who required minute detail of previous campaigns, descriptions of the enemy tactics and weapons with the action portrayed in the sand.
In the mid-afternoon, the Ratu declared there would be a feast the following night, apologising the lack of time to arrange it that night because the pigs took all day to cook. Suzanne asked what the ship could contribute, which meant a boat had to be sent for the cook and some bottles for the Ratu to sample.
A variety of women came over and the Ratu gave them instructions. The ship’s cook arrived, and began a long discussion with the women, with the assistance of the Ratu’s translation as the women did not speak Belada. At the same time, Sara offered him various bottles to sample. Brandy was interesting - the first mouthful sprayed everywhere amid a fit of coughing. Sara was concerned, but Suzanne simply poured him another glass and waited. The Ratu recovered and reached for the glass, which Suzanne hung onto, and only permitted him a sip. She told him it needed to be sipped and the aroma inhaled. She demonstrated and the Ratu was hooked, requiring a glass to accompany him for the rest of the day. He loved the glasses and Sara earned a lengthy hug by presenting him with a crystal balloon brandy snifter together with a bottle.
Tomorrow’s feast having been organised, the Ratu felt peckish and insisted the girls joined him for supper.
Sitting at the back of the jolly boat while six sailors rowed them, the last, back to the ship, Sara said to Suzanne, “Oh, I thought we would never escape. Why, oh why did you give him so much brandy? He was so drunk, he passed out.”
“Next lesson in handling men, love,” replied Suzanne, sounding tired. “When drinking, first they are happy, then they think they are funny when they aren’t, then randy, then they get aggressive, then sad, then they go to sleep. It is best to leave when they are funny, or you are in trouble. Otherwise, you need to get them pissed and passed out fast, or they’ll fight over you or worse. The brandy made it easy; they don’t know how to handle it.”
“Dirty old goat kept feeling my bottom,” complained Sara, “after you got him drunk.”
“You should be so lucky,” answered Suzanne. “My right tit feels like it’s gone through a mangle. I wonder if he’s bruised it.” And she proceeded to take it out and examine it in the moonlight.
“Suzanne,” cried a scandalised Sara. “What are you doing? In front of everybody? Put it away!”
“Huh?” Suzanne said vaguely, looking at the crew and seeing four men goggling at her and two girls looking annoyed and upset. She realised two of the men were the girls’ partners. “Oh, sorry, was worried he’d bruised it.” She gestured towards it, and slipped it back inside her dress.
“Are you drunk?” Sara asked, curious. “This isn’t like you.”
“No, not at all,” frowned Suzanne. “I was careful not to drink much brandy. Drank quite a bit of that bloody kava muck though.”
They came to the ship, tied up and climbed aboard. A frightful noise came from a group of soldiers on the far side. The girls went over to find out what was happening, and found Little vomiting and retching over the side.
“What’s wrong with him?” Suzanne asked, pushing through the soldiers and inspecting Little with a critical eye. “Is he drunk?”
“Nah,” said Husk with a grin. “He reckoned kava was alcohol. He drank a couple o’ gallons of it and still isn’t pissed. Tryin’ to get rid of it now.” He cuffed Little round the head and spoke to him. “Hey mate, if it’s slowing down, shove yer finger up yer arse then dahn yer throat, that’ll fix it. Get rid of that girl spit, that’s the way.”
“Ah fuck off Husky,” gasped Little, “it’s even worse coming up than going down. Feel better though.”
Husk looked up at Suzanne and started to speak, saw Sara behind her and coloured. He stood straighter and stammered, “Sorry ma’am, didn’t see you there.”
“No harm done, Husk. Carry on.” Sara answered with a smile and turned away. She started to head off to her cabin when she heard Suzanne, who had lost interest in Little, marching towards the fo’c’sle rather than the poop, muttering to herself, something about Pat. She followed her and was surprised to see her stop by a stored jolly boat, rap on it and pull back the canvas cover.
“Pat,” she ordered, “come out, I need you tonight.” She stopped dead, and moved back as a spear slipped out of the jolly boat and pointed at her.
“Pat is off duty,” hissed Hinatea viciously, causing Suzanne to back up further. “He’s exhausted from looking for rocks all day while you drink kava.” She spat this last without emerging from the boat.
Sara grabbed her arm and pulled a spluttering Suzanne away. “She can’t talk to me that way! I’m the bloody captain!”
“You’re not acting like one! That was disgraceful behaviour and she was well within her rights.” Sara did wonder how Suzanne knew where they would be, impressed at the clever little love nest put together out of sight. Her heart ached, but she was over Pat, she told herself. She saw Suzanne to her room, and, after a moment’s thought, called on Janis to set a guard on the door with instructions to keep the Captain in her room till the morning. As an afterthought, she told him to use Boersma who certainly wouldn’t be tempted by Suzanne. Thinking about it, she deduced the magic was making a comeback in Suzanne, maybe caused by the Ratu’s close attention.
Sara was on watch with the sun well up when Suzanne appeared on the poop deck. She looked at the captain curiously. She knew Boersma had repelled a couple of attempts to leave during the night and was more than a little grumpy at the indignities Suzanne had tried to perform on him. “How are you feeling today? You were a bit worse for wear last night, as if the magic had come back.”
“Well, I feel fine this morning,” said Suzanne with a frown. “But I wasn’t myself last night. Thank you for looking after me.” She smiled and Sara sighed her relief at getting a sensible Suzanne back.
“Have you eaten, Captain? Shall I call the officers for a meeting?”
“Yes please. Give me five minutes to get a hot tea.”
It took a bit longer, as they needed to involve Captain Larroche and Brian as much as possible, and it took longer to roust them out. After running through the daily duties, the Bosun went to get Pat for his report. He came up the ladder with Hinatea in tow. Sara felt a little worried and wondered if Suzanne remembered her performance the night before. Clearly she did, for she coloured.
“Hinatea, I am sorry for last night. I wasn’t myself.” She prepared to go on, but Hinatea’s ferocious expression changed into sunny happiness.
“It’s fine. I understand. You must be careful with these men. Bad men, eat people, much fighting. No drink kava with them.” She shook her head and folded her legs underneath her as she took her place next to Pat. The dwarf master appeared and sat beside Pat.
“What did you find, Pat?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of different ores on the island,” he answered and proceeded to lay out samples on a cloth in front of him. Rocks of various different colours and shapes which the dwarf bent and inspected minutely, grunting as he did so. Sara couldn’t tell if the grunts were words.
“Look like rocks to me,” said Suzanne distastefully. “How do you know they are ores?”
“Bit of colour, but the weight is the main thing. I don’t know if they are any good, the master will know.”
The dwarf discarded a couple but retained four samples. “This one very good,” he banged one in front of Pat. “You remember where you found it? Was there lots, easy to get?”
“Yup. It’s a big slab sticking out of the ground. Just need to break bits off.”
“We’ll test it, see what it’s like. Any clay?”
Pat proffered more samples.
The dwarf was less impressed with these. “Are these the best you could find? Well, I expect I can make do. I will need lots of people to work with me.”
“If you can make axes out of these rocks, the Ratu will provide as many as you want,” said Sara.
“Axes, no problem. Fine work, good swords, maybe more difficult. Don’t know yet. I’ll go get ready.” He scrambled to his feet and slid down the ladder, rather than stretch for the steps.
Captain Larroche stirred and everyone looked at him, Suzanne and Sara with their pulses racing at this sign of life. “What have they got to trade?”
Sara slipped into role. “Copra, sir. I think it is a different, ah, type to that from Pahipi. I wouldn’t say quality, but perhaps the curing process is different. There is plenty of land here, and the locals are good farmers, but I don’t recognise most of the crops. Not sure what could be transported home. Perhaps dried fish?” She shook her head doubtfully. “Of course there is trepang.”
“They make oil from copra. Make the oil and put it in barrels. Take that instead.” The captain sat back.
“It’s difficult.” Taufik said mournfully. “I know they press it and heat it, that’s all. Easy to make a mistake. Copra is easier. You have to watch for mould or it can all end up rotten and worthless. Otherwise copra is easy to transport and sell. Not a lot of money, but some. Better to learn how to make the oil in Hind and to take the copra to Harrhein to make the oil there. Oil doesn’t travel well.”
“Would you and Brian like to take a watch, perhaps together?” Suzanne asked hopefully.
“Yes,” said the Captain slowly, with an enquiring glance at Brian who nodded. “I think that would be a good idea. Must get back into the swing of it.”
“Sara, ship’s business is taken care of. Do you want to discuss anything with regard to trade?” Suzanne looked at her.
“A few things. It seems to me these people don’t understand money, and will exchange service for service, or barter goods.” Sara looked at Hinatea, who nodded at her. “I have some ideas as to what we should offer them, and I want your thoughts, please.” She looked at them. “I am not talking about goods for barter, but more serious trade. The Ratu will offer me warriors, and wants me to train them. He wants axemen and shields.” She looked round the meeting, to see interested faces, with Mactravis nodding but Hinatea looking alarmed. “There is metal on this island, so we can teach them metal work, which we will need if we are going to arm them. There are many different trees, and I think the carpenter can teach them something about building larger ships. I am sure there are many other ways we can improve their lives.”
“Don’t be too sure it would be an improvement,” murmured Suzanne. “Remember how Pahipi didn’t want most of what we can offer.”
“Hinatea, you look worried,” said Sara with a nod to Suzanne. “What is the matter?”
“You must be careful with these people. Very fierce. Just because he laugh and hold your bum doesn’t mean he is safe. You give him axe, and ship, he go straight to Pahipi and kill my people, rape the girls.”
Mactravis nodded. “It’s a good point. You can’t just give him weapons; he could turn them on us, kill us all and steal the Queen Rose. You’ll need hostages or something to emphasize it isn’t worth his while to break faith.”
“Faith?” Walters said, breaking out of a reverie. “I shall convert them all, bring them safely to God, then they will become a host, the Glorious Army of the Lord, bringing His light to the world.” He lapsed back into silence and contemplated his feet.
The Bosun, uncaring of politeness, groaned loudly. “No sign of the Bishop recovering then. Why did he have to get bloody religion all of a sudden? Want me to confine him to ship while we’re in port?”
“No, leave him. He’s not doing any harm,” said Suzanne, “but keep an eye on him. Hello, what’s this?” She looked down to the main deck where a young Kai Viti climbed aboard. “Sara, it’s the Ratu’s son. Maciu, isn’t it?”
Maciu spoke to Little, who pointed up at the poop and Maciu climbed up, delighted with the ladder. He smiled at Sara as he went up to Suzanne, ducked his head and knelt in front of where she sat, cross legged on the deck.
“Lady,” he spoke in Belada, “the Great Ratu asks for your help. Demons entered his head in the night and struggle to get out. He shouts in pain and his belly is sour. He asks for more brandy to quieten the demons.”
Suzanne’s mouth quirked, but she managed to maintain a straight face. “I am desolate to hear the Great Ratu suffers so. I fear the brandy would feed the demons. I suggest he drinks lots of water, which will help to wash them out of his head. It would be unwise to drink more brandy before the demons depart. Please tell him I shall come to see him as soon as I can.”
