In Search of Spice, page 50
The monkeys at the back were ranged through the trees at all heights, standing up and watching. Silently, Pat ran up behind one low down on a branch and flipped his sack over it. The monkey turned its head as he arrived and started to fall off the branch to avoid him, but Hinatea was there, caught it and boosted it into the sack. Quickly they turned and ran back to the boat while the monkey squeaked in the sack and the small ones set up a shrill ululation behind them.
They quickly stripped the camouflage off the boat and pushed off into the water. With no sign of the others, Pat used the oars to row along the beach. Maru came out of the trees, closely followed by Rat. Both dived into the sea and swam to the boat. Maru was laughing uncontrollably. Wiwik appeared, blood pouring down his head, threw his sack towards the boat and dived after it. Hinatea neatly caught the sack, placed it beside the other and helped the men aboard.
Wiwik was swearing. One of the big males had jumped on his shoulders, slammed its upper jaw down on the top of his head so the canines went deep into his skull and jumped away before he could do anything.
The big monkeys appeared on the beach and were jumping up and down shrieking as the kai Viti raised the sail and Pat took the tiller. Mot was sniffing the sacks, her tail wagging. Hinatea picked up the smaller bag and cradled it on her lap, making a cooing noise. The sack quivered and she undid the top, carefully rolling down the sides, exposing a terrified face. She cooed at it, and it chattered quietly at her. Slowly its chittering stopped and the monkey peered at her from big eyes.
The jolly boat was hauled up and Pat took his men up to report to the Captain. By this time the little monkey was out of its bag and clinging to Hinatea for protection, screaming at anyone who came near, which of course half the crew did. Wiwik pulled the larger specimen from his sack and held it high for everyone to see. Blood was all over his head, though dried by now. The monkey sorted that by twisting impossibly inside its skin and sinking its teeth into his wrist. Wiwik cursed, dropped it, and it shot up the rigging, followed by half the crew and the Bosun’s bellow as it shat on a sail.
Various sailors took one look at the monkey before demanding their winnings from Little who tried to avoid paying up. He claimed they might still be homunculi, on the basis that nobody had ever seen one.
Captain Larroche wasn’t best impressed by the live monkeys but was pleased the crew were placated. He was more interested in Suzanne, Bai Ju and Mimi, who were returning to the boat from meeting with Ravi Sohal. They climbed up the side of the boat and came towards him, casting curious glances at the monkeys.
“Captain, we have a troop of horse sent by the Rajah to escort us to Sonda. There are a dozen horses for us to ride.”
“Horses? Damn bloody things, hurt like hell. I am not going. Sara, your show. Who are you taking?”
“Thank you sir. I will take riders, which basically means Harrheinians. I’ll take Captain Mactravis and his troop, plus Pat. I suppose you can ride?” She asked Bai Ju.
“Of course. I think you will find these saddles are different to what you are used to. They are different for me, but I can manage.”
“Different in what way?”
“Much smaller than ours. Ours are like chairs and fighting saddles hold the warrior on the horse, even if he is injured. They are big and lots of straps to keep you in one place.”
“Our heavy horse use similar saddles, essential for a cavalry charge,” responded Sara.
“Only if you can’t ride,” interjected Pat with enthusiasm. “A small light saddle lets you become one with a horse. You need to feel the horse properly and have it respond to you without thinking.”
Sara considered him thoughtfully. Of course, he was a plainsman and lived in the saddle. “Do you think the soldiers will have a problem with small saddles?”
“Grey Fox won’t. Elves are good horsemen - they taught me to ride.”
“We’ll manage,” said Mactravis dryly. “We practice bareback, although some of us were heavy horse. You will laugh when you see Little on a horse. He looks like a sack of dung but somehow he is always there and has no problem. As usual, ignores all the manuals on the proper conduct.”
“Fine,” said Sara forcefully and cutting off the conversation. “Mimi, can you ride and how far is to Sonda?”
“Yes, no problem with small saddles either. Started off on side saddle, after which everything is easy! It’s about twenty miles, should take us the morning. I like horses,” Mimi volunteered with a smile, reflecting she had had more excitement in a week working for these Harrheinians than in her entire life.
As they came out of the jungle, the city of Sonda rose out of the fields in front of them, about two miles away, looking like a something out of faerie land. A beautiful white wall sparkled in front of them, while gleaming slender spires rose out of rounded roofs. Farmers rested on their tools and stopped their buffalos in the fields, watching them ride past.
Sara flicked her eyes over them, while still listening with half an ear to Suzanne flirting with the escort’s Captain. She had elicited a surprising amount of information from him, most of it fascinating. Sara found she was well informed on the political situation and the worry in Sonda as to whether they could withstand invasion. The Rajah’s special Kushtu guards were mighty warriors, but not enough of them, the mercenaries being hard to tempt this far south.
Sara caught Pat’s eye. “How well do they keep the fields?”
He gave her a scathing look. “I’m a herder, not a bloody farmer. I can’t give you an expert opinion, but they look OK. Crops look healthy, whatever they are, not much weed growth, plenty of variation.”
“They are good,” Bai Ju spoke past him to her. “Plenty of farmers for such an area, the crops are heavy as well. I know most of them. These wet ones are rice.” She indicated a series of small fields with water in them, tiered so the water cascaded from one field to another. “They will get at least two crops a year, and it is the staple food of the poor.”
Mactravis studied the paddy fields thoughtfully. “I tell you what, Princess, these rice plantations are a highly effective guard on the city.”
A labourer, up to his knees in mud, wrestled a plough behind a buffalo. “You would never get cavalry through there,” she nodded in agreement. “No wonder they use cows to plough.”
“It’s a buffalo,” said Bai Ju absently, her eyes on the city. “The wall is not high, but it would be hard to get siege equipment up, and with all this water it would be impossible to, how you call it, dig tunnels under and collapse wall?”
“Sap,” replied Mactravis. “We call it sapping. You’re right. You have to put wood in the tunnels to support them, and set fire to the wood. You could never tunnel there or get the fires to start. It would be tough, storming the walls with ladders and ropes.”
“These people have an old culture,” said Bai Ju in her best guru voice. “They fight a different way. The armies draw up outside, and the best warriors fight each other, later the armies fight. If the army outside wins, the people let them in.”
“Saves on re-building the wall,” remarked Sara. “Well, well, we have a reception committee. All those stops on the way up the coast have clearly paved the way. Hope they didn’t hear about Kalikut.”
Trumpets were sounding from the city as they drew closer, the gates opened wide and half a dozen elephants came out, gorgeously trapped in cloth of gold, with the boxes on top, called howdahs, full of young women who were throwing something out.
The elephants split into two columns and through the middle of them came a troop of cavalry, which also split and formed an outward-facing crescent. As they came closer, the girls threw more flowers, and down the path came a splendid figure on a white horse, moving sedately. Something on his head appeared huge, and sparkled in the sunshine.
The horse came a stop a few paces in front of the crescent, revealing a small rider watching them intently. As they came closer, she realised he was young, and when their eyes met he dug his heels into the horse which bounded forward. She was close enough to see the consternation of the faces of the cavalry, and guessed this wasn’t planned.
The rider wasn’t just young, he was a boy, and he was laughing out loud as he rode up, shouting in his own language. Sara couldn’t help but smile. He stopped in front of her horse, smiling hugely.
“Welcome to my Vijaya,” he said in Belada, “I am so happy you have come! And you are young too! Like me! Isn’t it boring talking to these old people who rule other places?”
Sara laughed in delight. “Indeed it is! You are a breath of fresh air! I am Princess Asmara, but you are welcome to call me Sara!
“Thank you Sara! You are very pretty! You must call me Rama. Please come to my palace, you must stay here and talk to me.” His eyes sparked. “I want to hear all about how you escaped from the Eralppad..”
An older man arrived on horseback looking horrified. He gabbled quickly at Rama who snapped at him, then spoke in Belada. “Our guests do not speak Konkani, we will speak Belada always in their presence. Do you understand me, Haniph?”
The old man slumped and muttered assent.
Rama turned triumphantly to Sara. “I know you want a trade post. You have spoken to all these greedy people to the south. Now you come to me, and we do not even have a proper harbour! I am very happy, especially because you are so beautiful! I will build a harbour for you and we will help you with all your trade, everything you want I will give you!”
The old man was horrified.
Sara smiled warmly. She was always disarmed when told she was beautiful, knowing she wasn’t. She leaned forward and touched Rama gently on the arm. “Thank you. I know I have found what I am looking for. We will stay here, and one of the first things I shall do is teach you all about trade and how to negotiate properly! We shall make both Harrhein and Sunda very rich indeed”
Sara sat cross-legged on a cushion in the position Takeo called the lotus after a flower for some unspecified reason. Her rooms were huge, cool and airy with marble floors and walls. Ornate, intricately carved statues were everywhere, each depicting a local god in some act of divinity. She found it hard to meditate, as she missed Maciu. Unable to ride, he followed on with the marching Spakka, Kai Viti and Pahippians. Hinatea commanded them, confident in her ability to control these hulking brutes. Not misplaced, for the Spakka lived in mortal terror of her, knowing full well she had despatched several of their comrades. Esbech and Boersma still discussed revenge, out of earshot of Stiphleek who would report such indiscretions to Janis.
Glass beads hung in the doorway, and they chimed gently as Suzanne breezed into the room, followed by Mimi. She sat on a cushion opposite Sara, nodding Mimi to another beside her and waited for Sara to come back. Sara opened her eyes, blinked a few times and smiled.
“I’m having difficulty in finding peace, for some reason,” she said.
“Probably that wretched statue,” said Suzanne, glaring at a large one by the bed.
Sara had not actually realised what the couple were doing and now she turned crimson. It hadn’t occurred to her people could do that.
“Mimi, get them to remove it, please,” said Sara, desperately trying to remember who had been into her room and would have seen the revolting thing. Beside the bed too. “Everything OK, Suzanne?”
“I wanted to talk to you about sleeping arrangements,” Suzanne began. “Mimi is explaining to me the customs and morals of these people, which are a little different to Harrhein.”
“I am sure we will need to keep a close rein on the Pahippians,” said Sara.
“Hinatea will,” said Suzanne. “It is you I am worried about. I have already spoken to Pat and Ju. They have separate rooms sorted.”
“What are you talking about? Me? Why, what could I - wait! You can’t mean Maciu! He’s my consort, damn it.”
“No he isn’t, he’s an island prince with no court manners who you intend to make your consort back in Harrhein because you are revelling in what he does to you in bed,” said Suzanne with such brutal honesty that Sara was lost for words. Suzanne carried on, transfixing Sara with a knowing eye.
“Darling, I know he’s lots of fun and you are having a wonderful time with him, but I promise you two things. First the Vijayans look down on all the islanders as barbarians - they are racist enough to their own people, let alone foreigners. At the moment they respect you and Harrhein, you look the part and act correctly. In their eyes Crown Princesses do not go around sleeping with anyone, let alone barbarian islanders. If you sleep with him we lose the trading outpost and treaty.”
Sara pushed her chin forward in obstinate mode, her lips a thin line.
“The second thing I promise you is if you deny yourself his body for a while, abstain completely, then when he gets the opportunity to ravish you again, he will be a veritable stallion and you won’t stop screaming all night.” She smiled as Sara digested this, deflating in the process.
“You bitch,” she whispered. “You know how much I love him. I need him beside me at night, he gives me strength.”
“You will manage. I am sure you can arrange trips to visit waterfalls and beaches with only him as guard. And we can put him as a night guard on your room. The important thing is the locals don’t find out.”
Sara followed the drop of sweat which trickled down from the tight curls at the back of Maciu’s head. It slid down his rich brown skin, disappearing into his shirt collar and she wished she could rub it away, aching to kiss the nape of his neck, her heart beating hot and heavy through her veins.
They were shopping, without Sung Bai Ju this time, Sara with Suzanne and Mimi, Rerata and Maciu as token protection in this safe and lovely city. Maciu was bored as he led them into a square lined with stalls. The constant press of people unnerved him with their constant chatter and filthy clothing. His eyes flicked over the different stalls, wondering which ones would appeal to the girls this time. Rerata found herself distracted by a stall selling jewellery made from sea-shells, remarkably similar to ones she made herself and became enchanted with some carved nautilus shell.
Suzanne spotted some silks she wanted to try and drifted towards them with a slight smile having seen Sara mooning at Maciu’s back. Sara wondered if she could see the play of muscle through the shirt, or whether she imagined it. She saw sweat stain the back of his shirt and smiled. The smile turned to puzzlement as he bent forward slightly and his back pushed out against the shirt, staining more of it with sweat. He staggered and fell to one side, revealing a gap-toothed, olive-skinned man in boiled leather armour grinning at her. He held a wicked short sword, Maciu’s heart blood dripping from the point.
Sara gaped, a low moan of horror escaping from her as she dropped without thinking to Maciu’s side, only for her arm to be roughly grasped by another man in boiled leather armour, smelling unpleasantly of sweat. He held her up, speaking in rough Belada.
“Come, girl, Captain want you.” He started to drag her away towards three men standing by the opposite entrance to the square, some hundred paces away, not even bothering to disarm the little girl.
The Captain spoke to his sergeant in Havantine. “Good work, Baptista. Your man is well trained. Perfect heart stroke, the savage didn’t even notice him coming. Stupid to use one as a guard. Now, collect the women.”
Rerata reacted as Maciu slumped, catching the movement from the corner of her eye. The crowd surged, some away from the body and others towards it as they tried to find out what was happening. Rerata flowed with these people, stepping out from the crowd, dropping her short spear point and lancing the soldier holding Sara cleanly through the laces holding his armour together. She stood in front of Sara, glaring at the soldiers, reached back and pulled off her leathers, making herself naked from the waist up, her fighting uniform, whip in hand. Sara came out of her shock, drew Lady Strike with a savage hiss, took one step towards Maciu’s killer and feinted at his throat, The startled soldier brought his short sword up to block and Lady Strike swerved in the air, sinking deep into his solar plexus, causing him to scream in mortal agony. Sara twisted Lady Strike as she pulled her out, lacerating the bowel and filling the air with a foul smell. The soldier’s weak slash at her arm missed and he dropped his sword.
“Die in agony, bastard,” she hissed, turning to face two more onrushing soldiers who skidded to a wary halt. The soldier collapsed, clasping both hands to the gaping wound and moaning in despair at the mortal wound.
Suzanne was slower on the uptake, but realised her danger soon enough to twist her staff up between the legs of the soldier detailed to catch her. He collapsed with a pained grunt, and her tap on his head put him to sleep.
Within a minute of giving the command to collect the women, the Havantine captain, on the verge of turning away, found he had three men down, two dying. He blinked in astonishment. Where earlier there were three girls tripping through the market, laughing innocently at everything, now they were transformed.
His remaining men were facing three angry girls, armed with a thin sword, a staff and a short spear. He prepared to shout an angry order, but lapsed into silence as Sara launched a blistering attack.
She came in the high line, her sword held high forcing their heads and eyes up. Suzanne and Rerata swung in to protect her sides. The first soldiers raised their swords to protect themselves, and Suzanne broke one’s kneecap while Rerata cut through the calf of another. As they fell, the centre soldier made the mistake of checking what happened and paid for it with his throat sliced out, Sara’s extra length proving lethal to the short swords made for fighting in a shield wall.
