Hyacinthe, I prayed silently, forgive me for this choice I make.
"Phèdre?" Amaury Trente asked. "Will you go?"
I gazed at Joscelin, tears standing in my eyes. "I thought . . . truly, I thought we were done, here. I thought our path would diverge here, truly I did. Joscelin, beloved, if I told you I swore an oath, in La Serenissima ..." I was shaking, I knew I was shaking.
Joscelin looked at me for a long time, and then rendered his Cassiline bow, correct and exacting. "I protect and serve, my lady," he said softly. "Is that what you need to hear? If you believe it needful, it is needful. Besides . . ." One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "I am not so overeager to see your Tsingano freed that I will not accompany you on this task."
I laughed through my tears. Oh, Hyacinths! My heart ached, like a flawed vessel fired too hot. "Yes, my lord," I said to Amaury Trente. "I will go with you to Khebbel-im-Akkad."
So it was decided.
On the morrow, we went to the jeweler's shop to see Radi Arumi. There, the gem-carver Karem served us mint tea and we presented our plight to the Jebean caravan-guide, or at least as much of it as I deemed discreet. Radi Arumi heard us out with grave attentiveness.
"Understand, Kyria," he said with regret, "I cannot return your deposit to you. Certain arrangements have been made, provisions pur chased, camels leased. You see how it is."
I allowed politely that I did, and speculated that the caravan-master would ensure none of it went to waste. After innumerable cups of tea and negotiations, it was agreed that a portion of the deposit would be refunded and we would forfeit the balance.
"Come again in six months, fair one." Radi Arumi grinned, his teeth a startling white against the lined darkness of his features. "I will be making ready another trip. If you are still wishing to go, I will be wishing to guide you!"
I had leave, thanks to my bargain, to peruse the royal library at will. In the days that followed, I used it to full advantage, little though it gained me. Of history, there was plenty. I learned that Drujan was a small province nestled alongside the Sea of Khaspar, warded by mountains to the east, north and south. Because it was easily defensible, it had a long history of fierce independence, although its satraps had paid homage to the Great Kings of Persis. I learned that it was a seat of worship for the ancient Persians, who called it also Jahanadar, Land of Fire, due to a phenomenon on the peninsula which jutted into the sea. There, at certain crevices in the rock, fire-spouts were wont to occur.
The Hellene philosopher Stratophanes saw these with his own eyes and gauged them to be a natural phenomenon, born of volatile gases trapped beneath the earth's crust. It was, he owned, nonetheless im pressive. The Persians, who worshipped Ahura Mazda, the Lord of Light, built temples around them and tended the Sacred Fires.
Even the Akkadians, who destroyed so much Persian culture when they conquered, did not extinguish the Sacred Fires of Drujan, hailing it instead as evidence that the solar fire of Shamash had descended to earth to put the seal on their victory. The Persian priests—magi, they were called—were allowed to continue to tend their fires . . . only now they must do so in the name of Shamash.
So much did I learn, and then little more for a span of centuries, when Drujan, quiet for hundred of years, rose up in rebellion. At a guess, I would hazard that isolated Drujan, poor in natural resources, ignored by its overlords in favor of lusher lands, gradually returned to its old ways over the course of centuries.
Hoshdar Ahzad was the name of the leader who emerged, a prince of ancient bloodlines, and it was in his name that the Drujani took up their swords, slaying the Akkadian vizier and his garrison. All along the border, they rose up against the fortresses and on the peninsula, they took the fortified palace of Daršanga, where Hoshdar Ahzad in stalled himself as sovereign lord, and decreed the worship of Ahura Mazda restored.
Better for him, I thought, if he had kept quiet and seen to his borders first, for no sooner had the name of Ahura Mazda rung freely across the Land of Fires than the wave of Akkadian vengeance broke, drowning it in blood.
It was an Akkadian chronicle I was reading, and the author did not spare in his gleeful descriptions of the revenge they exacted, docu menting atrocities that made my blood run cold. In Daršanga it was the worst. Hoshdar Ahzad and his family were taken alive. The self-styled sovereign was made to watch the rape of his wife and young daughters. When his cries of grief grew too loud, they cut out his tongue. His infant son was speared and spitted, his roasted flesh fed to the dogs. After that, they decided he had seen enough and put out his eyes. And while he wandered, blind and stumbling, mewling, the Akkadian general ordered a bloodbath. It was as Pharaoh had said. Lowborn or high, every man, woman and child of Hoshdar Ahzad's lineage was put to the sword. The stone floors of Daršanga were awash in blood and the corpses stacked like cordwood.
As a final touch, the Akkadian general gave his archers leave to use Hoshdar Ahzad for target practice, commencing with his limbs. It took him, the chronicler reported with pleasure, a long time to die.
I had seen enough, too. I shoved the manuscript away and sat in the cool, vaulted library, sickened by what I'd read. On the painted walls, Thoth, the Menekhetan god of scribes and scholars, strode se renely, ibis-headed, carrying a balance in one human hand. I had known the Akkadians could be brutal. I'd not known the extent of it. The diffident clerk who had aided me in my research approached with a bow and addressed me in Hellene. If the gods of Hellas had not pen etrated the royal library, their language had.
"Do you desire aught else, gracious lady?"
"There is nothing further on Drujan?" I asked.
"Nothing." He shook his head. "That is the most recent. There is nothing further."
"Did you look for references to Jahanadar?"
"I looked in all the indices as you bid me," he said with inbred patience. "Drujan and Jahanadar alike, gracious lady. There is nothing further. These things the priests have asked, many times."
"The Skotophagoti," I said. The clerk was silent, but a sudden fear glimmered in his dark eyes. I sighed and rubbed my face, willing the vision of Akkadian bloodshed to dispel. "The kingdom that died and lives, they call it. Well, I have learned well enough how it died. What I want to know is how it lives."
"I do not know, gracious lady." The clerk's voice came out high and strained; he swallowed hard, fingering a talisman strung about his neck. "But I do not think it is the sort of thing scholars set to writing. Not if they are wise."
THIRTY-SEVEN
WE LEFT for Khebbel-im-Akkad.It took a week's time to arrange transport and provisions for the journey, not to mention handling the ongoing trade negotiations. It was a good thing, after all, that I'd struck my bargain with Ptolemy Dikaios, for he proved unstinting in his aid. I daresay the price was worth it to him. With Imriel de la Courcel no longer a consideration, Menekhet had a good deal more to gain than Terre d'Ange in this exchange. If Amaury Trente knew Pharaoh had conspired with Melisande, he'd have no qualms in calling off the deal.
I had made as much clear to Ptolemy Dikaios, who understood; and understood too that there was little merit and much danger in continuing a covert alliance with Melisande Shahrizai. As far as he was concerned, her son was as good as dead, her chance of gaining the throne rendered naught. From henceforth, he vowed, he would treat only with Ysandre. I took a certain bitter pleasure in circumventing one of Melisande's last gambits.
Denise Fleurais would stay to conclude the negotiations, and prob ably, I thought, do a better job of it than Lord Amaury. Comte Raife was adamant in his insistence that Pharaoh would balk at dealing with a woman, but I thought otherwise, and for once, Amaury agreed with me—and as Ysandre had appointed him to head the delegation, the decision was his. The Lady Denise would seal the bargain and return with half the delegation to Terre d'Ange, bearing news of our quest.
She would also, we agreed, ensure the shipment of a gift of salve and other rare unguents and cosmetics to Pharaoh's Queen, poor, silly Clytemne. I felt a certain pity for the girl, and meant to see my promise kept.
Ptolemy Dikaios arranged a meeting for us with the Akkadian con sul in Menekhet, one Lord Mesilim-Amurri. Although he looked down his nose at us at first, taking us for merchants, once he heard Ysandre de la Courcel's name, Lord Mesilim became very helpful, assigning four of his men to serve as guides and assisting us in plotting a course.
It was our intention to make for Nineveh, which had the virtue of being the nearest city to Drujan. More importantly, it was the city which the Khalif s son, Sinaddan-Shamabarsin, had been given to rule; the Lugal, or prince, he was called. And most important of all, the Lugal of Khebbel-im-Akkad was wed to Valère L'Envers, daughter of Duc Barquiel and cousin to the Queen. Hence, our tenuous alliance.
Odd to reflect, but I remembered when that union had taken place. Indeed, I'd been among the first to hear of it, from the lips of Rogier Clavel, a minor lordling in the Duc L'Envers' service. A besotted pa tron, nothing more; my lord Delaunay had used him as a stepping-stone to reach his old enemy L'Envers. And I had been . . . what? Delaunay's anguissette, nothing more.
It seemed so very long ago.
"Do you remember?" I asked Joscelin, aboard the ship which would take us from Iskandria to Tyre. "When official word of their wedding was released? It was just before you were assigned to Delaunay's household."
"I remember," he said, and was silent a moment. "That long ago?"
"Yes," I said. "Because it wasn't until after that Duc Barquiel re turned to Terre d'Ange. And the first time you accompanied me, it wasn't to an assignation. It was to ask Childric d'Essoms to present an offer from Delaunay to the Duc, and ask a meeting."
"I remember." He smiled wryly. "He put a dagger to your throat. I tried to tender my sword to Delaunay afterward. He wouldn't take it."
"No," I agreed. "He wouldn't. And then Barquiel's men came and insisted Alcuin accompany them ..."