Dave Duncan - Children of Chaos

"I know you have ways, wife. You don't need to hunt out some sleazy old chthonian behind the bazaar or poke around with sticks, but you will only delay the inevitable. You are going to bear me another child. The seers will tell me whose it is, and if it's any other man's, I'll kill it and start over."

She turned her head away. The timbers creaked as he left the platform. She saw his outline against the brighter garden when he went to find his pall and boots. She was still shaking, still close to throwing up, but she must make her prayer soon if she wanted to shed his seed.

Sudden terror drove away the pain: Benard wouldn't come through the garden, would he? But he might be dallying out in the public part of the women's quarters. If Horold ran into him now, in his present drunken state, there would be murder done.

He came back in, dressed. "You're bleeding." He could see in the dark better than any cat.

"What did you expect? When you go out, tell them to send for a surgeon. I need stitches."

"Rubbish. You'll get used to it. The girl did." He stalked across the room to the door. "Tomorrow at the same time." He slid the bolt, then turned again. "And every night until it's done, understand? That's what you tell the brides, isn't it? They owe this to their husbands?"

If their husbands were human. "I tell the men they owe their wives respect."

"If I find this door locked, I'll rip it down." He went out and the anteroom erupted in startled screams. Soon the whole palace would know that the satrap was bedding his wife again.

twenty-six

BENARD CELEBRE

carefully set down the weighty sack he had been carrying on his shoulder. He uttered a moan of relief, hauled on the bell rope, then stood and massaged his cramped hands while he waited, nodding and smiling to passersby. When the little shutter flipped open, the eyes that peered out were as dark as his own, but much less friendly.

He said, "It's me."

"The lady is resting. Go away."

Benard sighed. "You have orders to admit me at any time."

"Not now." Swordsman Nerio shut the cover.

Benard sighed at the unreasonableness of mortals and appealed to his goddess. He had, he pointed out, a work of art at his side that was much too heavy to lug all the way back to his shed and much too beautiful to abandon to the mercies of feral alley brats in this garbage-strewn lane. He heard the bolts click back, one by one. The beauty is in the details . He thanked Her and opened the gate.

Nerio swung around with a curse, drawing his sword. Benard had barely had time to forget Cutrath, and here he had made a swordsman enemy. It must be a character flaw. He put his hands on his hips and tried to look unconcerned. He was, mostly.

"I will kill you!" Nerio said, displaying very fine white teeth.

"No, you won't."

"But I am going to throw you out!"

Several of Hiddi's Florengian slaves were tending the plants. They looked up in alarm, and the one called Cosimo shouted, "No, master! You know what she'll do to you!"

Not caring to ask how Hiddi disciplined her major-domo, Benard wrestled his package in and again set it down carefully. By the time he closed the gate again, Nerio had sheathed his sword, but was within punching range.

"Now go away! She needs to rest!"

Benard peered past him, noting two Vigaelian bearers patiently sitting on a bench beside an unfamiliar carrying chair. Hiddi had company. Apart from them, the yard was greatly improved since he had first seen it. The crude figurines had gone, and the furniture was more tasteful.

"I didn't come to bed her," Benard said, which was true as far as it went. He could always be persuaded. "I brought her a gift."

"I'll see she gets it. Cosimo! Now go."

Benard shook his head as the slave came running. "Cosimo couldn't lift it, and it's fragile. Twelve blessings on you, Cosimo."

"The freeman is kind." The youth winked at him from the safety of his place at Nerio's back. The swordsman was not popular with the rest of the staff now, although he had been once.

"Why carry it yourself?" Nerio snapped. "Why not hire porters?"

"I have no money to hire porters," Benard said patiently.

"Hiddi would pay them for you. They'd be happy to settle for a chance to worship the goddess with her."

"The first time we met, you told me you couldn't speak Florengian." That was what they were speaking.

The swordsman scowled. "I meant not on that occasion. Hiddi was present. She would have suspected I was telling secrets about her."

Poor Nerio! He was tall and dark and trim, handsome in his sparkling-white kilt, with his bronze sword on his back, strong arms folded, golden headband restraining his curls. Hiddi had a superb eye for beauty when it came to men; it was art she failed at. It needed no artist's eye to see the signs of strain in the wild eyes and drawn features. Benard wondered what Hiddi had done to him. She could be as spiteful as a weasel. In theory Nerio was a freeman, but she had him enslaved by other means, chained on a rack of jealousy and, probably, unrequited lust.

Cosimo went back to work. Benard tried to step around Nerio, who moved to block him. This was ridiculous!

"Have the new tiles been delivered yet? Have the boys stripped off the part I wanted?" Benard was remaking Hiddi's house for her, and his current project was the ugly mosaic in the bathroom.

Just then Hiddi's visitor emerged from the house and headed for his carrying chair. He was a portly man of mature years, robed very finely and seeming content with life. His servants jumped up, and he did not notice yet one more Florengian.

Nerio unbolted the gate to let the chair out and bowed to the occupant. "May the gods bless the ground beneath your feet, lord." Then, as the man handed him a copper ring, "Oh, my lord is most generous! Sixty-sixty blessings on your noble house."

As he bolted the gate behind the visitors, he pouted at his tip and then at Benard. "They don't come any cheaper than that one. Go sit down and I will announce you."

Benard manhandled his package across to the nearest bench, set it on the table, and accepted a cool silver beaker from Cosimo. Another handsome but crop-eared Florengian youth laid a basin of water before him and knelt to wash his feet. Guilio began combing the road dust from his hair.

"What is this gift, master?"

"Unwrap it and see. Just don't knock it over." Benard sat back and relaxed while the boys wiped his limbs with cool damp cloths and soft towels. Others refilled his beaker and laid out plates of sweetmeats. Luxury would pall, he thought, but it was enjoyable at times. This was as close to it as any Hand of Anziel would ever come. The shady park fussed with birdsong and insect noises. Nerio seemed to be taking a long time.

"Darling!" Hiddi came running. He jumped up to embrace her as she threw herself into his arms. She was wearing nothing below her earrings except bathwater, but that was not at all unusual for her. Her welcomes were always passionate and prolonged. By the time she released him, Guilio and Cosimo had removed the sacking from the gift, a painted pottery figurine, about half life-size. Even Nerio had joined the crowd gathered around to admire it.

Hiddi said, "Nerio said you brought me a ... Ooh! Oh, it's lovely!"

Yes, it was. Benard considered it one of his best creations yet, a model for the full-size Eriander he planned for the Pantheon, an ambiguous, androgynous youngster with a cryptic smile. She was naked, but clutching a cloth to her chest, and the fall of drapery concealed enough to leave her sex in doubt. The pose was oddly shy, but the sleepy invitation in the eyes was not at all ambiguous.