Authors: John Hornor Jacobs
Juvenus and Tricomalee, the
Malphas’
engineer, gave short glances to Sun Huáng, who raised an eyebrow in response. ‘Kithai is not hasty when declaring war, gentlemen,’ he said, simply.
We discussed the ramifications of this news for a while and waited for the first course to be served: a hearty fish soup with crusty bread and crunchy fried sardines on greens.
‘Min tells us that you are a great swordsman, Ambassador Huáng,’ Tenebrae said, taking a sip of his wine.
Sun Huáng looked at Tenebrae in a still, blank manner. There was no emotional content to his gaze; he simply took in the strapping young Praetorian with a frank assessment.
‘I am known as The Sword of Jiang,’ he said in a thick Tchinee accent.
Tenebrae smiled. ‘Is that a position of honour? For instance, I am the first sword – or Primus Gladius – of the Praetorians,’ he said, folding his napkin in his lap. ‘I won that through trial and competition.’
Sun Huáng said, ‘They began to call me the Sword of Jiang when I was a young man.’ He offered no more.
‘We were quite curious about your exercises this morning,’ Secundus added. ‘The Eight Silken Movements. Your granddaughter Min told us of them.’
Sun Huáng did not respond except to dip his spoon into his soup.
‘I say, old chap,’ Tenebrae said, ‘I’d quite fancy some sparring in the morning. Secundus here, while quite promising, isn’t really up to my level. Neither are the other Praetorians. Do you fancy a go?’
The white-haired older man sipped his soup and gave the slightest shake of his head.
‘I do not want to become a nuisance, sir, but might I ask why?’
‘I have seen you train. I am not inclined,’ Sun Huáng responded.
The blush that spread across Tenebrae’s face was like wine spilled on a white table cloth. It was almost frightening to behold the way it suffused his whole face. Secundus, looking at his closest friend, became alarmed and placed a restraining hand on Tenebrae’s arm.
He said nothing, but snorted then, a sound full of contempt. There was a brittle pride to him I’d seen before in accomplished men. Having won through contest and adversity, his position was tenuous and ever vulnerable to assault or insult. Or so he felt.
Sun Huáng looked at him curiously, wiping his mouth with a napkin. In the
daemonlight
of the Captain’s mess, his hair seemed almost luminous and his eyes black. Around the table, Captain Juvenus and his first mate, Engineer Tricomalee, and his assistant, all watched on, spoons stopped in their movements.
‘I am on the deck every morning.’
‘Yes,’ Tenebrae said. ‘We have seen you.’ The sneer on his features twisted Tenebrae’s good looks into a rather petulant aspect.
Carnelia said, ‘Mister Tenebrae, might I remind you – since you are a representative of Tamberlaine himself – to remember your manners. Mr Huáng is the ambassador to Rume.’
Tenebrae blanched, and glanced at her, surprised to be admonished by Carnelia. Which is possibly why he did not take it any further. He fell silent after giving Sun Huáng a polite nod of his head, though his face remained red.
The dinner was rather stilted after that and no amount of wine or soup could rescue the pall that hung over the Captain’s table.
Sun Huáng was the first to rise to leave. He bowed to Captain Juvenus and said simply, ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Captain,’ inclined his head to the rest of us and left the mess alone.
Secundus threw his napkin on the table and said, ‘Well, I’m knackered, though I do think I’ll take a smoke on the deck, if it’s not too wet. Coming, Tenebrae?’
When Tenebrae stood, Min said, ‘Excuse me, Mister Tenebrae. I do not think it a good idea – as I have said – but I thought you should know something.’
‘Yes?’
‘When my grandfather told you where he would be, it was …’ She paused, thinking. ‘You might call it an invitation, though it wasn’t that. By telling you where he would be, and when, he was allowing you a formal advantage should you wish to engage him.’
‘Engage?’
‘You would call it sparring I think, though in Kithai it has far more seriousness than that. Maybe a better way to phrase it would be …’ She bit her lip. ‘A non-lethal duel? Yes. That would be more correct.’
‘Why didn’t he bloody say that, then?’ Tenebrae asked, somewhat ungraciously.
‘Because he is master.’
‘A master?’
‘It is said in Jiang that it takes one hundred days to learn to use a sword. It takes a thousand days to master it. My grandfather has spent many thousands of days studying the arts of war and violence. To direct aggression at him is a serious thing and he must be mindful of the welfare of those foolish enough to issue challenge. He cannot issue any challenge himself.’
Tenebrae looked puzzled at this. ‘So, I’m just to attack him? Even when he does not carry a sword?’
Min gave a small smile. ‘He is master. The only sword he will require is the one
you
bring,’ she said. Standing, she bowed and excused herself from the room.
‘Strange people, the Tchinee,’ Secundus said.
Carnelia laughed. ‘They do know how to make an exit,’ she said, and popped a bit of buttered bread in her mouth and began to chew.
1 Kalends of Sextilius, Eleventh Hour, 2638 Annum Ex Rume Immortalis, Near the Aethiopicum Shore, Bay of Aribicum
It ended almost before it began.
The next morning the air was cooler, with less moisture in it, and Carnelia and I had adjourned to the deck (without Lupina, who claimed a small intestinal discomfort) to take our breakfast. We had come to the Æthiopicum shore steaming south, south-east toward the Rubrum Horn and beyond past the Persicum Sea into generally unknown waters. Æthiopicum slides by us now sedately on our port, a small, ever-shifting tan line on the horizon. Seagulls wheeled in the heavens, occasionally scattered by the ferocious dog-sized raptors the sailors referred to as Cænavia-birds. Terrifying and reputedly fiercely territorial, they did not harry the
Malphas
in any way but Tenebrae placed some of his Praetorians on guard with carbines just in case.
Captain Juvenus had warned us that these waters were filled with pirates – Æthiopicum is the hub of the slave trade in this part of the world, feeding Rume and Mediera’s insatiable need for slaves – but during the day they posed no danger, due to the
Malphas’
four Hellfire cannons. At night, they could prove troublesome if they had a vessel that could match the
Malphas’
speed, which was unlikely. It would have to be
daemon
-driven and it was unlikely that anyone on this coast could afford an engineer, and doubly doubtful any fully trained member of the collegium would deign to sully herself with brigands and lawless men.
Carnelia carried a copy of Vintus’
The Teats of Fortuna
and was reading the more salacious bits of it to me with great mirth when we were joined by Min, shadowed by the hulking tongueless man and her grandfather, Sun Huáng. We welcomed them to our table but Sun Huáng, who had apparently breakfasted before coming up on deck, bowed graciously and immediately moved into the Eight Silken Movements on the smooth wooden deck. His movements, as always, were lithe and graceful yet there seemed to me an underlying ferocious strength to the man’s form.
Min was blushing furiously as Carnelia read a long verse about a foolish noblewoman who is tricked into becoming a
pathicus
by a wily young soldier when Tenebrae appeared. He carried two wooden gladii, the kind Praetorians and legionnaires use to train.
Stepping into the sun where Sun Huáng performed the Eight Silken Movements, Tenebrae hailed the older man.
‘Mister Huáng! Your granddaughter was kind enough to explain things to me last night,’ he said, holding up the wooden sword.
Huáng slowly emerged from the movement he currently performed – one hand stretching above his head as if holding up the vault of sky, and the other as if tamping down an unruly basket of laundry – and came to a standing rest, his hands hanging loosely in front. He said nothing. He only looked at Tenebrae.
‘I think a good spar will do us good, and mend any damage done by my hasty words last night,’ Tenebrae said, and tossed the wooden sword into the air toward Huáng, softly, so that he might catch it. The older man neatly side-stepped the thrown sword in a movement that seemed so casual it was hard to register. The weapon hit the deck and clattered until it came to rest on a gunwale. Huáng resumed his resting stance. There was no expression on his face, no indication of his mood or temperament.
Tenebrae frowned. ‘I see. “The Sword of Jiang” won’t deign to sully his hands with the first Praetorian sword, is that it?’ The grimace that crossed his face did not become him.
‘Gaius, I do not think you should pursue this further—’ Secundus said.
‘Indeed, Mister Tenebrae,’ I added. ‘They have warned you many times. This overweening pride doesn’t become you.’
He glanced at me. ‘I am Ruman. As are you both! It is an insult to my person and the personage of Tamberlaine himself, since I am his representative.’
‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘You feel slighted and your feelings were hurt.’
‘Gaius,’ Secundus said. ‘He’s thirty years your senior if he’s a day.’
Tenebrae, whose expression had grown fiercer and more incalcitrant with each word spoken to him, shook his head. ‘I will just give him a tap to remember me by,’ he said.
Tenebrae stepped forward, swinging the gladius forward lightly to swat Sun Huáng on the hip – a desultory movement, like a parent spanking a wayward child – but as he moved forward the old man stretched and
moved
, blindingly fast, stepping to the side of Tenebrae so that Tenebrae was moving past him in a half-lunge and Huáng grasped the younger man’s sword hand, twisting it sharply. Tenebrae yelped in pain.
Sun Huáng took two steps back, holding the sword in his own hand. He came to rest again in a relaxed position, one that looked hardly martial at all.
‘The only sword a master needs is the one his opponents bring,’ Min said, echoing her words from the previous night.
Tenebrae looked surprised but undaunted. He flexed his hand – the one that Huáng had wrenched to take away his sword – and quickly scooped up the gladius he’d initially thrown to the old man.
As our dear friend Shoestring might say, it got real ugly, real quick after that.
Tenebrae wasted no time striking forward with his sword. Huáng neatly stepped out of the way, his foot lashed out, impacting with the younger man’s shin as he passed and sending him sprawling. Tenebrae drew himself up quickly, scrambling on the deck and cursing, but he clearly favoured his right leg as he came forward, his sword point low and weaving. In the past, as we’ve watched Tenebrae at his sword exercises and
armatura
, he’d always been quite flashy, twirling and spinning with his wooden blades, giving triumphant little yells with each practiced stroke. All of the theatrics were gone now. His brow was drawn, his face grim, and all pretence of showmanship vanished.
Tenebrae lashed forward, striking, but again Huáng stepped aside so quickly that his movement resembled a door being jerked open and took a long lunging step to his flank so that before Tenebrae could stop his forward motion, the old man was close in on his left side. With the pommel of his practice sword, he popped Tenebrae’s left cheek, sending the younger man toppling backwards. Blood erupted from Tenebrae’s nose and mouth. Secundus gave a startled yelp and went to his friend’s side. Tenebrae wiped his mouth and pushed himself into a standing position, bleary and weaving like an axe-struck bull of Mithras.
‘That’s enough, I think—’ Secundus said.
‘No,’ Tenebrae answered. ‘I’ll not yield until I have at least scored on him.’
‘Gaius—’
Tenebrae put a bloody hand on Secundus’ chest and pushed him away, leaving a crimson handprint on my brother’s white tunic.
I must give this to the young Praetorian; he could, if anything, take some punishment. But – and I can say this to you, my love – it was the Ruman pride and superiority pushing him on. A Ruman might be equal to every other Ruman, but no man from elsewhere is equal to a man of the Eternal City. Rume is the first among all nations and its citizens carry that with them, even to the Æthiopicum short and on to far Kithai. To their doom, even.
From somewhere, Tenebrae mustered the energy to move into a crouch and begin a more cautious stalking of Huáng. For Huáng’s part, he simply stood there at rest watching the young man, the wooden sword held almost negligently. It was a curious thing. His calm demeanour almost reflected Tenebrae’s aggressiveness back upon the younger man. The unassailable self-assurance that had suffused the Praetorian guard was gone now and all that was left was the gristle of pride and anger. How pleased Father would be.
Tenebrae made a feint at Huáng’s leg. Huáng, in response, made a short almost comical little leap to the side and forward so that he was positioned once more to Tenebrae’s side and back, behind the striking arm. The Praetorian took two hasty steps backwards, flailing with his sword, but Huáng did not press his advantage.
Moving in a low, aggressive crouch, Tenebrae circled. Blood flowed freely from his nose, making his face and jaw a gore-smeared slick and giving him an almost feral aspect. Sun Huáng did nothing except turn to face him. There was an ineffable settling of the older man’s frame, almost in resignation. When Tenebrae lunged this time, Huáng parried his strike with his sword then lashed forward with his own, so fast it was almost as if the movement didn’t have time to register on the eyes. His wooden sword struck the younger man directly in the sternum. Had it been a real blade, it would have exited his back and made a great swampy mess of all of his most vital innards. It was an obvious death blow.
Tenebrae pitched backwards, dropping his sword, clutching his chest. Secundus leapt to his assistance.
Sun Huáng placed the wooden gladius by Tenebrae and said, ‘You may present your sword to me formally when you have recovered.’
The old man gave Tenebrae a short nod of his head in what I could only surmise was a miniature bow, turned to Carnelia, Min, and me sitting at the breakfast table, and presented a full one. He then began his Eight Silken Movements again as Secundus helped Tenebrae rise and walk below decks.
‘What did he mean by presenting his sword?’ Carnelia asked.
‘It’s a Kithai formality,’ Min said. ‘And a great honour. Mister Tenebrae, if he chooses to present his sword, will be offered the chance to train with my grandfather.’
‘Would that mean that he’d be Huáng’s apprentice?’
‘No,’ Min said. ‘That’s a more ritualized process. It would mean that Tenebrae has the proper humility to accept defeat and by doing that is able to take instruction. My grandfather then would be obliged to offer Tenebrae clear examples as to how he defeated him.’
‘Examples?’
She said a near unpronounceable word. ‘… means martial wisdom. The only way my grandfather can make him understand how he was bested is to train him enough so that he might understand.’
‘It sounds like a very formal thing,’ I said.
‘In Kithai, everything has centuries, millennia, of history. Much as your Rume does. There are traditions that can be broken, but the matters of war and violence are not one of them.’
‘That makes a strange sort of sense. Is there a great deal of formality in the bedroom?’ Carnelia asked. Min answered with a furious blush.
The next morning, his face swollen into a turgid purple mask and walking very stiffly, Tenebrae found Sun Huáng on the deck in the sun doing his exercises. This time he carried a real sword.
Approaching the old man, he stopped five paces away and slowly sank to his knees. He lifted up his sword on both palms, skyward, and said in a clear voice, ‘Sun Huáng, I was wrong to doubt your skill. You bested me fairly and with great mercy, I see that now. I present to you my sword.’
I glanced at Carnelia, who sat nearby. ‘How does he know to do this?’
‘I told him to,’ Carnelia answered, winking. ‘The man is beautiful – well, not so much anymore – but he’s denser than stone. He needed someone to tell him what to do.’
‘That’s remarkably kind of you, Carnelia.’
She waved that away. ‘We’re on a boat, Sissy. Tenebrae has nowhere to go and he’d been trounced soundly. If he didn’t do a bit of growing up, it would make for a very tense trip.’
‘Possibly it isn’t just Tenebrae who has done some growing up,’ I said. ‘There was a time when you might have enjoyed every moment of his discomfort.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, it’s nice seeing him have his own arse handed to him, I grant you that. But he’s a Ruman, and Secundus’ lover. And I would not have our brother’s heart broken by a wounded, prideful man.’
I looked at my sister closely. ‘Are you sure you’re well, ’Nelia? I have never heard you speak so.’
It was her turn to blush. ‘Oh, sissy. I’m quite sure I’m fine.’ She paused. ‘I think back on our time in the Hardscrabble, when all those dreadful
vaettir
were leaping about on the backs of the shoal auroch, killing and killing our men. Scalping Gnaeus. And I think about the baby you’re bearing. And now we’re going to a new unknown, sailing to Far Tchinee. And then I remember how silly I’ve acted and I’m somewhat ashamed.’
I took her hand in mine. ‘No need, dear. No need.’
She looked back to Tenebrae kneeling in front of Sun Huáng. The older man stood in front of him and was speaking in a low voice. Eventually he took the proffered sword and helped Tenenbrae to stand. They spoke for a short while and then clasped forearms in the Ruman fashion.
‘Looks as if Tenebrae is serving a new master, now,’ Carnelia whispered. ‘I wonder how much of this he will report to Tamberlaine.’ A curious expression crossed her face. ‘I wonder if Tamberlaine ordered him to seduce our brother?’
That was a horrible thought. And quite likely. ‘I hope not.’
‘I hope the honourable Sun Huáng beats him. Daily,’ Carnelia said.
‘There’s the Carnelia we know and love,’ I said.
‘There’s no changing a leopard’s spots.’
‘No,’ I said, looking closely at Tenebrae. ‘There isn’t.’
And that, my love, is all that I have to tell you. There is very little of the blood-ink left now and I am weary. The sea is still dark yet the sky lightens, a multihued riot of colour and striated clouds, and we’ve left sight of the shore. The seas have become rougher here, though nowhere near as treacherous as the Occidens, and I can see, through the thick glass porthole, the pink and purple of sky alternating with the blue-grey water. My back aches and young Fiscelion stirs within me. I hunger. I’ve sat here through the night, writing this all down to you. I feel as if you’re closer to me when I tell it – as if we lay in bed together and I was just speaking softly into your ear the events of the last few days.
Sometimes I take out the shirt you gave me and smell it. There’s something of you still in it. The ghost of you.
When the baby kicks or shifts, we are connected. When my eyes close and I can dream, I am with you. When I cut myself and let the blood, we are joined through the invisible tether.
I love and miss you.
Please write and tell me all.
Your loving wife,
Livia