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that was to be expected, and the more subtle overtures would follow if Ysandre accepted Carthage s
tribute. Still, I couldn t shake a sense of lingering unease.
A period of open discussion followed, but it was already clear that the promise of extravagant
gifts and a marvel to follow had swayed the majority of the peers. There were a few who argued against
accepting the offer, fearing it would suggest we meant to abandon our alliance with Aragonia, but others
pointed out that, despite Aragonia s fears, Carthage had not lifted a finger in its direction.
And there were a few Barquiel L Envers among them who were deeply suspicious of
Carthage s motives.
 You know they want something for this, Ysandre, he said, sounding remarkably practical.
 Alliance, a promise of non-interference . . . or somewhat else. His gaze rested briefly on Sidonie.  Why
not send a delegation to meet with them in Marsilikos and find out what it is?
 They re bound to reveal their hand one way or another, a Siovalese duchese observed.  Here
or there, what does it matter?
 I don t know, L Envers muttered.  But I don t like it.
I didn t either. For once, I was in agreement with Barquiel L Envers. Somewhat in this offer
didn t sit right. But it held a promise for me far greater than any gilded treasure or celestial
marvel secret knowledge of my mother s whereabouts, the ability to cut through the Gordian knot of
her intrigues at a single, swift blow instead of spending torturous years trying to unwind it.
And then it would be done.
I would be free. Free of her taint, free of her long shadow. Free to wed Sidonie and spend the
rest of my life with her without incurring suspicion and bitterness. And she would be free to spend it with
me without having to endure the contempt of those who reckoned she was weak enough to have been
seduced by the cunning blandishments of a traitor s son, or an endless series of suits from foreign princes
who reckoned her fair game.
So I voted to accept Carthage s offer.
Sidonie did, too.
It wouldn t have mattered. It wasn t even close. There were only four votes against acceptance,
and seven who abstained. By the time Ysandre cast her vote, it was merely symbolic. She hesitated,
conferring quietly with Drustan one last time. Although the Cruarch of Alba had no vote in the Parliament
of Terre d Ange, he always sat at Ysandre s side to counsel her when he was present. I saw him give his
head a slight shake. Like the rest of us, Drustan had been unable to find sufficient cause to spurn
Carthage s overture.
Ysandre cast her vote for acceptance.
It was decided.
Carthage was coming.
Ten
A bit over two weeks later, on a bright, sunny day, six Carthaginian tribute-ships sailed up the
Aviline River to dock at the wharfs of the City of Elua, preceded fore and aft by D Angeline war-ships.
It was a considerable spectacle. The Carthaginian ships had massive sails striped crimson and
white, gilded figureheads in the shape of horse-heads, lions, and serpents. Even the railings were
elaborately carved. Bare-chested rowers manned the oars, oiled skin gleaming in the sunlight.
 Slaves, I murmured to Sidonie.
There was a tall fellow in the prow of the lead ship, clad in a scarlet tunic with a long cloak of
Tyrian purple, a slender fillet of gold around his head. Even at a distance, I could see he had strong
features. His thick black hair was swept back from his temples, and he wore a narrow beard dyed
scarlet.
 And that, I suspect, would be General Astegal, she commented.
The ships were docked. Sailors swarmed, securing their moorings. General Astegal bowed
deeply in the direction of Ysandre and Drustan, but made no move to disembark. Instead, the rowers
laid down their oars and set about unloading chest after chest of tribute.
The crew came from various nations. Many were olive-skinned Carthaginians. Others were a
tawnier hue, and there were Nubians and Jebeans, too, with dusky skin and woolen hair. I touched my
rhinoceros-hide sword-belt, thinking of distant places and old friends.
At last, when the wharf was heaped with treasure, a score of soldiers carrying gilded spears
descended from the flagship, saluted the Queen and Cruarch, then formed a double line. Astegal of
Carthage, Prince of the House of Sarkal, appointed General of the Council of Thirty, made his approach,
sweeping another low bow. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]