It is a dangerous thing, to admire one's enemy.
I forced down my hand, that had risen to clutch at my bare throat where her diamond used to lie, and thought instead of the terrible, blood-shot darkness within the cavern of the Temenos. There I had faced the trail of death that lay behind me, those who lived no more due to the folly of my choice. But the Kore had spoken true; it was the darkest truth the thetalos revealed, and not the whole of it. Betimes I had chosen poorly, yes; but it was Melisande who led me to the crossroads of the worst of those choices, and the blood-guilt of it rested as squarely on her shoulders as on mine.
No wonder the Unforgiven named themselves as they did. It was proud, doomed Isidore d'Aiglemort who led them to that crossroads, yes, but who led him? Melisande.
Ah, my lady, I thought, gazing beyond the cabin walls. You have made your choices, and it is I who count the cost and bear the pain of them. But it is in good part yours, this shadow I carry, and Blessed Elua willing, I will bring it home to you, from whence it came. And then we will see how you like it.
So I looked northward too, with as much yearning and a good deal more fear than Kazan Atrabiades, and league by league, we crawled up the coast of Hellas and into Illyrian waters, the sailors shouting and cheering when we passed the lamphouse off the isle of Kérkira, that marks the beginning of Illyria proper for all seafaring sojourners. And Elua help me, I cheered with them, as if I were Illyrian myself. We had become comrades-in-arms, Kazan and his men and I, and we had faced common enemies together; the Serenissimans, the kríavbhog, the storm, and even the terror of the thetalos.
On the third day after we entered Illyrian waters, we reached Epidauro.
I had seen it twice before; 'twas very nearly a familiar sight by now, the generous harbor encompassed by solid granite walls, fortified ward-towers looming at either side of the entrance. I do not know who first sighted the city, for this time, no one gave cry, and in time, we all saw it. In the harbor, one could make out a dozen or more ships; members of the Ban's armada with the red sails, fishing vessels and traders. No Serenissiman war-galleys. The day was fine and bright, a lively nip in the wind that drove warm-blooded types like Glaukos and myself to don our woolen outerwear, It ruffled the sea into wavelets, sunlight glinting from a thousand peaks.
And it chuffed loudly in the flapping canvas when Tormos, unbidden, gave the order as second-in-command to loose the sail. He remembered-we all remembered-far too well what had happened the last time we sought to enter Epidauro.
Sailors held their posts, ropes slack, rudder-bar loosely tended, and our vessel drifted harmlessly sideways while we all gazed at Kazan Atrabíades; he looked back at us, seeing the fear writ in our faces.
"Why do you idle?" he asked in Illyrian. "Have I not set a fair course? We sail to Epidauro."
With that, he turned his back on us, crossing the length of the deck to stand in the prow, setting his face toward home.
Tormos gritted his teeth and gave the order. "As he says. To Epidauro!"
Our sails snapped taut in the wind; the ship swung around, nosing back to true. Young Volos threw back his head with a defiant shout as we began to skim over the waves, and a gull circling overhead gave it back, raucous and wild. I made my way to Kazan's side. He stood with legs braced and arms folded, and if his face was calm and purposeful, still I saw how shudders crawled over his skin.
"If it comes for me," he said out of the side of his mouth, "don't stop. Push me over the side and keep going, if the kríavbhog comes."
The fortressed harbor walls were rushing nearer, looming in my sight. I could make out men aboard the ships, pointing and shouting, the black bird of prey on the red sails of the Ban's vessels and sunlight glinting from the steel helms of those who manned them.
"It won't," I said, willing it to be true.
Kazan's lips moved soundlessly for a moment, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the shore. "I pray you are right." He drew in a breath as if in pain. "Ah!"
We had entered the waters of the harbor.
The ship erupted in a mad ecstasy, the sailors roaring cheers, laughing and stomping their feet on the wooden deck, shouting out to the Ban's fleet that swiftly surrounded us. "Kazan Atrabiades! It is Kazan Atrabiades of Epidauro! Kazan! Ka-zan! Ka-zan!"
An answering shout arose and spread like wildfire, passed from mouth to mouth and ringing across the harbor, while the Ban's guardsmen beat their shields. "Hëia, Ka-zan! Hëia, hëia, Kazan! Hëia, Ka-zan!"
In the prow, Kazan Atrabiades grinned fit to split his face and raised his arms in acknowledgment.
I watched it all, wide-eyed and gaping. I had forgotten, in ancient, civilized Kriti; forgotten that Illyria was a vassal nation of an oppressive ruler, forgotten that the dubious fame that had brought Kazan's name even to the ears of the Archon of Phaistos-whence mine own, I may add, evoked only the shade of an ancient tale-rendered him renowned in his homeland.
The Illyrians welcomed him as a hero.
An escort of the Ban's armada saw us into the harbor proper, while cheers rang even from the tops of the fortress towers. Our sailors clung precariously to the rigging, hanging out over the sides of the ship to shout to other sailors, trading news and asking after their erstwhile companions; it was Tormos who kept sufficient order to see us into port, scowling and bawling commands. Kazan merely grinned and waved, beatifically, resplendently alive and home. And I... I was well-nigh forgotten in the uproar.
"Do not take it ill," Glaukos said, laying a comforting arm about my shoulders. "Ah, now, he'll not forget you, not him. He knows his debt, see if he doesn't. Only let him have this moment, my lady, and you'll see I've the right of it."
I shivered, unaccountably alone and fearful with my thoughts. "I hope so. A moment is all I have."
By the time we reached the wharf, a small crowd had gathered; 'such lads as haunt every port hoping to catch the eye of their heroes had been sent hither and thither, carrying the news of Kazan Atrabiades' return throughout the city of Epidauro. I was glad enough when we disembarked to have Glaukos' sturdy presence at my side, protecting me from the jostling throng of humanity. As a Tiberian-born Hellene, he was at least as much an outsider as I.
Nearly all those gathered were men, and the news they passed swirled above my head in a cacophony of Illyrian, nigh overwhelming my comprehension; I grasped at phrases here and there, and gathered that the other three ships had come safe to land when we fled the Serenissiman galleys, that the Serenissimans had hovered outside the harbor-waters, seeing the darkness that coalesced above Kazan's ship, and turned aside when the storm's mighty hand hurled us southward. From shore and ship, the Epidaurans had watched it all and reckoned us lost. The Ban had given asylum to all of Kazan's men, claiming no proof of transgression; all who had survived-and Pekhlo, thrown from our ship, was one-were here in Epidauro.
And of a surety, they came to greet us, summoned from
cheap lodgings to spill onto the wharf, ebullient and joyous. Not until a squadron of the Ban's Guard arrived was a semblance of order restored, their scarlet-crested helms parting the crowd, clearing a space. Kazan yelled to his men, then, gathering them behind him as the squadron leader approached.
"Well, well," the leader said softly. "So Kazan Atrabiades has returned, eh?" Unexpectedly, he feinted a punch at Kazan's face; Kazan dodged it easily, grinning, and dragged him into an embrace.
"Czibor, you son of a eunuch!" he exclaimed, thumping the other's back. "I taught you to draw a sword! What is the Zim Sokali thinking, to grant a command to one such as you?"
"That you were long gone from Epidauro, like as not," Czibor laughed, returning his embrace. "By Yarovit, it's good to see you! How does this come about?"
"I have been to Kriti, and the House of Minos," Kazan said soberly.
"Ah." Czibor stepped back and eyed him. "It is true, then, what they say? There is power there to cleanse a man of a blood-curse?"
Kazan spread his arms. "You see me here before you, Czibor. It is a dire thing, but a true one."
The squadron leader nodded. "Then it is well done. The Zim Sokali will wish to hear of it. You pose him a problem, Kazan, indeed you do. Your name and your deeds are known to the Serenissimans, and they will hear of your return if this clamor is any indication." His gaze raked the gathered throng and he took in the sight of me, standing at Glaukos' side; his eyes widened. "Your men came bearing tales of a D'Angeline woman worth thirty thousand gold solidi, Kazan," he said slowly. "And there have been Ser-enissiman traders asking questions in the city, and an ambassador sent to the Zim Sokali, who denied all knowledge. I did not credit such stories, myself, but if such a thing may be, I think I am seeing it now."
"You are," said Kazan. "And I am thinking the Ban will wish to see her too."
"I think you are right," Czibor said wryly.
So we began to make our way to the fortress of the Ban of Illyria, whom I learned was addressed by his people as the Zim Sokali, the Falcon's Son. It is a strong city, Epidauro, wrought of stone and surrounded by thick walls. Escorted by Czibor and his men, we had not progressed far along the narrow, paved streets before a frantic clatter of hooves arose and a carriage plunged into the midst of the crowd of men and youths that travelled with us, scattering them. Even as the Ban's guardsmen began to react, the carriage door was flung open and an older woman stumbled out, her face drawn and tear-stained.
"Kazan," she wept, opening her arms to him. "Kazan!"
He took a step toward her, wonder dawning in his eyes. "Mother?"
A lump rose to my throat as I watched their reunion. Of the gifts of the thetalos, this, mayhap, was the most precious: Forgiveness, given and taken freely on both sides. I knew well the pain Kazan had born, the bitter guilt at his brother's death by his own unwitting hand; I had lain beside it, seen it staring wakeful and dry-eyed in the small hours of the night. Of his mother's pain, I could only begin to guess. Some little I learned in those moments, that she was a widow bereft of her beloved younger son, waking from the first madness of grief to realize her elder son was lost to her too, condemned by her own wrathful curse. When the tale of the Serenissiman war-galleys and Kazan's battle with the kríavbhog came to her ears, she thought him dead and wept anew, grieving thrice for the two sons born to her.
Well, I thought, if I have done naught else, this at least is done and done well.
"Lady Njësa," Czibor said gently to Kazan's mother, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm as a gesture of respect. "I beg of you, forgive me, but my orders are to conduct your son directly unto the Ban's presence."
"Yes, of course." She smiled through her tears, grasping his arms one last time as if to assure herself of his solidity.
"So tall, my son! I had forgotten how tall. Marjopí has cared well for you. Does she live, yet? Is she well? I would tell her, if I could, that I repent my harsh words."
"You will tell her yourself, Mother, for she is well and hale in Dobrek, and I will send for her myself." Disengaging himself, Kazan bent to kiss her cheek. "Only I must see the Ban first," he added softly, "and there are debts I must honor before I set matters aright in our household."
Czibor set his helm back on his head. "Come. The Zim Sokali is waiting."
SIXTY-SIX
bokal Fortress sits at the heart of the city of Epidauro, steep-walled and massive, a structure built to be defended in a city walled for defense. Once, I daresay, it may have been a gracious haven for the Illyrian folk, with gates standing open and pennants fluttering from every peak. Now it had an air of grim defiance, proud and resolute, its walls stripped of adornment and gates bolted tight, cautiously opened at Czibor's password.
One could see, from atop the lower terrace of the fortress, why Epidauro alone had not fallen to La Serenissima. An enormous gate flanked by towers defended the narrow causeway from the mainland, and all the rest was bordered by water. Even the mighty Serenissiman navy would be hard-pressed to find a weakness assaulting Epidauro from the sea, met all around with those faceless grey walls manned by the Ban's Guard with archers, trebuchets and ballistae.
"Ah," Kazan sighed, gazing over the city. "Home!"
I did not say what was in my mind; that the charming village of Dobrek was more pleasant by far. I saw with a stranger's eyes. To Illyrians bred and born, walled Epidauro housed the soul of the land, the clenched fist raised in defiance at the oppressor. This I saw most of all reflected in Kazan's hungry gaze, but I saw it too in the faces of the others, his island-born companions who had never seen a city before Phaistos.
Well and so, I would not expect them to ache with longing for the gilded fields of Terre d'Ange, ancient olive groves and vineyards, and the lavender in bloom filling the air with fragrance. Even thinking on it made my heart contract painfully in my breast. If naught else, I knew what it was to be an exile. We shared that much.
Once inside the fortress, Kazan's men were taken into the good-natured custody of the Ban's Guard, to be fed and housed.
Only Kazan and I were conducted into the Ban's presence, and I felt nervous and ill at ease, conscious of my unwashed state and my salt-stained attire. For his part, Kazan was in confident high spirits, secure in his welcome.
The Ban received us not in state, but in his study, a generous room strewn about with official papers and petitions. A small fire burned in the hearth, dispelling the autumn chill, and two elderly hounds dozed in front of it on a threadbare rug. Czibor stood at attention until the Ban looked at him.
"Zim Sokali," he announced. "I bring you Kazan Atrabiades, once of Epidauro, and..." His voice trailed off helplessly; he had not bothered to learn my name.