Page 35 of Something Human

“Wouldn’t strike me as a very good way to prove anything, sir, but then what do I know?”

“Think of it this way, Kleisios. Suppose a woman asked you to prove your love by growing a big, bushy beard.”

“Oh, I see! He must have been a laughingstock.”

“Worse than that—the lords talked about deposing him for it. Luth men are very serious about their hair. They cut it short when they’re in disgrace, or convicted of some crime, and that’s about it.”

He wondered about that woman, too. Maybe she had just wanted to make Gunthanaruth ridiculous. If she’d been fond of him, Adares thought she should have appreciated the long hair. It was such fun to run your fingers through it.

Kleisios looked up thoughtfully from his wine cup. “I wonder, do the Luth think of us as barbarians, with our short hair? The same way we think of the Sasians, who grow beards?”

“The Sasians aren’t barbarians, man. They sacked Kos.”

“Oh, well, those Kossians—soft bunch of … ” Kleisios grinned. “You seem to have learned a lot about the Luth.”

Adares nodded. “There’s no substitute for talking to one of them.”

Adares’s secretary, a thin Boukossian freedman who had served Hesteios before him, leaned discreetly over his couch just then, and said, “Pardon me for disturbing you, lord archon.”

“No trouble, Doros—what can I do for you now? More citizens carousing in my study? Or have they made it into my bedroom by this time?”

“No, lord archon,” said Doros, with a wry smile. “We have made quite sure of the locks now. It’s something else—one of the sentries has come in and says there is something you should know.”

Adares set down his wine cup, conscious of being much more sober than he had imagined himself, and recalling why he had meant to remain so.

“Thank you, Doros,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch.

Doros gestured for a slave to bring his master’s sandals.

“I don’t think, sir,” he said guardedly, “that it is bad news.”

“Oh?” Adares looked up at him.

“He is waiting in the hall.” Doros nodded towards the doorway. “I’ll fetch a cloak for you, shall I? He seems to think you may want to go out to see what he’s talking about.”

The sentry stood at attention in the hall, spear in hand, dripping on the wave-patterned mosaic floor while a couple of nearby revellers tried to talk him into joining them for a drink.

“Lord archon,” he said respectfully. “My fellows and I on the north wall have seen something. We’ve had our captain over for a look, and he thought I should come to you. It’s the Luth, lord archon. They’re leaving.”

Out in the rain on the northern wall, leaning on the wet rampart and straining his eyes to look out at the dark hills, Adares could see for himself that it was true.

When they withdrew from the siege, the Luth had not gone far; they had camped within sight of Tios, in the shelter of the hills at the far end of the valley that had formed the battlefield where they achieved their short-lived victory. Now they were packing up and leaving. Even in the faint moonlight that seeped through the clouds, this was obvious. Much as he wanted to give a great shout of relief and run back into his palace to tell everyone the news, Adares felt he had to restrain himself. It seemed not only too good to be true, but also rather odd.

“Why in the world,” he said, tugging at the fold of his cloak that he had thrown over his head, “are they leaving in the dead of night, in the rain?”

“I don’t know, lord archon,” said the watch captain. “But they were up to something earlier. The captain of the watch before mine said there was some commotion just before sunset—it was too far away to tell what, with the rain, and the light being bad. He said it looked orderly—like they were gathering to watch something.” He shook back the rain-soaked crest of his helmet, scattering droplets. “Seeing this now, my guess is they were listening to their chieftain tell them it was time to go home.”

“Captain!” One of the sentries came hurrying down the wall from his post. “There’s a rider coming—look!”

Adares looked where the sentry pointed and dimly saw a figure on a white horse, riding toward Tios from the camp that the Luth were vacating. The effort that he needed to restrain a shout of joy suddenly doubled. Still, he made it. This might be anyone, riding from the Luth camp to bear a message to Tios—anyone at all.

“That will be a messenger, telling us that they’re leaving, I expect,” said the watch captain.

“Yes,” said Adares. “I had better go down to meet him.”

CHAPTER XII

NOT WANTING TO set off a commotion in the palace, he told the sentries to keep what they had seen to themselves for the time being, and returned to the dining room in person, depositing his wet cloak with a waiting slave, to bring away with him a handful of his men—all those who were still sober enough to ride. They did their best to contain their delight at the whispered news, and leaving the dining room, sent for cloaks and horses, and rode down to the main gate of the city, overtaking on the way the messenger coming up to the palace to report the arrival of a Luth emissary.