In Search of Spice (36 page)

Then he wanted to see Pat’s bow, and was delighted when Pat knocked a coconut out of a tree some 100 paces away. The arrow skewered the nut dead centre and caused an excited murmur and some undignified shoving amongst the men who all wanted to see the bow. The Ratu managed to pull it to full draw and release an arrow when he tried, to Pat’s astonishment . This earned Pat the respect of the Ratu who slapped him on the shoulder and pronounced to his warriors he was a very strong man.

Several warriors with arrow wounds came over to be inspected by the Ratu, who gave Pat a measured look at the realisation Pat’s arrows had removed four warriors from the fight.

Before the tour could start, a commotion from the beach claimed their attention as Perryn arrived with his medical chest. He was not alone, Sara waded ashore with an escort of Spakka and Pahippians, Hinatea’s girls, all equipped with long spears resplendent in their new metal heads. Lady Strike shone naked in Sara’s hand, a grim and determined Hinatea beside her. Suzanne smiled to see the two girls in harmony for the first time.

The Ratu was delighted to see more female warriors and rushed down to the beach with Suzanne to welcome them, loving the way the spears were levelled at him. He marvelled at the metal spear points and promptly cut his finger on Hinatea’s blade as he checked the edge, chortling with delight as he sucked his finger, moving on to examine the axes of the Spakka. Esbech eyed him with distrust, not used to a man larger than himself, very reluctantly relinquishing his axe, then dodging as the Ratu swung it dangerously, just missing him.

Mactravis arrived behind Suzanne, and Sara asked for his report, a succinct summary. The Ratu watched with interest, returning the axe to Esbech and beckoning to Suzanne. Suzanne sighed, and explained to him some of the complexities of their line of command. The Ratu grasped the main thrust with impressive speed.

“So, she will negotiate for trade? Good! I will get my counsellors to talk to her. Come, we will look at my village.” He grasped her arm and steered her away. “She looks very angry and not much fun,” he whispered as they moved off and Suzanne bit her tongue to stop the laughter, her earlier lust for revenge fading to nothing. He shouted at a nearby warrior who rushed off to collect counsellors.

Sara had brought Taufik with her and found herself seated with him in front of a line of village dignitaries, while Hinatea’s girls stood guard. Mactravis collected the Spakka and established a mixed watch of soldiers and axemen by the wounded, allowing the remainder to fraternise. The Ratu displayed no interest in the negotiations, trusting his councillors. Suzanne was much more interesting, and she found herself answering a stream of questions, impressed with the speed he acquired knowledge and the questions he asked. She delighted in the little children arrayed for her inspection, who dragged her away to see them hurl themselves off the cliff into the swimming hole.

The Ratu came to rescue her, and brought her to a range of fruits and vegetables laid out for lunch. The Ratu sat on the largest stool, pulling one a little closer on his right. He indicated to Suzanne to sit there, while placing Sara on his left, when she arrived. The dignitaries he chased off with a staccato sentence, taking Taufik with them. Hinatea he sat opposite, though she refused to relinquish her spear, sticking it in the ground beside her and ensuring a couple of her girls stood behind her. She continued to watch the Ratu with mistrustful eyes. He allowed Mactravis, Little and Pat to make up the numbers at each side. They did not sit at a table, but around large banana leaves on which the food waited. The Ratu pointed at what he wanted and a girl immediately passed it to him or the guest he indicated.

‘Hinatea,” began the Ratu, “you island girl, yes? Where you from?”

Hinatea considered her response, before giving a guarded answer. “Pahipi. Long way.”

“Why you travel with these people?”

“Do deal with Princess.” She indicated Sara and the Ratu’s eyes sharpened. “She protect Pahipi, Pahipi now part of her country. She give us husbands, we fight for her now.” Hinatea indicated Pat as she said this and Sara ground her teeth.

“Protect? Who from? Why not ask the Great Ratu? I give husband too!” He smiled as he said this, eyeing Hinatea with close attention.

Hinatea wore a simple shift, instead of her usual nakedness, and sat straight and proud, ignoring his gaze. “She not like Ummayads, stop them coming. With her, one girl, one husband. You have six wives.”

“Ummayads,” spat the Ratu, “not come here. I kill. Seven wives. What do you mean, part of her country?”

“Hinatea not speak Belada good. Ask her,” she pointed at Sara with her chin.

Suzanne started to answer and received a hefty prod in her thigh from the Ratu’s finger, silencing her. The Ratu stared at Sara. “Tell me of your country. Who are you to reach across the sea and take these girls?”

“We are Harrhein,” Sara answered, her head high. “Over the years we fought with our neighbours. With two, different people, we reached agreement and leave each other’s countries alone. The young men fight when they wish, but the countries do not.” The Ratu grunted in approval.

“Two other countries we fought with and they became part of us, now we are one. Suzanne is from one country, Pat from another. Now they are part of us and only think of themselves as Harrheinian.” Suzanne wasn’t sure of that, she felt the cultured part of her hailed from Galicia, but stayed silent as the Ratu’s hand closed on her thigh, preventing interruption.

Sara indicated the Spakka by looking at them. “Those warriors are from a neighbour with whom we fight, always at war. They do not wish peace, and live by a strict code of honour. These ones I took in war and now I am their leader, their Ratu.”

The Ratu stopped her with a hand and called to the nearest Spakka, Esbech, who stared blankly at him. The Ratu gestured and Esbech lumbered forward, accepting the proffered bread fruit with dark suspicion.

“This one says she beat you in battle and is now your leader. How did this happen?”

Esbech blinked at him while he bit into the breadfruit and grimaced in distaste. He was slowly learning Harrhein, but was damned if he was going to speak this bloody language.

“He does not speak Belada, and his Harrhein is not very good,” said Suzanne. “I can translate his Harrhein for you, but you are better getting Sara to translate his Spakka. She speaks his language.”

The Ratu watched Sara speak in Spakka, Esbech’s brief reply which Sara translated to him, repeating the story Esbech recounted. The Spakka warriors were not literate, and consequently were skilled story tellers. Esbech told the story, and the other Spakka warriors came up alongside, now and then interjecting a correction. Esbech’s hands moved with his words, his axe grasped by the hilt and swung at remembered Harrheinians. The Ratu watched in rapt fascination, as indeed did the Harrheinians, hearing the story from the other point of view.

“We had the ship, but they did not know it,” translated Sara. “We were ready, about to unleash the rage, the valour, and overwhelm them.”

“What is the rage?” asked the Ratu, and Esbech hesitated, seeing all the questioning looks. He looked at his comrades, who appeared troubled but Stiphleek the Bard nodded to him.

“When the God takes us,” explained Esbech. “We drink the fiery Milk of Fryssa, the God takes us and nothing can stop us.”

“It is a fury they experience,” Sara clarified. “Once in this state you must kill them to stop them, or take off a leg.”

“What is this milk?”

“Fryssa is the War Goddess,” cut in Stiphleek, casting his eyes down with her name. “I am her acolyte and I make the milk from grain. Fryssa blesses me and the Milk comes alive to allow the God into us.”

Silence greeted this revelation, Corporal Little’s eyes lit up and he slipped off his stool to join Stiphleek. Esbech ploughed on with his story.

“The fury took Havic first, he leapt up too early, struck the shields and died. Erin followed him and a few others who could not restrain themselves. Then the singing started. We heard the Princess, for whom we had come. Thorvald leapt to see if he could see her and we all saw her kill him. Thorvald was the Noble Hilario’s shield bearer, and the Noble saw his death and went too early, before the rage could take us. The Princess struck him back into the dragon ship, pierced through the lungs and we were dying as we rushed too few at a time. We faced our death when the Princess called to us, fearless as she came alone aboard the dragon ship. We stayed our axes. She blessed the Noble Hilario and gave us honour.”

Esbech fell silent and would speak no more, ignoring the Ratu’s questions and turning away, followed by the rest of the Spakka. The Ratu’s voice rose, demanding to know what he meant by blessed.

“She ran her sword through his shitty head,” said Corporal Little, grinning as he stole a mango and followed after Stiphleek. There were no swear words in Belada, so Little created his own.

“She gave the Noble an honourable death,” interjected Suzanne, with a glare at Little. “As is their custom, a great honour to receive from the enemy.”

The Ratu turned to Sara, still and lost in her memory.

“So, Princess, you fight wars.” Sara inclined her head.

“In wars you need warriors. Always you want more.” She nodded again.

“You give me axes, I give you warriors. Best warriors in all the world.” He pointed at Mactravis with a bit of breadfruit. “This man train them. I come too. We conquer everywhere.” He beamed enthusiastically and patted her knee. “You not need to put sword through my head.”

In the afternoon, Captain Larroche, Master Taufik and Mage Walters came over to continue the negotiations, as Sara was no longer allowed to take part. Instead the Ratu took both girls off to discuss various plans, with an arm around each of them.

Sara packed off Pat with a couple of local guides and Grey Fox to locate ore bodies, while Hinatea took some of her girls and spears to protect them.

They inspected the wounded, and the Ratu watched in fascination as Perryn set the broken shoulder. He loved Little’s insistence on pissing on fresh wounds and thought this likely to be highly effective against the malignant spirits that brought infection. On the grounds royal urine would be the most effective, he insisted on producing an impressive member and giving extra irrigation to his own wounded warriors, who meekly submitted. Suzanne was darkly suspicious as to the real reason behind this, though she did admit to herself she was impressed.

They settled down in the shade of coconut trees, each with a fresh young coconut to drink from, Suzanne tucked up close to the Ratu with Sara and Mactravis opposite, discussing warfare. This fascinated the Ratu, who required minute detail of previous campaigns, descriptions of the enemy tactics and weapons with the action portrayed in the sand.

In the mid-afternoon, the Ratu declared there would be a feast the following night, apologising the lack of time to arrange it that night because the pigs took all day to cook. Suzanne asked what the ship could contribute, which meant a boat had to be sent for the cook and some bottles for the Ratu to sample.

A variety of women came over and the Ratu gave them instructions. The ship’s cook arrived, and began a long discussion with the women, with the assistance of the Ratu’s translation as the women did not speak Belada. At the same time, Sara offered him various bottles to sample. Brandy was interesting - the first mouthful sprayed everywhere amid a fit of coughing. Sara was concerned, but Suzanne simply poured him another glass and waited. The Ratu recovered and reached for the glass, which Suzanne hung onto, and only permitted him a sip. She told him it needed to be sipped and the aroma inhaled. She demonstrated and the Ratu was hooked, requiring a glass to accompany him for the rest of the day. He loved the glasses and Sara earned a lengthy hug by presenting him with a crystal balloon brandy snifter together with a bottle.

Tomorrow’s feast having been organised, the Ratu felt peckish and insisted the girls joined him for supper.

Sitting at the back of the jolly boat while six sailors rowed them, the last, back to the ship, Sara said to Suzanne, “Oh, I thought we would never escape. Why, oh why did you give him so much brandy? He was so drunk, he passed out.”

“Next lesson in handling men, love,” replied Suzanne, sounding tired. “When drinking, first they are happy, then they think they are funny when they aren’t, then randy, then they get aggressive, then sad, then they go to sleep. It is best to leave when they are funny, or you are in trouble. Otherwise, you need to get them pissed and passed out fast, or they’ll fight over you or worse. The brandy made it easy; they don’t know how to handle it.”

“Dirty old goat kept feeling my bottom,” complained Sara, “after you got him drunk.”

“You should be so lucky,” answered Suzanne. “My right tit feels like it’s gone through a mangle. I wonder if he’s bruised it.” And she proceeded to take it out and examine it in the moonlight.

“Suzanne,” cried a scandalised Sara. “What are you doing? In front of everybody? Put it away!”

“Huh?” Suzanne said vaguely, looking at the crew and seeing four men goggling at her and two girls looking annoyed and upset. She realised two of the men were the girls’ partners. “Oh, sorry, was worried he’d bruised it.” She gestured towards it, and slipped it back inside her dress.

“Are you drunk?” Sara asked, curious. “This isn’t like you.”

“No, not at all,” frowned Suzanne. “I was careful not to drink much brandy. Drank quite a bit of that bloody kava muck though.”