Kushiel's Avatar (37 page)

“Love as thou wilt,” Joscelin murmured, “and pray like hell it is enough.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I looked away and stared at the undulating waves until it passed. “What else can I do? I hate it that my heart should fall to my feet at the sight of her, but it does. It grieves me more than I can say that I have turned aside from my quest to free Hyacinthe, who has suffered so long. I am terrified of my dreams, I am terrified of the
Skotophagoti
, and I am terrified of the Akkadians, who are supposed to be our allies. And I am well and truly wroth with my lord Kushiel, whose justice seems to me to be monstrous. If I cannot trust in Elua’s compassion …” I shuddered and did not finish.

“Phèdre.” Joscelin put both arms around me and held me hard. “Hyacinthe has endured a dozen years, and he’ll endure a dozen more if he has to. He’s stronger than you credit him. He’s like you, he’s had to be. Your dreams are only dreams, no more, and the Akkadians, fearsome or no,
are
our allies. As for Melisande …” He shrugged. “Who knows? Mayhap you are her conscience. Of a surety, her son should not suffer for her crimes. Not this. No one should. It is a matter of D’Angeline pride to redeem him.”

“Pride.” I laughed, half in tears. “One of our sins, the Yeshuites would have it. Azza’s sin was pride, though we all suffer our share. Joscelin, you’ve said nothing of the
Skotophagoti
.”

“Ah, the bone-priests.” He smiled; I felt his mouth move against my hair. “I am Cassiel’s servant, love, no matter what comes. If he does not follow Blessed Elua’s unfathomable plan as surely as you pray Kushiel does, we are both lost. But while I have you to protect, I am not afraid to try my steel against any enemy, Eaters-of-Darkness or no.”

I turned in his arms, and whispered, “Joscelin Verreuil, I would die without you.”

“Probably.” He smiled again. “Of melodrama, if naught else.”

Against my will, it made me laugh; I struck at his chest with one hand, which he caught and kissed, and then he kissed me some more, until the Menekhetan sailors glanced sidelong and murmured and I had quite forgotten what our original conversation was about, or why I’d been so overwrought in the first place.

Our journey passed uneventfully and we arrived in Tyre, setting foot for the first time on the soil of Khebbel-im-Akkad. It was a mighty city once, in the old empires of Akkad and Persis, but it was sacked by the Hellene conqueror Al-Iskandr, and never restored to its former glory. It is still a thriving seaport, though, and we were able to find all that we needed for our journey overland within its walls.

Unfortunately, one of those items was a veil.

Amaury Trente had spent a good deal of time at sea in conversation with Lord Mesilim’s men, one of whom spoke Hellene. The rules of conduct for women differ greatly in Khebbel-im-Akkad from elsewhere in the world; certainly from those in Terre d’Ange. I had known this, of course. I just hadn’t reckoned on the rules applying to
me
.

“Highborn ladies do not show their faces in public,” Amaury said adamantly. “Foreign or no. If you don’t want to be taken for a commoner or a whore, you’ll travel veiled, Phèdre.”

“My lord,” I pointed out to him, “my mother was an adept of the Night Court, and my father a merchant, and I am twice-dedicated to Naamah’s Service. I am a commoner
and
a whore, and ashamed of neither.”

“You are also the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, counsel and near-cousin to the Queen of Terre d’Ange, and I daresay in Khebbel-im-Akkad, you’d prefer to be treated as such.” He was right. I ceded the argument, and accepted the veil. There was only one other woman among Amaury’s remaining delegates, Renée de Rives, a Baron’s daughter who was the consort of one of the minor lordlings, Royce Guidel. They were young and regarded the entire outing as a lark, a chance to spend long months together without the intervening demands of Guidel’s marriage. I am not entirely sure why Lord Amaury chose them, except that they were a charming pair, and Royce Guidel was reputed to be a good man with a sword.

At any rate, Renée de Rives grumbled nearly as much as I over the veil, and we befriended one another over the affair, which was to the good, since we were thrown together for much of the ride to Nineveh, surrounded by our escort of men. On the Akkadians’ advice, Lord Amaury had spared no expense, and our company was richly caparisoned. The horses were very fine, tall and clean-limbed, with glossy coats. I grew quite fond of mine, which was a sweet-tempered dark bay with a white star. Our saddles were in the Akkadian fashion, which is to say scarcely saddles at all, but embroidered blankets with luxuriant silk fringes, a pair of long stirrups dangling on straps. The bridles, by contrast, were elaborate, with chased gold cheek-pieces and tall, plumed headstalls. It would have fretted my grey mare, but the bay thought himself quite fine in it.

After two sea voyages, it goes without saying that we were all of us considerably sore and stiff for the first few days, and I was passing glad that Lord Amaury had been profligate enough to hire a mule train and tenders, with servants to set up camp and cook and clean for us. The first part of the journey took us northward up the coast, skirting mountains and the harsh desert that lay beyond. Eventually, we forded the River Yehordan and made our way inland.

I could not but think of my Habiru studies as we crossed the mighty river, for it is one that features largely in their writings, a remembrance of home for those in exile. To be sure, the home for which they languished was a good deal further south, but it is the self-same river. This land was strange and harsh to me, with pockets of fertility clinging to the riverbanks and great stretches of arid soil between; still, I knew what it was to long for one’s home.

We crossed the Yehordan and made our way through a low pass in the mountains, striking out across the vast untilled plains. It was an unmemorable journey and a miserable one, for the rains broke, washing across the hard-packed red soil. Our horses and mules slogged through red mud to the fetlocks, and all of us were splashed with it. It was winter in Khebbel-im-Akkad, and I cannot say I cared for it. The fine silk net of my veil clung damply to my face, making it hard to breathe.

“Take it off,” Renée muttered, and I saw she was bare-faced beneath the hood of her cloak. “Who’s going to care, in this weather? The mule-handlers? Let them talk.”

It was still raining mercilessly when we reached the first of the two Great Rivers of Khebbel-im-Akkad, and crossing the Euphrate proved no easy task. Whatever other skills they might have-surely they are mighty weavers and horsemen-the Akkadians are no bridge-builders. Swollen by winter rains, the Euphrate ran too fast and too deep to be forded. Instead, we must needs cross it on reed rafts, drawn hand-overhand along thick cables of rope.

After crossing innumerable seas, it seemed foolish to fear a river; but this river was like a living beast, turgid and angry. In the spring, one of our guides assured us with unwonted cheer, it would overflow its banks, depositing nourishing silt on the flood-plains, hailed by the Akkadians as a life-giver. Well and good, I thought, clinging grimly to the raft; I hope I am not here to see it. It was worst of all for the horses and mules, who must swim for it. I watched my poor bay, the bedraggled plume on his headstall nodding as he fought to keep his nostrils above water. The Akkadian raft-keepers clapped and cheered, shouting encouragements, seemingly unfazed by the crossing.

When all was said and done, we made it across safely, though considerable worse for the wear. Lord Amaury ordered camp made early that day, and we spent the daylight hours cleaning mud from our tack and clothing, and endeavoring to dry ourselves as best we might. Our guides assured us that crossing the Tigris would be far smoother. I contented myself with flapping my sodden veil in the air and glaring at them. Being accustomed to seeing noblewomen unveiled in Menekhet, they were undisturbed by it.

In all fairness, the following day dawned bright and cool, and I had to own that after league upon league of arid land, it was pleasing to see the rich flood-plains, cultivated mainly with wheat and barley, though it was off-season, now. There were roads, unpaved but smooth, and an elaborate system of irrigation ditches, siphoning water from the Great Rivers. We saw a good many more villages, too, and were able to purchase additional foodstuffs; milk and dates, and yearling kid. There were no inns, though, or at least none fit to entertain a company such as ours. Only in the cities, which were few.

And we had nearly reached Nineveh.

We saw it from the far side of the Tigris, a river twice as fast and half again as deep as the Euphrate-a solid city rising from the flood-plain, thick-walled and massive. One would not suppose a city built of red mud-brick to be impressive, but it was, a good deal more than it sounds. There is little else to build from in Khebbel-im-Akkad, and they have become surpassingly good at it.

For all that I doubted, our guides had spoken truly; there was a far better system in place for crossing the Tigris, a veritable floating bridge. It was built on the same principle, but much vaster, an immense platform of cedar planks, capable of holding a dozen horses and men at once. A complex system of ropes and pulleys was used to convey it from one shore to another. Why the Akkadians are so reluctant to span running water, I cannot say, but it worked well enough. We made the crossing in three trips and were deposited safe and relatively dry outside the gates of Nineveh.

“Right,” said Lord Amaury, surveying his bedraggled company. “I think mayhap we should take lodgings for the night before presenting ourselves to the Khalif’s son.”

And with that, I did not disagree.

Thirty-Eight

ONE THING I will say; Nineveh did not lack for luxury.

Amaury Trente saw to it that we were lodged in the finest inn, and it was very fine indeed. They had a dozen stablehands alone, and ample space to quarter our mounts. The rooms were generous, sumptuous with woven carpets and pillows, all wrought in intricate designs.

The only drawback was that the men and women were lodged in separate quarters.

“It could be worse.” Renée de Rives, stripped down to her shift, flung herself on one of the overstuffed sleeping-pallets, stretching her arms indolently over her head. She looked at me under her lashes with a friendly smile. “And we could always entertain one another, Phèdre.”

I smiled back at her and demurred. “Though you are kind to ask,” I added.

“I’m not kind.” Renée rolled onto her side, propping her head on one arm. “I’m dying of curiosity and insatiable desire, and it seems a shame to let these lovely beds go to waste. Is it because of Joscelin?”

I thought about it, sitting cross-legged on the pallet opposite her. “In part.”

She made a face. “Phaugh! Why did you have to fall in love with a Cassiline, anyway? We’re all the poorer for it.”

I laughed. “Well, you may be sure, I didn’t choose to. Did you choose in the matter of Lord Royce? It is always easier if one’s beloved is unwed.”

“And if I’d met him sooner, he might be.” Renée laughed, too. “It’s not the same, though, Phèdre. Everyone knows Joscelin doesn’t care to share you. Royce, now … if I had the chance to share your bed, Royce would gladly push me into it! And I would do the same for him.”

“Well.” I rose, and stooped to kiss her in passing. “Mayhap he’ll get his chance.”

“Oh, unfair,” she said, but she smiled as she said it, stretching and yawning. “Elua, you can’t blame me for trying. If Joscelin is part of the reason, what’s the rest? You never said.”

“I didn’t, did I?” I paused in the act of unpacking my trunk, holding up a creased gown and frowning. To be sure, it was a long time since I had engaged in casual dalliance, but I’d never denied its appeal. And if Renée was no one I would choose for a patron, it was hardly that she was undesirable. No, the lack of desire lay within me, a strange sense of waiting withdrawal. It was unusual, in a Servant of Naamah; in an
anguissette
, unheard-of. “I don’t really know.”

“Ah, well.” Renée sighed, indolently. “I hope it passes.”

Unwontedly fearful of what might follow if it did, I said nothing.

So it was that I spent the night chastely, and in the morning, Lord Amaury sent a letter of introduction to the Palace, addressed to Valère L’Envers, the wife of the Lugal Sinaddan-Shamabarsin. The reply came swiftly, an invitation fair blazing with eagerness. After some weeks in Khebbel-im-Akkad, I was hardly surprised. Luxury or no, Nineveh must seem like direst exile for a D’Angeline noblewoman. Visitors from home would be rare delight.

Our persons bathed, our attire cleaned and pressed, our horses groomed and gleaming, we rode in style to the Palace of Nineveh. Commoners in the street bowed low as we passed, touching their foreheads to the ground. I could tell the Akkadian nobles, even on foot, because they did not deign to notice us, looking only out of the corners of their eyes. We passed many temples of the lesser gods, and then the great ziggurat of Shamash, with the solar disk mounted at its apex. The god was represented as the Lion of the Sun, his leonine visage encompassed in a circle. Outside the temple stood a mighty effigy of Ahzimandias, three times again as tall as a mortal man. He gripped a spear in one hand-the Spear of Shamash, he was called-and his bearded face was filled with the same blank ferocity as the god’s, glaring across the rooftops of the city.

I read the inscription as we passed, writ in Akkadian: “My name is Ahzimandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” It gave me a shiver. After the chronicles I had read of the destruction of Drujan, I regarded the House of Ur with a certain apprehension.

The Palace of Nineveh was protected by thick walls and a cordon of guards, clad in long tunics over full armor, turbans wrapped around their pointed helmets. Here, no one got in until all our arms had been surrendered, including Joscelin’s, and we were given an escort of guards. While marble was in short supply, the palace was tiled inside, cool and elegant, though rather dark.