and sages and scholars do have their place, after all-we'll have driven that nasty Wodep and all the rest of the sorry louts into semi-oblivion within a decade. Our husbands will shut us up in seclusion, naturally, now and then-gods, we'll drive them insane, it'll be such fun-but who cares? Toman used to do that with me every couple of years or so. Never lasted more than a few months, though. Actually, I found it rather restful. Then, of course, you and I will have to fight it out. But I don't foresee that being a major problem, either. If we've done our job properly-main thing is getting the very best philosophers to parse the rhetoric-we should manage a suitable compromise. Kata thinks so, anyway.'
Shyly, the blonde slave smiled at Helga. 'It's the saints, you see. The Young Word himself talked about them.'
She closed her mouth. Helga's half glare, half goggle intimidated her in a way it couldn't Arsule.
'Don't let her intimidate you, Kata,' snapped Arsule, 'even if she is wearing that silly sword.'
At last, something Helga could grapple with. 'You don't 'wear' a sword, Arsule! You 'bear' one.'
Arsule sniffed. 'Men 'bear' a sword, girl. You wear one, whether you like it or not. It's past time-you've got two children now! — you stopped this foolishness. And why do you insist on it, anyway? It's boring.'
Helga choked on a laugh. However different they might be in almost every other respect-birth and breeding, just for starters-in this, at least, Arsule and Ilset were much alike. She could remember Ilset saying to her, once: Why in the name of the gods would you want to? I mean-when soldiers get into their own lingo-gods, and they say women are boring!
'So!' pronounced Arsule. 'Are you willing to stop being lazy and go to work? I warn you, girl, if you keep lounging about much longer your brain will get as heavy as my ass. And a lot fatter! At least my butt gets some exercise, which your brain certainly doesn't.'
Helga's mounting irritation was suddenly broken. Not by Arsule's frown and torrent of words, but by the look of half terror/half excitement on Kata's face.
Gods, the girl's looking forward to it. A slave. An illiterate barbarian, to boot.
She looked down at the army camp. Tomorrow morning, the siege of Franness would begin. She could see that Adrian already had the handful of big siege guns at the gate, ready to be hauled out on the morrow. And, turning her head, she could see that the berms where those guns would be positioned were already finished and being guarded by several battalions.
And what do I have to do with all that?
Nothing.
Gods, she's right. I'm bored stiff. No wonder Adrian doesn't listen much to me anymore. I haven't got anything to say except what he already knows.
'What are 'saints'?' she asked.
Kata launched into a somewhat incoherent explanation, which was not helped any by the fact-soon obvious even to Helga-that the Reedbottom originators of the Young Word creed had all the usual sense of 'logic' typical of barbarians anywhere. As sloppy as a pig trough.
'Never mind,' she said at length. 'Come back with me to the camp and we can talk about it more this afternoon. Maybe I'll be able to follow things better with a cup or two of wine. Adrian will be busy all day anyway.'
To Arsule: 'So let me understand you. You're thinking that Jassine… but what about her priests?'
'Priests! They're all dependent on the state purse anyway, Helga-the cult of Jassine more than any of them. They'll trot into line, watch if they don't.' More charitably: 'Besides, Jassine's priests tend to be a fairly self-effacing sort, as priests go. Some of them are even quite pleasant fellows. I know, I've been spending a fair amount of time with them lately.'
Arsule started to add something else, but closed her mouth. Which was something of a miracle in its own right.
Helga chuckled. She could just imagine what Arsule had been about to say. While you've been idling about contemplating your miseries.
'Oh, why not? If nothing else, it'll give me something to do. ' She placed a hand on Kata's shoulder and turned her back toward the trail. 'Come on, girl. You can keep talking. That might slow us down enough to allow my blessed stepmother to keep up.'
Behind her back, she heard Arsule sniff. 'Hmph. Technically, I'm your mother. All the laws say so! Do try to show a certain modicum of respect, will you?'
There came another rapid set of sounds, ending with a thump. Helga turned around and saw that Arsule must have slipped.
'I admit it's sometimes a bit difficult,' Arsule grumbled, as Helga helped her back onto her feet. 'But, as I said, having a hefty ass helps. Matrons would be lost without it.'
She gave Helga a half smile/half leer, and then swatted her on her own rump. 'Gods, your butt's almost as solid as a man's. But don't worry, girl. By the time you need it, you'll have a proper ass.'
As they resumed their downward progress, Arsule's voice provided a steady accompaniment. 'All those hours, just sitting on couches… the only exercise trying to keep philosophers from each other's throats… good thing they're such a weedy and wheezing bunch, for a girl as strong as you it'll be easy… remind them of the grisly fate of a certain band of pirates, now and then, that'll help…'
Late that night, after Adrian returned to their quarters to get a few hours' rest before the trials of the morning, Helga insisted on making love. Adrian was willing enough, for all his tension. He didn't have all that much choice anyway, since-for the first time in weeks-Helga was being aggressive about it.
Afterward, as they lay in each other's arms, contently exhausted, Helga began casually mentioning some parts of her day's conversation with Kata.
Adrian was more-or-less oblivious to it, at first. But, after a while, his scholarly instincts were aroused, as Helga had known they would be.
She could see him frowning in the dim light thrown out by the small lamp in the bunker, as he stared up at the wooden logs which formed the rough ceiling.
'Doesn't make sense, Helga. Blithering barbarians! How can a man be both a prophet and the manifestation of a god at the same time? One or the other, fine, but not both. '
'Well, it didn't make a lot of sense to me either. But Kata says-'
After a while, Adrian's lips quirked wryly and he gave his head a little shake. 'Gods, what a tangled mess. As much rhyme and reason as a bramble bush. But… for a moment there… Heh. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was listening to one of the Hallert school.'
'Hallert? Who are they?'
' 'Him,' not they. Hallert's been dead for, oh, must be a century and a half, now. He was one of the founders of the Numerology School, which is still very prominent in the Grove. Hallert himself broke away, though, early on. He got obsessed with geometry instead of sticking with straight Number and Form. The convoluted stuff he came up with! I can still remember the headaches it gave me as a student. One of my tutors belonged to his school of thought.'
Helga rolled her head into his neck. 'What was his name?' she murmured. 'The tutor, I mean.'
'Schott. Kerin Schott. Nice enough old gent, mind you. Still pretty spry, too-at least, he was several years ago. Smart old man, no doubt about it. But, gods, what an obsessive maniac. Show him anything in the world, and he'd immediately try to figure out how it was all a manifestation of geometry.'
'Really? How odd.' She planted a wet kiss on the neck. 'Introduce me to him, why don't you? When we get back to Solinga. I've always found geometry a bit interesting myself.'
Adrian gave her shoulder a warm squeeze. 'Certainly, love, if that's what you want. Though, I'm warning you…'
But he fell asleep before he could do more than start warming up to the warning. Which, the more she heard, warmed Helga herself.
Fit a saint into the kaleidoscope, no sweat. I'll bet that old man eats kaleidoscopes for breakfast. If I can just get him interested in the problem…
