At that point the large hatch above began to move once more, slowly, rumbling, this time opening, revealing the sky.
We heard no sounds of fighting on the deck. I took it the deck was cleared.
Cabot remained on guard.
Several Pani, behind Lord Okimoto, put arrows to the strings of their bows.
“Is the honorable Tajima, swordsman,” asked Lord Okimoto, once more, politely, “authorized to speak for Lord Nishida?”
“I am authorized to speak for Lord Nishida,” said a voice from the deck, at the top of the ramp.
I looked up. The figure was in battle gear, and it removed from its head a large, winged helmet.
“Ah,” said Lord Okimoto, politely, “Lord Nishida.”
“What is going on?” inquired Lord Nishida.
“I am first, am I not?” inquired Lord Okimoto.
“Of course,” said Lord Nishida, bowing his head briefly, acknowledging the priority of his colleague. It was my understanding that each lord had something like two hundred and fifty Pani in his command, that those of Lord Nishida had been housed at a place called Tarn Camp, north of the Alexandra, some pasangs from its headwaters, and that those of Lord Okimoto had been housed differently, but in the vicinity, somewhere south of the Alexandra. The two complements had joined forces before the great ship began its journey downriver. I did not doubt, however, that they had been in close communication during the building of the great ship. Most, but not all, of those who were not Pani had been with Lord Nishida at Tarn Camp. Many had been recruited in Brundisium, and, over months, in larger and smaller numbers, in larger and smaller ships, had coasted north, thence at one rendezvous or another, to move overland, east to Tarn Camp. They were a motley lot, mostly mercenaries, several from the free companies, many once of the occupation forces in Ar. But amongst them as well were landless men, younger sons, men without Home Stones, bandits, pirates, adventurers, soldiers of fortune, thieves, fugitives, wanted men, cutthroats, fugitives from Ar, such as Seremides, and others. The Pani had apparently much gold to invest in recruitment, and had not been sparing or particular in its distribution. I sensed that it had been only after the great ship had been at sea for a time that the risks involved in assembling such men were better understood. The Pani, I suspected, perhaps because of their cultural background, in which certain values might be presupposed and never questioned, might have underestimated the dangers involved. Perhaps, too, given the exigencies of their task, whatever it might be, and its urgency and prospects, whatever they might be, they had been concerned to move as swiftly as would prove practical. Perhaps they felt they had had little time in which to be particular. Their final intention, in any case, I suspected, was to put together a formidable force as quickly as possible, a force of skilled and dangerous men, men free of certain indigenous and traditional loyalties, which, disciplined, and closely managed, might in unfamiliar, remote venues be well applied to the business of war.
“Disloyalty,” said Lord Okimoto, “is to be punished by death. It is our way. Those beneath you, on the slanted surface, were disloyal, and several behind me, now suitably subdued and tethered, were disloyal, as well.”
The mutineers who had, at Cabot’s word, discarded their weapons, and were now kneeling, bound and neck- roped, Pani about with drawn blades, looked at one another in apprehension, and surely to Cabot, as well.
“I see Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida. “I would hear him speak.”
“His blade is unhoused,” said Lord Okimoto.
Cabot sheathed the
“Lords Okimoto and Nishida,” said Cabot, evenly. “Mutiny is done. Weapons were surrendered freely. Men have placed their lives and trust in your hands. Otherwise they would have died with weapons in hand. Men do not surrender to be slaughtered. That is not our way.”
“One wonders, Lord Nishida,” said Lord Okimoto, “if Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, is loyal.”
“He and others fought with us!” exclaimed Tajima.
Lord Okimoto looked at Tajima, with surprise.
“Forgive me, lord,” said Tajima, lowering his head. He had not been invited to speak.
“Where is Nodachi?” asked Lord Okimoto.
“He is on the deck, he meditates, he slew seven,” said Lord Nishida.
I did not know of whom they spoke, but I gathered his opinion might have been valued.
“Lords Okimoto and Nishida,” said Tarl Cabot. “Men did not wish to die. They fear the ice. They are hungry. They sought escape. They were desperate, crazed, not thinking.”
“The attack was well planned, well organized, well coordinated,” said Seremides. “That is not the way of crazed, unthinking men.”
“My esteemed colleague, the noble Rutilius of Ar,” said Cabot, “is well aware that a handful of uncrazed, thinking conspirators, men of malice and cunning, may organize, coordinate, and direct, the actions of others, men on the brink of despair and panic. It is my suspicion that this act was an attempt to conserve rations, to prolong the life of some by ending that of others, perhaps an attempt, even, to thin your forces, so as, eventually, to seize the ship.”
“Absurd!” cried Seremides.
“It is not clear, of course,” said Tarl Cabot, “who it might be who organized and arranged this mutiny.”
“It seems they are slain by now,” said Seremides.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said Tarl Cabot.
“I was unaware,” said Lord Okimoto, “that Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, had requested permission to speak.”
“I speak as I will,” said Cabot. “It is the way of my caste.”
“He is of the scarlet caste,” explained Lord Nishida.
“Ah,” said Lord Okimoto.
“Lords,” said Cabot, “I do not know our destination, nor your purpose, but the destination seems remote, and the purpose important. I think then that practicality, if not mercy, if not honor, should urge lenience in this matter.”
“May I speak?” asked Tajima.
Lord Nishida, with a slight motion of his head, granted this permission.
“Many months ago,” said Tajima, “we had been sorely defeated, and driven to the edge of the sea. Surely there are those of us here who remember that well. It was the fall of night that saved the few of us, no more than seven hundred, not even that, from the thousands with which we had begun. Never had there been such a battle. We were weary, and far outnumbered. Many were wounded, sick, and hungry. We waited for the morning, on the beach, to die. Then, by the will of whatever gods there be, by whatever names be theirs, we found ourselves, and gold, on a far shore. Now we would return. Those arrayed against us are many and formidable. I do not think we can spare one tarnsman, one spearman, one swordsman, one archer. I, too, speak for lenience.”
“There has been disloyalty,” said Lord Okimoto.
“I speak for lenience,” said Lord Nishida.
Suddenly many eyes turned toward the top of the ramp, to the open deck, where, now beside Lord Nishida, there stood a silent figure, clearly of the Pani. He wore a short robe, with wide sleeves. He was of medium height, but square in the shoulders. His ankles and wrists were thick. His hair was bound back. He carried a sword, which seemed almost a part of his hand. He was one of those who would not sleep lest such a blade lay at his side. His face was broad, his eyes bright. I could read no expression on his face, no more than upon a rock.
“Have you heard?” inquired Lord Okimoto of the figure.
It nodded, quickly, abruptly, and then, again, it was still, as still as if it might have been formed of rock, or carved of wood.
“It is Nodachi,” said one of the Pani.
I gathered from his observation, that it was not usual for this individual to be about, amongst them.
“What shall it be, honorable one?” asked Lord Okimoto.
The figure thrust his sword beneath his sash, and turned away.
“It is lenience,” said Lord Nishida.
“What does it matter,” cried Seremides. “We shall die on the ice anyway!”
The mutineers who had been on the ramp did not survive. There was not one who had not been struck by at least two arrows. It is not well to be the target of a Pani marksman. Cabot’s interposition, at the risk of his own life, had won at best a few moments more of life for those he had sought to protect. The tethered mutineers, some sixty or so, were taken below, in the custody of Pani, and put in chains.
