falconry.
'I'm sure that can be arranged,' Carausius was saying.
Valens was embarrassed; they're like parents who've taken their children to play with each other, but the children have taken an instant dislike to each other, and are sulking and refusing to make friends. In which case, what he really ought to say now was, Don't want the stupid hawk.
Instead, he took a deep breath. 'There's a particularly fine heron down on the marshes,' he said. 'I've been watching it for the past week. Perhaps-'
'Heron?' It was the first word she'd said. Her voice was as sharp as her face.
'A pair of them, actually,' Valens said (he could always find something to say about hunting, even when all the other words had dried up), 'but the hen's not up to much. I was planning to leave her and go after the cock- bird.'
'Do you hunt herons?' She frowned. 'I suppose they steal fish,' she added.
Diplomatic nightmare. He couldn't very well say that roast heron was a delicacy; and weren't fish supposed to be incarnations of the Evil One, in which case a bird that killed them might well be sacred. Carausius was staring at something on the opposite wall. Valens couldn't remember who else from his side was in the room.
'Herons are very rare in our country.' One of the uncles was speaking. 'I'm told they taste a little like partridge, only a bit stronger. Is that right?'
Fine, Valens thought; the hell with diplomacy, and if it means starting a war, so be it. 'Please forgive me if this is an awkward question,' he said, 'but aren't you people vegetarians?'
The bald man, the girl and one of the uncles looked at him blankly; the other uncle whispered a translation. The bald man looked mildly surprised. The girl raised both eyebrows.
'No,' the bald man said, 'certainly not. Whatever gave you that idea?'
For a moment, all Valens could think about was the huge amount of cheese, yogurt, sour cream, curds, watercress and biscuits currently stockpiled in the kitchens. Bloody hell, what are we going to give them to eat? He also wished very much that he could remember who'd told him these people didn't eat meat, so he could console himself by planning a sufficiently elaborate form of retribution. 'Fine,' he said, 'that's all right, then. Some fool told me you eat nothing but cheese.'
'Cheese.' The girl was frowning.
'But you don't,' Valens said quickly, 'so that's-Carausius, you'd better…'
Carausius already had; one of the minor courtiers was halfway to the door, moving well.
'I take it dinner will be late,' said one of the uncles. 'Pity. We missed breakfast.'
'I'm sure we can find something,' Carausius said, his voice brittle, as if he could already feel the rasp of hemp fiber on his neck.
'We're not fussy,' the other uncle said. 'Something cold will do fine.'
The girl laughed, and Valens realized he wanted to laugh too. 'I know where there's a rack of smoked venison,' he said, 'if anybody's interested. I sent it for curing about a week ago, so it ought to be just right.'
'Perfect,' said an uncle, with the sort of heartfelt sincerity Valens had never expected to hear in a diplomatic exchange. 'There wouldn't happen to be any pickled cabbage to go with that, would there?'
'Don't be silly, Uncle.' She was looking straight at him; in fencing it would be the imbrocata, the thrust angled down from a high guard. 'These people aren't savages, of course there's pickled cabbage. Please excuse him,' she went on, 'he forgets his manners when he's hungry.'
'Carausius,' Valens said, and another courtier took off for the doorway. 'Well,' he went on, 'so far we don't seem to have covered ourselves in glory.'
The bald man shrugged. 'It's understandable that we know so little about each other,' he said. 'Fortunately, ignorance is easily cured.'
'In that case,' Valens said, steepling his fingers in front of him, 'is it really true that you believe fish are the devil incarnate?'
One thing the intelligence reports had got right. It wasn't the business about long hair and beards (that, the bald man explained, was the Rosinholet) or the stuff about being someone else's dream (a minority belief among the Flos Glaia, the girl explained, who also believed that the earth orbited the sun, rather than the other way about) or the carpets-the Aram Chantat bought all their carpets from the Lauzeta, during rare truces in their otherwise incessant wars-or ravens being unlucky or women holding their reins in both hands. But it was absolutely true that the Aram Chantat weren't much good at metalwork or carpentry, and that in consequence they had to buy anything made of metal or wood from the Perpetual Republic.
'It wouldn't be so bad,' one of the uncles was saying, 'if we could trade with them direct, but we can't, none of their traders will come out that far, obviously, because of the impossibility of crossing the desert with wagons. So we have to get what we need from the Flos Glaia, who get it from the Rosinholet, who get it from someone else; it all comes through Lonazep, and we think that some of it's carried by sea at some point, because we're sick of opening barrels and finding everything inside's been spoiled by soaking in salt water. Anyhow, the whole thing's ridiculous, and of course by the time it reaches us, the price…' He sighed passionately. 'It's lucky we've got something that people want,' he said, 'or I don't know how we'd manage.'
'Salt,' the other uncle explained, before Valens could ask. 'Which we dig out of the ground every fourth year when we cross the salt flats on our way back from summer pasture. Unfortunately, though, the Lauzeta have taken to mining the same deposits; there're a lot more of them than there are of us, and they've got more transport, so the surface deposits are pretty well all worked out. Obviously, that means we're going to have to go down deeper, but if we do that, it'll change everything; it'd mean leaving a permanent presence there, not to mention fighting off the Lauzeta when they go by that way every third year. And it goes without saying, we don't know the first thing about underground mining.'
'We do,' Valens said crisply. 'In fact, we're very good at it.' Someone he didn't recognize was standing next to him, pouring wine into a glass. 'But I'm sure you know all about that.'
'The silver mines, yes,' the bald man said. 'And we would, of course, be grateful for any advice or help you may care to offer us.' He paused, and Valens guessed he was trying to judge whether the time was right to ask for something else; something, presumably, that he wanted rather more. Maybe he decided against it, because he shrugged his shoulders and went on, 'But we're getting ahead of ourselves. We haven't decided yet whether increasing our salt production and continuing to depend on trading with the Republic is the right course for us to follow. There are other options we could explore.'
'Like leaving where you are now and settling somewhere else.' Valens nodded. 'Which is why you're here, I suppose.'
The bald man and the uncles exchanged glances. 'Indeed,' the bald man said. 'Though I should stress that we're still keeping an open mind about it. But yes, Eremia would suit us very well.'
'I've been thinking about that,' Valens said, 'ever since Carausius told me what you had in mind, and there are a couple of things-I'm sure you've already considered them, but…'
The bald man nodded slightly. 'Go on, please.'
'All right. First, if you occupy Eremia, you risk starting a fight with the Mezentines; second, will Eremia be big enough? Moving around all the time as you do-'
'You're right,' the girl interrupted him. The bald man lifted his head but said nothing. One of the uncles looked away. 'We have considered both of them,' she went on, 'and we don't see a problem. If the Mezentines want to mess with us, let them try. And yes; Eremia on its own would be too small. But there's plenty of empty space here, in your country, where nobody lives. And then there's the plain that separates you from the Mezentines-'
Sharp intake of breath; Valens couldn't tell whether it came from the bald man or an uncle. She frowned. 'Anyway,' she said, 'there are possibilities. And we're planning for the long term, after all.'
Valens leaned back a little in his chair. 'You do realize,' he said, 'that my country is at war with the Republic. If you're dependent on them for all your manufactured goods, like you say, maybe you ought to be a bit circumspect about forming an alliance with us.'
'We don't trade with them, though,' she replied crisply. 'Not directly. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they only had a very sketchy idea of who we are or where we live. The impression I get is that they can't be bothered to differentiate between savages.'
The word made Valens want to smile. Time, he decided, to change the subject. 'At any rate,' he said, 'I'm glad we managed to sort out the business about the fish. Talking of which, it's about time we had something to eat.
