Excellency,” he said.
“I am pleased to see you at least had the sense to travel here in a closed and covered coach,” Hajjaj said. “Come inside, before my cooks decide you’re done and put you on a serving platter.”
“You follow my customs when you call on me at the ministry,” Balastro said. He did sigh with relief when he stepped into the shade; the thick mud-brick walls fought the heat as well as anything could. “I thought it the least I could do to follow yours while visiting you.”
“Aye, you’ve been known to do it before,” Hajjaj agreed. “You are the only diplomat who ever does--Algarvian panache, I daresay. But truly, your Excellency, you are not equipped with a hide of the proper color . . . and yours will turn several improper colors if you stay out too long.” He could not quite take Balastro’s nudity for granted, as he did nudity among his own people. Not only was Balastro the wrong color, as Hajjaj had said, but he also displayed the distinctive Algarvian mutilation. Hajjaj’s eyes kept coming back to it; it made the redhead look deformed. To cover his queasy fascination, the Zuwayzi foreign minister added, “All your hide.”
“Ah.” Balastro took the point. “Can’t have him sunburned, can we? He’s got better things to do.”
He followed Zuwayzi custom in the library, talking about books with Hajjaj instead of coming straight to his real business. He did not read Zuwayzi, but was as apt to choose a classical Kaunian title as one written in Algarvian. He seemed to have as much regard for Kaunians of imperial day as his kingdom had little for modern ones. That puzzled Hajjaj, who longed to ask him about it, but could not: it was too serious to discuss before the rituals of hospitality were completed.
No sooner had Balastro sunk to the cushions tJian serving wenches brought in die inevitable refreshments. As part of his perfect care for his master’s guest, Tewfik had chosen a couple of the prettiest women to wait upon Balastro and Hajjaj. They eyed the Algarvian minister with no small curiosity, and looked to be fighting giggles, perhaps because of his race, perhaps because of the ritual of manhood he’d endured.
He eyed them, too, with interest that soon became visible. That made them giggle more. After they’d left the room, he asked Hajjaj, “Powers above, your Excellency, how do you keep from, ah, rising to die occasion whenever you see a comely wrench?”
“I am old,” Hajjaj answered, remembering Lalla’s taunt.
Balastro sipped wine. “Not so old as that, and you know it cursed well.”
Hajjaj inclined his head; the Algarvian was right. “If you see something often enough, it loses its power to excite.”
“I suppose that’s so,” Balastro said. “Seems a pity, though.” He nibbled at a cake. “These are the nuts called cashews, aren’t they? Tastier than walnuts and almonds, I think.”
“Generous of you to say so,” Hajjaj replied. “Not many of your countrymen would agree. I think you are right, but I grew up with cashews.” He chuckled. “Of course, I grew up with date wine, too, but I know better than to serve you that.”
Balastro’s fastidious shudder could have played on the stage. “For which mercy, your Excellency, I thank you.”
Presently, with tea and wine drunk and cakes diminished, with books and nudity talked dry, Hajjaj could with propriety inquire, “And what brings you up into the hills today, sir?”
“Past the desire for good wine and good company, you mean?” Balastro asked, and Hajjaj nodded. The Algarvian minister answered, “I was hoping we might get more aid from you 2’uwayzin for the assault on Glogau than we’ve had thus far.”
Hajjaj frowned. “And you come to me for this? Surely it is a matter for your military attache to work out with his Majesty’s officers down in Bishah.”
Now Balastro looked annoyed, a genuine expression rather than the play-acting he’d used before. “I pray you for both our sakes, your Excellency, do not be disingenuous with me. You must know that your officers have dissembled and delayed and done their best to keep from answering aye or nay. This reluctance must spring from the king or from the foreign ministry: from you, in other words, in either case.”
“If you think I lead King Shazli around by the nose, I must tell you that you are very much mistaken,’’ Hajjaj said.
“Aye, you must tell it to me, for your honor’s sake and your sovereign’s, but must I believe it?” the Algarvian minister to Zuwayza returned: a toss with a good deal of justice in it. “Let us here--merely for the sake of argument, if you like--imagine that you are the author of your kingdom’s treatings with its neighbors.”
“For the sake of argument, as you say.” Hajjaj steepled his fingers and fought against a smile. He liked Balastro, which made the fight harder. “I might say, in that case, that Zuwayza, by now, has avenged herself in full against Unkerlant--in full and more. Glogau has never been ours; few if any Zuwayzin dwell there, or ever have.”
