Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [100]
I looked thoughtfully at the desert tribesman. He returned my gaze without blinking, eating steadily and managing at the same time to look as though he would indeed be pleased to knife me. “Do you speak Punic?” I asked the brothers, who nodded. “Ask him if he does.”
The older complied. The Amazigh gave a curt affirmative reply.
“Ah.” I smiled. “Tell him of my offer.”
There was a long exchange. At the end of it, the Amazigh’s eyes glittered with fierce tears. He leapt up from the table and poured out a long utterance in Punic. The wrestler rose and positioned himself to defend me—by the Goddess, I’d made a good choice there!—but the Amazigh ignored him and knelt. To my astonishment, he took both my hands and kissed them.
“Um.” The older of the Carthaginians blinked. “He says if you promise to give him his freedom, he pledges loyalty with every drop of blood in his body.”
I looked into the man’s glittering eyes. “In Blessed Elua’s name, I swear it.”
The Carthaginian repeated my words. The Amazigh let go my hands and bowed his head, touching his brow to the ground.
“Excellent.” I stood. “Do you know your way around the city?” All of them shook their heads. I pointed at the wrestler. “What’s your name?”
“Kratos.”
“How long do you think it would take you to learn Carthage’s streets, Kratos?” I asked him.
“A day.” He shrugged. “Perhaps two.”
“Start when you’ve finished eating,” I said. “Come back when you’re done.” I thought for a moment. “Take him,” I added, nodding at the Amazigh.
“He might flee,” Kratos observed. “I might flee.”
I smiled. “You won’t.”
Twenty-Seven
I spent the balance of my first whole day in Carthage sorting through letters requesting audiences from various personages, placing them with the letters of introduction that Solon had given me. I’d used my time aboard the ship wisely.
One letter I hadn’t written, and that was to the princess. I wasn’t sure why. On the ship, it had seemed to me that there was some perfect choice of words that was evading me, and I’d resolved to put off the task until I was on solid ground, hoping I’d be able to think more clearly.
Now it seemed a foolish notion. I was Ptolemy Solon’s emissary. Her highness would see me or refuse me on that basis alone. Still, the feeling persisted. I pushed it firmly away, uncorked my inkwell, and wrote out a courteous and polite request for an audience with her.
Kratos and the Amazigh—whose name I later learned was Ghanim—returned ere nightfall. I was pleased to have my conviction confirmed. Carthage had strict laws for dealing with runaway slaves. The brand on Ghanim’s face suggested he’d already made one such attempt, and I’d determined that he’d put enough stock in my promise not to risk another. Kratos, I thought, had too much sense.
Still, ’twas always a pleasure to be right. If I’d been mistaken, I’d have been out naught but the cost of a pair of slaves. With this gamble, I’d won another measure of their loyalty, purchased with simple trust.
I had a brief word with the steward Anysus regarding the delivery of my letters on the morrow, a task he readily agreed to oversee. I gave orders that my new slaves were to be fed heartily three times a day and provided Anysus with funds to cover all additional expenses that this expansion of the household would entail.
Once that was done, I felt my plans were settling nicely into place. I dined alone and found that the villa’s cook was perfectly adequate. And then I retired to my private chambers and rummaged through Solon’s tribute-gifts until I found a ring that fit me nicely, a heavy band of gold set with a sapphire. Using the tip of my little belt knife, I was able to prize the gem from its setting.
Perfect.
With the last of my preparations complete, I took to my bed and slept.
On the morrow, I rose feeling refreshed and full of anticipation. Anysus had already departed, bearing my letters. Kratos had accompanied him of his own initiative to enhance his knowledge of the city. I admired the gesture,