Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [94]
I craned my neck.
Carthage.
I’d heard the gossip. Carthage was a walled city, her earliest walls built to withstand a Tiberian invasion centuries ago, added to many times. I hadn’t credited the size of those walls. I had to own, I nearly goggled at the sight. They were at least fifty feet tall, and there were entire garrisons built into them. There were stables that housed elephants, by the Goddess. Astegal may have taken Carthage’s fleet and the bulk of its army overseas, but he’d hardly left her ill defended. I couldn’t imagine anyone assailing those walls.
“Big place,” Captain Deimos remarked.
“That it is,” I agreed. “I’ll need to take lodgings in the finest inn Carthage offers, at least until I can arrange for a proper household.”
He nodded. “I’ll speak to the harbor-master.”
What a pleasure it was to have so many of Cythera’s resources at my disposal! I leaned on the ship’s rail, gazing at the city, which spilled down a steep hill toward the sea. There were temples, an immense bath-house, an amphitheater. No great palace, merely villas that grew finer and finer the farther up the hill they were. Of course, Carthage was an oligarchy, lacking a single ruler; although as I understood it, Astegal’s appointment as General gave him a tremendous amount of power.
But Astegal wasn’t here.
I wondered which of the villas belonged to the House of Sarkal. I was eager to pay tribute to Astegal’s young wife, left to languish while her martial husband went off to conquer Aragonia. And I wondered how that venture was going.
Well, there was one way to find out. While Deimos spoke with the harbor-master, I disembarked and strolled the docks, getting used to the feeling of solid ground beneath my feet once more. There was a group of sailors dicing in the shadow of a Carthaginian ship.
“Greetings, lads,” I said to them in Hellene. I untied the strings of my purse and fetched out a silver coin. “What’s the news out of Aragonia?”
They glanced up at me with suspicion. “A D’Angeline asks?” one said.
I shrugged. “Not exactly. I’m a long-time exile in the service of the Governor of Cythera. We’ve got no dog in this fight.”
“General Astegal routed the Aragonian fleet at New Carthage,” the sailor said, putting out his hand. “He’s occupied the city.”
“Huh.” I put the coin in his grimy palm. “Any indication Aragonia means to surrender?”
“Nah.” The sailor shook his head. “Army’s withdrawn to the north. Looks like a long slog.”
“My thanks.” I fished out another coin. “What of Terre d’Ange?”
They exchanged grins. “You have been gone a long while, my lord,” the talkative sailor said. “Don’t know, except the whole country’s damn well flummoxed and at each other’s throats. Meanwhile, Astegal’s pretty little royal bride sits here waiting patiently for him to return.”
They all laughed. I found myself hating them with unexpected intensity.
“Excellent.” I smiled broadly and paid the man his second coin. “Many thanks, my friends.”
He pocketed it. “Don’t mention it.”
By the time I’d strolled back to the ship, Deimos had arranged for my lodgings at an inn the harbor-master had assured him was the most fashionable. He’d hired porters and a palanquin, which I was also given to understand was the most fashionable mode of transport. A very efficient fellow, Captain Deimos.
“Very good,” I said to him. “Where will I find you if I’ve need?”
He jerked his chin at the ship. “We’ll bunk on board until you’ve arranged for proper lodgings and the cargo can be unloaded.”
“Of course.” I fetched a smaller purse out of the inner pocket of my vest and handed it to him. “Make sure your lads have a chance to entertain themselves.”
“We’ve been paid,” Deimos said, but he took it nonetheless. “How long do you reckon we’ll be here?”
I glanced up the hill, past the sprawl of townhouses and multistory apartments, toward the costly villas. “As long as it takes. Does it matter?”
“Not really,” he said. “Just curious.