Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [292]
And my ten-year-old self owed her an honest answer.
"Never," I said. "But it gets better."
Helena nodded. "Will you come and talk with me? Please? I only want to understand. And I think… I think you matter. What you did… it matters to me. I just want to make sense of it. Please?"
"All right," I said. "I'll come when I can."
* * *
Chapter Fifty-Eight
On the morrow, there were orders awaiting.
Eamonn and I reported to the park. In the summer, doubtless it was a green and pleasant place, but dry autumn had taken its toll. What remained of the sere grass was already flattened by treading feet. There were a few late-blooming flowers, but most were already dead, straggling and unpruned. All the ornamental trees were losing their leaves, which lay scattered on the trodden ground. Like everyone else, Lucca's gardeners were conscripts. Only the tall cypresses retained their dark green majesty.
We were to begin drilling in groups of forty. Gall us Tadius reckoned that was the maximum size that could maneuver swiftly within the city streets. And we were to train on foot. There would be no cavalry for the Red Scourge.
Several other squadrons had gone before us. There was an array of armor laid out in piles; all the oddments and remnants that Gallus Tadius had managed to confiscate based on the inventories. He pointed to one of the piles and gave us a few minutes to scavenge whatever fit to augment our gear, or lack of it.
We all scrambled.
I didn't hesitate, going straight after a pair of rusted vambraces. Manners be damned; if there was anyone else there who could make as much use of them, I'd eat my boots. When the flurry was over, I had my vambraces, as well as a leather jerkin stitched with small metal disks, which I reckoned would turn a glancing blow if not a straight thrust, and an open-faced helmet with a shallow brim and a missing chin-strap.
Eamonn had a cuirass that actually fit him and a tall, kite-shaped shield. Since he was the only one who could lift it with ease, no one had challenged him for it. Everyone had something, though almost no one had a full set. There were bare heads, unprotected limbs, vulnerable throats and sides. All in all, it was a motley assortment.
Lucca was a trade town. It had always hired merchant armies for its defense. After Gallus Tadius had seized it and established himself as Prince of Lucca, the Red Scourge had disbanded. Within two generations, the descendants of those who had settled there had long since sold their arms and been absorbed into society.
Gallus shook his head, watching us don our armor.
"Right," he said when we were more or less assembled. "Here's the thing, lads. It's not going to get much better. We're ransacking the city and I've got carpenters and smiths working day and night to pound out bucklers and spears. They won't be much to look at, but they'll serve. Until then…" He shrugged. "We'll work with what we've got. Now let's see what you've got."
Arrayed in a loose circle, we watched as he called us out one by one to test our mettle with a quick bout.
Gallus Tadius was good.
Not great, but good.
He was a deceptively straightforward fighter, although I couldn't really tell until his bout with Eamonn. Most of the conscripts had little or no training. He dispatched them quickly, pointing out the deathblows he could have dealt and leaving them a few bruises and scratches as a reminder to take the matter seriously.
And he never got tired.
I wondered how many bouts he'd already fought that day. Forty? Eighty? I didn't know how many groups had trained before us. And I wondered what toll this tireless energy was taking on Lucius' body. When I watched him fight Eamonn, it gave me an idea.
It was a good bout. Eamonn had learned a measure of patience since that day so long ago when we'd dueled with wooden blades, betting the Bastard against his golden tore.