Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [101]
Porfirio Reyes looked relieved. “A wise decision, my lady. I’ll see that you’re loaned a saddle.”
Shortly after we’d concluded our breakfast, Captain Septimus Rousse came to report that all was in readiness for our journey. The sailors were lodged for the duration in an Aragonian inn, and Edouard Durel remained under guard. The ship was unloaded, trade goods distributed among our four pack-horses. He took the news that we were to lose one of them in stride.
“We’ll hire a few of those porters,” he said. “Our men are already burdened enough marching in armor.”
“You might visit the slave market,” Porfirio suggested. “In terms of cost, it’s likely more effective to purchase several slaves and sell them when you reach Tenochtitlan.” He caught my uneasy look. “I understand your discomfort, my lady, but it’s the way things are done here. It’s customary among the Nahuatl.”
I shook my head. “The folk of the Maghuin Dhonn hold their freedom dear. I could not bear knowing I’d treated another human being as nothing more than chattel, no matter how briefly.”
The mayor patted my hand. “Ah, I’d forgotten what the delicate sensibilities of real women were like! No doubt your captain can hire the services of a few free porters.”
Porfirio Reyes insisted on accompanying us to the harbor where our party was assembled in preparation for departure. I had to own, they looked quite resplendent. House Shahrizai had seen to it that our fighting force was outfitted in a manner appropriate to the climate and the need for extended foot travel, and all forty of Balthasar’s hand-picked men were clad in shirts of the finest chain-mail D’Angeline smiths could forge, over which they wore suede brigandines dyed Courcel blue and studded with rivets. Steel vambraces, greaves, and conical helmets that flared to protect their necks completed their ensemble, all polished to a high shine and glittering in the bright morning sun.
“This is going to be beastly hot,” Balthasar predicted in a dire tone, donning his own helmet.
Bao eyed him. “Is it really necessary for the journey?”
Balthasar buckled his chin-strap. “If we want to command respect, unfortunately, yes.”
Bao spun his staff with obnoxious good cheer, looking cool and comfortable in light attire. “Glad I fight better without it, then!”
“No need to gloat,” Balthasar said sourly.
Septimus Rousse, the only other unarmored, bare-headed man in our party, oversaw the matter of unloading one pack-horse and procuring Nahuatl porters in short order, and the horse was saddled and bridled with the mayor’s borrowed tack.
“Lady Moirin.” Porfirio Reyes took my hand and bowed, kissing it. When he straightened, his heavy-lidded eyes were grave. “I would ask you one last time not to do this thing. I do not want your death on my conscience.”
I felt guilty at having conceived a dislike for him, for he had shown us a good deal of courtesy and generosity. I did not think he was a bad fellow—just a man, with any man’s faults and flaws. “I’m sorry, my lord mayor,” I said gently. “But I must try. Please, be assured that this is on no one’s conscience but mine. I am grateful for your assistance.”
He released my hand. “Farewell.”
There was a finality to the word. Like Duc Rogier de Barthelme, the mayor of Orgullo del Sol did not expect to see me alive again. To his credit, at least the latter did not welcome the prospect.
Still, I prayed I might prove them both wrong.
“Moirin?” Bao touched my shoulder. “Ready?” When I nodded, he cupped his hands to give me a boost into the saddle.
Unaccustomed to being ridden, the pack-horse sidled sideways and shook his head, ears flapping in protest at the change in routine. Leaving the reins slack, I touched its thoughts with mine, soothing it. “Be still, brave heart,” I murmured in Alban, reverting to my mother-tongue for the sheer comfort of it. “I do not weigh nearly so much as the burden you were meant to carry, do I? And I am told we must command respect here, you and I.” My mount planted his hooves and shivered; and then its head came up, ears pricked, and I stroked its