Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [104]
“Ingenious,” Balthasar commented.
Denis nodded. “It is, rather. They raise the bridges at night to secure the city.”
“Where is the Aragonian settlement?” I asked.
He pointed to a wooden fortress on the shores of the lake. “There.”
It looked crude in comparison with the splendor of the city, but it was surrounded by high, sturdy walls.
“Well.” Although I was infinitely more curious about the city, there was diplomacy to be considered. Before we sought an audience with the Emperor, the Aragonian commander must be assured that this wasn’t a second attempt to encroach on their trade rights. “Let’s go pay our respects, shall we?”
It took us the better part of three hours to descend into the valley, passing steppe after steppe carved into the sides of the mountain to provide arable fields spread thick with fertile muck dredged from the lake. Nahuatl men and women tending the fields gazed after us with that same odd mix of stoicism and curiosity.
At last, we reached the floor of the valley and made our way to the Aragonian settlement.
The tall oak gates were shut and bolted, but the guards on duty opened them with alacrity after peering through a peep-hole at us. As soon as they ushered our party through the gate and into the open square beyond it, one addressed Denis de Toluard in stern Aragonian, while another hurried away. The remaining dozen or so took up warning poses, hands on the hilts of their swords.
Denis argued in vain with the guard who’d spoken to him, both their voices rising. Not for the first time, I wished the gods had not seen fit to divide humanity with a thousand different tongues. I’d cudgeled my wits into mastering a number of languages, but Aragonian wasn’t one of them.
As I waited for someone to tell me what transpired here, I noticed two things.
One was that the other Aragonian guards were staring at me with open lasciviousness. One of them caught my eye and made a deliberately lewd gesture, licking his lips, grabbing his crotch, and pumping his hips.
The other was that there was a palanquin adorned with gold sitting in the square, with a sturdy Nahuatl at each corner, along with a half dozen warriors with obsidian-studded clubs and another slender fellow in an elaborately embroidered mantle and a feather headdress standing beside it.
“What in the world passes here?” I asked no one in particular.
“I don’t know,” Bao said through gritted teeth, jerking his chin at the Aragonian guard who’d thrust his hips at me. “But I’m ten seconds from teaching that one a lesson.”
I was on the verge of dismounting to seek out Septimus Rousse, whom I knew spoke fluent Aragonian, when the guard who’d left returned with another fellow, a handsome man with a pointed beard who I guessed to be Commander Diego Ortiz y Ramos.
He, too, began railing at Denis in a voluble tone, waving his arms in the air, all the while ignoring Denis’ aggrieved replies. Balthasar attempted to inject himself into the conversation, and was roundly ignored by both of them.
I lost my temper, and loosed a shout at the top of my voice. “Enough!”
It rang loud enough that it startled them into silence.
I took a deep breath. “Thank you. Now, will someone please tell me what in the seven hells this is all about?”
The Aragonian commander spat on the ground. “Have you no shame?” he demanded in a thick accent. “And you!” He glared at Denis. “To use a woman thusly! I did not think even D’Angelines would fall so low!”
“Commander Ortiz y Ramos is under the mistaken impression that you’re a gift for the Emperor, Moirin,” Denis said wearily.
“What?” I stared at him in shock. “No!”
Diego Ortiz y Ramos pointed at the palanquin and