Iron Winter

34

The carriage-man’s cart jolted with every step of his jogging pace, and the bench on which she sat was hard as growstone. Yet she had suffered a lot worse during her long journey from Etxelur, her backside was probably tough as leather by now, and she endured.

Beyond the city wall the North African countryside opened up. They were heading west, towards the setting sun. The road ran dead straight across the plain, and was well built, properly drained — a good road, but there was no sign of an iron rail, and Rina coldly relished that fact. A sandy dust covered the roadway, just like the dust that had blown over the Carthaginian boat from the dried-up plains of Ibera.

Beside the road stood handsome properties, estates of well-constructed stone buildings clustered in rectangular plots. The estates were surrounded by carefully defined fields, and Rina recognised vines, olives, fruit trees. This hinterland, so close to this major route into town, must once have been a lush and prosperous place to live. But the vines looked withered, the fruit trees barren, and the few animals, sheep and cattle, cropped desultorily at sparse, yellow grass. There were some hastily heaped-up stone barriers, with threatening signs hand-painted in the angular local script. On the road there wasn’t much traffic — carts laden with produce heading back towards the city, a few carts heading out. And there was a thin trickle of nestspills, all heading to the city, all on foot. It was a sight Rina had become inured to in Northland. It was something of a shock to have come to the other end of the world to see the same thing.

Jexami’s property turned out to be a particularly large and well-built group of buildings set back from the road. In scraps of shade, servants watered orange trees. As Rina clambered down, the carriage-man stood by, eyes bright in a dusty face, waiting to be paid. He was thin, evidently underfed, dressed in dusty rags.

‘Typical of that crook Barmocar not to pay you in advance,’ she murmured in her own tongue. She switched to Greek. ‘Thank you. . I don’t know your tongue, I am sorry.’ She dug her purse from a fold in her robe and withdrew Northlander scrip. ‘Is this enough? I’m sure you can convert this to your own currency in the counting houses. .’

He took the handful of coins, stared at them, then tried to hand them back, speaking in his own tongue.

She closed his fingers over the coins. ‘This is your fee. If it’s not enough-’

He grew angry. He threw the coins on the ground and held out his empty hand, all but shouting.

‘I’ll take care of it.’ The voice was cultured Etxelur. A burly, expensively dressed man came walking quietly from an opened gate, a servant at his side. Rina, with relief, recognised him: it was indeed the Jexami she remembered, cousin to Ywa Annid of Annids, on Ywa’s father’s side, and so a remote cousin of Rina too. He snapped out questions to the carriage-man and gestured to his servant. Pay him. Jexami was shorter than Rina and a little younger, with thinning black hair cropped in the local style, and he wore a purple tunic and tight-cut trousers. He looked like a Carthaginian. Even his accent, when he spoke the language, sounded authentic to her. She would not have recognised the man if he had not spoken to her.

She bowed in the formal Etxelur style, ignoring her own grubbiness, and the scattering of coins at her feet. ‘Cousin Jexami. Thank you for meeting me.’

‘Barmocar sent a runner to warn me you were coming.’ He grinned. ‘Barmocar! That old rascal. How is he? Haven’t seen him for too long. Come in, come in, I have no manners left, it seems.’ He led her through the gate. The man collected her bundles from the road. ‘You look exhausted, if you don’t mind my saying it. Things have become so difficult, haven’t they?’

The gate clanged shut behind them. The estate was a series of independent buildings set around a central courtyard. The walls were of stone, with big upright slabs infilled with rubble and neatly finished. In the courtyard a fountain ran, feeding miniature orange trees in pots. The servant stood by.

‘Rather impressive, isn’t it?’ Jexami said, as they crossed the courtyard. ‘Originally built by an Arabic prince, in the brief interval when this country was overrun by that sort, long ago. They left behind some exquisite architecture. This place is much transformed in the centuries since, but we’ve restored the hydraulic system. Do you know, this fountain hasn’t run dry once, despite the drought. Mind you the air’s so arid the oranges haven’t flourished even so.’

She felt bewildered, even oddly dizzy. She found herself staring at the little orange trees. ‘Jexami, I’ve come to you because-’

‘First I must show you some hospitality,’ he said smoothly, deflecting her. ‘Himil — come here.’ The servant hurried over, and Jexami gave him brisk instructions. Then he led Rina into the courtyard. ‘Of course dear Ywa is still in Etxelur, is she not? It’s some time since she wrote.’

Rina frowned. Was he really so out of touch as he seemed? ‘Things are difficult at home. Ywa is under a lot of pressure.’

‘Well, of course she is. I’ve urged her many times to do what you’ve done, to pack her bag and come here. To fly south for the winter, like a swallow! Look, I insist you relax before we talk. Any of these houses may suit. They all have their own baths, you know, and most have their own bread ovens! For this is the Carthaginian way. You must wash, change — my wife has plenty of old clothes, I’ll send a girl to help you. Perhaps you’d like to sleep?’

She felt that if she got to a soft bed she could sleep through a full day. But she must not, not yet. She told Jexami of her children. ‘Perhaps you could send for them? I was going to send back that oaf of a carriage-man.’

It was a simple enough request, and not much of an imposition on his hospitality. Yet he hesitated, to her surprise. At length he said, ‘Of course.’ He snapped his fingers and gave Himil brisk instructions. ‘As soon as he has you settled he will deal with it.’

She chose a building at random. As Jexami had promised it was like an independent house, with its own kitchen, bedrooms, a bathroom just off the vestibule — even its own water supply, from a toy fountain in the bathroom. A girl brought her buckets of water and fresh clothes.

She stripped off her dirty travel garments, which the girl took away, then stepped into the bath. She knew little of Carthaginian customs. Perhaps this bathroom beside the door was meant as a gateway, between the grime of the outside world and the purity of the home. Whatever the symbolism it was a luxury beyond belief to sponge the hot water over her bare skin. There was even soap, which from its scent appeared to be of Northlander manufacture.

Soon she was warmed through, and scented, and was pulling on the clean clothes the girl had brought her. The need for sleep seemed to wash over her in a flood. Yet she must not succumb, not until she had dealt with Jexami and his odd reticence, not until the children were safely with her.

The man Himil was waiting for her when she emerged. He led her across the courtyard to a west-facing building dominated by a big, airy room. Here Jexami sat behind a desk covered with scrolls and slates, with a scribe to one hand, a clerk to the other scribbling numbers. When she came in, Jexami raised a hand, one finger in the air, without looking up.

The instruction was unmistakable. She waited in the doorway, motionless. She had become used to fielding such slights from the Carthaginians. She had not expected this discourtesy from a Northlander — a friend, a relative. Yet it was so. She began to feel uneasy.

At length he sat up straight, smiled at Rina, and clapped his hands to send the clerks away. He waved her to a seat before the desk. ‘Are you hungry? Would you like some fruit juice, wine, tea?’

‘A little wine would be welcome.’

Himil was despatched to fetch it.

There was a bundle on the desk, neatly wrapped in linen. He pushed it over to her. ‘Your dirty clothes — properly laundered, of course. Your baggage is outside. Oh, and the coins are in there too.’

‘The coins?’

‘The ones the carriage-man dropped in the dirt. Not worth much of course, but you may as well have them back!’ He laughed, as if he’d made a joke.

She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. They are good Northlander scrip.’

‘“Good Northlander scrip.” Hmm. You know, since I settled here I’ve come to feel that we were always rather cut off from the flow of events up in Northland. Buried in our great big old Wall. We tend to think that the rest of the world can fall apart and it won’t affect us, don’t we? Rina, Northlander currency isn’t worth the metal it’s stamped from these days. After all, what’s it backed by? As soon as the cold started cutting the trading links, for the average Carthaginian, Northland has become — nothing. A fantasy country as remote as the moon.’

‘But you are prospering.’

‘I was lucky, or we had foresight. We saw that times were becoming hard, the years of flood in the north, the drought in the south. This was even before the cold came, you understand. We thought that Carthage, so much further south, at the centre of the world, would be more — secure. We thought ahead, Rina. As you did. It’s just that we made our judgements a little earlier.

‘We built up a business down here. I handle the import of certain kinds of soft fruit from across Greater Carthage into the city itself. Good sound trade. And we managed to convert most of our Northland currency into the local scrip, just before the crash came.’ He opened his hands to her. ‘Do you have any other assets with you? Land titles, other currencies-’

‘Nothing but holdings back home. In Northland.’

‘Which are worth nothing here, I’m afraid. Not even as guarantors of credit.’

‘No wonder that crook Barmocar asked for payment of the kind he did.’ And she told him about the Virgin’s bones.

He laughed, as if delighted at the man’s ingenuity. ‘No wonder indeed. The rascal! But let me give you some advice. I wouldn’t make an enemy of Barmocar — not if you can help it. He’s a pretty influential man here. And, let’s face it, he’s the only member of the Tribunal of One Hundred and Four that you know. If I were you, I would cultivate that. So what will you do?’

She was astonished at the question, and dismayed. I hoped to find myself under your protection and guidance. ‘I can work,’ she said stiffly. ‘I was an Annid. I have skills in direction, decisionmaking. Perhaps I could work as an adviser to the Council of Elders, or-’

He waved that away. ‘Forget it. The Carthaginians loathe us Northlanders. Ingrained after centuries of our manipulating their destiny — that’s the way they see it.’

‘The role of Northland has always been to bring peace and collaboration between disparate peoples-’

‘And to get rich and powerful in the process. Forget it, as I said. There’s no way anybody would pay you for your advice. It’s best if you can persuade them to forget you’re a Northlander at all. Why do you think I dress in this repulsive purple? Is there anything you can do? I mean, a specific skill. Weaving, knitting, lace-making, cooking — by the mothers, anything, women do many jobs in Northland, brick-making, growstone-mixing!’

‘I am an Annid, from a family of Annids. I was ten years old before I had to lace up my own shoes.’

She meant to make him laugh. He returned her look, stony-faced. ‘Your children, then. How old?’

‘Twins, just sixteen now. A boy and a girl. He, Nelo, is a promising artist, in the new deep-look style-’

‘How big is he?’

‘What?’

‘Physically. Tall, short, thin, strong. .’

‘Shorter than me. Quite heavily built. Strong, if he puts his mind to it. But he has a gentle spirit which-’

‘He may find work on the labour details. The sewage system, for instance — constantly clogging up. And corpse details when the plagues come. Or the farms.’

‘No Northlander farms.’

‘They do here. Now, the girl?’

‘Alxa. She’s a bright, independent young woman. Stronger than me, I think. She has a facility for languages. She learned Carthaginian on the journey.’

‘A translator, then? That might have possibilities. Not useful for me, mind you, I have all the staff I need. Good-looking?’

She flared. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Because one role Northlander women are popular for here is as companions. Oh, don’t look at me so, Cousin. It doesn’t have to be — like that. But you can imagine how it gives a Carthaginian pleasure to order round a pretty, stuck-up Northlander, as they see it.’

She suppressed her anger. ‘I am reluctant to rely on the labour of my children. They are too young.’

‘This isn’t Northland,’ he said firmly. ‘You are far from home. Nobody wants you here, frankly. The quicker you absorb that fact the better. And the sooner you learn that your preferences are irrelevant-’

‘Help us,’ she said bluntly.

He sat back in his chair, sighed, and rubbed his face. ‘Rina, Rina. I have nothing for you.’

‘You have room. Food, warmth. At least let us stay for a few days. Until we can find work, get established somehow. I will pay you back.’

He laughed. ‘What, with Northland scrip?’

‘With the money I, we, will earn when we find jobs.’

‘Impossible. Believe me, with the kind of jobs you’ll be taking you won’t be paying down loans. Look, Rina, I have my own position in society here to think of. If I start taking in strays and nestspills-’

‘You are a Northlander.’

‘Not any more,’ he said coldly. ‘And since you abandoned the place to come here, neither are you.’

‘As family, then.’ She forced herself to say it. After all, she had begged before Barmocar. Was this any worse? ‘I’m desperate. For my children. Please. I have no other recourse.’

He sighed again. ‘I always was too soft for my own good. Seven days. And then you’re gone. Now if you’ll excuse me. .’ He bent over his desk. ‘Send in my clerks on your way out. And shut the door.’

A little later Alxa and Nelo, fetched from the city by Jexami’s servants, showed up at the estate.

Alxa was wide-eyed. ‘By the mothers’ eyes, this is grand. It’s almost as good as the Wall. Does that tap work?’

‘Leave it alone,’ Rina snapped. ‘Touch as little as possible. Use as little as possible.’

Nelo frowned. ‘Are we staying here?’

‘Yes. For now. Not for long. But we mustn’t impose. .’ Nelo’s face was bloodied, she saw, a smear from a cut over his eye, and a bruise was rising on his cheek. ‘Oh, my, what happened to you?’ She ran to get a bowl of water and a cloth.

Alxa sat on a chair, testing its softness. ‘We got into a fight.’

‘You did what?’

‘We went for a walk. The city is teeming, Mother, full of people. We found a tavern. We thought we’d have some wine. But the landlord wouldn’t accept our Northlander scrip. And some men had heard us talking, I mean in our own tongue. They came over to give us a hard time. One of them said something-’

Nelo said, ‘He called Alxa a whore. I know enough Carthaginian for that. He said Northlander women make the best whores, because they’re big and healthy. Like wild deer. I punched him.’

‘You did what?’

Alxa said, ‘It was all I could do to get us out of there in one piece. Those narrow streets, we had to throw them off, we ran and ran!’ She laughed at the memory of it, swinging her legs. ‘Where’s our luggage? Is there any hot water? Can I ask for tea?’

Rina held her son’s bruised forehead, peering into his eyes, looking for his spirit, seeing only blankness.