The Sea Peoples(36)
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” the King asked; his Queen put down her spoon and took a gulp of the wine.
“I’m glad you told us that one after dinner,” she said.
órlaith nodded. “I don’t suppose Koreans are any more or less wicked than other folk by nature,” she said.
Reiko nodded, if a little unwillingly, which said a good deal for her, considering what her folk (and she personally) had suffered at the hands of that dark kingdom. Lord Egawa would never publically disagree with his Tennoˉ, but órlaith felt a moral certainty that he assuredly did in his innermost heart. To him an enemy was simply an enemy, and the only good one was a dead one.
For now, that makes no practical difference, órlaith thought.
Her own first impulse was the same, to turn the place over to sword and flame from one end to the other and not just because its warriors had killed her father.
But a monarch must have justice in their soul, or else you’re nothing but a bandit chief with a fancy golden hat. Also in the long run it’s more practical, if you want peace, or at least as much peace as a quarrelsome tribe like human kind is ever likely to get.
“But they’ve been ruled and corrupted by darkness for a long time now,” órlaith said. “The longer it’s left to fester, the worse for the world.”
Kalaˉkaua hesitated, and then nodded; so did the Queen. órlaith merely nodded in return. Agreement in principle was the crucial step. The rest was detail work, and could be left to those whose business it was. She certainly wasn’t going to endanger it by trying to push for too much right now.
“And the worse for those unlucky enough to dwell there, too, the ordinary people, who I’d like to see set free and helped if we can do it,” she added. “That’s not the most important of my aims, mind you. The Powers have entrusted House Artos with Montival and its folk, first and foremost. After that we’re allied with Dai-Nippon now, bound by oath and honor to pursue this war to victory for us both. But it’s something to be kept in mind.”
Best leave things there for now.
She turned her head to Karl where he and the other Mackenzies sat a table away, with the McClintocks beyond. Clansfolk often drank deep at a feast—the McClintocks certainly were sampling the local tipples, and Diarmuid had had a couple of them dragged off and was reduced to clouting the heads of others with his bonnet now and then to remind them of the fact that he was their war-chief and that they weren’t at a Yule feast back home with nothing to worry about except hangovers and brawls, if not of the principle of moderation. Karl had seen that his fellows hadn’t done more than grow a little merry, and now he caught her eye. She gave him a slight nod and a hint of a wink.
Then she turned back to the Hawaiian monarchs. “You’ve shown us a glimpse of the riches of your folk’s songs and dances,” she said. “Let us return the favor!”
Kalaˉkaua grinned and nodded, obviously glad to change the subject for a bit, and looked his youthful age while he did. He clapped his hands and called in his own language. The local instruments—nose flutes, xaphoons, drums and bamboo xylophones—died away. Most of the Mackenzies drew their leaf-shaped shortswords and the guards tensed imperceptibly, then relaxed again as they set them down in the turf between the main tables in a broad circle divided into eight parts, one edge up and the points inward. Firelight glittered on the honed steel. That symbolized the divisions of the Wheel of the Year, the Old Faith’s sacred calendar.
Gwri Beauregard Mackenzie had had a set of bagpipes bundled at her feet and now she brought them out. Not the great hoarse pìob mhór, the war-pipes that could cut through the clamor of battle and whip fighters to a frenzy, but the smaller and sweeter-toned Uilleann variety. Gwri sat cross-legged and strapped the instrument’s belt around herself; Uilleann pipes were inflated by a bellows arrangement under the elbow. She was grinning as she did, teeth white against her creamy brown skin, the long braids of her hair tipped with silver balls that glittered as she bent to the pipe’s mouthpiece.
Karl bowed and addressed the assembly; he was órlaith’s age or a little less, a tall young man with a handsome squarish face and an archer’s broad shoulders and wheat-colored hair worn past the shoulders, loose for the feast rather than braided battle-style. The Mackenzie lilt was stronger in his voice than in his liege’s, though he’d spent plenty of time outside the dúthchas since his father commanded the High King’s Archers. He wasn’t quite as guileless as the wide blue eyes suggested, but he was young and the grin was wide and friendly.
“Friends and hosts, our thanks to you for the hospitality, and to the Powers by whatever names They are most pleased to be called here. We were after thinkin’ we’d make some small recompense by showing you a dance of our own, and a song of the season to go with it—little though this fair land of yours resembles the Black Months at home, where it’s chill and dark this time of year!”
The pipes sounded, high and sweet like the horns of Elfland in the distance, and the crisp rattling buzz of a bodhrán-drum held in the left hand and played with the little double-headed striker stick in the right. A lively six-eight double jig rhythm sounded, and there was a murmur of interest and appreciation from the audience that quickly died away.
Sure, and you can tell the Clan Mackenzie was founded by a musician! órlaith thought, remembering her grandmother kindly. Lady Juniper left her mark for good and all, right enough.