Captain General Harmakros' page poured more wine into both men's cups, bowed and stepped back. Kalvan sipped at his, trying to keep his face straight; the wine apparently couldn't make up its mind whether or not to turn into vinegar.
"Where did those odds-and-sods with Phrames and down in the barracks come from?" Kalvan asked.
"The mercenaries were mostly men we were going to settle in Sashta, who couldn't find free land."
Kalvan looked steadily at him. Harmakros sighed. "Or those who didn't want to settle down and become farmers at all."
"I thought so. And the Sastragathi? They're a little far from home."
"A couple of small tribes of Urgothi forced off their land by raiders coming across the Mother River, and some chief's younger sons."
"No outlaws?"
"None that I know of."
For once Kalvan's attention to Xentos' rambling lectures paid off. "They wouldn't admit it if they were. But if the Sastragathi learn we are accepting their outlaws and forcing lawful warriors to serve besides them, the whole Sastragath would think twice before giving us aid. Not to mention the problem of keeping the outlaws from making off with everything that isn't tied, nailed or boarded down."
Harmakros grinned. "Remember those gallows on the hill aside the stream that feeds the moat?"
"They did look new."
"They were busy, too, at least for the first half moon. After that, I think the survivors learned their lesson. Besides, we're feeding them much better than they ever ate at home."
He lowered his voice, although the boy was standing discreetly out of hearing distance at the far end of the chamber. "There is more food in Beshta than I'd expected. There must have been trading across the border into Hos-Harphax, just as we expected. Paying only in silver as far as I can tell, but there are a few court officials I wouldn't mind questioning rigorously for a day or two."
"You haven't arrested anyone?"
"I couldn't touch anyone important enough to know anything without Prince Balthar throwing a tantrum. I wasn't going to do that without asking. I just informed some of the merchants that the Great King might forgive their treasonable trade if they would sell their grain to his loyal soldiers at the same prices they paid for it. I wasn't going to make Beshtan grain merchants rich just feed a few hundred Sastragathi, I swear to Dralm!"
Kalvan laughed. "I didn't expect you would."
Apart from the initial act of hiring soldiers without proper authorization from his commander-in-chief, Harmakros had handled the situation well. However… "I'll forgive you this time, Harmakros. Only don't do it again. If you do, I'll have to dismiss you or stand accused of letting my favorites hire private armies."
Kalvan had to force himself to continue, trying to ignore Harmakros' crestfallen expression. Maybe there was a remedy to that problem. Patents of nobility were a glut on the market after the blood letting at the Battle of Fyk. He would enjoy making one of his top generals a nobleman; only a few of the 'old' nobility might find cause for complaint-and to Styphon with them!
"I don't want to lose your services, Harmakros, or disgrace you, but I don't want people like Skranga to think they can go off to the Sastragath and bring back a private regiment of storm troopers!
"Furthermore, you were lucky this time. What if you hadn't found the Beshtan grain hoard? We don't want to hire more men than we can feed with what we have on hand. They'll just turn to looting our allies, then when the war starts, live off our enemies."
"As Your Majesty wishes."
His Great King was speaking and Harmakros would obey, although he obviously found it hard to believe there was anything wrong with living off your opponents' land. That didn't bother Kalvan; Harmakros was intelligent enough to realize sooner or later that in a war where the real enemy was Styphon's House, every bit of unnecessary damage done to the land of a potentially friendly or neutral ruler was bad strategy, even if it might look like good tactics.
Harmakros emptied his wine cup, set it on the table, then made a gesture toward the page. He went out, closing and latching the door behind him.
"You have him well trained, I see. Now all he needs is a pistol so that he can shoot Prince Balthames if the man takes his usual liberties with young pages."
Harmakros turned red and swore. "If that Sashtan son-of-a-diseased-sow comes within half a march of the boy, I'll geld him myself with a dull knife!" He looked down at the table. "The boy is my son."
Kalvan mentally reviewed what he knew about Harmakros' career, which wasn't as much as a commander-in-chief ought to know about one of his corps commanders: He knew that he was Kalvan's best friend here-and-now, discounting Trader Verkan who was based in Greffa. Knew Harmakros' troops worshipped the ground he walked on, and would follow him to Regwarn-the here-and-now equivalent of Hades-and back.
Kalvan knew that Harmakros had enlisted in the Army of Hostigos at an early age, in his mid-teens. Knew he had worked his way up through the ranks solely on natural ability and a fierce disposition on the battlefield. Knew he had never learned to read and was embarrassed about it. Knew he had an inborn sense of direction and could read the contours of a map like his own palm. Knew he was a trifle atrocity-prone-that would need some work. Knew Harmakros' father was a small time merchant who ran a stall in Hostigos Town selling herbs and medicinal ointments. Knew his mother was dead and that he had no brothers and sisters.
This was the first Kalvan had heard of any children… "A bastard?"
"Yes, his mother was the daughter of one of the Beshtan grain merchants, with an office in Hostigos Town. She's dead now, but his grandfather is a good man."
Well now, thought Kalvan, that explained how Harmakros knew so much about the affairs of the local merchants.
"Raised him, then told me about him when I visited him two moons ago. The boy was already so well trained for service that I knew I could take him with me and nobody would ask questions. He takes after his mother more than me."
"I would have never guessed he was yours, if you hadn't told me."
"Good. The problem is I have no legitimate children. Empedila-my first wife, a cousin of Phrames-was killed in a riding accident. We'd been married only a year and-a-half. I was about to contract a betrothal to the daughter of a minor noble in Nostor, when all at once Hostigos and Nostor were deadly enemies. I don't even know if Jomesthna is still alive."
"What's the boy's name?"
"Aspasthar."
"So Aspasthar is the last of your house?" Kalvan wished he knew more about Zarthani inheritance laws and customs. One of these days if he lived long enough, he would be more of a Supreme Court Justice than a commander-in-chief and the more he learned about the laws he would be interpreting before that day arrived, the better for both him and Hos-Hostigos. Meanwhile, there was a solution that didn't require admitting his ignorance of law and custom.
"I think I can see my way to making Aspasthar a Royal Ward with some kind of palace post suitable to his new rank." Kalvan said. "We can call him the orphan of someone who has deserved well of the Great Kingdom and leave it at that. We can even provide him with a small estate, so that you can marry again without your wife having to worry about any of her dowry going to enrich your bastard."
That problem had caused a number of miserably unhappy marriages and more than a few wars in the Middle Ages, if Kalvan recalled correctly. He saw no reason to suspect that human nature was much different here-and-now.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Harmakros said: he was looking down at the table even more intently and Kalvan decided to look away until the Captain-General had gained control of his face. "Thank you, again, for one less thing to worry about if Galzar's Judgment goes against me in this year's war."