Still she stared at him. He felt a hesitation. “Of course,” he said, “we may lose the fight. And we do have the women aboard.”
“If you lose,” she asked, so low he could scarcely hear it, “will we die or be captured?”
“I think we will die.”
“That is well.” She nodded, shivering. “Yes. Fight, then.”
“There is one thing I am unsure of. How to make them pursue us.” He paused. “If someone were to let himself. . . be captured by them—and told them we were carrying off a great treasure— would they believe that?”
“They might well do so.” Life had come back to her voice, even eagerness. “Let us say, the calde’s hoard. None ever existed, but the robbers would believe my father’s cellars were stuffed with gold.”
“Then someone must go to them,” said Ruori. He turned his back to her, twisted his fingers together and slogged toward a conclusion he did not want to reach. “But it could not be just anyone. They would club a man in among the other slaves, would they not? I mean, would they listen to him at all?”
“Probably not. Very few of them know Spaflol. By the time a man who babbled of treasure was understood, they might all be halfway home.” Tresa scowled. “What shall we do?”
Ruori saw the answer, but he could not get it past his throat.
“I am sorry,” he mumbled. “My idea was not so good after all. Let us be gone.”
The girl forced her way between him and the rail to stand in front of him, touching as if they danced again. Her voice was altogether steady. “You know a way.”
“I do not!”
“I have come to know you well, in one night. You are a poor liar. Tell me.”
He looked away. Somehow, he got out: “A woman—not any woman, but a very beautiful one—would she not soon be taken to their chief?”
Tresa stood aside. The color drained from her face.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I think so.”
“But then again,” said Ruori wretchedly, “she might be killed. They do so much wanton killing, those men. I cannot let anyone who was given into my protection risk death.”
“You heathen fool,” she said through tight lips, “do you think the chance of being killed matters to me?”
“What else could happen?” he asked, surprised. And then: “Oh, yes, of course, the woman would be a slave if we lost the battle
afterward. Though I should imagine, if she is beautiful, she would not be badly treated.”
“And is that all you—” Tresa stopped. He had never known it was possible for a smile to show pure hurt. “Of course. I should have realized. Your people have other ways of thinking.”
“What do you mean?” he fumbled.
A moment more she stood with clenched fists. Then, half to herself: “They killed my father, yes, I saw him dead in the doorway. They would leave my city a ruin peopled by corpses.”
Her head lifted. “I shall go,” she said.
“You?” He grabbed her shoulders. “No, surely not you! One of the others—”
“Should I send anyone else? I am the calde’s daughter.”
She pulled herself free of him and hurried across the deck, down the ladder toward the gangway. Her face was turned from the ship. A few words drifted back: “Afterward, if there is an afterward, there is always the convent.”
He did not understand. He stood on the poop, staring after her and abominating himself until she was lost to sight. Then he said, “Cast off,” and the ship stood out to sea.
V
The Meycans fought doggedly, street by street and house by house, but after a couple of hours their surviving soldiers had all been driven into the northeast corner of S’ AntOn. They themselves hardly knew that, but a Sky chief had a view from above:
one rover was now tethered to the cathedral, with a rope ladder for men to go up and down, and the other vessel, skeleton-crewed, brought their news to it.
“Good enough,” said Loklann. “We’ll keep them boxed in with a quarter of our force. I don’t think they’ll sally! Meanwhile the rest of us can get things organized; let’s not give these creatures too much time to hide themselves and their silver. In the afternoon, when we’re rested, we can land parachuters behind the city troops, drive them out into our lines and destroy them.”