Page 13 of Something Human

“Archon. Elected leader. Sort of like one of your chieftains—I think you elect your chieftains?”

Rus wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to nitpick again, then appeared to think better of it. “In a way. The lords of the different hearths elect a new headman when the old one dies. Do your archons rule for life?”

“No, they’re elected for five years. In Pheme they govern three at a time and rarely get more than one term—but the colonies only have one archon apiece, and quite often they’re re-elected. Hesteios had been archon of Tios for nearly twenty years. He was a superb leader, and a good man, too. It was a sad way for him to die—far away from Tios, in an unimportant little battle.”

“I’m sorry.” After a moment he added, curiously, “Your ruler now—his name is Fy-something? I have heard Gunthanaruth say his name, and then spit.”

“Charming. His name’s Phyleros.”

“And is he also a good man?”

“I don’t—I’m not really qualified to say. He’s too young to be archon, that’s one thing.”

“How young?”

“Twenty-four.”

Rus frowned as if that didn’t seem excessively young to him. It was hard to remember that he was a teenager himself.

“In Pheme you can’t even stand for the office until you’re thirty-five.”

“How did he get elected, then?”

“He was chief assistant to the archon under Hesteios—he took over as acting archon after Hesteios died, as a matter of course.”

“Ah, so he was not elected.”

“Well, but he was, eventually. In Pheme there would have been an election right away. But Tios is a colony—we’d had our archons elected for us in Pheme, in the past, and sent over. Of course, it had been nearly twenty years since we had needed a new archon, which is a long time in the life of a new city. While Hesteios was willing to stand, they just kept reappointing him every five years. But after he died, we were notified that a new archon would be chosen for us in the usual way. Then, for a whole variety of reasons—a change of government in Pheme, some bureaucratic screw-up with counting votes, and a season of storms that almost shut down sea travel—it was a full year before the new archon was sent over. In the meantime, Phyleros was in charge, and—people got used to him, I suppose.”

“Got to like him, you mean.”

Adares shrugged. “Took leave of their senses, maybe. Anyway, when the man from Pheme did arrive, the citizens’ council had decided that they wanted an election in Tios after all. There was no precedent for a colonial council to make that decision for itself—it was almost an act of rebellion, but they did it. I’m not saying it was a bad idea, either, as far as that goes. The man Pheme had sent was put out, of course, but he couldn’t take over without the acclamation of the council. He hadn’t had the forethought to bring a legion with him to support his claim. So they held an election, the first ever in Tios. They waived the age requirement—someone gave an eloquent speech about a young city deserving a young governor—and they elected the acting archon. Phyleros.”

“You don’t think it was a good decision,” Rus observed.

“I think the people were off their heads,” said Adares, with conviction. “Well.” He got up from the bed. “Never mind that. I’ll heat some more water, and you can bathe properly. There’s another clean tunic like this one that you can put on afterwards—if the idea of wearing Phemian clothes isn’t too revolting to you.”

If Rus was disconcerted by the abrupt change of subject, he didn’t show it. All he said was, “Your clothes look comfortable in this warm weather.”

Adares built up the fire in the brazier and put some more water on to heat. He refilled the tub from the fountain and dragged it over near the bed. Rus pushed himself up shakily into a sitting position.

“Here, I’ll help you,” said Adares. “I can even close my eyes, or look away, so as not to offend your barbarian modesty.”

“Ah, but I’ll bet you can’t, actually. I’ll bet you are too curious to know exactly how much of me is tattooed. Aren’t you?”

Adares looked at him. “Now I am.”

Rus grinned. He moved the covers aside and pushed himself towards the edge of the bed, drawing in his breath sharply as he moved his injured leg. “I don’t mind you knowing. If your people are like the Kossians, I think you are not ashamed to go naked when you play sports, or to have big bath houses where everyone sees everyone else without his clothes?”

“Civilized. Yes.”

Rus snorted. His long, pale fingers unpicked the knotted ties of his loincloth. He stripped it off in a quick, economical motion. Then he didn’t seem to know where to look.

“Blessed Orante. I thought you were bluffing.”

Rus laughed, as merrily as the day before at the fountain, and blushed. He sat on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. He was still embarrassed, and couldn’t meet Adares’s eyes, but sat looking away, one hand pushed shyly up into his hair.

Adares looked at him appreciatively. He really was attractive. The tattoos on his chest and stomach coiled down over his slim hips and onto his thighs, an unbroken pattern, but his dick was just circled by two spiralling, parallel lines, unconnected to the rest. It was also thick and rosy and very nicely proportioned.