Page 57 of Something Human

“And then, you see, as if that weren’t enough, in the winter he had a vision of the goddess—nothing I understand myself, being a man of war, though I am no disrespecter of the gods, but they tell me it’s all very mystical—and Suthus, our stathan, and I thought he was just the man to replace Suthus’s old deputy, who was killed in the autumn.”

Gunthanaruth turned away to call for more mead. Adares leaned forward to look past him at Rus.

“Rusanarath,” he said, and Rus thought he should have told the Phemian his full name last autumn, because it sounded so beautiful, the way he said it. “Do you remember me at all?”

He said it in Pseuchaian, of course. It took Rus a moment to understand what he meant.

“Ah, my love!” That just slipped out, so naturally. It was incredibly indiscreet, with other Phemians present, but none of them seemed to have heard. Rus collected himself. “Of course,” he said. “This is what’s known as ‘pretending.’”

Adares stared at him for a moment, and then he put his hand up to cover his mouth, and Rus thought he looked as though he was going to be sick. It occurred to Rus suddenly that this was all much harder on Adares than it was on him. And Rus wasn’t finding it very easy himself.

“I am sorry,” he said, still in Pseuchaian. “I have made it difficult for you. I should have … ”

“No,” said Adares, pulling himself together. “Immortal gods. No. Don’t think that.”

“What are you two talking about?” Gunthanaruth inquired jovially. “He speaks your language beautifully, does he not, Headman Filerus?”

“It’s like he’s trying to set us up together,” said Adares. While Rus was wondering if that could really mean what he thought it meant, he answered Gunthanaruth, in the Luth tongue: “We talk about you, of course.”

Gunthanaruth grunted as if this seemed entirely natural and didn’t worry him. He began telling Adares the history of the Luth, with a heavy emphasis on the greatness of his own family. Adares seemed genuinely interested, or did a good job of looking genuinely interested, though in unguarded moments his gaze would always come back to Rus. Gunthanaruth’s wife pushed a stack of savoury pancakes under Rus’s nose, followed by a baked apple, followed by a bowl of milk pudding, followed by a dish of nuts. It was a lavish feast.

Gunthanaruth’s bard joined them on the dais, and sang about the history of Gunthanaruth’s family. One of the Phemians had a musical instrument, a kind of big Phemian lyre, and he played it for them and sang a Phemian song.

“The soap,” said Adares, looking at Rus, while they were listening to the Phemian song and Gunthanaruth’s attention was distracted. “Was that you?”

“Yes.”

Adare shook his head, smiling. “I should have suspected something then, shouldn’t I?”

“Talking about me again?” said Gunthanaruth, chuckling.

The Phemian sitting next to Adares, a young man with curly hair and a snub nose, had been glancing between Rus and Adares, and now he leaned over to the archon and said in a loud whisper, looking at Rus, “Sir, is he the one?”

“Shh-shh,” said Adares.

“Lord archon, I mean the Luth who—”

“Thank you, Kagieros.”

“Oh.” He grimaced. “Sorry, sir.”

Kagieros looked across at Rus and smiled tentatively. “Really terrific dance, earlier. Enjoyed it immensely.”

“Thanks,” said Rus. To be polite he added, “Do you have anything like it where you’re from?”

“Oh!” Kagieros looked surprised. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. Back home in Pheme, at the dramatic festivals, you know, they have all kinds of plays, and some of the really ancient ones are done in masks, with dancing and so on. They’re great fun. We don’t have a regular dramatic festival in Tios yet—we haven’t yet built a theatre, which is—”

“The building where you go to watch plays,” Rus supplied, and enjoyed Kagieros’s surprised look. “I have not seen one, but I have read about them in the works of Lisophiles.”

“Gosh. Well, you’re one up on me there. I haven’t read any Lisophiles—except, you know, the one about the talking animals.”

“And what are they talking about now?” Gunthanaruth wanted to know.

“Kosoth books for children,” said Adares.

Gunthanaruth looked at him as though he assumed that must have lost something in translation.

The Phemian song ended, and Gunthanaruth’s bard began a tale about the hero Gunrana and his horse. The headman had closed his eyes and might have been asleep. Some of the retainers at the lower hearths were beginning to leave. Adares seemed to be trying to follow the bard’s words and finding them puzzling. Rus remembered him joking about epics where horses talked, and wondered if he was thinking of that now. Gunrana’s horse had a lot to say.