Read Online The Religion by Tim Willocks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tim Willocks
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
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Bors, hope rising in his breast. "And this red ship will be our last chance to play our part. Let's pack our war chests and load them on the wagons now. Destiny calls. Don't tell me you can't hear it."
Tannhauser shifted, for the blood was up in his spine too, and the reproach in Bors's eyes was hard to meet. In Sabato's face, by contrast, he saw the horror of seeing their plans collapse wholesale. Tannhauser toyed with his ring, a cube of Russian gold with a hole bored through its center. Its weight lent him wisdom.
"Bors," he said, "you're my oldest and most steadfast companion. But we three contracted to become rich men together and such we are becoming and so we have done. Whether we rise or fall, it's battle of a different sort we're engaged in now. Remember the motto you coined for us,
Usque ad finem
. Until the End. Until the very end."
Bors concealed his thoughts behind the upraised skull cup of wine.
"However," continued Tannhauser, "the English langue would welcome you with a huzzah. If you want to seize this last occasion to go, then go. No one here will think you false."
Tannhauser looked into Bors's eyes: gray with a nimbus of yellowaround the iris and set in puckered nests of scarred and wrinkled skin. If Bors did choose to join the war of the Cross against the Crescent, Tannhauser would sail with him. Bors did not know this, for he wasn't the kind of man to expect any sacrifice on his behalf, but Sabato knew all too keenly and he waited with baited breath. Dana brought a fresh jug, well aware that her charms were rendered impotent by this conference. Bors gave a blunt growl and refilled his cup.
"Perhaps it is no coincidence," said Bors, "that I'm the only uncircumcised man sitting at this table."
"That disharmony, at least, could be corrected," said Tannhauser.
"You'd have to cut my head off first."
"Both of which procedures could only improve your humor," said Tannhauser. "Come now, give us a decision, man. Are you with us or with the fanatics?"
"As you say, we are contracted together, in the rise or in the fall either one," grumbled Bors. He raised his wine. "Until the bitter end."
Sabato Svi blew his cheeks with relief.
Tannhauser stood up. "Let's go and peddle our wares."
In his chamber Tannhauser changed into a burgundy-red silk doublet banded in diagonals of gold. He buckled on his sword, a Julian del Rey with a leopard's head pommel in silver, and scraped a hand across his stubble in lieu of a shave. He had no mirror but was confident that he'd cut the grandest figure on the waterfront. Bors called his name, and an obscene jibe, from the street below and Tannhauser went to join him.
Eight two-wheeled oxcarts waited outside, the great beasts stoic in the sun. The carts were loaded with gunpowder, brass cannonballs, willow charcoal, and pigs of lead. Bors sat his bay with impatience while Gasparo held Buraq by his reins.
Tannhauser said, "Gasparo, how goes the day?"
Gasparo was a sturdy youth of sixteen, shy but loyal to a fault. He grinned for answer, abashed at the honor of being asked. Tannhauser clapped him on the back and turned to Buraq, whose affection filled him at once with an infinite joy. Buraq was a Teke Turkmen from the oasis of Akhal, a breed that the ancients considered sacred and called Nisaean. Genghis Khan had ridden such a horse. The swiftest, the strongest, the most graceful. He held his head high and with inborn majesty. His coatwas the color of a newly minted gold coin. His tail and short, tufted mane were the color of wheat. Tannhauser fed him on mutton fat and barley and would have housed him in the Oracle had his partners let him. Buraq dipped his Roman nose and Tannhauser caressed him.
"Call him the most beautiful," he said and Buraq snorted and tossed his long neck.
Tannhauser mounted and as always felt at once like a Caesar. Buraq needed no bit, so lightly did he respond. The devotion of horse and rider was complete. Buraq moved off as if the whole expedition
Tannhauser shifted, for the blood was up in his spine too, and the reproach in Bors's eyes was hard to meet. In Sabato's face, by contrast, he saw the horror of seeing their plans collapse wholesale. Tannhauser toyed with his ring, a cube of Russian gold with a hole bored through its center. Its weight lent him wisdom.
"Bors," he said, "you're my oldest and most steadfast companion. But we three contracted to become rich men together and such we are becoming and so we have done. Whether we rise or fall, it's battle of a different sort we're engaged in now. Remember the motto you coined for us,
Usque ad finem
. Until the End. Until the very end."
Bors concealed his thoughts behind the upraised skull cup of wine.
"However," continued Tannhauser, "the English langue would welcome you with a huzzah. If you want to seize this last occasion to go, then go. No one here will think you false."
Tannhauser looked into Bors's eyes: gray with a nimbus of yellowaround the iris and set in puckered nests of scarred and wrinkled skin. If Bors did choose to join the war of the Cross against the Crescent, Tannhauser would sail with him. Bors did not know this, for he wasn't the kind of man to expect any sacrifice on his behalf, but Sabato knew all too keenly and he waited with baited breath. Dana brought a fresh jug, well aware that her charms were rendered impotent by this conference. Bors gave a blunt growl and refilled his cup.
"Perhaps it is no coincidence," said Bors, "that I'm the only uncircumcised man sitting at this table."
"That disharmony, at least, could be corrected," said Tannhauser.
"You'd have to cut my head off first."
"Both of which procedures could only improve your humor," said Tannhauser. "Come now, give us a decision, man. Are you with us or with the fanatics?"
"As you say, we are contracted together, in the rise or in the fall either one," grumbled Bors. He raised his wine. "Until the bitter end."
Sabato Svi blew his cheeks with relief.
Tannhauser stood up. "Let's go and peddle our wares."
In his chamber Tannhauser changed into a burgundy-red silk doublet banded in diagonals of gold. He buckled on his sword, a Julian del Rey with a leopard's head pommel in silver, and scraped a hand across his stubble in lieu of a shave. He had no mirror but was confident that he'd cut the grandest figure on the waterfront. Bors called his name, and an obscene jibe, from the street below and Tannhauser went to join him.
Eight two-wheeled oxcarts waited outside, the great beasts stoic in the sun. The carts were loaded with gunpowder, brass cannonballs, willow charcoal, and pigs of lead. Bors sat his bay with impatience while Gasparo held Buraq by his reins.
Tannhauser said, "Gasparo, how goes the day?"
Gasparo was a sturdy youth of sixteen, shy but loyal to a fault. He grinned for answer, abashed at the honor of being asked. Tannhauser clapped him on the back and turned to Buraq, whose affection filled him at once with an infinite joy. Buraq was a Teke Turkmen from the oasis of Akhal, a breed that the ancients considered sacred and called Nisaean. Genghis Khan had ridden such a horse. The swiftest, the strongest, the most graceful. He held his head high and with inborn majesty. His coatwas the color of a newly minted gold coin. His tail and short, tufted mane were the color of wheat. Tannhauser fed him on mutton fat and barley and would have housed him in the Oracle had his partners let him. Buraq dipped his Roman nose and Tannhauser caressed him.
"Call him the most beautiful," he said and Buraq snorted and tossed his long neck.
Tannhauser mounted and as always felt at once like a Caesar. Buraq needed no bit, so lightly did he respond. The devotion of horse and rider was complete. Buraq moved off as if the whole expedition
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